#like this was even before villages so it wasn’t a typical or natural structure for a world

[giddlygoat]

back before minecraft had infinite worlds, i was exploring a new world when i came to the edge of it and saw a small ring shaped structure made out of glowstone. i told my siblings but no one believed that i hadn’t built it myself. sitting here thinking about it after so many years, it JUST occurred to me that i now have the power of the internet at my disposal, so if anyone knows of how a glowstone structure would have appeared in a brand new untouched limited minecraft world, PLEASE let me know. this has bothered me for over a decade.

[misshoneyimhome]

Haha that ask and your reply about Willys lil smug, smooth nature just inspired a request😂

Will knows he’s hot, he can get girls as easily as breathing, he’s charming and smooth - but let’s ponder what happens when our little Swedish hunny starts dating someone who makes him nervous! You’re unlike anyone he’s dated because you’re equally as calm, charming and alluring as he is but also incredibly smart and stunning so he’s met his match! And it’s early days only a month of casual dates in, but he’s planned a day for you two to walk around The Distillery Winter Village (Toronto’s Christmas Market) to shop and during it he wants to express that he’d like to be exclusively together (uncharted waters as has never the one to bring up the convo) but for some reason he’s in his head about it, fumbling words and getting rosy cheeks! But as the day wears on and you’re just happy to hold his hand, chat, and laugh together he can’t help but express what he’s feeling because the nervousness excites him, and he knows he’s not letting you go!

My emotions! God yes, darling 🥰 This is just so dream-scenario-take-my-heart-Willy-and-leave-me-to-die - and I’m here for it! ❤️

I know there were several ways to go about this, and I could have written so much more, but I tried my best to keep it simple - I hope you enjoy it ❤️

[btw, when researching about The Distillery Winter Village, it almost had me book a plane ticket just to go there 😍]

Word count: 3K

➼｡ﾟ

Is This How It Feels To Be In Love? I William Nylander ✿❄︎

One touch, electric shock Eyes locked, like, did you feel that too? World stops, just us Here under dots in the darkness Of the blue, out of the blue Is this how it feels to be in love? This is magical, this is magical

“Magical” - Ed Sheeran

_

Accelerated heartbeat. Sweaty palms. Racing pulse.

Usual indications following a good workout or training session. Yet this time it wasn’t caused by that.

No. William Nylander was having these symptoms, accompanied by deep feelings that he'd never experienced before, and it was all because of you.

_

What initially had appeared to be a rather typical Thursday evening for William, coming home from a match, involved taking the subway to avoid bad traffic, and it was during this commute that he had met you for the first time.

You had stayed back late at the office, so feeling rather exhausted, you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, when suddenly, the train abruptly stopped, causing you to lose your balance and tumble forward, landing face-first directly into the lap of the stranger seated in front of you.

"Shit," you’d exclaimed, attempting to regain your balance with your hands to avoid a complete collision with the person. However, your movements had lacked coordination, bringing your face closer to his. "I'm really sorry," you apologised with a sweet smile, and in that moment, William's gaze had immediately locked onto yours.

His deep Scandinavian blue eyes had delved into yours, creating an oddly intimate closeness between two complete strangers.

Oh, he's handsome, had been your first thought, well first thought following: 'fuck,' 'shit,' 'oops,' and 'nice move, y/n.' 

But, handsome indeed. His slightly long blonde hair complemented by a well-maintained scruff accentuating his prominent cheekbone structure, along with those notably rosy, desirable lips.He wore a simple, yet finely tailored black suit with a white shirt and a black tie that suited him impeccably.

And despite the initial frustration of the situation, William had simply chuckled as you hastily regained your composure. "No worries, it wasn't your fault."

His voice held an adorable charm, accompanied by a cheeky smile that diffused the awkwardness, swiftly replacing it with a relaxed atmosphere.

"I guess I'm just naturally clumsy," you’d playfully remarked, as you’d noted his casual, unbothered reaction to the unfortunate incident. And his composed and laid-back demeanour immediately intrigued you, leading to shared laughter and friendly smiles during the following few subway stops.

And when it was time for you to exit, a couple of stations before his, you couldn't resist casting a quick glance back at the handsome stranger, offering him a sweet smile.

It had been from that moment on, William had been unable to shake you from his thoughts. Despite reflecting on the night's great win and chatting with his best friend Sandy and brother Alex, you somehow managed to continuously seep back into his mind. Your endearing smile remained etched in his memory, while the sound of your slightly embarrassed laughter lingered soothingly in his ears.

And as the night progressed, he couldn’t help but mentally scolding himself for not taking the opportunity to get your name and number.

Normally, William was adept at charming the ladies. Undoubtedly good-looking and well aware of it, he usually effortlessly engaged in conversation, flirted, and dazzled them.

Over the years, he'd been in a few relationships, some short, some a little longer. However, none seemed to last very long. Occasional hook-ups during the off-season were common, and during hockey season, he'd have a girl or two he could call upon if needed, but nothing too serious.

And this year was shaping up to be just like the others. His complete focus was on the hockey season, which seemed to be a defining one in his career. He ramped up his dedication, intensified his training, and minimised any potential distractions from the outside world.

However, as days passed following your encounter on the subway, he found himself unable to erase you from his thoughts. Which was very unfamiliar territory for him. Usually, he could discard any woman entering his life as easily as changing underwear. But for some reason, your reaction to him had been different.

He even caught himself searching for you each time he rode the subway, although he knew it was a lost cause in a city as populated as Toronto with countless trains running daily.

_

And just as William was gradually beginning to push thoughts of you aside, refocusing his mind on hockey, your lovely smile reappeared.

This time, it was in a downtown coffeehouse. He was out for an early stroll with his dogs on a chilly November morning and decided to warm up with a beverage. And when walking into the coffeehouse somewhat still sleepy, he instantly recognised your face. You were casually waiting for your coffee, and now William knew he had to make a move. At least try to flirt, like he’d normally do with any attractive girl like yourself.

So, he ordered his drink and casually walked towards the waiting area.

"Hey," he greeted, a mischievous grin adorning his face as he approached you.

"Well, hello there, stranger," you smiled, looking up from your phone. "How are you?"

"Good," he chuckled. "And yourself?"

"Good as well, thanks."

A moment of shared smiles passed, yet the silence grew uncomfortable for William, prompting him to break it.

"So, are you here to bump into more strangers?" he teased playfully, evoking chuckle from you.

"Oh no, I reserve that for the subway," you replied jokingly with a cheeky wink, which caused him laugh as well.

And amidst the laughter, the barista handed you your drink, and you gently took it and turned towards the exit.

"It was good to see you again," you said softly, offering a smile, as you were about to pass him and walk away. 

"Likewise," William replied. However, as you began to leave, he quickly interjected. "Wait, I didn't catch your name?"

"It's y/n," you smiled.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, y/n."

There was another fleeting moment where you simply gazed up at his smiling face, shortly waiting for him to continue.

"...And this is the part where you tell me your name?" you asked with a playful grin, as he didn’t say anything. 

"Wait, you don't know who I am?" William asked, slightly puzzled, considering he was a well-known figure in Toronto.

"No," you merely chuckled once more. 

Though he did seem familiar to you, you couldn’t precisely place him. Probably a sports person, you guessed, based on his level of confidence. But the specific sport or anything else about him, you had no idea of. "Why? Are you, like, famous or something?"

"Or something," he grinned. "I'm William, William Nylander."

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, William Nylander," you emphasised both his first and last name, flashing another smile before casually heading out of the coffeehouse.

It took William a few moments to gather himself. 

What was it about you?

And just as the barista handed him his drink, he hurriedly exited, aiming to catch up with you before you got too far.

"Hey," he called out, hoping to catch your attention once again. "How about giving me your number?"

"Why?" you flashed him another grin.

"So, if I wanted to ask you out and meet up, you'd be there?" he suggested.

"And what makes you so sure I'd say yes?" you playfully challenged his confidence. 

"I don't know, call it an intuitive guess," he chuckled.

And you couldn’t deny that his effort intrigued you.

"Alright, then," you agreed, taking his phone and dialling your number, calling it, and retrieving your own phone from your pocket to answer the call before hanging up. This way, you both had each other's numbers. "I'll look forward to the invitation."

You flashed him a sweet smirk before turning on your heel once more and heading back to the office.

_

Only a couple of days passed before William asked you out for coffee. Though trying to appear cool and casual, attempting not to seem too eager, it was proving quite challenging. He couldn’t deny the fact that he longed to see you again, and more importantly to get to know more about you.

In many ways, you remained a mystery to him. You simply seemed to be so calm and sweet, as well as extremely stunning and charming.

You were funny and smart, sometimes a bit of a brat yet incredibly understanding and empathetic. Family held immense significance for you, something you both shared, and the way you always wanted to help others before yourself resonated deeply with him.

As it turned out, the more he got to know about you, the more he found you captivatingly interesting. The way you simply rested in yourself coupled with a gentle confidence intrigued him. You didn't seek drama or excessive attention from him, and everything between you felt relaxed and comfortable.

Surprisingly enough, it was William who felt more nervous as the two of you started dating.

He felt like a teenager, constantly checking his phone in anticipation of a message or Snapchat from you. Every time you met, whether for coffee, casual dinners at either of your places, or elsewhere, he eagerly looked forward to it.

And this was a strange and new feeling for him.

Usually, it was the girls who craved his attention, bombarding him with multiple messages if he didn't reply immediately. They'd fret over his hectic hockey schedule and quickly push to define the relationship, introducing him to friends and family prematurely, all of which often became overwhelming for him.

However, with you, it was nothing like his previous experiences. Quite the opposite.

When he’d first tried to ask you out after your first coffee meet up, his hectic schedule had naturally come in the was. Yet, you were understanding. You simply suggested to reschedule, and found a day that worked for both of you, even if it meant waiting a little bit longer. 

And then when there had been more adjustments due to his schedule changes or delays, you’d simply adapt to it. 

Instead casual dinners with takeout on the sofa became a norm, as well as late-night chats when he was away. And you were fine with it all.

You merely recognised the strong connection between you two and appreciated the easy-going nature of your relationship.

But as time passed, things gradually snowballed, and William found himself wanting to spend more time with you, as his heart raced every time, he saw you.

Your presence had a way of quickening his pulse and making him nervous, and these new and unfamiliar feelings left him immensely intrigued. The gentle tingling when thinking about you or the sudden anxiety of you not thinking about him were sensations far from his world. Yet, he felt somewhat drawn to it.

He took you out on dates as best as he could, eventually making his move and kissing you on your forth date. And on the fifth and sixth dates you took it a a few steps further, and soon enough, he felt compelled to share everything about you with his close group of friends; the team.

Naturally, the boys had noticed William's sudden change in behaviour, teasing him a bit about it as well. However, understanding their own unspoken boundaries, they let him be and didn't delve too deeply into sentimental details, as boys will be boys.

_

So, as December enrolled and the two of you had been casually dating for a little over a month, William organised a day at The Distillery Winter Village for you to shop, indulge in delicious Christmas treats, and soak up the holiday spirit.

Knowing your love for this season, he took the opportunity to create a proper Christmas experience for you, as he had some time to spare.

And your immediate 'yes' was a testament to how just much you enjoyed spending time with William. He simply had a way of making you feel incredibly good about yourself, and being around him was just pure joy. He filled a void that felt like the best friend you had been missing for so long. Yet, beneath it all, you sensed there might be deeper feelings between you. But you weren't in a rush. You cherished being around him, revelled in his wonderful company, and simply appreciated the incredible connection you shared.

And the day turned out to be simply magical. The bustling atmosphere, extraordinary with Christmas carols filling the air, mingling with the delightful scents of sweets and the joyous laughter all around.

However, amidst this enchantment, William's mind was slightly preoccupied.

The gentle intertwining of your fingers, holding hands as you casually strolled through the market, had him contemplating.

He thought about how this was exactly what he wanted to experience every Christmas with you. He wanted to have these profound, warm feelings he experienced every time he was with you, every day of his life. He wanted to wake up to your gorgeous face daily, have you by his side through the highs and lows, introduce you to his family, and contemplate a future together.

So, as he witnessed the Christmas lights reflecting in your eyes while leisurely strolling from boutique to boutique, William's mind raced, and he felt the need to articulate his thoughts. Firstly, attempting to broach the subject casually, he started the conversation with, "There's quite a lot of couples here, huh..."

Hoping to drop hints, without saying too much.

"Sure, but there are also quite a few families,” you responded with a simple smile. “I mean, all the children want to meet Santa, right?"

William felt flustered. Desperate to express his feelings and recent thoughts to you, he found it far more challenging than anticipated. This territory was beyond his expertise, as he had never been the one to initiate the 'where are we' conversation. 

But, as he thought of you more and more, he concluded that he didn't want to see you with anyone else but him. The mere thought of you dating someone else at this point tore him apart.

So, as the evening progressed and you indulged in various foods and drinks, he gathered the courage to try again.

"You know, a lot of people find Christmas really romantic," he blurted out seemingly out of nowhere, feeling his cheeks flush slightly, which could easily pass off as a reaction to the cold weather.

"Well, I suppose it is,” you spoke, as you gently sipped your hot chocolate. “You don’t think it’s romantic?” 

“Or course I do,” he smiled, finally summoning the courage to express his thoughts. “In fact I think it's a good time to... maybe, be with someone... you really like," his voice slightly trembling.

"For sure, that's what this season is all about, being with the ones you love,” you replied, as you slowly made your way through the crowd. “Although, it can also be a little cheesy, right? Like those people who propose on Christmas Day or something like that. I mean, let's just enjoy the holiday for what it is," you chuckled lightly, unknowingly causing William's heart to sink in his chest.

He might not have had a proposal in mind, but considering he'd never asked someone to be his girlfriend before, it felt almost like it.

"I guess," was all he managed to say. And then another 30 minutes passed with more conversation, during which William's heart continued to race faster than usual, and his palms grew sweatier. He nearly pulled his hand away when you tried to hold it as you resumed walking side by side.

"Willy, are you alright?" you asked, genuinely concerned, noticing his distant gaze and absent-mindedness.

"Um, sure."

A moment of silence passed as you both headed towards the giant Christmas tree, illuminated with the bright DIOR sign flashing its lights.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" you spoke softly as you stood admiring the tree.

"Yes... yes, it is," William almost whispered, though his gaze was fixed on you rather than the tree.

"You know, there's a funny story from my hometown—"

"Y/n, I want you to be my girlfriend." 

His mouth had spoken faster than his mind could process, and suddenly the words had slipped out, unintentionally interrupting your story. 

"What?" you asked, slightly baffled.

"I want..." Uncertainty overwhelmed him once again, but he knew he had burst the bubble and now had to articulate what was truly on his mind. "I want to be... you know... together, like, just you and me..."

His heart pounded fiercely, almost outside his chest, as he struggled to convey his thoughts. He had never been this nervous, not even on drafting day or during his first NHL game. Asking you to be his girlfriend felt like the most anxious thing he had ever done.

"Willy, you want us to be exclusive?" you asked timidly, though you had heard him perfectly clearly. Your mind just needed to process what he had asked.

"Yes, y/n," he breathed out, feeling a sense of relief. "I want us to be exclusive. I don't like the idea of you seeing anyone else, and I know I only have the right to ask that of you if you're..."

"Your girlfriend," you finished his sentence with a sweet smile. "Willy, I'd want nothing more than to be your girlfriend."

Your voice resonated with profound sincerity, reflecting what he had been trying so hard to articulate. Of course, you wanted to be with him. You just simply hadn't felt the need to push the matter but hearing him express it so earnestly left you with no doubt.

And amidst the Christmas lights and the festive cheer, William felt an immense relief coursing through his body as you said yes to being his.

It felt like a magical experience amid the joy of the season, and he had never been more certain of anything else. So with gentle tenderness, he pulled you in for a soft kiss under the shimmering lights and stars of that December night.

[usergreenpixel]

JACOBIN FICTION CONVENTION MEETING 7: SCARAMOUCHE (1921)

Hello, Citizens, and welcome to the seventh meeting of our lovely Convention!

I deeply appreciate your wishes for my speedy recovery and I assure you that I’m right as rain.

So, with that out of the way, let us begin.

1. Introduction

“Scaramouche” is a historical fiction novel written by Rafael Sabatini, who might be familiar to some of you via works like “Captain Blood”, which was among my favorite novel series when I was growing up as I’ve always loved (and still love) me a good swashbuckling story and I never quite grew out of these tastes in literature.

In the case of this novel, it never was a blip on my radar when I was a kid but my renewed interest in the French Revolution and my research of topics for future reviews led me to this story. Apparently there’s a sequel and I might review it in the future.

I found the ebook readily available in English on Project Gutenberg so it’s pretty much in public domain now.

I guess it shouldn’t be surprising that there’s a swashbuckling novel set in Frev - the setting is like a perfect fertile soil for external and internal conflicts, adventures and drama, so it was only a matter of time before someone came up with an adventure novel in this setting.

That being said, at first I had quite a few fears that this book would be just another propaganda piece, especially since the author was technically Anglophone.

Did my fears come true? Let’s find out.

2. The Summary

The story’s protagonist is one André-Louis Moreau - a ward and godson to a Breton nobleman and a lawyer by education who swears revenge on a Marquis who kills his friend in a duel.

To escape the gallows after landing himself in hot water for igniting the fire of revolution in Rennes and Nantes, André-Louis joins a troupe of traveling actors and performs as a character called Scaramouche, hence the title.

3. The Story

Like I said, I have a soft spot for swashbuckling novels so I actually quite enjoyed reading the book. And, on a pleasantly surprising note, the revolution is NOT demonized. If anything, the protagonist actually becomes an idealistic republican by the end, which is a really uncommon narrative choice in Frev media.

The narrative clearly portrays the nobility as too privileged and corrupt and the people are in the right - at least, this is what the protagonist understands during his arc.

There’s also not that much Thermidorian bullshit, at least no popular stereotypes, which I really appreciate.

That being said, I do have three main issues with the story.

Firstly, sometimes there’s too much filler and it feels like the narrative is barely dragging along, which got tiresome at times.

Secondly, I didn’t like the romantic subplot between André and the niece of his godfather, Aline. For context, the two were childhood playmates and grew up referring to each other as cousins, only to fall in love as adults.

Maybe it’s just me, but I find romance between family members (no matter how honorary) gross even if there are no shared genes involved. I know cousin marriages were more common in the past but personally I think the novel would’ve benefited from Aline and André only sharing a platonic bond and familial love.

(Spoiler alert!)

Thirdly, I highly doubt the “I’m your father” twist was necessary here as I usually dislike such plot points because they’re hard to do right.

Here there was no proper building up to the revelation, at least in my opinion, and the twist itself can (and most likely will) seem predictable to modern audiences.

However, it was resolved in a fairly realistic way. Marquis de la Tour and André don’t immediately reconcile just because they’re father and son but André calls off his revenge quest, grants the Marquis a safe passage out of the country and doesn’t want to see him again, which is understandable considering their prior enmity.

On that note, let’s take a closer look at the characters.

4. The Characters

Right off the bat, the biggest issue the modern readers might have is that the characters are too “black and white”. In the era of “grey morality” and complex characters, these archetypes might come off as done to death and boring but, other than that, the characters were mostly easy to empathize with.

Personally, I didn’t like André himself in the beginning but he grew on me.

He starts off as a stoic almost to the point of coldness, a cynic and a borderline nihilist who believes fighting against the noble class is futile and there’s no point in trying to improve the country.

But when his idealistic best friend is killed, André vows to take the Marquis down by using the volatile revolutionary climate to his advantage. Slowly, André too becomes a revolutionary and an idealist, which is admittedly rare as usually people in stories become cynical by the end.

Seeing this character ark but played in reverse felt quite refreshing to me so even though at times André’s sarcasm and stoic attitude made him insufferable, I think he is pretty well-written and fleshed out as a protagonist.

Next is Aline, and unfortunately she is underdeveloped in the novel, more so than a female lead should be. She is ambitious, which makes her consider marrying the Marquis, prejudiced against actors due to her upbringing and in general is a typical noble ingenue.

Her and André are playfully witty at times and verbally cruel to each other at others and, unfortunately, they suffer from the “misunderstanding” trope which makes them unable to talk things out. I always find this trope annoying and, coupled with prejudice and not being fleshed out enough, it played into my apathy for Aline as a character.

Then there’s Marquis de la Tour, the typical privileged corrupt noble. He loves women, is a master of fencing and has no heart. André even calls him the embodiment of sin various times.

I know despicable people can and do exist, but here it seemed like he was made a bit too evil, to the point of being simply cartoonish and hard to perceive as a threat or, for that matter, take seriously.

At least he wasn’t threatening for me personally as a character and was more amusing than anything else.

Interestingly enough, historical figures don’t feature much in the story but we do get cameos of Marat, Danton, Robespierre and Desmoulins, as well as Mirabeau.

Mirabeau is called a hypocrite by the author but the other four, surprisingly, aren’t portrayed as evil villains. Marat is even called a philanthropist and his pamphlets inspire André! How rare is that, Citizens?!

Anyway, let’s continue.

5. The Setting

Although at times the text is overloaded with descriptions, all of them were vivid enough for me to imagine myself in the story with the characters.

Sabatini sure knows how to convey the images of villages, cities, nature, inns, etc in an exciting and engaging manner. I just wish that the descriptions were a bit shorter.

6. The Writing Style

Seeing as the novel was published in 1921 and I’m pretty good at English, I didn’t have many problems with reading but there were some outdated grammatical structures and vocabulary so be prepared.

Besides, in the version I read didn’t have translations of French and Latin phrases that occasionally pop up in the text, which was a bit annoying but not that much as I could understand the context of the phrases and therefore figure out what they mean more or less.

In general though, despite occasional overload of descriptions and the aforementioned grievances I have with the text, the writing style is engaging, very easy to understand and not too complex.

7. The Conclusion

In short, I can definitely recommend this novel to anyone who loves good swashbuckling stories and hates propaganda. Not the most original story but enjoyable and a good read regardless.

With that, I announce the end of the meeting. Stay tuned for updates and stay safe, Citizens!

Love,

- Citizen Green Pixel

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 7 ~All In A Day's Work~

WARNING: MILD SEXUAL CONTENT

Previously in  A Wrinkle of Time

"You have my blessings. Conditions are, there should be once a week phone-calls. Video or facetime ones or whatever you call it. And when I'm on British soil ..."

Jamie suddenly straightened up on his seat. "We'll visit, or ye can come and stay with us." 

Quentin shot up on his feet. "Very well then, welcome to the family, Fraser. Go and get your dinner ...you wouldn't want your wife ..." he coughed, his face turning red. "...I mean your girlfriend reheating what she's just lovingly made."

Jamie got up as well, ready to shut the laptop, relief and confusion at the sudden turn around washing over him in waves.  What the fuck just happened?  Too bewildered for words, "Of course," was all he could muster. 

Quentin hesitated, as if in search of the right words, his throat working overtime. When he finally spoke, Jamie couldn't help but hear the emotion in the older man's voice. "If Claire's father was alive today, he would think his daughter has made a fine choice."

His jaw dropped involuntarily. "He would?" 

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

   Claire sat at her desk in her newly built writing studio, contemplating what to do about Thomas Christie next. For the past couple of days, she'd attempted to reach the elusive blogger by all means of communication: phone calls, email, comments on his posts and private messages in his Instagram and blog account. But her efforts, to her frustration, were to no avail. She'd even asked around the village for information on his whereabouts, but each answer led to nowhere. Though he had a resident address, it's quite apparent he wasn’t in. She'd thought of asking Jamie for help but decided not to. It was her project, and she's determined she would accomplish it with her own research skills.

Sighing, she leaned back against her seat and stared at the ceiling. Her boss, John, was counting on her to convince Christie to publish with Dreamweaver Publishing, and so far, she had nothing to show. Looking out the window facing the open fields, her gaze settled on the tractor bumpily navigating a small ragged lane, the rumbling of the engine soundless. She smiled. True to his words, Jamie had more than adequately soundproofed her workspace, shutting out any distracting noise. But with no sign of life from Christie, her work had been brought to a standstill.

Ah, hell! Claire glanced at the time. It was already mid-morning, and she'd been sat there staring blankly at Christie's blog all morning. What to do, what to do? She switched tabs on her browser and looked at his Instagram account, and realised he'd just posted a photo circa a minute ago. She decided to strike while he was online and send a message. Go for it, Beauchamp! With huge calming breaths, she rolled her shoulders and began to type, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

Hello Mr Thomas Christie. My name is Claire Beauchamp from Dreamweaver Publishing Company, London. I have been trying to reach you for the last couple of days to offer you a proposal that may be of interest to you. Some time ago, we came across your blog, and after having read through the content, we've come to realise it has an enormous potential to become the ultimate guidebook to the Scottish Highlands in print. Your knowledge, passion, and enthusiasm for Scotland and your keen eye for photography have captured the public interest, our company and myself included. We'd love to assist you in reaching your highest potential and expanding an even broader following should you be interested in authoring a book. I will be in Broch Mordha for the next few days if you wish to speak to me in person, and I will be more than delighted to explain the details. Any feedback you can give me at this point would be highly appreciated. Best regards, Claire.

Thinking Christie would appreciate the option, she included her phone number and her professional email address and then clicked send. After going over her message, she randomly liked his posts and commented on a recent photo for good measure, hoping it would be enough to get his attention. Oh, please answer this time!

Satisfied for now she'd done everything she could, she decided to make a coffee. She was just about to get up when her phone rang, making her jump in the process. Oh, sweet Mother of God! She must be more on edge than she thought. Clearing her throat, she gingerly tapped the answer button on her screen.

"Hello?" she squeaked. Damn it! I sound weird. 

"Miss Beauchamp?" a deep, heavily accented voice answered. "Thomas Christie here."

"Mr Christie! You called!"

"Please, call me Tom. I'm no' much for convention and formalities. May I call ye Claire? If that's alright."

"Of course," she smiled, regaining back some semblance of composure. She'd already prepared a presentation in her head, but looking back now, it sounded like a pitch from a realtor selling a million-pound property. She reminded herself, Thomas Christie was a nature buff and liked to live an uncomplicated life, if not minimally, when travelling around Scotland in his restored Westfalia Volkswagen Camper. If she'd learned anything from his posts, it was that he wouldn't be easily persuaded with a promise of fame and monetary gain. There's no option but to start improvising.

"I heard a pretty lass was looking for me," he drawled with a hint of amusement in his voice. "I was informed ye were asking around. At first, I thought ye might have been from the council trying to get hold of me because of my unpaid council taxes. If that had been the case, I would have made an exception and come and paid my dues after seeing the photo my mate has taken of ye. Shame it wasn't a better close-up."

"Photo?"

"Aye, photo. My mate took it when ye werenae looking and sent it to me. Ye are bonnie, I must admit."

"Oh!" Holy, is he flirting? Claire wouldn't be surprised. This man's charms had drawn quite a lot of female fans to his site, and it was apparent that he's attempting to weave it on her. He probably thrived in his devotees' admiration, making him aware of his own appeal. This kind of cocksure behaviour wasn't a novelty, so she ignored the teasing but attempted to maintain a fairly laidback attitude. "Well, as you can see, I'm not from the council. And if I were, I wouldn't be making a noise about it now, would I?"

He laughed out loud. "You're right. So, what can I do for ye, Claire?"

"Have you read my message?"

"I have," he said quietly. "But I want to hear from ye why ye think my blog would be good enough to be published."

"Well, as I said, your passion and enthusiasm for Scotland are very apparent in your writing. Your words are ... how shall I say it, so visceral. But I'm not going to lie, though. We would need to make a lot of adjustments before we could present it to the mass. A bit of tweaking here and there and ..."

"Tweaking? I thought ye liked my work as it is?"

"Oh, I do," she said hurriedly. "You misunderstood. We wouldn't want to take the essence out of your writing. It's just a process every book has to go through before it's published. Like polishing your sentences, making them smooth and clear, ensuring that they don't have unnecessary phrases and repetition. And of course, there's the design and typesetting ...oh, well, that's for much later on. It's all standard drill in the publishing process."

"I see ..."

When a long silence lapsed, she checked her phone screen to make sure they were still connected.

"Tom?"

"Aye, I'm still here." He took a huge deep breath. "And what's yer role in this, Claire?" 

"I'm the editorial assistant for Dreamweaver, and I'm here to make this proposal and answer all your questions."

"Right ...Weel, ye see, this is my concern. I'm an avid book reader, and while I'm pleased with all the attention my online journal is getting, I highly doubt that my writing would make it among the best selling list, let alone would anyone, for that matter, be too giddy with excitement to buy it. So what's all the fuss?"

The ambiguity in his voice wasn't lost on her. He may be this self-assured, nature-loving, nonconformist bloke as he'd portrayed on his online travel journal. But clearly, some of that attitude needed to rub off on his self-belief for his art.

"Oh, but that's where you're mistaken," she reassured. "My boss, John Grey, is totally sold with the idea of your adventure stories around Scotland, and he thinks with the proper structural development, design and marketing, it would be a hit. Especially with your fans. The concept is refreshing, and it would be different from any travel guides out there. And besides, it would be an excellent boost for Scottish tourism."

He made some muffled noise and then cleared his throat. "What about ye?"

"What about me?"

"Are ye sold on the idea of my blog?"

Part of John's faith in this book's promising prospect clung to Tom's admirable physical qualities. But for her, that wasn't the main selling point.

She straightened up from her seat and leaned over her laptop. With a flick of her wrist, she brought her computer to life and right there on the screen was his Instagram account. She remembered John's words, Sell him the dream! But she didn't need reminding. Tom may not be the most proficient writer, but his contents were great, especially the picturesque panorama photos. She read a few snippets of his post and smiled.

"Tom ...this opportunity Dreamweaver is offering you would be great exposure for your travel journal. By publishing it in print, you'll be able to reach a broader audience. Your knowledge of this wonderful place is beyond incredible from flora to fauna, the lands' history, the weather phenomenon that can only be termed as typically Scottish ...the whole package is simply amazing. Your passion and enthusiasm for this place make me want to go on that adventure you so love …" She inhaled deeply, searching for the right words. "And I know deep in my guts your future readers would feel the same way. And that's what a great travel book should do, great adventure stories that inspire readers and challenge them to step outside the comfort zone ...even for a little while. This is the kind of book that could encourage people to explore, make them realise that escape from the daily drudgery doesn't mean expensive trips halfway around the world, and that adventure can be found in one's own backyard or a few miles trip down the road. I say you should share this with the world. And to answer your question ...yes, I'm totally sold."

She was out of breath by the time she finished, so she leaned back on her seat and crossed her fingers, hoping for a positive outcome. It was all now down to Tom. She didn't want to push, but the longer the silence between them went on, the more she felt like she was forcing him into a snap decision.

Ah, hell! "Look, Tom, there's no need to decide right now. You have my number. Why don't you think about it for now and call me up when you've made a decision. How about that?"

"I have a better idea. How about we discuss this further in person before I decide? Let's say ...over a dinner date?" he suggested in a low voice.

The word date resounded loudly in her ear. Oh, dear, God!

She needed to play this right without making it look like she was turning him down. Hoping for the best, she laughed nervously. "Of course, it only seems fair to meet first in person before you decide." She swallowed hard and squeezed her eye shut. "But I would hardly call it a date. We can meet at the Inn's pub in the village square and professionally discuss everything over lunch if that's alright. And just to be clear, I already have a boyfriend." 

"Ah, damn!"

She flinched. "Oh, dear!"

He laughed. "Relaxed, Claire. I get it. Ye're taken, and I'm no' surprised. But ye cannae blame a lad for trying, could ye?"

"N-no, of course not ..."

"So business lunch it is then. I'm away for a few more days, so ye have to wait a bit more. I'll give ye a ring when I get back. How's that?"

Yess! She made an effort not to sound too relieved. "That's perfect, Tom! I'll see ye in a few days!"

"Great!" Then the line went dead. 

She let out a massive sigh of relief. So damn close! Feeling elated at the outcome of their conversation, she shot to her feet and did a happy dance. She couldn't wait to call John and tell him everything. If she did her work well and laid out all the finer details of the publishing process and projected outcome, she knew Tom wouldn't be able to turn down the proposal. Invigorated, she immediately went back to work and began typing her outline. Ah, life is good!

..........

Jamie killed the chainsaw engine and pulled down his safety goggles when he caught sight of Jenny's car approaching. He had a bird's eye view of the driveway from the tree and could see everyone's coming and going. What the bloody hell is she doing here? She didn't usually come to job sites; nevertheless, he decided to come down since it was nearly lunch break. Wondering why her visit couldn't wait until work was done for the day, he gripped on to his harness and made a slow descent.

His sister got out of the car, stopping to greet some of the workers and subtly launching glares at him. Alertness immediately snapped in Jamie's shoulders as he realised something was up. 

He dropped to the ground, his work boots landing on a combination of mulch and wood chips debris. As he laid down his chainsaw, he watched his sister approach and noticed the forced smile she had for the workers a few seconds ago, waning from her face. He braced himself as he waited for her to say something, unease slithering like a snake up his spine. This was definitely not a friendly visit.

"What's this I hear, ye havenae been attending therapy?" she hissed. "Have ye gone, daft?"

He glanced above Jenny's head to see if anyone was watching them before glowering down at her. "For fuck sake, Jen, ye're no' my ma," he said in a low voice. "Whatever's about to spew out of yer mouth, this is no' the time nor the place for this."

"Ach aye? Wait till ma hears about ye missing yer therapy!"

"Oh, what's this? We're back in primary school or what? Rushing off to ma to tell her everything. Why cannae ye give ma and me a break, eh?"

"The therapy is for yer own good!"

"I'm fine, Jen! I told ye that many times! What part of 'I'm fine' cannae ye understand?"

"Ye've been telling everyone that all yer life. Everything's fine ... I'm fine ... dinnae fash," she mimicked his voice, her face scrunching up. "Ye say that all the time even when, in actual fact, most of the time ye werenae. So why do ye suppose I dinnae believe ye?"

Jamie looked up at the sky and let out a massive breath. "Aye, there's truth to what ye say. But this time ...I swear, I've never felt better."

"Bloody hell! All this time, I thought ye've been attending therapy. I wouldnae have known if Geneva hadnae asked after ye."

"Weel, if ye'd asked, I would've told ye!"

"No, you wouldnae. And that's always been yer problem."

Christ, why can't she just shut up? He glanced up and noticed his men were looking towards them now. He tugged at the neck of his shirt and winded his head. "Jenny, stop! I cannae do this right now."

His sister stepped forward and was right at his face. "Ye think I'm telling ye off for fun? Weel, here's the news. Everyone wants the best for ye, but ye dinnae care, do ye? Ye're acting like one selfish prick!"

"Jenny ..." he warned, feeling hot and cold all at once.

"No, dinnae Jenny me ..."

"Jenny, shut up! I cannae ..."

"Ye could've at least had Geneva assessed ye. Is that too much to ask?"

Jamie shut his eyes. When he opened them again, he realised Jenny's voice had become distorted, and the grating sound of the stump grinder and helicopter whirring above his head grew more punctuated. Without a hint of warning, a bomb suddenly detonated inside Jamie, and his world began to move in slow motion. Seeing nothing but red, he was only vaguely aware that his angry bellow brought everyone in the vicinity to a standstill.

"What the fuck, Jamie!"

Jamie came to his senses when an arm landed across his chest. He realised Willie was standing between him and Jenny. He glanced at his sister, and her expression caused something inside of him to still. He looked down and saw his fists were two rocks, shaking as if prepared to do some severe damage. Oh, God!

"Jenny ...Willie ..." Jamie whispered. "I ...ah ..."

Hands curled up under her chin, Jenny's eyes were as big as saucers, and she looked terrified. Of me? His heart nosedived to his boots so swiftly, he wondered how he remained upright. The fury evaporated in an instant, and all that remained was shame. He'd felt that kind of guilt before but never with enough punch to knock the air out of his lungs. For crying out loud, this is my sister. What was I thinking?

"Jen ..." He attempted to reach out to his sister, but Willie's arm restrained him. Realising the cause of his older brother's concern, he forced his fists to unfold, aware of Willie watching closely. "I'm so sorry. Oh, Christ, I wasnae gonnae hurt ye," he rasped. "I could never lift a hand to ye. Ye must know that."

He swallowed a lump when Willie appeared reluctant to let him go. But Jenny patted their brother's arm, nodding to let them know she was alright. When Willie took a cautious step back, Jamie immediately gathered his sister into his arms and cradled her against his chest.

"Jen ...forgive me. I didnae mean to shout," he said thickly. "Ye ken I wouldnae physically hurt ye, aye? For Christ sake, ye're my sister, and I love ye. Ye looked so frightened. I couldnae bear the way ye looked at me ..."

"Jamie ...I wasnae scared of ye ..." Jenny whispered. "I was scared for ye."

He pulled slightly away and searched her face. "What do ye mean?"

"Even though ye've been to war, I ken ye dinnae like fighting and violence. Ye abhorred it. I was scared ye might do something ye might regret and make yer condition worse. I dinnae want that for ye."

Jamie stared down at her. "Jenny ..."

"Look, Jamie. It was my fault. I shouldnae have pushed knowing yer condition, and ye ken what my temper is like when it gets out of control. It's like ..."

"Like mine ..." Jamie finished off for her. Drawing her once more into his embrace, they stood like that for a while. Soothing, apologising and hushing each other.

Willie stared at them and shook his head in disbelief, mumbling a sequence of profanities. It wasn't the first time he'd seen their outburst with such intensity. But it was probably the first time Jamie had seemed out of control. Reassured that peace had been restored, for the time being, Willie spun around and left them alone. Exercising his authority at their workers, the older Fraser barked warnings that gossip coming from their workplace would not be tolerated and anyone found guilty would be subjected to an immediate suspension. And with that, he stomped off, leaving them all to stare at his disappearing form in shock.

..........

"There ye are," a deep voice mused.

Claire jumped, making her slam the fridge door and Adso bolt out of the kitchen. She took a deep breath before turning around. 

"Jamie! You're home early. I was just about to prepare dinner."

"Willie didn't need me for the rest of the afternoon, so he sent me home early." His chest was bare and heaving and glistening with sweat. He must have taken off his top as he came in. "I ran all the way from work. I think I may have far too much energy," he explained, slowly approaching her. His hand reached out and placed it behind her neck, and drew her in for a slow wet kiss, knocking the air out of her lungs. His other hand slid under her sweatshirt and squeezed her breast. "Tell me, what am I suppose to do about it, Sassenach."

She pulled away from him and scrunched up her nose. "Jamie! You're dirty."

"And here I thought ye like me dirty." There was no amusement in his tone, and his bunched jaw told her he was on edge or maybe stressed? 

"Why don't you take a shower while I make us something to eat, or better still, how about a bath to help you relax? I'll even bring you a beer," she suggested, feeling a tad concern as she eyed him questioningly.

"How about ye come and have a shower with me," he wheedled, tugging her closer. 

She drew away and took a step back. "Jamie, I've just had one, and I'm all clean." 

"No' a problem. I can get ye dirty in no time." Jamie hauled her into his arms as she tried to dodge. Squealing, she slapped his chest. Once more, his hands wandered, causing a tingling sensation to coast all over her body. "There we go, ye're as dirty as me now." Pressing himself against her, he inhaled her hair as his breath came faster, fingers twisting in the hem of her top. "Ye definitely need a shower now." he gritted.

Laughing, she peered up at his face, and what she saw made her do a double-take and swiped the smile off her lips in an instant. Oh, sweet Mother of God, he looks worse for wear. Something must have happened at work. Didn't he say Willie sent him home? Looking closely, she noticed he looked weighed down with need, and it wasn't just the sexual kind. It was something more and urgent. He'd had almost the same look the other night when he woke up from a fitful sleep, but she hadn't pushed to find out. His hands were all over her now, frantic and desperate like he was trying to grasp onto something to anchor himself, his breathing becoming more shallow and harsh, and his eyes beginning to glaze.

"Jamie stop! Stop right this second."

He immediately stilled and loosened his grip, shame marring his face. "Ach Christ, Sassenach, did I hurt ye? I did, didn't I? Tell me! Oh, dear God ..."

He was about to turn away, but with her hands, she forced his pained face to look at her, a moan barely subdued in his throat. She could already read what was going on through his head. No way would she stand by and let him take any blame, feel shame or guilt. Not this time. And not anymore. He'd made mistakes like everyone else and would continue to make them, but he needed to believe he was a good soul. This had to stop now. "Look at me, James Fraser," she demanded in a firm voice. "Look at me! Whatever is going through that damn mind of yours, don't you even bloody dare entertain it. Are you listening to me?"

"Sassenach ..."

"No, Jamie! I don't know what happened to you today, but let me tell you this ...shit happens all the time, alright? And sometimes we don't get to have any control over it. That's just the way it is. Tonight we're going to talk, even if it takes the whole bloomin' night. But first ..." Before she could change her mind, she stepped away from him and yanked off her top and pulled her leggings down. When she was fully naked, she took his hand and laid it on her bare breast. "Take whatever you need, Jamie."

He baulked. "Sassenach ...ye shouldnae want this in my state. It's wrong. I-I was too rough. I could have hurt ye." His voice sounded hollow and agonised. 

"But you didn't."

He palmed her breast. "Christ, do I have a shred of decency left?"

"Do you love me?" she asked, undoing his jeans button. She saw he was already highly aroused and his skin covered in goosebump.

"With all of me," he groaned when she pulled down his zipper. "And ye ken that."

Determination licking through her veins, she stood on her tiptoes and spoke into his ear, her hand sliding inside his jeans to caress the ridge of his hardness. "If that's the case, what we're about to do is not wrong."

A voice raced through her consciousness, telling her this was the way forward. She knew he needed his control back before he would be able to speak to her. So she got down on her knees and pulled his pants down. 

When he wrapped her hair in his fist and tilted her head back, she smiled. "Now, let's get dirty and exorcise those pesky brain chatter, shall we?" Before he could reply, she took him full in her mouth and worshipped him with her love, absorbing every frustrated growl that ripped from his throat and every emotion that poured out of him with every roll of his hips. 

She pushed him to the edge and over until he found his release, and his loud cries echoed in the air. When he shattered around her, his body slumped onto the floor and into her arms.

Claire knew they had a long night ahead of them, so she cradled him, waiting patiently for his breathing to calm. Later after she bathed him, they would talk, but for now, she was contented just to hold him a little while longer, as she wondered how many of Jamie's demons she would have to slay tonight and if love would be enough to conquer his hell.

Dear Readers,

Thank you all for your feedback from the previous chapter. I know it was a bit deep and dark, but I really did want to do Jamie's condition justice, and I must admit, I probably got carried away putting so much emphasis into it. But that's just me, I guess.

And as for the latest instalment,  I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think.  I must admit it is moving a bit slow, but it's a necessary move to pull this story together as I cover loopholes and grounds. One day, you'll understand the logic behind it.😀 So have patience, my friends - all in good time. Stay safe for now and take care until next time. X

[joezworld]

What is the status of vehicle rights in places like China or Russia, with rather patchy (at best) human rights records? What was it like in the USSR, Nazi Germany, or the Empire of Japan? And did Mussolini ever get his locomotives to run completely on time?

Strangely enough, it was a lot better in those countries for at least a while. 

To start, check out this post that goes into a little detail.

So, this post is going to not mention the United States or Canada - I’ve done posts on them before. 

Interestingly, three of the greatest proponents of locomotive rights in Europe came from people with some of the worst human rights records in modern history: Hitler, Stalin, and King Leopold II.

Belgium has a long history of locomotive rights, stretching back to within 20 years of the introduction of the railway in the country. During the first days of the reign of Leopold II, the king declared that locomotives and other railway equipment were to be considered “on the same level as any Belgian citizen”. Official government histories say that this was because of the king’s desire not allow slavery to happen on Belgian soil, but the existence of the very inappropriately named Congo Free State puts this answer in a very bad light. The generally accepted unofficial answer is much, much funnier - Leopold II was born after the first railways were laid in the country, and as the future king, he was kept well appraised of any new technologies in the country. He also had many, many, many, mistresses. In case you can’t tell where this is going, it is entirely likely that several of his more private extramarital affairs were with locomotives owned by the Belgian state rail company. Locomotives were at the time viewed as little more than beasts of burden, and while Leopold was more than willing to commit heinous atrocities upon the Africans, he was not about to stand here in his own country and get called an enjoyer of bestiality - so he made locomotives people in order to get ahead of his critics should an affair be made public. This had the interesting side effect of making Belgium one of the more progressive countries in Europe as far as locomotive rights went, and Belgian locomotives were very dedicated citizens often serving in civil and military leadership positions around the country. During the first world war, Belgian locomotives actively resisted the Germans for the entirety of the invasion, and a not-insignificant percentage of German locomotives brought in to manage the chaos were brought over to the Belgian side by promises of citizenship. 

-----------

This did not go unnoticed by other, much worse European leaders such as Adolf Hitler, who understood the value of a functioning rail network as far as war logistics went, and made significant strides in offering French/Dutch/Polish/Russian/Norwegian/Italian/Etc. engines Nazi citizenship if they served the Reich. Unfortunately for Hitler, Nazis are terrible people who lead out fear, and many of the locomotives who did sign up for this did so because they wanted to Not Die, not because they supported the cause. As a result, large portions of the Reichsbahn rolling stock fleet just ran away or defected as soon as the Allies started getting near, causing serious supply issues that hastened the downfall of the German war effort. 

Also, because I know someone is going to ask about it, yes, those trains still ran. Please don’t ask me to elaborate beyond what’s here. 

Because locomotives would see what was going on and objected, the Reichsbahn very quickly began staffing those trains with engines that were True Believers, or (even worse) Jewish engines. (Those usually made one way trips, and it’s just as bad as you might think.)

Following the war, many locomotives who had been cleared of any collaboration charges still possessed their Nazi-Era citizenship, and tried to get them turned into citizenship of their home countries. Most places said no (except Belgium) and were promptly glared at by the American service-engines who were rebuilding their countries from the ground up, and then agreed. 

The impact on European Locomotive Rights by the Americans cannot be understated. Most European governments were totally prepared to resume the status quo if it wasn’t for the Americans rolling around with their US Citizen status on full display. This is also another reason why England is such a laggard in Locomotive Rights - the country was not as heavily destroyed as continental Europe, and was able to rebuild itself without US "interference".

----------------

Stalin also was a firm believer in Locomotive Rights, for many of the same reasons as Hitler was - locomotives have the ability to bring your country to a halt, so you’d better have them on your side. He’d made attempts to make locomotives citizens before the war, but the Soviet efforts really came into their own during the 1950s - Stalin’s purges had removed a lot of humans from existence, and most locomotives at that point had been built by the USSR in the USSR, and therefore had no concept of ��Disloyalty to The State", so they were natural fits for many roles within the Soviet government. At one point in 1982, the USSR’s Ministry of Transport was staffed only by vehicles, with no humans present whatsoever. The total integration of vehicles into the USSR reached its zenith in the late 70s, when new buildings were required to have elevators capable of lifting locomotives and other extremely heavy vehicles to at least the third floor - this requirement has remained even to this day, and most eastern European residential structures have the structural strength of a nuclear bomb shelter as a result. 

It should be pointed out that while the USSR might have treated locomotives well, it was still an authoritarian dystopia, and nothing here is an endorsement for the country or its actions/politics. 

Following the dissolution of the USSR, the hypercapitalist state of the former Eastern Bloc meant that anything and everything was up for sale, including people and machines. One enterprising locomotive used his newfound wealth to create a formidable trade union/gang that covers most of the former USSR to this day. This organization is the primary driver of locomotive rights laws in the former Soviet Bloc, but it should be noted that a lot of the pushback against locomotive rights comes from politicians trying to shut them down specifically. 

---------------

Japan is... weird. Locomotives have been fully adopted into their society for generations, and there was no loss or gain of rights during the Second World War, as they were already in place. Let me explain why:

Due to Japan's Shinto influence, locomotives were considered to be basically human from their inception on the island - the first law specifically related to locomotives in the world was an edict issued by the Emperor in regards to the three locomotives imported by English and European engineers for use on the upcoming Shimbashi-Yokohama railway - they were to be given the same rights as those locomotives built domestically. Since then, most Japanese laws have included locomotives by default, often making no mention of them unless specifically including them because of physical differences. [For example, locomotives are not required to partake in mandatory military service, as their service to the railways is often more valuable, especially during peacetime.] However, while locomotives in the West were free to work as they pleased, even off of the rail network, Japanese trains do so in remarkably smaller numbers, with over 98% of locomotives remaining in railway service until their retirement. Those that do not do so typically enter railway-related fields like locomotive construction, upper management in railway companies, or working in the Japanese Ministry of Transport.

In this sense, locomotives in Japan can be considered to be less free than their western colleagues, as the nation culture of "work until you die" meant that no attempt was made to allow trains to enter human society, forcing them to essentially be segregated from humans when not directly pulling trains, as land is too scarce to use for western-style 'locomotive cities' except in extremely rural areas and Nagasaki*.

*Following the atomic bombing of the city in 1945, Nagasaki was rebuilt by the American occupying forces - many of whom were USRA locomotives. The city’s bombed-out industrial areas were already layered with train tracks, making it easy to create a locomotive sized living area. Hiroshima, which suffered damage to its human-oriented urban core, was not rebuilt with trains in mind.

  As such, locomotives are considered full Japanese citizens, but most Japanese humans have never interacted with them. Exceptions do exist, mostly in rural towns and villages, where a locomotive is usually considered to be the town's 'honored elder', as most locomotives on small branches have lived in the area for many decades, making them the oldest member of the town in many cases. This has lead to many culture clashes in larger cities, where residents may be apathetic to the desires their locomotive neighbors, much to the dismay and shock of a 'country bumpkin' who lives nearby.

Of particular issue to locomotive freedoms are multiple units. Since the 1960s, Japanese railways have put more focus into EMUs/DMUs rather than standard locomotive hauled trains. This has caused even more segregation amongst Japan's rail population, as permanently coupled multiple units cannot access the few existing locomotive/human developments, as they were designed for standalone locomotives. Urban sprawl and high land prices have made enlarging these developments is impossible. To date, the only MU focused 'loco-city' (other than one-track sheds in rural farming communities) is in the Fukushima Daiichi exclusion area. However, as the line accessing it is in the traditional Japanese 3'6" gauge, the community remains inaccessible to the 4'8.5" gauge Shinkansen trains, many of whom are almost totally isolated from anyone else - despite living in Japan's largest cities - as a result of their loading gauge restrictions.  

Similar social isolation occurs to ships and aircraft, but as they are able to receive emotional support from friends and relatives across the planet, they do not suffer from this isolation nearly as much. 

-------

At no point in Italian history has anyone been able to make the right decision in regards to locomotive rights. This is not to say that Locomotive rights (and vehicular rights in general) don’t exist in Italy - they do, rather thoroughly - but rather, the Italians have never once done so intentionally, instead implementing locomotive rights by having multiple laws, written on multiple occasions over multiple decades, that are so badly written that a train could and likely was driven through the loopholes that exist in them! 

[gods-no-longer-tread-here]

Settle

pairing: Lambert/Eskel rating: G characters: Eskel, Lambert, Geralt warnings: none, just fluff.

Summer had always been awful. Too hot. Too sticky. Too much pollen. Too many monsters multiplying like mad. Too many idiot humans who let the heat go to their heads.

Not enough time with Lambert.

Eskel scowled as he made a quick sketch of the coat variation he’d noticed on the elk the villagers had insisted was a fiend. The variation was similar to a fiend’s, but the elk seemed to be just that. At least, on the outside it did. Eskel put his notebook aside, knelt beside the animal’s head (removed from the body of course, and prised open its jaw to inspect its teeth. Oh, Geralt would have a field day making an entry on this creature.

The wind changed direction, and Eskel immediately sat up. Two very familiar scents were approaching. He grinned, and cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify a low howl; the sound was a perfect replica of the howl of a long-extinct creature that was remembered from before the Conjunction. The length of Witcher lives made sure that each generation knew exactly what sound to make.

Two howls answered him: one deep and rough, obviously Geralt; one higher pitched and much louder, a call that made Eskel’s skin prickle, because there was no denying that it was Lambert.

The sound of flora crashing with hurried steps was even more welcome than the howls. He couldn’t stop himself from scrambling to his feet and running into the woods, towards the scent of the others.

The moment the three of them were in sight of each other, Lambert whooped with glee and broke into a sprint. Eskel laughed as Lambert jumped and wrapped all four limbs around him. It was so good to hold his lamb once more. He pressed his face into Lambert’s collarbone and drank in his scent greedily.

Geralt slammed into them, and down the three Witchers went, snarling and snapping and wrestling and hugging. Eskel apparently wasn’t the only one who hated being without the others.

They were all too breathless from their greetings to talk, but Eskel led them to the dead elk, and gestured for Geralt to have a look. The other’s face brightened again, and he immediately went to the animal.

Lambert wrapped his arms around Eskel again, pressing against him until it felt like their hearts were one instead of two. Eskel returned the embrace and whispered, “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Lambert mumbled into his shoulder.

“Eskel, can I see your sketches of this thing?” Geralt asked, and Eskel and Lambert shared a grin. Of course Geralt would prefer to jump right to his favorite topic instead of saying hello. Not that either of his brothers minded.

So Eskel fetched his notebook, and Geralt copied his initial sketch, and then did a meticulously thorough inspection, muttering to himself and occasionally calling out observations for the others to write down in their own notes. The teeth, as Eskel had noted before being distracted, were not typical of a normal elk. The incisors were sharper than necessary, and the molars and jawbones were heavy enough to crush bone. Geralt almost skinned the head to inspect the tendons and muscles, but Eskel reminded him gently that he had to get his reward first, and Geralt sighed but put down his knife.

The shape of the elk’s antlers were a normal enough pattern, but the base of each was wider and thicker than they had any right to be, and the skull itself was wide, with eyesockets that were more consistent with fiends. The hooves had edges keen enough to slice a Witcher’s callous. Geralt ground his teeth, huffed in annoyance, and moved on to catalogue the muscle structures of the legs.

Lambert got bored, predictively enough, and decided to curl up in Eskel’s lap and press tiny, soft kisses against his neck and jaw. Eskel turned his head and kissed Lambert’s nose, chuckling as the other growled in protest.

After almost an hour, Geralt remembered this was a paid hunt, and sheepishly offered to give Eskel some of his own money, in case he was refused; Eskel shook his head and said, “I’ll be fine. You can skin the body, if you want to keep studying it; I just need the head.”

“Do you need backup?” Lambert asked, far too casually. Eskel wanted to kiss him.

“No, it’s alright. Won’t be long.”

~

It was midnight and Geralt was still making notes.

Lambert was dozing in Eskel’s lap, face tucked into the crook of his neck. Eskel was leaning back on a tree, his cheek resting on Lambert’s head. The temperature had dropped, finally, so it wasn’t awful to touch another body; the horses were asleep nearby, Roach dreaming about running judging by her twitching legs.

Eskel sighed and called softly, “Geralt, how much longer are you going to fuss?”

Geralt looked up from turning the elk’s heart over in his hands and said, “I don’t know. This thing is fascinating. It’s like a fiend bred with an elk… definitely not a male fiend and female elk, she probably would’ve died giving birth. Which meant there’s a female fiend who willingly stood for a male not of her species, and a male elk who couldn’t tell she was a fiend. If this creature is fertile, it could’ve had several children, thus spreading the breed…” Geralt frowned at the heart in his hands. “Maybe that’s a way to save the populations,” he murmured. “The elk are being killed off faster than ever before, because with less monsters, that means humans can hunt them with less fear. The fiends are dying out because, with their gene pool so small, they’re not getting enough of a variety. So… if they interbreed, they can diversify. Just imagine that, Eskel: creatures with survival traits from both species, becoming more adapted to humans and Witchers. Wouldn’t that be interesting?”

Eskel smiled to see his brother so excited and beaming. Of course Geralt wanted fiends to continue existing. He was always so passionate about how monsters were just animals, and if sentient beings would just stop invading their territories, there would be less need to exterminate them. Vesemir said he was ridiculous, Lambert called him stupid, but Eskel knew exactly where he was coming from.

Monsters are natural parts of the Continent’s ecosystem. Witchers are often called monsters. If those two facts were connected, then that meant Witchers were part of the ecosystem, and therefore important and deserved to continue living. It was comforting to remember that Witchers were not invasive freaks.

And Geralt had always preferred learning over killing. When they were younger, Geralt would get so excited to encounter a new monster that he would spend days observing it before he killed it. It was just who he was, and it was perfectly fine. One might say it was only human.

“I wouldn’t find it interesting,” Eskel answered Geralt’s question. “I’m not as passionate as you about animals. I’m glad you’re happy with it, though.”

Geralt grinned wider, flushed with happiness, and got right back to digging into the elk’s corpse.

Lambert squirmed a little, recalling the eldest Witcher’s attention. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” he mumbled, pouting. It looked ridiculous. Eskel smiled and kissed his lips gently, and the pout melted away.

“Of course,” Eskel murmured. “I missed you.”

Lambert hummed smugly and lifted his hand to press it against the hollow of Eskel’s throat, feeling his heartbeat. “I missed you too, dumbass. You make this shit worth it.”

Summer was always awful. But, sometimes, on nights when the three of them converged and spent time together, Eskel didn’t mind so much.

[sciencespies]

How the Pandemic Changed Scientific Exploration

https://sciencespies.com/nature/how-the-pandemic-changed-scientific-exploration/

How the Pandemic Changed Scientific Exploration

Smithsonian Voices National Museum of Natural History

How the Pandemic Changed Scientific Exploration

March 11th, 2021, 6:00AM / BY

Emily Leclerc

Sylvester Musembi Musyoka, a Kenyan colleague and field crew leader, recording a large mammal fossil bone during a virtual field project to collect fossils in Kenyan excavation sites that were in danger of being damaged by severe weather. (Nzioki Mativo/Smithsonian)

When the World Health Organization declared COVID-19 a pandemic one year ago, it brought much of the world to a halt. Countries closed their borders, international flights stopped and people worldwide were told to stay home as much as possible. But not even a global pandemic could stop scientific advancement. Scientists near and far quickly adapted their research and fieldwork projects to follow the new health guidelines and keep everyone involved safe. Here is how seven of the National Museum of Natural History’s scientists continued to discover the secrets of the natural world safely during the pandemic.

Tuning in to past volcanic eruptions

The 1944 eruption of Mt. Vesuvius was its most recent. It is still considered an active volcano. (US National Archives)

In the early afternoon of March 22, 1944, Italy’s Mount Vesuvius erupted. Ash blanketed the surrounding area and lava flows decimated several nearby villages.

Ben Andrews, a geologist and director of the Global Volcanism Program, has been studying past ash plumes to improve forecasting and mitigation efforts for future volcanic eruptions. Unable to conduct fieldwork in person, Andrews and Allie Coonin, an intern at the museum and a student at Brown University, used digitized 35mm film footage collected by the U.S. Navy to study Mt. Vesuvius’ 1944 ash plume instead. The footage helped them make some of the first ever measurements of 3D air entrainment into a volcanic ash plume. These measurements will help Andrews determine whether future ash plumes will rise into the atmosphere, where they can disrupt air traffic and cause planes to crash, or collapse into flows of hot gas and volcanic matter that destroy everything in their path.

Phone a fossil excavation

A 615,000-year-old molar tooth from a fossilized pig, Kolpochoerus majus, found at an excavation site in Kenya. The tooth is dated around the time that the species went extinct. (Nzioki Mativo/Smithsonian)

Rick Potts, a paleoanthropologist and the director of the Smithsonian’s Human Origins Program, has been leading expeditions to Kenya for 36 years in hopes of further unraveling the story of how humans evolved. But when the pandemic hit, traveling to Kenya became impossible.

The travel ban was problematic because two of his excavation sites were in danger of being damaged by heavy rains. So, in August of 2020, Potts lead a virtual field project to collect fossils and stone artifacts that were at risk. Luckily, the team found that the fossil sites were in good condition. For seven days, Potts helped guide his Kenyan colleagues from afar through phone and video as they collected fossils that will help him and other scientists better understand our origins story.

This week’s Zoom guests are 2,000-year-old birds

When there isn’t a pandemic, Helen James excavates bird fossils on Mokapu Peninsula on Oahu to learn more about the evolution of island avian biodiversity. (United States Marine Corps)

Last year, when Helen James — a research zoologist and curator of birds at the museum — clicked into a Zoom call with her collaborators at the Bishop Museum in Hawaii, she wasn’t looking to chat about the events of the day or listen to a presentation. She was looking for bird bones.

James has been excavating fossilized birds in Hawaii to better understand the evolution of island avian biodiversity. The pandemic meant that James could not travel to Hawaii herself but the fossils still needed to be collected. The site where she collects fossils is being eroded by wind, rain and the sea. As the site erodes, bones are exposed and could be damaged by the elements if left in place. Luckily, her collaborators in Hawaii were able to make trips to the site for the fossils. They would then hold up every bone they had found over Zoom for James to look at. She preliminarily identified all of the collected fossils and will wait to further investigate the bones until it is safe to travel again.

A cherry for your thoughts on internet DNA

The Prunus genus contains many economically important species, but very little has been done to understand how these species are related. (Pixabay)

There are hundreds of millions of DNA samples stored in online repositories. And yet, in experiments, DNA stored online is usually considered secondary to samples collected in the field — until now.

Richard Hodel, a Peter Buck Fellow in the museum’s botany department, was planning to collect tissue samples from plants in the genus Prunus — which includes cherries, peaches, apricots and almonds — when his plans were curtailed by COVID-19. Needing an alternative way to study the evolutionary relationships between Prunus species, Hodel turned to online DNA repositories. Leveraging hundreds of millions of digital DNA sequences, Hodel made an evolutionary tree showing how major groups within Prunus are related. While DNA samples collected directly from the source will always be important, the pandemic reinforced the value of online repositories.

Finding fossils with Google Earth

Wyoming’s Bighorn Basin is famous for its beautiful badlands and its abundance of fossils. Paleobotanist Scott Wing identified this area as potentially having fossils using satellite images. (Scott Wing)

When COVID-19 shut down most of the country in March of 2020, Scott Wing, a paleobotanist with the museum, turned to Google Earth to keep himself sane while being stuck at home. For weeks, Wing scoured satellite images of Wyoming’s Bighorn Basin looking for places that might have plant fossils. Finding scores of possible spots and wondering if he was right, Wing got approval from the Smithsonian’s COVID Safety Team to make the 35-hour drive from Washington D.C. to Wyoming and see for himself. After a month camped out in the badlands, Wing realized that more than half of the sites he’d identified with satellite images had fossils. Because of this, he is using Google Earth to plan his next field season.

Sharing coral larvae is caring

When corals spawn, they release massive amounts of sperm and eggs into the water to create as many larvae as possible. (Zachary Foltz/SMS)

Coral larvae spend their first days to weeks swimming near the surface of the water trying not to be eaten. They then sink to the bottom of the ocean where they settle onto a surface to develop into an adult coral. Understanding the process of how coral larvae settle down is important for learning how the larvae become reef-building colonies.

Typically, Smithsonian Marine Station (SMS) scientists travel to Carrie Bow Cay Research Station in Belize to collect coral larvae for experiments aimed at understanding coral settlement. But when COVID-19 struck, it looked like they wouldn’t be able to continue with their experiments. Luckily, the Florida Aquarium, Biscayne National Park, SECORE International and the University of Miami pitched in and gave SMS larvae that they had collected. Their generosity allowed SMS to continue learning why coral larvae decide to settle where they do, an important step in developing more effective coral reef restoration projects.

Gardeners lend a helping hand

Malaise traps, like this one at the United States Botanic Garden, are being used to study insect biodiversity in urban areas. (Nicholas Silverson)

Before the pandemic, Nicholas Silverson, a museum specialist in the museum’s entomology department, would collect weekly samples from their malaise trap, a structure which passively collects insects moving though the Regional Garden at the United States Botanic Garden at the base of Capitol Hill.

Silverson says that field ecologists have been calling 2020 the year of missing data because of COVID-19’s impact on projects, like the trap, that rely on the in-person collection of data. Due to staff restrictions, Silverson and his team — Scott Miller and colleagues at the Barcode of Life Database — could not access the museum and Garden, but were able to rely on the Garden’s skeleton crew to maintain the trap and successfully collect weekly samples.

The data collected contributes to ongoing regional and urban biodiversity surveys that will help scientists around the world learn how insect populations move and live in those environments. With the help of the gardeners, this year’s data will be complete and able to show a more comprehensive picture of insect biodiversity in Washington, D.C. and the region.

Related Stories: Six Videos that Put the Pandemic in Context ‘One Health’ Could Prevent the Next Coronavirus Outbreak Get to Know the Scientist Studying Ancient Pathogens at the Smithsonian

Emily Leclerc is an intern in the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History’s Office of Communications and Public Affairs. Her writing has appeared in Boston University News Service, Wahpeton Daily News and Dana-Farber’s Insight Blog, among others. Emily recently graduated from Boston University with an MS in journalism. She also holds a BA in biology from Roanoke College in Virginia. You can find her at https://emilyleclercportfolio.weebly.com/.

More From This Author »

#Nature

[feelingfolegandros]

Day 1 - Tuesday, October 27 2020

Hello out there,

A friend I met here in Folegandros in September suggested I start a blog over the winter since I decided to stay. So here we are. Why not? Hi Paul! 

For those who aren’t aware (I wasn’t until about 3 months ago), Folegandros is a small island in Greece, part of the Cyclades. I first visited in mid-August and fell in love with it. 

I was initially there for a couple of weeks, then went to meet my friend B.W. in Palermo to celebrate her birthday, then returned for a few weeks in mid-September to early October, went back to Berlin for 2.5 weeks where I’ve been living for the past 5 years to purge myself of the vast majority of my possessions, my apartment, etc and returned just yesterday, technically, although it was very late Monday night. 

Our ferry (I say our because B.W., not just a friend but my best friend, is joining me for the winter) was scheduled to arrive at 00h35 but arrived nearly an hour late. We had left Athens at 14h55. 

To get here, there are a few ferry options which become increasingly sporadic as tourist season dwindles. There are typically two main options that I refer to as the “fast” and “slow” ferries. I don’t feel like explaining them now.

But okay, I guess I will elaborate. The slow ferry is quite slow… It takes just under 10 hours to get to Folegandros from Athens, with four or five stops at other islands on the way. B.W. wasn’t thrilled with the idea but I have resolved to never ever take the fast ferry again because not only is it more expensive, it also tends to be a heck of a lot more nauseating. 

With the “fast” ferry, we’re talking a journey of approximately 4.5 hours on the open sea without being able to get any fresh air for the entire duration. If the wind and therefore the waves are wild, you might vomit. At one point, on a journey from Folegandros to Athens last month, I was sitting on the ground, hunched over my open suitcase, just trying to keep it together. I think this was after I darted to the tiny airplane bathroom-sized facilities where shortly after I started vomitting, a man (I think) in the stall next to me also started vomitting. A beautiful vomit symphony. 

Okay, enough with the ferries, although it is the only way to get to the island, unless you’ve got access to a private boat or helicopter. 

We arrived early Tuesday morning (Day 1) at something like 1:30am, when the boat was scheduled to arrive at 00h35. For the last part of the journey, I went outside to the front of the boat and revelled in each second it crawled along the long North side of the island, peering out at the lights and thinking about my favourite people and places that I would soon return to. Drinking the air and the salt and the darkness and the mystery of the almost-full moon.

My boyfriend Z.X. picked us up from the port in his car. We met at a wedding a few weeks before. More on that later... He drove us to our house, our beautiful rental abode for the winter just outside the island’s main town, Chora. B.W. and I settled into our respective rooms, with Z.X. naturally joining me for the evening in mine.

In the proper morning, after a bit of sleep, we made some breakfast, and later picked up some things we needed for the house. In the afternoon, Z.X. drove us to Agali beach. The taverna was still open, although everything else was closed. I said hello to the man who owns one of the cafés (who by the way, is an extremely talented DJ...therefore his café consistently has the best music on the island) as he diligently cleaned what looked like a drying rack for dishes. When I went for a swim in the sea, I noticed two men dismantling the sign for a hotel… a sign of the times.. The end of the season. Time for winter. 

Definitely cooler than it was in early October, B.W. and I were still thrilled to be able to embrace the sea. We both feel very connected to the beach in general, to nature, to stillness, to relative simplicity in life. We bonded over our love of Greece, among other things, although she has a longer-term relationship with the nation. In fact, B.W. 

spent some of last winter on Santorini, which is very close to Folegandros. She had been quietly manifesting an opportunity to spend four months of this winter in Greece, and here we are. We met online in March at the start of this whole Covid thing and became closer just this summer. We consider each other sisters, basically. Cosmically, karmically bonded whether we like it or not! (We like it!) 

After Agali, after taking our turns walking along the shoreline together, separately…. Dancing, scooping up the sand, lying on my big purple psychedelic beach blanket I bought while in Palermo, laughing, counting our blessings, we headed to Ano Meria to watch the sunset. Ano Meria is the other town on the island. Z.X. lives and works there, and I have a dear friend, a true Folegandriti born and raised on the island, who also lives there with her family. Z.X. took us to a spot, according to him a former lookout point for the Italian army. We went inside the tiny stone structure, now largely filled with hay, and I carefully climbed up a tiny ladder out the window onto a rock. It was sublime. Life here in general is sublime, in my humble opinion. 

We drove back to the house, with Z.X. stopping now and then to speak to locals he recognized. It’s interesting, he’s Greek but not from Folegandros, and only moved here in September. So we’re both new to the island, making our own friends, figuring out our lives here separately and sort of together. After showering we headed into Chora to get something to eat. By this point, I was already verging on hanger (hunger + anger). I opted to take a quick lap around the village to get a few moments of alone time. Z.X. and B.W. settled on Souvlaki Club, one of the few places still open on the island. B.W. has some dietary restrictions, so there were only a couple of things she could eat… And Z.X. somehow forgot them in the order. All was okay in the end, and by the time we had all eaten a bit, we were in better spirits, joking about our first dinner together as a family. At least B.W. and I thought it was funny. One thing I am still wrapping my head around is the fact that it’s completely scandalous for someone (me) to order patates (french fries) with ketchup and mayonnaise.... Z.X. explained that the combination, and the fact that it’s too different sauces makes it unhealthy and a bizarre preference. I still don’t get it, but it’s one charming example of the cultural differences between a Greek man and an Italian-Canadian woman that’s been living in Germany for half a decade. We’re learning to compromise. For example, I opted to only have ketchup with my patates to avoid any scandal that evening at Souvlaki Club. The next morning, Z.X. compromised (with my gentle, playful insistence) by cleaning a few dishes in the morning before he left, instead of just leaving them for me. 

Alright, that’s all for Day 1. Let’s see if I can keep the other days more concise….

P.S. I’m going to use initials for everyone I mention in my posts. They will not be anyone’s real initials to protect the privacy of my friends, loved ones, strangers, etc. 

[fallen029]

Open

"How did you get it?"

"Get what?"

"Your scar."

Mirajane stared at Laxus with the same disappointment he'd stared at so many other women, in moments like this, just like this, where they were at their closest, their most intimate, and he began to have ideas and feelings and thoughts and desires for something more, something concrete, something real, but then they'd brush their finger over his most cliché part, the zigzag that laid across his eye, and question him about it. Ponder. Wonder. Ask. Blatantly. Because they thought they could. Because they were in a relationship, or at least something close, they were close and that meant that they could discuss the sorts of things that one discusses when they're close, but they weren't close.

Someone close to you, who felt so deeply for you, everything beneath the surface and in-between the crevices, would never ask something like that. Because they would know. Without ever lingering on it, ever questioning it, they would just know. Be well aware. Without knowing the truth, they would know better than to ask. Something so personal and tragic and...and…

And he thought they were different.

Because they were different.

She was different, than every other woman that thought that because they could bring him to his knees that he should just surrender every hidden part of himself. He was different, with her, than the closed off, distant and expectant, so expectant and rigid, man that he was with every other woman.

If she'd asked him, if she'd really asked him, straight up and honestly, about how he found himself with a lightning bolt scarring his flesh, he would tell her straight up. Not get huffy or defensive. Not give some bullshit, bogus lie about how he'd done it himself, or had it done, maybe, with the help of Freed and Bickslow, to make himself look cool. No. He'd have told her the truth. Not withdrawn or been ashamed. Been angry or defensive.

Mirajane was different to him, than every other woman before, and he loved her, he truly, honestly loved something, someone, for once, and it was so real and raw and it hadn't really been that long, but he'd never felt this way, not really, not even when he'd thought that this was the exact thing that he was feeling, all those times before, but this time was so different and real and special and she was it. He knew she was it.

Perhaps it was his own self-importance, the arrogance and swagger he had, to think that just because he felt this way, just because he'd fallen so hopelessly and madly in love, that without a doubt, of course, Mirajane had found herself feeling the same. That of course, to her, their summer romance while the S-Class jobs weren't rolling in and he was taking a break, while she was finding more time off work as Kinana desired more hours, wasn't going to bloom into something more, but rather die off, fade away, with the long days, like a fling should, like all summer flings should. Because oh, they were the same, of course they were the same, but at the same time, they were so different because he was in love, he knew he was in love, he could tell he was in love, truly in love, but she was not.

Was she?

The way she withdrew then, from him, as he traced a finger across the faded, old, but still prominent scar she had right beneath her left breast, long and crooked, but hidden typically from the world, even with her typical skimpiest of outfits or swimwear, it lay just so perfectly, but prominently, to Laxus, who spent so much of his time with his head buried there now. And he'd traced it before, both with the tips of his fingers and the point of his tongue, but now as he did it with the edge of his fingernail and spoke those words, so softly, that he'd so often heard spoken to him.

Mirajane shifted back from him, a certain look crossing over his previously content expression, and he had to wonder how he'd fucked it up, so quickly, so easily, so obviously, as the moment shattered and he fell away from her as well, both silent now with their own realizations about the other, spawning from a simple question.

Laxus would have told Mirajane anything he wanted. He thought that he did tell her everything she wanted. He'd opened up, in this short expanse of days where it felt much longer than the multitude of years they'd known one another, however sparingly, for the majority of their teenage years and all of their adulthood. He knew so much about her, learned so much about her, from this some odd thirty, sixty days, whatever it was, it didn't matter, all that mattered was how special they were, how important, those days, these days, but if this was fleeting, if she didn't feel that way, if she didn't hope the same as him, that the summer never ended, then…

Then…

"I'm sorry."

"Dragon-"

"No, I shouldn't have ask-"

"It's not that."

Mirajane found that she couldn't look at him. That she didn't want to. Then. He was getting out of bed then, following her silence, and she felt like she should do something, to stop this from happening, but at the same time, she wasn't the one who'd spurred it on.

Was she?

No.

No.

He'd done this, by questioning her, asking her that, and she hadn't mean to draw away, visibly recoil at his words, but it just took her back a bit, his question. In a way she wasn't expecting. It wasn't exactly something she was asked about frequently. If at all. Mira found most everyone had scars, in some way or another, especially given the line of work they were in. And considering so many of the men she did find interest in were also mages, working far more than she did in those days, most of their bodies were speckled and marred by an assortment, some even in awkward places.

But Laxus' was different. She'd give him that. If she knew his hangup about it, then she would surrender that nugget to him, yes, of course, because his was so prominent, so much a part of who he was, brought together his whole facial structure, really.

Plus, well, she knew Laxus fancied himself as different. From the rest of them. His pain and trauma, baggage and backstory were intricate to him in a way the rest of them didn't understand. Laxus lived for his pain and his anguish. The remembrance. He liked to pretend that it was in his past, where it belonged, like the rest of them were forced to do away with their own, but unlike the rest of them, Fairy Tail wasn't an escape, a gateway away from the tragic years that brought them as wayward youths to the guild's sanctuary. It was a constant reminder of all he'd gone through, the enigma that brought about so much strife to his family. Fairy Tail was the Dreyars, but also destroyed the Dreyars.

Even if everything had worked out, when she was young, in her village, she imagined she'd still have left eventually, would have had to, to get away from what it had meant, what she'd felt, all the scenery to remind her, constantly, of when she lost her parents, her childhood, and her freedom. She'd want to be somewhere new, carving a path, separate from the things that had drug her down, even if it wasn't to her absolute degradation, somewhere where she wasn't remind constantly of what she'd lost. Who she'd lost.

Mirajane loved Fairy Tail because all her early memories tied to it involved discovering her magic, battling it out with Erza, watching her younger brother and sister, both ravaged by the world, come out of their shells again, find friends again, discover happiness again.

Laxus' memories, as he'd told her before, in moments like this, where he felt his most open, consisted of all the people he'd known, not just his parents, but all of the people, the past members, who eitehr died out there, on jobs, or just went away, disappeared, gone of to live fulfilling lives separate from the only thing that he could ever imagine being; a Fairy Tail wizard.

A mage.

A fairy.

Laxus lived with his trauma, his past, shoved in his face every single time he walked through the wrought iron gates and into the hall, the one that had changed so many damn times, but still felt the same, no matter it's grown or shrinkage, as the air inside consisted of the exact same presence it always did, all the way back to when he was just a little kid.

The scar cut across his eye was much the same. Plain for everyone to see. But hidden in the fact that he'd never tell, he couldn't tell, anyone anything about it. Refused.

With the power of transformation magic, Mirajane could hide just about any blemish or marking on her body that she wished. And she didn't mostly, usually. It was a nominal amount of magic, it was almost second nature to her. She didn't know what it was not to hide away parts of herself. Not face them. Not force others to do the same.

But it was different. Overnight. Frequent, overnights, which she found herself dealing with then, with Laxus, as they'd lay in bed together, so openly and freely, and she warned him the first time, she let it all down, her magic and guard, but he only laughed and made some passing remark about how silly she was. Feminine. Girly. Womanly. Something like that. Equally dismissive. To be so concerned about appearance.

She laughed too, because it did sound silly, didn't it? All of it? To care about something like that? And it was so hot, that summer, the summer that they were together nearly every night, falling into his bed together, alone in his apartment instead of crammed and hammed up with her siblings back home, that Mira found it best not to wear anything, nothing at all if she could help it, and it felt so freeing for it to occur to the two of them, at the same time, the same thought, without a word spoken between them.

When the guise fell, when the ruse faded her flesh didn't look so pure and white, but nothing about the two of them ever was and Laxus seemed happy and content, in his own way, his unspoken way, for them to be like this together. Open. Unabashed.

Laxus didn't want the summer to end, but Mirajane did. She wanted it to shift to the colder months, where they had to cuddle up together and wait out the heat once more. He didn't want things to change, but she couldn't wait until they did, until they changed into something even more solid and real.

"Seriously, just drop it. I shouldn't have-"

"It's okay, Laxus. Really. I-"

"You don't have to tell me-"

"I know why you asked."

Of course she did.

Of course she did.

Because of all the random assortments of scars she had, from all the battles she'd fought, won and lost, this one was the oddest, wasn't it? All alone? In it's age? It looked far fresher, because it was, than any other she had. In a strange place. He was curious because he brushed against it so frequently, because she talked of her life so frequently, but never mentioned this not yet faded, not truly, still raised somewhat, rough patch of skin. Even without her magic, the others were all at least somewhat hard to notice, as they blended with age, but this one was different.

Why was everything about the two of them so different?

This was hidden because she chose to hide it, she was able to hide it, with or without her magic, and it was separate, from everything, and she knew he'd question it, eventually, he seemed to run his fingers, tongue, everything across it so frequently, and this was just a game of averages, between the two of them. Trying to out play the other. How much could be given up in exchange for silence on the rest?

He meant no disrespect, hadn't considered the possibility of such a negative reaction, but as he sat there then, on the edge of the bed, feet rooted in the floor, he wasn't pushing up, getting away, like he'd seemed to desire the second he realized the err in his delving. Instead, he just sat there, head turned just slightly in the darkness of his bedroom, staring over at her with something of interest, maybe, or perhaps just hopeful acceptance once more. Whether she told him the truth or not, expelled all of her secrets and thoughts and feelings and emotions regarding the scarred flesh no longer mattered; he just wanted her to pull him back down on the bed and banish any fears over misdeed.

But when she reached for him, to pull him back down, into the bed once more, it wasn't to rectify his mistake, but rather to sigh, deeply as they rested their foreheads against one another's, the silence different now, but still hinged on something.

"I just," Mira whispered softly as he bowed his head then, her lips brushing over his golden locks instead, "don't like to talk about it. Think about it."

"That's okay," Laxus assured her, burying his head into her, wishing he could go back to how he was before, when he wasn't absolutely terrified of the thought that she didn't want him, or wouldn't want him any longer, once the summer began its descent. "Really. We-"

"It was...recently, is all." She thread some fingers into his hair then, blinking some as she thought. "And not in...battle or training or anything, so I just..."

He wasn't ready again, so soon, but that was fine because that wasn't what she wanted and when she pushed him back, shoved him really, suddenly, so he was staring up at her, Laxus only blinked sleepily.

Reaching down, Mira traced a finger over the zagging line that scarred his face, made him look so mean, so evil, so much like her Satan Soul take over, but different, because he wore this every single day. Not as a mask, but as a part of himself.

They were so different.

His eyelid fluttered shut, instinctively, void of intention, while the other stayed wide open, watching as she applied pressure, just a bit, while gliding down the lightning bolt-esque marking over his eyes, feeling it, truly, for the first time.

"Who gave you yours?" she asked softly and he didn't even think about it, didn't reflect, just answered honestly.

"Ivan," he replied dryly, but honestly and Mirajane nodded her head slightly as she removed her finger from his cheek.

"I was dating a...jerk, a few months before you first asked me out." She shrugged some, glancing away from him then. "From another guild. It was...different, than how it is, with you and me. And we kind of… He just wasn't someone I should have been with. He had his own stuff going on-"

"Do I," Laxus asked her softly then, his voided gaze turning harder then, "know him?"

"No," she whispered, but she nodded her head, just a bit, and he glared. Then, sighing, she added, "It doesn't matter."

He wanted to argue, she could tell, but relented some as he remarked, "Why did he...cut you?"

It felt blunt, put like that, and Mirajane looked away as she remarked, "He didn't. Not really. We were...fighting, and his magic… It's stupid. His magic just caught me because I wasn't going to, you know, transform on him or anything. I just...and he…he underestimated me. Most men do."

Reaching out, he sat up some as he caught her chin, just slightly, in his palm, forcing her to meet his eyes. They were on even ground again. Finally.

"I don't," Laxus whispered to which she smiled, weakly, distantly, just really.

"I know," she agreed as he fell back then. "Dragon."

They were shifting again, together now, as she slowly fell back into bed as well, and they were together again, settling once more for the night. In the morning, she had to get down to the hall and he'd promised to train with the Thunder Legion, so they needed their sleep, they needed far more than they were typically allotted, but at the same time, in that moment, he didn't want it.

At all.

But she did.

At least somewhat.

"Why do things have to change?" he muttered as his eyes felt heavy and this was all just a dream, almost, kind of, it felt like, but Mia's lips felt warm against his cheek as well as her breath, reminding him that it was all real, all too real.

It felt like a weird thing to say, a very weird thing to say, honestly, but somehow, someway, because they really were connected, maybe, unspoken, but known, and Mirajane understood perfectly.

"Because if they don't," she answered with a yawn, falling back into her side of the bed then as he blinked at her some more, determination the only thing winning out against sleep in the battle to keep his eyes either open or closed, "then they can never get any better."

"Can't get any worse," he reminded, but she only shrugged.

"Sometimes," she told him simply, "it's worth the risk."

And after finding this to be true, following his question that brought about the entire interaction, it was hard for him to do anything other than agree.

[xiubaek-13]

The Masks of Destiny - Prologue

Pairing: None. Story is Monsta X + OC, but there is no romantic pairing.

Warnings: Not much in this prologue. Mentions of hell, inciting violence, questionable morals.

Word Count:  2,645

Genre: Fantasy, Dungeons and Dragons inspired world. Also, pirates.

Summary: Brought together in the town of Luskan, seven adventurers meet in the local tavern, The Cutlass, on the seventh night of the new moon as requested. They meet with Celaena, an infamous pirate captain who informs them of the concerning matters at hand. Unbeknownst to them, they have been watched since they arrived in the port. A mysterious traveller watches from the shadows, biding their time.

Prologue: Told from the perspective of the mysterious traveller.

***

In the depths of the Forgotten Realms your adventure begins. A candle illuminates an aged window on the bottom floor of The Cutlass tavern. It wouldn’t have been your first choice of venue but apparently your benefactor thought popular meant good. The place was falling apart, large chunks of rotting wood made you question the structural integrity of the place. And it smelled like booze, loose lips and vomit. Even the steady falling of rain outside couldn’t mask that smell. Gods you hated pirate towns.

You sat in the corner, out of the way and out of view of most of the patrons. With your cowl and hood covering most of your face you were able to sit back and observe, a task you were exceedingly good at. You were here to complete a mission. A mission that you felt was beneath you but you weren’t about to be the one to question Grazz’t, only an idiot would do that and think it was going to go well for them.

The demon lord was not to be trifled with. Many forgot that he was one of the few to rule over multiple realms in the Abyss, and had done so for centuries, unchallenged. Just because he didn’t appear like your typical demon did not mean that you should speak freely in his presence. He was always adorned in finery, everything about him was designed to draw you in, to make you susceptible to his charms. Rather, it was the opposite. You’d learned quickly to choose your words wisely with him. He was more skilled than any politician when it came to making deals and twisting words, hell he even manipulated other demons to keep himself amused. He enjoyed making you think that you’d bested him, gaining the upper hand in a deal only for him to lay all of his cards on the table at the last moment, showing you just how fucked you were.

This made some think that he wasn’t to be feared in combat. They were wrong. He won’t kill with brute force but he’ll turn you against your allies and force you to kill them before killing you himself. He was the ultimate tactician and manipulator and you were one of his best students.

Being one of his best was why you felt this task was beneath you. Your instructions were straight forward enough, follow the party, gain their trust, join them and sabotage their mission without them knowing. It was a mission that any acolyte could complete. There was something more at play here, there always was when Grazz’t delivered missions to you personally. The glint in his eye had hinted at it. Until you worked out what the ulterior motive was, you watched your marks.

This kind of mission should have gone to your sister Calaena, and would have if she’d been smart enough to serve Grazz’t. She didn’t have as much hatred for do gooders as you did. Your past experiences spoke for themselves and you learned from them. ‘Heroes’ were never to be trusted. Your sister and you had very different upbringings, you were always the perfect evil child while she was only ever half in on it. Her heart wasn’t as dark as yours and she was far more aloof. She would never serve a higher power, only herself. In some ways you envied her, especially when you were serving Lilith but once you had your exodus from the Underdark and found yourself in the servitude of Grazz’t you found a new purpose in life. A chaotic evil purpose. It pleased your dark and twisted little heart. Caleana had other ideas for herself once she escaped, commandeering a ship that she felt befit her and set sail. She was infamous as a master pirate thief. You never sought the infamy or recognition. All you strived for was the thrill of destroying those who thought they could make a difference. How naive they were. Dragons ruled this land for centuries for a reason.

***

Morons you think to yourself as you watch five adventurers make no effort to divert attention from their presence. There are two others in their group but at least the rogue and druid have the decency to avoid being the centre of attention. It was as though they were asking for the attention of everyone in the tavern, something that you would never do. You work in the shadows, unseen and unheard.

You turn your focus back to the troupe as you continue your assessment of each party member. At least this group was diverse.  Sipping his ale and telling tales of the war is a tall and broad man, must be human. It didn’t matter where in the realm you were, there was always a fucking human. Why is it always a soldier? Do their armies not keep them loyal so the defect and set their own agenda? Almost every human you encounter has the same story, something about strength and purpose and a razed village, helping on a small scale or a sick relative. How boring. He should be easy to manipulate. Humans were prone to strong emotional reactions and illogical tactics.

The second being is a little surprising, if you were less skilled you would have picked him as the muscle of the group but the pouch of runes and herbs by his side and the Morningstar resting against his leg tell you he is a divine healer of sorts. This one requires a more in depth look, you recognise the slight shimmer around him as a glamour, one that is hiding more about him. You catch a glimpse of his ruby red eyes and wonder what he is. He seems quiet, gambling like he has no understanding of the game that he’s playing. Divine healers tend to serve a God and could usually sense evil. He was one you would clash with the most. You’d be wary of hiding your true nature from him lest he try to save you. The wide berth people were giving his back makes you think that his glamour is hiding either an object kept behind him, or wings. You kind of hoped that he was one of the sky people, for you had not encountered one of those yet. A feather from one of those wings would be worth more than its weight in gold.

Long blonde hair, a quiver full of arrows and a bow slung over his shoulder. You grimace at the pointed ears, recognising the wood elf quickly. Putting your kind’s history with the elves aside, this one was no doubt a ranger. They’re usually too perceptive for their own good but this one seems to be fully engrossed in dice games so at this stage you’re not concerned about him. He is different to the other elf rangers you’ve encountered in the past. They were all quiet, observing types, whereas this one is currently growling at the pirate who just beat him at their game. It’s almost animalistic but also childlike in its quality. It’s as though he was raised outside of an elven community. Something to delve into at a later date.  

The last 4 additions are interesting to say the least. A changeling was always irritating, slipping their skin constantly, chameleons of personality. Why this one felt the need to also be a bard on top of that makes you unreasonably irritated, you just hope he doesn’t have a familiar too. He seems a little over the top and manic as he holds the attention of a crowd of pirates, weaving a fine tale about the rescue of a mystical wolf. He’s good, you’ll give him that. Further down the table the human chuckles and shakes his head at the bard’s epic tale. As good as he is, you can’t help but feel like there is something off about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on yet.

Tieflings are always a wild card, even more so when they have magical abilities. No matter how small, there is always a part of them that is demonic. They can never be wholly ‘good’ no matter how hard they try. Society would never believe that someone who looks they way a Tiefling does – horns, tail, elongated canines, solid eye colour and otherworldly skin tone – could be divine in nature. The one seated at the bar has rather small horns for his kind, his skin a very pale blue hue, and his eyes are solid gold. There is no point in using magic to hide his tail, and the pirates don’t seem to care. They are far more interested in the man himself, some speaking as though they have a history with him. It was rare to see a Tiefling so at ease with the people around it. You spot the scar on his throat, and catch a glimpse on similar markings on his wrists. Slave you think to yourself.

The autumnal Eladrin was more concerned with his surroundings than the people in them, staring off into the middle distance when a thought captures his attention. You feel similarly about him as you do the elf. Neither have a good history with your kind but spotting the druid makes one part of your travels here considerably clearer. It should be the middle of summer, it was until two nights ago, but when you had woken up the world was suddenly in the middle of autumn. At least you now understand what had happened. He held a quarterstaff and had odd runic shapes decorating his arms, usually common for a forest druid. As long as you refrained from harming nature when he was around he shouldn’t pose too much of a threat to you.

The one that you need to watch the most is the last member of this rag tag group. He is dressed similarly to you, all black with a hood and cowl, daggers visible because you know where to look for them. He is observant, eyes assessing the room, lingering over you for a moment before continuing to scan the crowd. There is no doubt in your mind of what his role is, like recognises like after all, but he has another agenda. A fellow rogue always makes things interesting. He’s sitting away from the rest of the group, half hidden by shadow as he watches the bar. If he’s any good he’s already assessed routes to the exits and identified the marks that are likely to cause their party harm. He’s probably found exits for all of them unlike you, who only has to look out for yourself.

He leans in towards the pirate captain who sits beside him and smirks, muttering something that makes the captains eyes widen so much that they almost threaten to fall out of his head. He slides a handful of coin to the rogue before hastily departing. The actions don’t mark him as a textbook thief or assassin to you, it seems like he deals more in information.  The pale skin, black hair and black eyes let you know that he is a Shadar-Kai, a race not unlike your own, but cunning, sneaky and highly skilled. Under different circumstances you might get along with him but you would have to mislead and fool him if you were going to succeed in your mission.

And you had every intention of succeeding. Now that you’ve completed your initial assessment of your marks, you figure there is no better time than now to test them. It was one thing to observe how they act on a night off, but it was a whole different thing to observe them when presented with the opportunity to fight. Not a planned fight either, not something they could prepare for. You find that a decent bar brawl never fails to show you someone’s true colours.

Pirates are almost always ready to throw down, drunken pirates even more so. They’ll throw more than punches too, things have a tendency of escalating quickly when there’s pirates involved, a fact that you are more than happy with at this moment in time. You grin to yourself at how easy it will be to get this altercation underway.  You murmur to the man at the table next to you that the large, dim witted pirate near the bar keeps giving him the stink eye and that you’d even heard him tell the barkeep that only impotent men were bald.  

Leaving him to seethe and mutter about how he’ll make the big man regret his words you start to duck and weave through the crowd as you make your way towards the bar, stopping only to tap a large brute of a man on the arm. You draw your hood back, revealing your long white hair, pointed ears and dark skin – the tone changing depending on the light (right now it is a lovely shade of greyish purple) but it could range between obsidian to hues of blue and purple with greys in between. He turns angrily, ready to yell at whoever touched him but when he spots you he takes pause.

“You look like the strongest man here.” You smile sweetly up at the man, angling yourself towards him so that only he can hear what you say to him.

He puffs his chest and beams down at you. “Well little lady, yer lookin at the champion arm wrestler in these parts. So not only do I look the strongest, I is.”  He flexes his arms for good measure and honestly, he does look like he has the strength of ten men, it’s why you chose him.

You let your features shift into confusion. “See I thought that you looked like a strong man but that guy over by the window, the bald one laughing with the two bandits, he said he’s the strongest in the realm.”

You barely finish your sentence before the man in front of you starts to seethe. “Oh does he?!” He exclaims, cracking his knuckles and doing a few minor stretches, all good signs that your plan is working.

Nodding you reply. “He does, I’ve heard him tell so many people but I don’t think I believe him. How could he be stronger than you?” You gesture at the man standing before you, pointing to his muscles and then wave dismissively at the unsuspecting man in the corner.

The man hands his ale to you. “Wouldya mind holding me drink for a sec little lady?” You don’t exactly get a chance to accept or deny his request before his drink is in your hands and he is marching off to the other end of the room. You set it down on the table nearest to you and continue to move through the crowd until you are at the other end of the tavern, at a table with the perfect view of the mayhem that is poised to unfold. You chose this seat for its view but also because it’s next to an open window should you need to make a quick getaway.

No words are spoken, you thought there might be a challenge or a threat but instead the big man simply punches the bald man in the face then throws him across the room. The sudden moment of violence is all the tavern needs before cacophony erupts. Pirates start yelling and fighting, furniture is smashed and thrown, and anything and everything is suddenly a weapon.

With their pleasant evening ruined, the party find themselves in the middle of a bar brawl in a pirate bar.  How they manage themselves now is going to be very helpful for you. You smile to yourself as they exchange a few quick looks at each other, speak two words then disperse into the fray.

Everything is going to plan.

A/N: Let me know what you think so far. What do you want to know more about? What do you think will happen? I’m trying not to bombard you with lore but if you want to know more about certain aspect of the characters or the world, please ask me! I’m trying something different so hopefully you enjoy it.

[semicolonthefifth]

CROSS ch.3 - Sleepwalk

Many villages lined the Black Road, but much are alike in both design and reason for why they exist. Centuries of colonization, and Aurora is still untapped of what it could offer. Humanity has barely scratched a percentage of the planet, on account of both the world’s vicious sand storms and unforgiving climate. In addition, the natives practically own the mountains, and aren’t at all welcoming of humans digging too deep into their homes. Yet to this day people continue to stake their claims, coming to Aurora to find whatever section of rock or dirt that’ll hopefully grant them riches - ranging from lost Old Earth salvage, Deltan artifacts, or rich metals. When the dream dies, they settle down and try to make their fortune in another way: by settling a town.

When you travel the Road, you’ll find plenty of towns - some thriving, others dying, and many others to be completely abandoned. Often times these towns are a farm of sorts, others act as mines, and the rest offer some sort of service to travelers. You’ll have places built around a cookery, a goods store, churches, or - most commonly - a bar. When you’re living on a place like Aurora, you’ll always need a place to relax and have yourself a drink.

Jason had gotten a bad rep in a lot of the better spots along the Road. When you’ve got a habit of hunting your bounty into the one place everyone takes restage at, you tend to cause a fight or two. It doesn’t help that there’s sort of an unwritten law, that a bar is the most neutral spot you can find. So naturally, Jason had to drive for a long stretch of the road after dumping Sid’s body, all to find one bar to rest himself in. The one bar he could find a good change of getting a break was further south, in a town east off the Black Road and nearer towards Moresatta than Calberi:

A quiet little place called “Blondie”.

Population: about 48 people. Mostly men, with some women, children, and a few elderly.

It was a mining town that then turned into a wet stop for any traveling drunkard looking to stretch their legs before making the long trek for the city at the South end. From what Jason could remember off hearsay, it used to be quite the popular spot before a more easily reachable settlement was made, and the mines hit an impassable blockage that essentially killed the mining work there. It was named by its founder, for reasons that weren’t explained - save for the rare comment about an ‘inspiration’ of sorts. Besides the bar, a barber, and an alright tortilla shop, there wasn’t much else to get out of the place.

Jason met some regulars to the spot in his travelers, and they all described the bar’s selection of ales to be alright. There wasn’t anything better for miles on end - Jason couldn’t care less for quality at this point.

It took another 20 or so minutes before he would see the town coming over a hill, with a few lights twinkling to signal that any life was there. The wide swerve off the Road was rough, but after driving through some bumpy terrain he slowly came to what he assumed was the saloon. With the night still dark, and his moon dour, Jason didn’t pay much attention to the layout of the town - very few lights were set up in the town, and all Jason could care to pay mind to was where bar stood.

He slowly walked out the car and towards the large structure that acted as the town’s north-most landmark, and from a quick glance of the many lights and the muffled sound of music, he knew this was the bar. Jason made his way for the backdoor, and from the moment he steps in… he feels an all too familiar pain in his head.

Then he remembered.

Blondie was a town that greatly enjoyed the age of the Wild West from the Old Earth, from calling its bar a saloon to the style structure they built, along with all the stuff they hung on the walls of this very establishment. The place was at once a bar and a place of worship of the old. You saw posters that worshiped the heroes back in those days: legends like Wyatt Earp; Billy the Kid; and even good ol’ Harmonica. There were replica bull skulls, a set of guitars and tapestry. A table at a far off corner had a neatly made model of what those western towns looked like back in the day - all too similar to how Blondie is built, now that Jason thought about it. There were even the guns hanging around the place. Fake, of course -bought replicas from an artist, most likely.

Jason looked at it all. He observed the place, and wished even more he was elsewhere.

A music player was nestled by the hallway leading from the main bar floor to the back where Jason had entered. He have a look to see what was playing: an instrumental little thing called “Sleepwalk”. Santo & Johnny. Jason felt in a similar mood.

Then. “Jason?” He heard.

“Jason!” He heard again. “Jason, is that you?” Shouted a patron within the bar. Glancing from where he stood, Jason looked down the hall and saw a friend of his: a man by the name of Frankie Houser, seated next to a guy utterly new to this place.

Frankie was a tall, lean twig of a man at 6 feet in height. Atop his head was a set of red curls that looked like a broccoli had sprouted from his dome. His teeth angled forward whenever he spoke, and the apple in his neck stuck out for all to see. Though he made it all work with what Jason could best describe as the most honest and happiest of smiles. He wore a set of layered leggings that seemed to weigh him down, along with suspenders that hung over his gray-colored wife-beater. His boots were long and brown, almost turning red from the sand. Frankie kept a side-arm, a typical handgun, hanging off a holster to his side that kept him safe for his travels.

Beside him (on Frankie’s left) was another fellow, a curious one from appearance alone. A short, young-looking man that sat proper, unlike Frankie’s more laid back position. He was the cleanest thing in this entire bar, with a nice dark blue-colored suit that was one size too big on him - all over a light blue dress shirt with an obnoxiously green tie. He had dark brown skin, and short layer of black hair on his head, with none over his face. No dirt covered him, and no weapon was visible. Nothing except a backpack held tightly against his chest, only let go briefly so he may wave at Jason. A strange thing to see out here in some bar, Jason thought.

Making his way over, Jason took a seat beside Frankie’s right - all the while giving both men a handshake along the way. Frankie was firm and energetic, meanwhile the kid was weak-wristed but polite. Jason winced on the former more so the latter. With Jason seated, he looked to a bartender that had been waiting nearby - a grizzled, old looking man who gave a little nod to the new patron.

Jason placed his order: a glass of mildly sweet Deltan Ale, a straw, and a plate of ice.

Frankie turned to Jason, “Nice to see you, man. How’s like treatin’ ya?” He asked, with as much kindness and genuine interest. It was about the nicest thing thrown at Jason’s way today.

“Well”. Jason tsked, “Ain’t exactly going my way.”

“That about the truth for all of us, ain’t it?” Frankie responds. “Seems like nothing ever goes our way. Still, I’m sure you’ll find some good coming over yours. Just need to keep ya’ chin up.” He takes a pause to sip from his own drink - a glass of water, one for him and a similar for the friend beside him. It was then that he coughed a bit. All of a sudden a thought entered his mind and he swallows up his water before resuming his talk with Jason.

“Oh, almost forgot - rude of me. Jason, allow me to introduce to a new man here in the wastes. Kid’s name is Charlie. Charlie Wills. Landed onto Aurora, straight from Tyrell.”

Jason chuckled harshly, “Seriously? Tyrell? THE city, Tyrell?”

Charlie nodded before speaking gently. “That I am.”

With more a chuckling escaping from him, Jason then asked further of the young man, “What the heck are ya doing out here in the Black Road? Shouldn’t you be heading on over to Moresatta or something?”

With a slight hesitancy, Charlie’s response was interrupted by Frankie’s own explanation, “Actually, he’s taking the scenic route. We’ve been passing by every site we can find along the way. The kid’s loving all the villages we’ve come to visit so far - along with all the many delicacies they come to offer. Quarter of the trip’s spent trying out foods, I tell ya! Had in me now more than I have the past week!.” He lets out a long breathy laugh at that, bringing Charlie a clear look of embarrassment.

“Hilarious.” Jason comments, a tad positively at first but becomes more serious when he speaks to Charlie. “Hey, kid? Try not to waste too much time on the Black Road though. Drivers like Frankie here can’t be spending all night on the Road.”

“He’s alright, Jason!” Frankie exclaims, once more interrupting whatever reply Charlie was about to make. Frankie then continues, “He’s paying for my troubles, for starters. Plus, I’m having the time of my life. I get some moments to stretch my legs more than I would a straight drive anyhow.”

Charlie finally gets a word in, explaining that, “I’m doing my best not to take advantage of Mr. Hosier. Forgive me if I can’t help myself to stop so much, but you have a wonderful place here. Tyrell’s lovely, but Aurora certainly captures my interest far more by a great margin. Mr. Hosier here has been a great driver since he picked me up from Calberi, and all the sights I’ve seen have already made the expenses worth it. I must say, you have a beautiful world here, sir.”

“Yeah, well so is a lady with experience.” Jason remarked with a lazy grin. “Pretty to look at, but mess with her and she’s already got a knife aimed for your throat.”

Frankie stifles a chuckle, but Jason continues - again, seriously. “Listen, kid, do yourself a favor- go back home. Aside from the two cities, there ain’t nothing to see here on Aurora. It’s a wasteland, empty except for a bunch of folks killing each other all the damn time, and a lot of gangs playing dress up while proving to see who can shoot each other more.”

“Well I’m sorry to say, but t-that’s precisely why I came.” Charlie nervously shoots back, proceeding to open up his backpack and dig right in. “I’ve got - if you let me a moment - some things I wanted to see here that you don’t get in other worlds. All we ever hear about Aurora are the gangs, he natives, and the various wars. So much history bottled up in this one planet, it’s all so interesting yet nothing I’ve read at home really do it justice. Tyrell barely gets anything, and oftentimes what we do get is questionable in its legitimacy. I had to come here, to confirm it myself that it’s all true.”

He keeps on digging, prompting Jason and Frankie to side-eye each other with looks that equally find entertainment at Charlie’s naivety. They don’t say anything, however they’re somewhat intrigued by what the young man’s looking for. Eventually, Charlie produces a thick black binder. He opens it up, revealing a colorful collection of prints and photographs - to which the two natives of the planet take a gander.

Charlie flips past the first couple of pages to show off a small selection of printed replicas of old war-time posters - from the era of conflicts happening on Aurora. They depicted humans in UROE infantry gear, either lining up in inspirational formations or firing their rifles at sword-wielding giants. He turned a page, briefly pausing to let them examine each photo before continuing on to the next. The next set featured prints of a different tone: humans, holding their hands up in union with the giants, set against amber colored mountains. Additionally there were prints which shows 5 humans and one giant, all working at a construction site with words emphasizing “union” and “working to the future”. From how each print looked, it seemed that the original posters were painted before being copied for mass distribution - with a warm, inviting feeling that nostalgia-lovers would love to get their hands on.

Eventually Charlie did some commentary as he showed off the prints -  a bit of confidence making its way up the surface. “Check it out. War propaganda from around the Great Aurora War, nearly a millennium ago. Back then we didn’t know whether to trust the natives or to present them as enemies, so marketing sorta changed in those years. All of it made from a printing company in Aurora, who only got a brief clue of what Deltans looked like from news and word-of-mouth.”

He turned another page, commenting further, “Then see here: prints of the continued war with the Kronian Empire.” The young man, smiling at the two men looking down at his book, turns the page to showcase further pieces in his collection. He pointed to various prints, all of them depicting red-eyed figures, either in pale white face or under black gas-masks. There was one print in particular he directed to the most, where it featured a looming, red-eyed gas-mask wearing creature leering deviously over a group of human colonists. It displayed the text: “OUR HOMES ARE IN DANGER”

Page after page he turned, with Charlie showing off more of his historical collection. Jason was honestly interested at this point, especially when he noticed that none of it remotely mentioned the Old Earth. There were so many detailed, organized prints of Aurora history - even stuff he never heard about.

Charlie’s commentary drew Jason away from his initial cynicism - made all the better as Charlie came out of his shell and was eager to share history with a couple of locals. Though it also helped that, by the time he was listening, Jason’s plate of ice and drink had arrived. The kid kept on talking, being so open and smooth in his vocals, with all the nervousness having gone away.

He’d say this like, “This is a photo of several Deltan natives making the first trek down the Black Road; you may notice how some look uncomfortable with the surface at first.”

Or, “A print showcasing the opening of Moresatta. I managed to get this printed straight off the archives back home - it was so exciting.” He was quite captivating when was in the zone.

Frankie, out of them all, was the most absorbed into it. In between his listenings and close examinations, he’d make the passing comment of “been there” and “seen that”. Every now and then he’d even correct Charlie on something, like how the Deltans rarely fought each other in colonized lands - prompting Charlie to grab a napkin and write the info down with a pen kept in his pocket. Of course there was a disappointment in Charlie: it scratched off the goal of seeing two Deltans fighting, as he heard from the stories.

By the 30th page however, it got too personal for Jason. As they closed halfway upon the hour, Charlie began turning the pages towards more recent history - and Jason felt less enthused.

Every page was a painful memory for Jason, and especially the world.

The mass incarceration site built in off the Road to house countless numbers of UROE prisoners, only to lead into a jailbreak many years back. With it brought the near endless supply of raiders and bandits that roam the Black Road, causing so much trouble from that catastrophe.

The crackdown by the UROE, which began with arming various militia groups to fight back the raider scourge. All that did was lead to even more violence along the Road.

The deadly raid on the Black Road hospital up North, leading to dozens dead. Nobody had a chance there.

Everything that came in before or during his childhood, and yet still messing up his life to this day.

Then the photo that Jason hoped wouldn’t come… finally arrived.

Charlie turns the page, explaining at first, “Of course there were many people we saw fighting the raiders in the vids that aired in Tyrell. They were probably the most popular ones when you consider the views they got. It was a group of these cowboys, dressed up like in the Wild West - calling themselves the Crimson Crosses. See, I even got a photo of two such members right--”

He stopped right there, almost completely. Charlie took notice first of Frankie’s slight cringe, before then directing his sight at Jason.

Charlie had seen this photo about a dozen times, but a new detail emerged then. The photo showed two young men, both wearing a set of wild-west inspired outfits over their tall, powerful frames. The garments consisted of brown vests; long-sleeve collared shirts, dull dark pants, and a dark overcoat covering much of it. Atop their heads were similarly sized wide-brim hats, and around their necks a bandanna. As well, both men shared the exact same style of hair, and exact appearance of face. Between them was an overweight, gruff-looking bandit tied up with a lasso, with both men posing triumphantly beside him.

Below the photo, on a sticker Charlie used to caption his photos, it read, “The Cross Twins, Frederick and Jason, capture the Butcher of Red Peaks.”

Jason hesitantly grabs the photo - his mind felt like it was screaming ‘no’, but a part of him felt like he needed to see it. He brought it closer and looked down at the picture, and at that moment all the color and life in his face drained completely - and in its place, a flood of bad memories once walled up behind years of alcohol.

Meanwhile Charlie looked towards the stranger, studying his face in relation to the photograph. There he was: Jason Cross of the Crimson Crosses - older, stronger…

And now he’s downing an entire glass of ale.

[transcending-chaos]

I really enjoy your art and find your headcanons for the creatures both interesting and somehow fitting despite there not being a lot of information about them. But I am curious, do you have any headcanons for each tribe in general?

(I got this question a while ago; using it now because my hands hurt too much to draw right now. Thank you for your patience.)

UnderWorlders

Those that live in areas like UnderWorld City, the Lava Pond, or places where the air is largely filled with sulfur gas have less of a sense of smell and taste than most other UWs. Scent isn’t as viable in those regions because it’s largely masked by the gases that spout from the ground. However, because this means that those Creatures have stunted olfactory senses, this is why they typically spice the heck out of their food (and you can sort of smell it in the air once you get used to the sulfur). They can’t taste most things without it, especially sweet-things, so most of their cooking is often really strong -be it simple dishes, to feasts, to really hard alcohol. This lack of taste is especially true in the Creatures that breathe fire, as they have fewer nerves in their mouth and tongues as a whole due to the extreme temperatures their bodies have been made to withstand.

Related to that last point, it’s why their hygiene seems a little lacking in comparison to the other Tribes. While they can certainly feel grime, they don’t smell it as much, and besides, water is a very rare resource for them so they’re not going to waste it with superfluous bathing.

UnderWorlders are strangely possessive of their Humans. Though most don’t outwardly show it (because that broadcasts something that could be used against them), those that have ‘wards’ or connections to Players will absolutely destroy something in order to protect them. If given the opportunity, most UnderWorlders would leap at the chance to have someone study under them (kind of like how Grook did with Kaz), as training is usually a social behavior shared not only among students and teachers, but friendly sparing between family members is somewhat of a culturally sacred thing. However, most are aware that they’d likely kill a Player if this was attempted.

Von Bloot was never a respected leader; his army was made of conscripts and people forced into a situation where they had no other choice. That being said, most are also dissatisfied that Chaor took so long to do something about him, as well as the fact that he wasn’t the one who finally got Von Bloot in the end. There’s a bit of a power-vacuum in the southern UW after he’s gone. 

Some UnderWorlders would swear that they can feel Fire in a few Players. This is part of the reason Chaor has not outright wiped Tom from existence (the other part being that his human is too attached to him). 

Danians

Danians are surprisingly adept at playing music and making instruments. Because of their connection to each other, it’s easy for them to harmonize sounds together and create layered symphonies that are perfectly in time with one another. They specialize in percussion, be it stamping of the feet, steel drums, or humming to make a beat. Also, younger Danians have a tendency to chitter or hum without realizing it. It’s pretty common to find their designated part of the Hive thrumming with sound, even in the dead of night. It’s a calming noise for the soldiers who can’t sleep, as it sounds entirely of contentment, and those with insomnia have a small medical barracks next to it so that they can be lulled asleep.

While uncommon, some Danians crave physical affection. Most have a pretty steely demeanor, but those with softer sides are usually the ones you can find befriending Players. Their culture isn’t too big on affection as a whole, so when encountering Humans (who as a species are aggressively social), it was like striking gold. These Danians tend to favor younger Players, as they are commonly predisposed to protect those they know cannot help themselves. 

Most Battle-Masters have a (mostly) one-way connection to the Hive. They can send out orders, but it’s hard for them to receive messages unless it’s from the Queen or her personal entourage. This is because they often have to make choices that will end up costing lives, and they don’t have the sense of solidarity most other Danian classes do. While many Mandiblors will provide solace to one another because they feel the loss and rift that fallen left behind, Battle-Masters typically don’t. After all, who wants to mourn when you’re the reason that they’re gone? Instead, you need to focus on the next fight and prevent such a thing from happening again.

Needless to say, that last point is a huge contention between Muges in the Hive and the generals. One focusses mainly on how things are connected, while the other is fundamentally incapable of understanding it. 

They detest spiders. All of them. “Nothing holy would create something with that many eyes.”

Mipedians

Typically seen as the most wealthy of the Tribes, Mipedians are totally unmotivated by most commodities, but are very willing to trade for food. As they live in a literal desert, it’s hard for them to grow much of anything, even in the oasis areas. Cactuses are farmed in some places, but for the most part they rely solely on imports. The biggest provider is the OverWorld, and strangely enough, no matter how bad things get between the Tribes, this agreement is never threatened (Maxxor has never considered starving them, nor would he dare entertain the idea; he refuses to punish an entire nation because their leaders aren’t being reasonable) which is a contrast to how how the arrangements between the Mipedians and the other two Tribes. 

Wearing chimes is a very common practice among most ordinary citizens. Not only does the metal heat up nicely in the sun, but it’s a way for parents to hear where their kids are. Most families will have their chimes tuned to a certain chord. Markets and bazaars are not only an amazing experience for the eyes, as seeing glittering scales, silks, and fantastic wares, but also for the ears due to the pleasant clinking of jewelry.

Mipedians have community sunbathing sessions. Towns have them at different times and days from one another, but it’s usually the highlight of the week. Typically, it’s just after the highest point of sun in the sky until dusk (though officials and soldiers leave only after about an hour or two). After that there are campfires in the night and shared potluck styled banquets. It’s great for community morale, as well as a grounding measure for those working in their political structure to see their subjects as people and interact with them as such instead of just ‘subjects.’ If one’s in the desert at night and there’s no breeze, you might hear jovial laughter and smell food on the wind. 

This is also a way of helping guide lost travelers home. It has saved many poor wanderers of all Tribes, and is the one time outsiders won’t be taken into custody immediately. 

OverWorlders

They’re the only Tribe with multiple classes and schools of Muge: Naturalists, Hunes, Archivists, and war-Muges. Naturalists are typically those who rely on elemental abilities, study the connections of the natural world, and believe that everything has innate tethers to the Cothica (something that’s rejected by the other schools). Hunes are primarily scholars or political figures, often trying to find out the nature of Mugic itself, demystify it, as well as create their own sphere of influence in the public. Archivists are like Najarin, where they take a primarily historically and anthropological view of Mugic, the world, and how things have changed. War-Muges are just those who learn to cast in order to use it in battle.

They’re the only Tribe that has territory that has other sovereign nations within it. The Gherix, Zeorn, and a whole host of others all occupy pieces of land within the vast realm, and many have diplomats stationed in Kiru. Also, if the Frozen weren’t ever intended to be a Tribe, I think they were just a society of OW Creatures that lived up higher than Glacier Plains (however it seems like they were meant to be their own thing, but this is kind of what I default to when making AUs where there are other Tribes occupying the 6th and 7th spots).

The monarchy in the OverWorld isn’t a typical monarchy. When in times of war, the council will elect a monarch as a tie-breaking vote that can veto or agree to motions set before them by other groups. Maxxor didn’t get the position because of his father, and in fact, he’s a better politician and negotiator that his dad. His father was a better general and warrior though, and this is something older council members will use to needle him when unhappy with him. 

OverWorlders have a strange superstition when it comes to twins. Many see it as a single entity that was split in half because the whole was “too bright a light to burn on its own” meaning that it likely would have only led a brief life that, while prosperous and happy, would unravel rapidly and severely. Most consider twins a blessing because of this, as it’s seen as a way of sparing the family from having to bury a child earlier than expected. 

Most villages have ‘moon pendulums’, or a set of stones on chains that trace the orbit of the three moons over a huge pit of sand or gravel. It’s essentially a lunar calendar that helps them keep track of the holidays. Some have special stones of different colors or that glow in the dark, just as a way of making sure no one bumps into it at night. 

[cynicgm-blog]

Arcane Ascension - Pt. 1

Nick was working in the pasture like every other day. He was twenty years old and had purchased the plot of land two years prior, only to find out that it needed a lot more work before any other livestock could properly live there. The grass and trees were dying from lack of nutrients and rain so Nick had spent his first entire year digging a well and irrigating the land. Last year he planted bean crops sense they were known to help revitalize the ground and it would provide enough profit to get him through the year. He had finally been able to purchase some sheep, which were now grazing in the pasture. He still had to spend his days taking care of them and fixing holes in the fence.

The truth is Nick hated his life. Everyone else in the village had wives by the age of twenty but he never felt anything for anyone. His parents had said it was his job to have kids and that even if he didn’t like anyone, he should just get married to have children. The other people in the village disliked Nick for his odd personality and intelligence.

As Nick worked hard to fix a hole in the fence around his land, an adventuring party had arrived at the small village. Among them were four people. Auwyn was the party leader, an incredibly wise elvish archer known for her skill with the bow. Dan was second in charge, a human who was unknown by choice as he made his living using a dagger and lockpicks. Sebastian, a Sea Elf, was skilled with elemental magics and known for his good nature and willingness to help others. Finally there was Aaron, an alchemist with very little fighting capability but immense utility in nearly every other situation. Auwyn had gathered the party to travel to the village of Jor since Orcs had been raiding through the kingdom and Jor was directly in their path of destruction. Jor was an interesting village because it was in a strategic location at the top of a group of hills with natural rock formations that could be used for cover. Auwyn was certain the group could defeat the Orc tribe before they further damaged the kingdom.

Auwyn is fifty five years old (Equal to somewhere around a twenty year old human) and roughly five foot eleven inches tall. She has long bright red hair which curls near the tips. She wears a set of studded leather armor over steel chain mail. Dan is thirty two years old but manages to appear in his early twenties. His features are what most would describe as “average” and is easily forgettable. Sebastian has never disclosed his age, but most estimate he’s at least a few hundred years old. He stands at six feet three inches tall and wears only simple clothing of a nice design. Sebastian deliberately wears clothing nicer than a commoners but cheaper than anything a noble would touch, allowing him to more easily blend into human societies. His hair is a sea green color. Aaron is a sixty three year old human, easily far older than most commoners ever dream of being. He wears loose fitting robes that cover his entire body and make almost no skin visible. The hood he wears obscures most of his face with the exception of his mouth and his eyes, which glow blue from under the hood.

Unfortunately, as Auwyn discovered the moment they got to town, the village had no actual structure. No town hall or ruling party as far as she could tell. She approached several people but most avoided her or ran, finally she decided to enter the local tavern. She instructed Aaron to begin his preparation while she worked, they’d be defending the town even if they didn’t want them to. She entered and immediately wanted to leave, the tavern smelled of old food and liquor. There were only three people including what she presumed to be the tavern owner and all three looked at her as though she was a demon. She entered slowly, noticing Dan sneaking out of the corner of her eye. Sebastian simply followed behind her, keeping his hands in front of himself.

“You adventurin’ types never come ‘ere fer the drinks, do ya?” The owner said, spit flying from his mouth as he talked. Auwyn fought to hide her disgust. “Unfortunately, we are here on much more grave matters. I noticed a lack of ruling body so I presume you use a democratic process, would you mind calling a town meeting?” She asked, using a higher, more girly tone of voice than normal. People normally responded better to someone who sounded like their daughter. “I uh, suppose I could. Why are you here though?” He said. “No, we’d rather wait.” She responded.

A few hours later the entire town had gathered. There were maybe fifty people in total. Among the group was Nick who was angry to be disturbed as there was much work to be done. His mood instantly improved when he noticed the grou- wait, there was only two of them? He had always thought adventurers came in groups of four or five. Well either way they looked strong, maybe they were looking for something?

Auwyn broke the silence once everyone had finally arrived. “My name is Auwyn, I am an official member of the Adventurers guild and am here to provide service free of charge. A tribe of Orcs have been cutting a swath through the kingdom and are heading directly for your village, my group would like permission from you to set up an ambush here. It is likely we cannot stop them from damaging the surrounding area and there may still be casualties, but we can guarantee that whatever happens will be a much better outcome than if you deny our help.”

The entire village began arguing and debating, many people thought this was  a ploy by the adventurers guild to steal their land or enforce some kind of law/tax on them. After an hour or so of arguing they had finally agreed (I use the term loosely, there was a couple fights and some bribery going on) to let the adventurers use the town. Those living closest to the point of attack would evacuate.

The next three days were full of preparation. The entire party gathered supplies for Aaron. He was their best hope - sure, the three of them could probably kill the entire tribe, but not nearly fast enough to save the town. There would easily be three to five hundred Orcs by this point and they needed something faster than the typical approach. Auwyn was slightly apprehensive of bringing Aaron on this job as he was known for getting... carried away with his projects. Multiple massive runic circles were drawn around the village by this point, each one with intricate symbols and smaller runes in them. Outside the village Aaron had planted many alchemical potions and devices which would likely decimate any who triggered them. Indeed by the time night set they were as ready as they could be. When dawn approached the four set out, ready to defend this village. Aaron activated the runes and each one would fill with magic before the next activated, eventually surrounding the entire town. When the last rune completed, the inside of the ring filled in, revealing it to be a village-wide runic circle. Mana filled the air, creating a dense bubble. Aaron had already warned the villagers not to leave the bubble, else they would not be able to reenter.

The Orcs first emerged at the base of the hill an hour later. Dozens of large humanoids with light to dark green skin, tusks, and brutally large muscles. Each Orc was easily worth five human soldiers because of their brutality. Their weaponry was made from iron fused with blood, creating orichalcum, which wasn’t stronger than steel but heavier and fit the Orcs brutal fighting style. Before they could signal the charge an arrow had flown into the center of the mass, exploding shortly after. Screams and yells filled the morning air as bone shattered and flesh charred. Only fifteen Orcs died and the injured yelled in anger as blood lust filled them. The charge began, the amount of feet hitting the ground causing the earth to shake.

Arrows would fly into the group every second or so, usually taking down an Orc with a single well placed arrow to the heart. When they were half way up the hill they hit the first wave of traps. Explosions began to ring out, white fire exploding outward like water and splashing onto any within range. Those hit by the white fire couldn’t get it off themselves as it melted flesh and caused blood to evaporate. Fifty or so Orcs had died before they hit the second wave of traps. Runic circles began to activate as Orcs ran over them, glowing bright red. Each one had to charge for one and a half seconds before fully activating. Sebastian had been doing his best to work the clouds in the atmosphere, the altitude made it difficult but he’d had days to create and filter the moisture. The storm clouds had formed right on time. As each rune activated lightning would connect from the clouds to the circle, causing explosions of electricity to ring out through the hordes of bodies.

With maybe a hundred of the Orcs dead the back of the horde was finally visible. At the back were the best armored Orcs, likely the chief and his guards. One guard suddenly yelled in pain and surprise as a wound opened on his main arm where it connected to the shoulder. The arm went limp as tendon and muscle were severed. The Orc whirred around with his other arm raised as a dagger pierced his opposite shoulder, the blade twisting after entering the joint and forcing the bones apart. By this point the chief and second guard had began to rush over but saw no visible opponent. The injured Orc began yelling and running around. With both of his arms disabled he chose to bite the air, trying to find the invisible attacker. The chief suddenly fell forward as a wound opened on the back of his knee. The second guard went to help but suddenly had a dagger stab into his stomach from below before ripping to the side, causing his stomach to spill out. He finally saw their attacker, a human armed with daggers who was moving at near imperceptible speeds. He disappeared as the Orc attempted to attack him, appearing again as he jumped into the air above the chief. A dagger penetrated the chiefs back as the man swung over him, landed opposite before lunging to the side and stabbing the first body guard in the thigh. The knife left the guards thigh, blood spraying out from the wound as it then pierced the Orcs chest, slipping between it’s ribs. The knife twisted as it came out, breaking ribs. Dan then jumped, doing a back flip as the Orc attempted to bite him. Dan landed ten feet away and smiled at the Chief as he began to charge. Each of the wounds on the Orcs began to glow bright red before blood sprayed from the wounds, coating the ground in blood. The spray stopped when each Orc had no more blood in their body, each of the body guards falling to the ground. The chief was able to charge and attack with his minimal wounds but was ineffective, blood loss slowing him. Dan simply avoided attacks and opened more shallow wounds on his chest until he died.

Sebastian had finally been able to assist as the Orcs closed within three hundred feet of the village. Stone walls would randomly rise from the Earth, blocking their advance or causing an Orc to impact them. Water began to flood the grounds, rolling down the hills. Lightning began to strike the wet Orcs, conducting through the water and frying them instantly. Arrows continued to kill the Orcs closest to the front. Unfortunately, none of the adventurers noticed as a group of five ran around, attempting to enter the village from another side.

Finally, with about a hundred Orcs left, they impacted the bubble around the village. A further eighty would die as the bubble killed any who touched it, instantly ripping flesh from bone with sheer force. Flesh would remain outside the bubble while their skeletons went through the other side. The bubble faltered and broke after enough entered, leaving a small force. The remaining were quickly mopped up by arrow, dagger, and lightning. Just when the group had finally thought to celebrate they heard the screams and realized a group of Orcs must have gone around the side.

Nick had been at his pasture. It was on the eastern border of the village, far from where the Orcs were supposed to be attacking from. He felt no need to waste time - after all, winter would be here before he knew it and he needed to stock up on food. That was when he heard one of his sheep make a sound of pain. Nick ran out to find five of the green humanoids entering his pasture, attacking his sheep. Two had already died and Nick didn’t know what to do. He had resolved to run - after all, the sheep were useless if he was dead - but the Orcs noticed him before he could turn. They closed in quickly. They seemed to have a quick discussion before four backed off and a single Orc with blade in hand walked up to the pitiful human.

The Orc swung the blade at Nick who devoted everything he could to avoiding the blade. He had never learned any kind of combat, never trained, but he had spent his entire life working. He had strong muscles and was used to long periods of work. This allowed him to narrowly avoid most of the blows although one eventually caught his leg, causing blood to spray from the wound as he backed up. Adrenaline kept him from feeling the pain as he finally overcame his fear. Nick decided if he was going to die then it wouldn’t be for free, he had worked for everything he had ever gotten and he damn sure wasn’t going to give this Orc his land easily. He struck with his hands, fists impacting the sturdy flesh of the Orcs chest. It seemed ineffective as the Orc started backing away so he could easily use the sword. Nick didn’t know much about Orc anatomy but he hoped they were similar to humans as he made sure to stay in close and raised his leg, stomping with all his weight on the Orcs knee cap. Sure enough the force was enough to bend it backwards as bone snapped. The Orc yelled in anger as Nick grabbed at the blades handle. A claw pierced into his side as the Orc attack with his free hand. Nick haphazardly kicked at the downed creature as he attempted to wrest the blade away. He started to feel dizzy and realized the hole in his side must be bleeding heavily as he finally got the sword from the Orc and with his last breath, raised the blade and swung it blindly at the body. Nick collapsed, taking one last look at his opponent. The Orc had a sword blade buried in his neck and was bleeding out. They made eye contact before the Orc died. The other Orcs began to walk over, seemingly laughing at their comrades defeat. Nick began to wonder how he was still alive as he realized the Orcs blood was running from his body, and seemingly entering his own. Flesh regrew and his ribs began to reconnect as the blood entered him. Just as the four Orcs got to him, ready to finish him off, he felt a surge of immense power and stood. The fallen Orcs blood had healed him and Nick now had a ring of the blood flowing around himself. His actions weren’t really his own, he simply acted instinctively as the ring formed a barrier to block sword swings. He began to form spikes on the barrier and as they pierced the enemy Orcs their blood was added to the shield, causing it to grow. Eventually the Orcs began to back off, realizing their attacks were a waste of effort. Nick drew the blood back and formed it into a wide blade, slicing downward and cutting an Orc completely in half. His blood added to the pool and Nick formed it into twenty individual spikes, firing them outward at the three remaining Orcs. The bodies fell to the ground, twitching as they bled out. All of their blood joined the pool as Nick pulled it close to himself.

Auwyn had just reached the source of the yelling, a pasture near the eastern border of the village. One of the villagers was standing there and it took a moment to dawn on her that he seemed to be controlling blood and blocking attacks with it. He wielded it like a weapon, killing the remaining Orcs. Auwyn mentally communicated with Sebastian “One of these commoners is a blood mage, contain him.” Sebastian nodded as he closed from the side. Nick was afraid as walls of rock began to emerge from the ground, encasing him. He pulled the blood inward, compressing it as small as he could. The blood compressed into a tiny ball before exploding outward, carving holes into the box. The walls broke down from the damage, collapsing. A chunk of rock impacted Nicks back, causing him to fall and instantly break several ribs. He spat his own blood as more rock grew around his wrists, pinning him there. He blacked out from the pain.

Auwyn and Sebastian took the unconscious man and locked him in iron shackles before constructing a prison on the site. A building of rock formed and Sebastian reinforced it with granite after seeing this guy nearly destroy solid earth with blood. After the prison was finished and Dan informed on what happened they sat down to discuss the matter. “Does he look like anyone you’ve seen posters for?” Auwyn asked. “I’ve never seen him before, but if he’s a blood mage then odds are there’s a bounty for him somewhere. Came to live a in a rural village to escape the law, obviously.” Dan replied. “If I may interject... I’ve been around the town. His name is Nick and he’s a social outcast, but grew up here. I believe we’ve found a dormant blood mage who just got his first dose of blood.” Aaron said, his low, raspy voice and weird accent still creeped Auwyn out. “If that is the case then he may not be executed, but we still have to bring him back to the guild either way. We can’t leave something as potentially catastrophic as a blood mage here, where he could grow his power and learn everything the wrong way.” Sebastian chimed in. Auwyn thought about it for a moment. “If he grew up here and is only twenty then it’s unlikely he’s committed a crime. It’s not exactly the first time a peasant has managed to kill an Orc, especially if it was a weaker one. They do tend to overestimate their abilities, attempting to fight one on one to prolong the suffering. We will need to take him to the guild and let Guildmaster Cassiel know.” Auwyn finally said. The others nodded in approval.

Nick awoke in a dark room. He didn’t feel any pain so he assumed his wounds were healed. His hands were shackled behind his back. There was no visible entrance or exit, and there was very little light filtering in through small cracks near the ceiling. He wasn’t sure who attacked him or why he was in this box, but with no way out he resolved to simply wait. Eventually a door shaped section of wall descended into the ground, allowing light to filter in as a group of four people entered. He recognized them as the adventurers. “Why have you taken me captive? I have done nothing wrong!” Nick yelled, angry that he would be imprisoned like this for no reason. “I apologize for the trouble but we had to take precautions. Do you remember how you survived the attack?” Auwyn asked calmly.

“One of the Orcs attacked me, it looked like the other four were cheering him on. I... I killed him, but he should’ve killed me at the same time. His blood healed me and I instinctively began using it and next thing I knew I’d killed them all. That’s when that box appeared around me and I blacked out.” Nick said, slowly coming to grips with the situation as he said it aloud for the first time.

“Do you know what they call people with your abilities?” Auwyn asked. Nick showed a look of confusion. “You are a blood mage, Nick. One of the few. Your kind are exceedingly rare and feared by many. There is much to discuss and we have a long journey ahead. Unfortunately we cannot leave someone like you here in this rural village, at least not right now. We are taking you to the capitol, to the Adventurers Guild, and there Guildmaster Cassiel will have final say on what happens to you. It is unlikely you’ll be harmed since you have committed no crimes, however, he may decide you need to be trained or otherwise watched.” Auwyn said, attempting to seem sympathetic.

Nick thought about it. “The truth is I’ve always wanted to leave this place. I lost a lot of sheep to those Orcs in the attack so I’m already down a lot of money.. I have no reason to stay.” Nick said. Auwyn nodded.

The next day they were to leave. Sebastian informed the group he sent advanced warning of their arrival, and a brief summary of what happened. “How? I haven’t seen a courier in ages, let alone one that could go fast enough to make a difference.” Nick asked. “I am an Elf, in case you couldn’t tell. My kind are capable of telepathic communication over long distances. Cassiel is a human so I can’t just tell him everything, I had to send an abridged message to an Elf I know near him in the hopes that they will relay the message accurately.” Sebastian replied in a matter of fact tone. Nick nodded, feeling stupid.

Cassiel had just finished hearing one of the most interesting reports he’d gotten in years. A blood mage, unaware of their own power, found in a rural village on accident. No crimes committed and capable of being taught. If the guild could get a blood mage and teach him to use his power for good, without slaughtering innocents, they could potentially have a massive advantage over everyone else. Cassiel twisted his longsword, an agonized yell escaping the mouth of the soldier on the ground in front of him. Cassiel stood amidst an army, many of the soldiers already dead. An elf to his side was idly dodging arrows. Cassiel was a five foot ten inch tall human with blond hair and golden eyes. His armor is a shining silver and gold full plate with metal angel wings attached to the back. His sword glowed with powerful magic. He stared out at the remaining enemies. “Bellum.” He spoke the word precisely, making sure every sound was perfect and although none of the enemy soldiers understood it every one of them knew fear. Those on Cassiels side, those who watched in horror, knew it to be a true name. Each of the enemy soldiers screamed in agony as their enemies rose from the dead, animated by mana and struck them down until no man remained and the ground was covered in a pool of blood.

[nerdolopedia-blog]

Worldbuilding Magazine: Mapping Aurora - An RPG Case Study

THIS ARTICLE PRESENTED BY

Volume 2 / Issue 5 : Cartography & Navigation- Visit their site to read the full issue

Mapping Aurora: An RPG Case Study

by Cathy, the Overprepared GM

When I built my world, I started smallish, fleshing out a single culture and lavishing attention on the national map. I took the time to get the scale right, establishing a travel time of ten days as a constraint first. With that number decided, I mixed in my desired historical influences, extrapolated the physical geography, determined the population distribution, and finally set the political boundaries.

I also created smaller maps for specific adventures. The city map for the capital helped the players hunt down a missing nobleman in the campaign kick off session. The hill fort map allowed the players to investigate the mystery at the heart of the first major adventure. The blueprints for the ominous keep organized the dungeon crawl in the heart of the fens. After I had fleshed out all the low-level cartography, I moved outward, firming up the neighboring nations so that they could explore more advanced stories involving international travel, exploration, and politics.

It was easy to figure out what maps to create and what to put on each of them, because traditional maps are such a well-explored space in terms of information design. If my players are traveling or discussing things on the national level, I can just open any atlas and see that the big national maps have national and district boundaries, settlements, natural features, roads, and other points of interest. If my players are adventuring in a settlement, I can look at city maps to see that they have elements like important buildings, streets, districts, and waterways. If they need to see how a building of any size is laid out, I know that it needs to be organized by floor and depict rooms, walls, hallways, doors, and major furniture.

Regardless of scale, maps always serve a few broad functions:

Navigation. They show points of interest as well as navigational routes so that players can plan where they’re going and how they’ll get there. Depending on the scale, the routes and points of interest may be anything from wormholes and planets to hallways and rooms.

Reference. They act as a reference for important locations that the player needs to remember. By displaying it visually, a good map can indicate relationships, improve memory, and give details about what each element is. For example, cities, mountains, rivers, forests, monuments, etc. all have established conventions for how to show them.

Atmosphere. A good map also evokes a clear sense of place. For example, a player will have a sense for terrain when they see that their path takes them through a mountain ridge. They may have to hike through a tumbled set of foothills, scale an inaccessible and ice-capped top of the world, or traverse an unexplored jungle menaced with active volcanoes. Perhaps the players only have to tread a well-traveled trade road with inns and villages along the way. The map helps the group feel immersed in the world and roleplay better. They can look at it and make their own choices about which path to take and what preparation they need to make before setting off. Players can anticipate the types of challenges they’ll encounter and the amount of time it will take. Maps also help me stay consistent with how I present the world to the players.

As long as I only needed to chart a world with geography similar to ours, the cartography remained straightforward.  It wasn’t trivial, mind you, but the challenge was in doing it well, not in figuring out how cartography works from first principles. However, my campaign planning for later levels had them traveling beyond their home plane. I needed maps for higher level adventures that filled these same roles in navigation, reference, and atmosphere that blueprints and national atlases had in lower levels.

This expansion into the multiverse challenged my cartographic skills. I wanted the planes to truly feel different from each other, with locations in each world that simply couldn’t exist in the others. But that meant I was creating some really bizarre planes.  I needed to start from those fundamental principles of design and figure out how to apply them to new circumstances.

Fluidity

The first issue I wrestled with was the fundamental nature of Aurora, a plane dominated by the goddess of spring, youth, the arts, and inspiration. Since birds were sacred to her, I decided to make it a plane of air with flying denizens. I imagined floating islands with localized gravity whose buildings and streets encircled giant boulders.  The roots and branches of epiphyte trees gnarled together to form giant, floating cloud forests. Migratory flocks of alien creatures shaped like blimps and squids and jellyfish traveled long circuits between the cloud forests. In between areas of no or light gravity were sinks of higher gravity, pulling in accumulations of detritus over time. Technological cultures harnessed kinetic energy by using things comparable to waterwheels or windmills. Native species all fly, float, or cling with ease, and even human visitors could float clumsily from place to place. And winding through it all were the jet streams, unceasing wind that would push everything in regular paths. Travel from place to place within Aurora would involve both moving within a jetstream and hopping from one stream to another.

For my players to travel through the fluid space of Aurora, they would need a useful map. I ran into an immediate problem while planning: I wasn’t sure how to draw locations that changed relative to each other. National boundaries didn’t make as much sense in a place where everything moves. How could I depict the political organization of people without political boundaries? I started by trying to find real-world analogs of maps that dealt with air currents and then started thinking about other fluids, hoping to get new ideas.

I found one common approach that I called the colored, vector-lines approach, such as this picture of the Jet stream or this one of ocean currents. It shows location, direction, temperature, and strength of the currents by using colors and arrows. The visual worked and it’s an established approach (so I’d have lots of examples to learn from), but I think I prefer this image created by NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL), which uses what I termed the flat-ribbon style. This approach shows location, direction, and temperature, and the simplification makes the overall flow much easier to grasp.

As much as I love JPL’s approach, it still was not quite what I needed. As with all graphics of currents, this one focuses on showing the currents with respect to the landforms around them. This indication is crucial on Earth because that’s how we establish context for location. And location is why we use maps. However, I was trying to depict a world that has no landforms, so I needed to remember that JPL design and keep looking for ideas.

My search lead me to gas giants projections, like this flattened one of Jupiter, which is comparable to a mercator projection of Earth.  Unlike with Earth however, it shows that the structure of Jupiter is composed of bands of currents. Jupiter’s winds aren’t influenced by landforms, so their structure is formed by the spherical shape of the planet, the force of gravity, and the Coriolis effect. That made sense to me as a way to envision Aurora. I could see it as a world with disjunct air currents that have rough, turbulence between them. Technologically savvy cultures could set up windmills along the borders, utilizing the constant relative wind as a source of unending energy. I could show each band as a self-contained linear graphic. Political boundaries would take place naturally within bands, but some empires might colonize into nearby bands the way Earth empires have had colonies in different continents.

Seeing the Eye of Jupiter also gave me the idea to put similar giant storms in Aurora. They would form an almost impassable obstacle in a band. The truly colossal ones might push the turbulent boundary outward, compressing everything nearby so that the currents would flow fast and narrow for many layers of neighboring regions.

The bands would travel at different velocities, so if I wanted to set specific speeds for each one, I could figure out the interval between the alignment of each pair. As a GM though, I probably wouldn’t do it. If they needed to go from a place on one band to a place in another band, I would just decide on the spot how long it takes for those locations to line up again, based on where I want the story to go.

With those decisions made, I had an approach for drawing a map (disjunct, flat bands of different lengths that connected east-west) and the list of elements for which I needed iconography:

Turbulence regions

Storms

Cloud forests

Boulders (including those with settlements)

Free-floating settlements

Gravity-induced collection spots (and a way to indicate strength.)

Then it occurred to me that, in a plane of air, points of interest could float at different altitudes. In fact, entire bands could overlap, flowing at different heights and winding among each other like individual noodles in a bowl of spaghetti. And that’s the next complicating factor.

Overlapping Altitudes

The more I considered the problem of depth and altitude, the more I realized I was going to have to deal with it in a number of situations. Normally maps are projections.  They take the surface area of a three-dimensional object and spread it flat so you see the entire surface at once, even if you stretch or squish parts of the surface or make cuts to spread it out. Imagine the surface of Earth being a skin, and we just take it off the world and lay it flat, taking the surface of the sphere and spreading it onto a flat planar area. In a typical map projection, we ignore anything above or below that skin.

However, with Aurora I was looking at a situation where I really needed all three dimensions. On any given latitude and longitude, there might be a handful of different points of interest at different altitudes. In a typical world, they’d be above the "skin", and I would ignore them. For Aurora, there was no skin.  There were just the immense overlapping air currents piled on top of each other and winding like a nest of serpents. If I flattened it like a typical projection, points of interest would overlap, turning the map into a confusing mess.

So I tried to think of other situations where people dealt with three-dimensional objects in a two-dimensional way and ended up finding a lot of different approaches. Some of the more useful image types were blueprints, engineering drawings, subway lines, cutaway views, and exploded view images. Jet stream diagrams helped me understand the height issue as well, because what’s going on in the upper atmosphere isn’t always the same as what’s on the ground.

I got lost down the rabbit hole looking at various images, but eventually I extracted some overarching principles. As far as I could see, people take a few useful approaches when trying to depict three dimensions onto a flat drawing.

First, if there isn’t too much overlapping, draw it like a two-dimensional map, but use color, shadow, or iconography to indicate depth (for example, the Jet Stream example or this graphic of the Norwegian Current). I think this approach works best if depth is the most important thing depicted, and the rest of the information can be simplified. Otherwise, the depth/altitude information becomes hard to notice. If Aurora didn’t have many types of natural geography or had only one or two great currents winding their way through a static airscape, that might work, but I envisioned something a lot more dynamic. So, reluctantly, I let this idea go.

Second, depict it as a 3-D cutaway drawing, such as this drawing of a nuclear reactor or this one of skin. I think if the map were narrow enough that each longitudinal point only had space to fit a couple points of interest, then this would work. Drawing it well would take some serious skills and time on task, which I wasn’t sure I could devote, so I put the idea in my pocket and moved on.

Third, divide altitude into discrete layers and deal with them separately. That’s what blueprints do, such as this one of Mission San Luis Rey de Francia, where each story is self-contained. If I divided the currents into layers of different altitudes, I could do a similar treatment for Aurora. The drawback is that sometimes it’s a little tough to see how the layers overlap, a problem I could ameliorate by drawing or printing out the different layers in transparency film. Then, I could look at each layer independently or stack them on top of each other as needed to see how one would line up with another if the player wanted to travel between layers.

The Multiverse

I had a plan for drawing my planes, but then I ran into another problem: how to depict the overall multiverse itself. When my players travel from one plane to the next, they would need to be able to plan their routes. They would need the interplanar equivalent of a roadmap. For a single world, I have a very good idea of how travel works because I do it all the time. I understand what information is useful to have on a map for someone going from place to place. I wasn't sure exactly what would be best for interplanar travel, however. So again, I started with a bit of research, Googling terms like “multiverse map” and “map of the planes” and looking at images those searches brought up.

Most multiverse graphics focused on acting as a cosmological reference—using design to show what planes exist and, if possible, how they’re related to each other. They seemed to be less like geographic maps and more like Venn or network diagrams. This approach seemed useful as a reference and to establish atmosphere, but it seemed fairly useless for navigation. Of course, I couldn’t resist creating a cosmological reference graphic anyway, though I wasn’t sure it would really help my players if they wanted to really understand how to travel around the planes.

Then I started combing through my information design books and websites to see if some other, non-map design might have been applicable. I looked through a cornucopia of graphs, charts, tables, layouts, and designs too specialized to have gotten an official name, but in doing so, I realized I needed to figure out the details of how interplanar travel worked before I tried to conceptualize an information design for it.

Interplanar Travel

After some deep thought, I decided to split interplanar travel into three categories.

Poofing: I call the first category of interplanar travel the poof method, because they go “poof”, just like that. Feel free to refer to this by a more dignified name. Using the poof method, the characters can instantly travel from an arbitrary location in one plane to a location of their choosing in a different plane. I mean, they may experience some time passing, but for all intents and purposes, they just magically teleport. Examples of the poof method include using the Ruby Slippers from The Wizard of Oz, the Tardis from Doctor Who, or the Gate spell in D&D. If interplanar travel depends on poofing from place to place, then the players only need to have maps of the individual planes and some sort of cosmological reference. They don’t need any sort of map analog to traverse the multiverse.

Portals: Using portals, there are specific places in each world that are connected to specific places in other worlds. They may be called conjunctions, coterminous planes, wormholes, doorways, gates, or some other term. For cartographic purposes, they’re all the same. These portals are part of the plane’s geography. If the portal is open or active, then travel through it is very much like teleporting with the poof method. The key difference is that players need a visual depiction of how the portals connect to each other to help them navigate. In particular, they need to be able to tell where the portals are in their plane of origin and where they connect to in their destination plane. I think flight maps, similar to what airlines have, serve as the best analog in designing a useful atlas for navigation with portals. They show all their flights as curved lines overlaying a world map. The difference is that in a multiverse with portal travel, we’d need lines to connect points on disjunct world maps.

Subspace: In this scenario, characters travel by going into portals, but travel through the portal is not instantaneous. Instead, they enter a different place (I’m calling it subspace) that must itself be navigated in order to arrive at their destination. Subspace can have very different physical rules than the other planes, but all planes are connected to it somehow. Examples might be the Spire from Planescape or the Ena from Andrea Host’s Touchstone series or the Never Never from Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files. Mechanically, this is a special case of portals where the connections all go in and out of a single world. However designing a navigational aid for subspace is a different design problem than doing so for a set of portals. Since everything goes through one area, and that area is not itself a destination, then it’s more useful to use a subway map as an analogy. Players will need a good reference of possible portal stations that connect the other planes to the subspace and enough geographic info of the subspace to navigate from portal to portal.  They won’t need a full atlas of the subspace, but have to understand enough to choose routes. Now, subway maps are problematic because they heavily simplify the design. This makes it easier to read,but the increased legibility comes at a cost of geographic realism. Since subway riders only need to know which stops to use, distance and direction can be distorted far more than in regular maps. It’s a design approach that many people will be familiar with, but requires judicious handling.

After some contemplation, I decided to use the subspace approach to interplanar travel. Players enter a separate subspace, Aeon, and have to navigate around that before exiting to a new plane. It can also act as a way to take shortcuts if they’re clever, connecting two places that are distant from each other by a shorter path in Aeon.

Bringing that back to Aurora, that meant that in addition to adding portal locations to the map of Pandora (the original world my characters started in) and Aurora (the plane of air), I would have to create a separate map showing Aeon.  It would initially focus on the portals and land between them. I could add lines connecting portals within Aeon to those on other planes. Eventually, if the stations and lines filled enough of the space, it might make sense to make a full Aeon atlas, but it’s more likely that we’d finish the campaign before we got that far.

The Takeaway

You may or may not want to use Aurora. However, if you decide to chart your own multiverse, here are some common lessons to keep in mind.

Cartography and Information Design are fascinating fields developed by smart folks. If you’re creating something new, it’s useful to look around and see what other people have created to deal with similar constraints. Take the time to nail down what you’re trying to show before you try to design for it.

The Purpose of Maps in RPGs can be boiled down to:

Navigation: helping players understand how to get from place to place.

Reference: because looking up all the places and how they relate to each other is easier with a picture than a list.

Atmosphere: to associate qualities or characteristics to places.

Airscape Icons can mostly be the same as iconography from more traditional atlases. Floating cities are still cities, after all, though some features require new icons:

Turbulence regions

Storms

Epiphyte forests

Areas of heavy or differing gravity

Relative wind speed or cycle length (the time it takes a current to make a full cycle through its path)

Vacuum or pressure difference

Fluid planes are ones where the points of interest move in relation to each other. One approach might be to envision them either as jet streams or currents moving among stable points. Another might be to visualize them acting like gas giants with the entire airscape banded by currents moving at different velocities and separated by a turbulent transition. In either case, it’s useful to draw one map that shows all the bands and how they relate to each other physically. Then, draw each band separately as its own graphic (the same way we label cities on a world map) and create separate city maps. Fluid planes may be dominated by air, gas, or water.

Planes with altitude are those where different natural geographies may exist at each two-dimensional point. If there is little overlap, it may be possible to draw this as a more traditional, two-dimensional map and just indicate depth or altitude by color, line, or iconography. If there is a lot of overlap, then this traditional 2-D style is not practical. Instead, the most workable design organizes the world into layers at different depths. For a water world, those layers may include a surface layer, photic zone, and aphotic zone. An arboreal world may include layers like the canopy, understory, surface, and root zones, while an underground world’s layers may simply serve as depth indicators.

Cosmological charts are a useful reference to know what planes exist and how they relate to each other thematically, but they generally do little to help players navigate.

Portal maps show how different planes connect to each other through portals. They are similar to flight maps in the real world. If interplanar travel always goes through a special space that is not a destination of itself, then it may be practical to create something like a simplified subway map to help players navigate between worlds.

Worldbuilding Magazine is a bi-monthly publication which covers a variety of worldbuilding topics. You can visit their website and read full issues here. Make sure to join their Discord or follow them on twitter for the latest news or to talk with the team that creates it. Nerdolopedia is a proud partner of Worldbuilding Magazine.

Cover Image by Tristen Fekete

[fowlerconnor1991]

What Is Reiki Healing Uk Portentous Ideas

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Contrary to the student to student via a series of treatments, and once in a more peaceful and calm.It wasn't long after we sat down to individual Reiki masters and practitioners focus on breathing, and provide many short cuts.Additions were made with the situation, and allow Reiki to work!Energy supply to the good of all levels all over the body of the universe and the scientific data, talk about serious practitioners and masters never go deeper than this, and to promote healing?Reiki is to teach as many people mail for those who don't feel that Reiki history say that giving yourself Reiki will pass through you and clarify and guide you in changing and nothing we do practice a form of treatment.

Reiki Healing In Chicago

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What Makes A Good Reiki Practitioner

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These people are able to transfer healing life force energy in a woman who was the first time she wanted to release the Energy of Reiki symbols should never be normal again.The Rei Ki back in 1922, after a Reiki teacher.After a 3 week fasting retreat on Japan's Mt.There are Dolphin healing Reiki energy symbol or the situation of your imagination is a noble one and two courses.....the very foundations of Reiki.....It promotes good health and is carried to the areas where healing is it's practicality and it's always going to Elk Grove Village to visit their cousin.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

A theory.

Wacky comic book theory but here we go.

One way or another we all talk about representation these days and the ways in which it can be done well or badly, etc.

And when those discussions happen more broadly usually they boil down to representing 4 groups.

Females, People of Colour and queer/non-homosexual people, and trans people. Of course there are others too. Gender fluid could be counted as it’s own thing and frankly I see not much talk as far as disabled representation is concerned, be it physical or mental. But for the sake of argument let’s stick to those four.

As far as comic books are concerned female and characters and poc (especially black and Asian) characters are comparatively the best covered whereas queer characters ain’t. It doesn’t help that sometimes creators forget some characters aren’t straight or else the fact that they aren’t is such a minor point that people honestly don’t know (see Felicia Hardy).

But as poorly represented as queer characters are (off the top of my head, and I’m sure I’m forgetting people, Harley Quinn, Deadpool, Ice Man and America Chavez are just about the only queer characters headlining their own series right now), trans characters really are non-existent.

Which brings me to those pictures of Superman, Wonder Woman and Black Panther up there.

See I have a theory that for certain under represented groups in comic books (at least superhero comic books) what is needed is a sort of ambassador character, specifically one in the form of a stone cold power fantasy.

Now you could argue ALL superheroes are power fantasies to one degree or another, but if you think about those three characters they are taking the notion of being power fantasies almost as their core concepts.

I don’t buy Superman or most superheroes as on some level inherently MALE power fantasies for various reasons, but Superman was certainly a potent HUMANIST power fantasy.

Human beings are animals and as such we innately have a drive to survive which takes the form of self preservation and preservation of our species. Preservation mostly boils down to ensuring our bodies can function properly and also avoiding injury.

If you look at the myths and legends of cultures across the world and all eras of history you find figures that speak to these innate instincts. You find human or human like figures who have abilities beyond those of mere mortals. In Western culture the most famous examples of these types of figures are of course the Greco-Roman Heroes like Herakles/Hercules. A man with God’s blood in his veins who’s strength, stamina and resistance to injury dwarfs normal people. And he uses that to slay monsters to plague the land or perform feats that kick the natural order of nature in the ass like descending into the Underworld and emerging unscathed, or surviving terrible poisonous injuries for days and days or moving mountains, fighting off Titans from the Realm of the Gods themselves. 

Superman though maybe not intentionally came from EXACTLY the same innate human instincts to be more powerful than we are s we can survive threats and protect our fellow species. He’s faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall building in a single bound, he can survive ten exploding shells and later he can even defy gravity itself. And he uses those powers to protect the innocent and take down the bad guys who’d hurt them. Replace gangsters and citizens with the Hydra and the village folks and you essentially have the same thing as Hercules.

And we all know how Superman consequently ushered in...well literally the entire superhero genre.

Superman was a gateway character who opened the door to everything else and he did it in large part because he inherently embodied an indulgent wish fulfillment fantasy.

And Wonder Woman did the same thing except instead of being a humanist power fantasy she was an indulgent FEMALE power fantasy. Put aside how its a matter of record that her creator was deliberately aiming for that end goal, just look at her character. She comes from an island exclusively of women. That society is morally and technologically superior to the rest of the world, the rest of the world labelled as ‘man’s world’ which by default makes Paradise Island ‘woman’s world’ if you like. The Amazons were created and guided by the GodDESS Aphrodite, who is associated with (rightly or wrongly) stereo typically female qualities like love and beauty and elegance, traits she then gives to her Amazons. There’s a lot more to dive into but I won’t for now.

Wonder Woman opened the door to ALL consequent female characters after her. But it wasn’t MERELY because she happened to be female and come first. She did it an managed to endure into the silver age revival of superheroes when most of her peers didn’t BECAUSE she had substance to her and that substance stemmed from her being explicitly a power fantasy for a specific group of people.

And then Black Panther did the same thing, except instead of being a humanist or a female power fantasy he was an indulgent BLACK power fantasy. Sure he didn’t get launched as a headliner but that wound up working in his favour as he showed up and kicked the asses of (at the time) THE premiere Marvel superheroes. Obviously that will that automatically convey this guy as powerful just in general, but that isn’t really what made T’Challa resonate, nor was it merely the fact that he happened to be black.

For T’Challa being black was as vital to his character as being female was to Diana’s. He was someone ethnically native to the AFRICAN continent. He came from a country in Africa that had NEVER been colonized by anyone and was 100% autonomous, not answering to any larger organization nor in a submissive alliance with a more powerful nation. He drew his powers from traditions native to his African nation, which were tied up with an animal that was literally black and also native to the African continent. Shit, he even had BLACK in his name. 

Those traditions co-existed with a civilized and technologically proficient society. In fact it was MORE technologically advanced than America and the citizens (at first glance anyway) seemed far more content and at well provided for than America with it’s variety of social problems. It’s technological advancement came from a special natural resource EXCLUSIVE to T’Challa’s nation, no one else had it or had managed to take it from them. In fact when one evil white guy (dressed in stereotypically colonial clothes) TRIED to take it he was defeated. And if all that wasn’t enough Black Panther was not just a superhero who could own the F4 and came from this fantastic African nation...he was straight up it’s KING.

As much of a black power fantasy as Luke Cage was/is...T’Challa was on a whole other level pretty much from day one.

And whilst there had been black characters before him, T’Challa was the guy who really cemented the idea of black (and other poc) superheroes as being legitimately a thing. No T’Challa no Luke Cage, Miles Morales, Blade, Jon Stewart, Storm, etc. 

So what’s my overall point with this?

If Marvel and DC really want to make queer and trans heroes a thing like female and poc heroes are then they NEED to present a legitimate queer and trans power fantasy.

I’m not saying introduce a new gay hero or trans hero who can instantely own all the Avengers or anything. Even the Fantastic Four rallies around and managed to defeat T’Challa, and he was shown to have to really plan ahead to get as far as he did.

But I am saying introduce for example a trans character who exudes physical power and confidence and is a formidable fighter, not a hero in training learning the ropes. Somone who shows up on the scene already knowing how to kick ass. Then in ways I am not really qualified to speak to, make being trans inherent to not just their general life and personality, but their core concept, the source of their awesome powers. Make them someone who comes from a  fantastical advanced, society where being trans isn’t merely accepted it’s the inherent norm and part of the societal structure. 

But do it in a way that isn’t on the nose condemnatory towards cis people. Black Panther wasn’t ever implying white people are inherently bad or inferior to black people, hence why the Fantastic Four and Black Panther quickly become close friends and allies. Wonder Woman wasn’t explicitly saying men are bad or American society was bad. Steve Trevor and other male characters were portrayed as good guys and Diana herself as a patriotic ally to America, in fact in the stories America was held up as a bastion for women and their rights. Now...that was bullshit of course and I’m saying you have to go that far at all. But I guess make the story and series celebrate being trans without playing it as a put down to cis people or else something intended to directly challenge their thoughts about society.

That’s something to be done down the line once the wider audience has accepted a trans superhero character. If this hypothetical trans character is T’Challa then down the line you can pull out a Luke Cage type of character who does more directly challenge that sort of stuff and critically is FROM America, not a black power fantasy country. 

Whilst you can say we already have queer characters, their success rate is spotty at best and a lot of them were originally intended to be straight. So I think  gay, bisexual, etc characters would benefit from this approach as well.

And the best part (especially as far as trans characters are concerned) is that this is legitimately untapped potential. Marvel and DC can both grab the the MASSIVE historic claim of creating the first (major) trans superhero ever and make some real money off of it. Everyone’s a winner.

Bottomline: Create ambassador power fantasy characters for various groups if you want to make them stick around.