#sietch tabr legends

[kabuki-draws]

Watched Dune a third time today, it was also the third time I missed Harah 😔 (and Thufir Hawat!?)

Denis, ma boy 🫵 it was a ‼️ SERIOUS CRIME ‼️that you wrote her out. Stilgar deserves A LOVING WIFE ⁉️😤

[blacksunrequiem]

Disclaimer: I wrote this post as an enthusiast for Dune: Part Two (2024) and the ‘seductively sick’ portrayal of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Any other thoughts or comments are welcomed and appreciated! TL;DR: The aesthetic choice of Feyd’s blackened teeth aligns well with the widespread custom in ancient Vietnam — a sign of beauty, maturity, and even brutality. Read more below. Original photos belong to their respective owners.

Teeth blackening in Dune: Part Two (2024) through the lens of Vietnamese culture

One thing that mesmerizes me about Feyd in the 2024 Dune movie is his blackened teeth. Not only does this provide an impressive physical appearance for Feyd, but it also reminds me of a long-lost fashionable custom in my home country.

Original inspiration. As far as I know, the film crew creatively invented this aesthetic for the movie from the inspiration of the black mamba (a type of venomous snake in sub-Saharan Africa) and images of geisha with black teeth. Similar to folklore and legends, other countries and ethnicities also dyed their teeth black with their local traditional recipes.

Vietnam-specific. Particularly in Vietnam, teeth blackening was once a popular aesthetic choice for both commoners and noblemen. As teeth blackening was a sign of elegance and decency, it was prevalent for Vietnamese women to adhere to this practice. This custom was deep-rooted as early as 400 BCE and grew so profound as an indicator of being ready for marriage or fierce on battlefields. Side note, Vietnamese people would not dye their teeth black until they came of age; it was indeed a statement of maturity.

A clash between the East and the West. It is also hilarious that until the early 20th century in Vietnam, white teeth were regarded as barbaric; only animals, savages, and evil spirits would have white teeth. During this time, one may casually make a sarcastic remark about pretty girls with white teeth such as “Oh you’ve got a pretty face but your teeth are as white as doggo.” On the contrary, in the eyes of the French colonists, the locals had impressive straight teeth but those were “as black as sewer pipes”.

Cannibalism? In some online discussions, internet users theorize that Feyd’s blackened teeth may indicate cannibalism. This fan theory is reasonable enough, because during World War I, to curb the abuse and bullying from the larger and stronger Moroccans and Senegalese mercenaries to the smaller Annamese counterparts, a French officer spread the rumor that black-toothed people were cannibals and could devour two legs in just an hour, terrifying the African mercenaries and bringing peace to the Annamese ones.

How to? So, without the privilege of wearing an Invisalign filled with black dye like Austin, how did the Vietnamese dye their teeth? In short, one must generally undergo the following stages to dye their teeth black: mouth sanitization, red dyeing, black dyeing, polishing, and maintenance, which on average took around three weeks. It was reported that the first teeth-dyeing session would rather be physically painful due to swelling mouth and lips, stinging sensation of the dyed teeth, and strict dietary restrictions (e.g., refraining from fatty and hot food, smoking).

On another side note, I don’t know exactly what the food that Feyd chewed in the early morning attacking Sietch Tabr and degrading Rabban, but to maintain the sheeny stylish black teeth, ancient and older Vietnamese often practiced betel nut chewing.

Dear Dune fan fic writers, please consider adding this long-lost social custom into your fics; multi-cultural representation would be greatly appreciated and respected.

Please let me know if you want me to delve into greater details of the teeth blackening tutorial in Vietnam. I may do a part two on this for my lovely Feyd and Vietnamese culture if you guys are intrigued!

[fuckyeahisawthat]

I've read several post-Dune Part Two fics now where Chani fucks off somewhere far away, changes her name and lives in anonymity in some sietch or another until someone who knows her, either Gurney or sometimes Paul himself, comes and finds her. But I haven't seen any (yet, I say, not needing another WIP on my plate) that deal with what I think is the most likely possibility, which is that she simply goes back to Sietch Tabr.

The sietch was damaged but it wasn't completely destroyed. There are absolutely still people there--for starters, anyone who was too wounded to undertake a planet-length evacuation journey. And if the sietch was damaged to the extent that huge chunks of rock were falling out of the walls, there will absolutely be people who were trapped, either in passageways where both ends collapsed or under rubble. And in the immediate aftermath some of them will still be alive and people will be looking for them. And even past the point where anyone could still be alive, if the sietch is going to be habitable again someone has to do the gruesome work of extracting the bodies. Those sietches are specialized habitats that were probably built over many generations, capable of sustaining populations of thousands in an environment that is very resource-poor for human survival. People aren't going to simply abandon them, especially now that the Harkonnen threat is gone. They will want to come back. Which means there will be people there clearing out rubble and repairing damaged infrastructure and caring for the wounded and laying the dead to rest in whatever manner they can. That's all practical service work for which people with strong muscles and a strong stomach are needed.

And also...Chani must have a family, right? We don't see them in the movie but they must exist. She cannot be completely without social connections outside of Paul. Someone will have been waiting for her to come home from the battle for Arrakeen. And while she is furious and heartbroken at Paul, I don't think it would ever cross her mind that she would need to hide from him. And she would resent the idea of hiding from his legend. So yeah, I think she is at Sietch Tabr helping with the recovery effort.

And you know that meme that's like "white guy excited to burn down the system and also control the rebuilding effort"? That's exactly what's gonna happen. The new Emperor will be sparing no expense in making sure the sietches are repaired and livable again. Maybe he could't foresee the attack in time to stop it but now he's sending mining equipment and structural engineers press-ganged from across the Known Universe and doing his disaster recovery PR tour in between waging war on the rest of the universe and of course he’s going to visit Sietch Tabr, his home if only for a little while, and, well, you see the possibilities here.

[withinycu-arch]

Orlop and Kaleff

The sons of Harah and Jamis, the Fremen warrior Paul killed in a duel both of whom he trained in the weirding way. Orlop was the younger of the two only nine when their father was killed. While Kaleff was in his teens, only a year or two younger than Paul. Jamis was his step-father, as Kaleff was the son of Harah’s first husband but the Kaleff considered him his true father and acknowledged him as such.

While technically a man by Fremen standards Kaleff declined to call Paul out recognizing and acknowledging his superior abilities, and because he didn’t want to be responsible for killing the ‘voice from the outer world’ which many Fremen already believed Paul to be. 

Like his father Kaleff was somewhat cynical about the legends surrounding Paul teasingly calling him ‘out freyn’ when they went on raids even as he grew to like and respect Paul as a fellow warrior. Kaleff also proved immensely adaptable during battle and seemed quick to grasp and change the military tactics Paul himself had been trained in, adapting them to the Arrakeen environment and Fremen abilities. This coupled with his candid personality made him one of Paul’s most trusted officers during that early time amongst the Fremen and in Paul’s later reign as Padishah Emperor and he led the conquest of countless worlds in Paul’s name. However by the time of Alia’s reign his candid nature and irreverence had caused him to fall from favor and he was forcibly retired from active duty. He spent that retirement in Sietch Tabr with Shishakli, Stilgar’s son and his only companion throughout his life having exchanged water rings with him after the Battle of Arrakeen.

His brother Orlop meanwhile had died at thirteen defending Paul’s son Leto II the Elder. 

[dune-thedewcollectors]

Ornithopter Down: A tribute tale so short.

Artwork: Simon Frost

Even the prison Hell of Salusa Secundus prepared me little for Arrakis - the spice planet. If there were Gods here, they have long since left. Only mortals and their machinations remain. The masters, House Harkonnen and the Fremen not as liberated as their name suggests assume the roles of old since time began. And oblivious to all - the worm, always the worm.

The ornithopter thop thops in crow-like flight seaming the supposed Harkonnen sky. So predatory as it patrols Arrakeen airspace. The ornithopter a craft with multi-purpose - light armour, gun mounted, troop carrier and drop bomb capability, the mainstay of the air fleet, spearhead of the young Baron's occupational and commercial intent. Harkonnen Public Force more a euphemism for mass murderers than its corporate sounding title suggests. The HPF are no Sardaukar, nor Fedaykin. Scum! Them both, neither the rabble spawn of Zensunni wanderers or the Baron’s buffoons are fit to lick the excrement off the boots of the lowliest Sardaukar trooper. Still the Baron is always in need of men not shy of a little knifework, either for show or bounty. For fifty standard years house Harkonnen continues to suck the marrow out of the planet and its indigenous. Of course propaganda promotes otherwise. The Baron's silver tongue and public relation corps is second to none and as any Fremen under duress and the whip will testify, "that he has brought such prosperity and peace for the Fremen - the likes that God has never seen." In truth, the spice, Arrakis its unique source, is currently worth 620,000 Solari per decagram in the Imperial market. Which makes the Baron's fief , "so preposterously profitable like no other holding in the known universe," so he gloats, often, to envious ears in the Imperial court.

And as if offplanet, like leaves in the wind - we soar. Our 'thopter crows for murder, one eye in the sky the other trained below. The pilot is efficient enough and despite my instincts: I Iike this asset. Iaken Nefud - nefarious no doubt, yet steady in crisis. Slight and, still, menace in his stature with the appropriate scars shining on his pock marked demeanor. There are many of the Public Force with murky past and the most dubious of countenance that rally towards profit and violence, but I am above that, I am Sardaukar - of the blood of the orient soldiers slaves of old, same lineage of ancient assasins no less. I am Sardaukar - in league with my Emperor, in servitude to House Corrino. And to this, or their end - I prevail.

The air like my chest feels tight, as if pressed between the Heavens and Hades. The desert chokes the airspace around if not reverse. The sand covets all; basins, sinks, grabens, and dust chasms too. The terrain features in open bleds and ergs swirled in the currents and torrents of the finest grains of silky suffocating death. And what rock formations there are lay submerged, mostly, while its desperate peaks protrude the surface. Such vastness its wide emptiness deceitful and as crushing as any claustrophobic condition. A navigational nightmare where one dare not miscalculate. Storms either sand and magnetic or both, can ill afford mistakes. Where is a Mentat when you need one? The desert ever constant, continue to plots against us, still. A landscape in dual allegiance to its desertfolk. Contrary to intelligence reports, Arrakeen airspace is no haven from Fremen insurgents. These natives a little more than just restless. Their ordinance: assorted small arms, rocket propelled grenades, surface to air missiles and stolen long range lasguns, always gun ready and cleared to engage. The confirmed kills of Harkonnen personnel whether by hostile or friendly fire are never accurately recorded if at all or the files forever in bureaucratic limbo. What insurgency?

Ornithopter down! Beyond the shield wall the call no pilot and crew wants to make or answer in bandit country. An ongoing joke and what they call a secret war on this ulcer of a planet that they make play of that playwright's words,  "we few, we unlucky few,” the unofficial motto of the Public Force. I tire of their folly I say a plague on them both. I know my duty but I question the nature of the assignment I’ve been given. An exfiltration op in the middle of a holy war we’re at the wrong end of. I’ve seen the stats, and there’s no truth in them. The so call ragtag remnants of jihadists are the true masters outside the city limits. And they want us to retrieve one of their holy women? On the say so of some courtier ponce wanting his Bene Gesserit wife back who ran away to Arrakis decades before. There’s more than mischief here when the sisterhood are involved. Damned order of witches stirring up the natives with legends of the old Orient and its mysticisms. Fremen fanatics their numbers vast. More than the Baron will admit. I’ve seen with my own eyes the horrors of their resolve and their cause. A begrudging reminder of my own. But my God is stronger than yours. I am faithful, righteous and trained. And she, Sister Ramallo, is with us and with the co-ordinates she’s secreted, from under your very noses we shall steal her away from you, from this damned desert, from this Godforsaken planet and return her to paradise, praise Hallah!

Plans aren’t going as planned. Projectiles scar the sky looking to prey upon our bird in flight. Damn the Fremen! And that witch too. She promised us safe passage and proof of life. The invisible insurgents their work is done. The rockets locked on and propelling towards us, bent on benediction. Nefud as equal to the threat as any avoiding death becoming us all. He banks and performs an Immelman turn and the rockets explode far enough to survive but close enough to cause splash damage, thank the prophet for counter measures. “Looks like its a one way trip for this bird - sir,” chirps Nefud.

 

It could be worse, I know. Yet Nefud skillfully maneuvers and grounds the aircraft on the luminous landing zone marked out by a baradye pistol. Seems the witch keeps pace with the storm assuming the handiwork hers, as looming dust clouds and lightning sweeps over the the basin of Tuono, I exit with haste and disorientated, Nefud even more so - and shivering like an addict needing his vice. We're greeted by the squinting sunflare and the whipping wail of shifting sand. And then a disarming whisper deep within my subconscious suspends me still, motionless against my will, Nefud and I swap startled glances, he hears it too - a slow deliberate and suggestive murmur yet echoing as if repeating over and over, "guard yourself for truth, Out Freyn," in perfect Galach, accented in the way only highborn or courtesans speak. A lone Jubba cloaked figure appears in desert fashion prepared for violence while we remain prone, conscious - yet slumbered in our stupor.

"Ramallo! release me," I spat, " and come with us we are under orders of the Emperor." She cuts a fine figure in the sand, svelte not pretty but handsome still for a woman mid-aged living on this desolate rock far from the preen and pamper of better days. The return of muscle and bone comes slow as we slither down to ground. We've seen something not many live to tell. The voice, the cloaked fist of the Bene Gessirit. The sisterhood's ability to manipulate muscle and mind literally bending an enemy to their will. She is close enough. Instinct, perhaps, self preservation bids me hold, not so Nefud his sense tells him otherwise and lunges for her foot and coils round her heel. Almost instantly she slips, side-steps and side kicks towards her assailant’s temple side. Over in a blur no blood drawn only shock. As adept in close quarter as she was with voice, I awe in wonder. She's close enough now as I stand, hands raised upon my head contemplating the shigawire sewn within my scalp. I see her eyes blue but not as blue within blue as if born to their ways. There's more to the color of them eyes that disturbs. She has no intention of leaving with us that's plain to see. Even more obvious - she is lost to us, lost to them, but lost to herself most of all. In just a few moments I've assessed we can not retrieve what's unhinged, bordering the path to insanity, and for whatever reasons before during and after this incident, which is sure to be brushed under the royal carpet, she is tainted Fremen thus compromised. Not a further word is exchanged between us. As if all is understood, she retreats and I gather my asset.

" You managed to apply the tracer?" I query the stirring Nefud, "aye sir," Iaken stirred but not shaken. I secrete the transmitter from my bodice and attach the hairline shigawire as antennae. I call in our support hovering high but nearby. And quickly reference the co-ordinates of the landing zone.

We should have stunners for this kind of deal. Or initiated the Holtzman effect! The point is moot. What should of been a simple pick up and retrieve has turned into a fire mission now as protocol demands. The stench of spice reeks from my fellow Sardaukar soldiers in Guild garb as we board their 'thopter and ascend rapidly from the LZ. I remove my Public Force livery and slip into my Corrino jumpsuit with the embroidered on Ensign epaulettes. "Welcome aboard Aramsham," salutes my handler, the Captain. I nod, return the salute and hand him the tracer receiver. We have been trying to locate the secret sietch - Tabr with no success. Thanks to a cuckold and his witch we have an opportunity to firebomb the hidden cave of warrens to blazes. The blip remains stationary on the screen has been the last ten. We hover above in our Ornithopter looking down. The bomb bay doors open wide. I look across to Nefud, "look sir, wormsign!"

#FanFiction #Dune #Sardaukar