#territorial goblins

[marshfeldman31]

Four Goblins Hiding Behind a Rock

Peering over the jagged rocks, the quartet of goblins—each with a countenance twisted in a mix of fear and anger—are unmistakably in the throes of a dire situation. One might surmise they're hiding from an encroaching peril, perhaps the thunderous steps of a wandering giant whose shadow looms as ominously as a storm cloud over their sanctuary. Their eyes, wide with trepidation, tell tales of close encounters with creatures much larger than themselves, encounters in which they were not the hunters, but the hunted.

Alternatively, the fury etched upon their faces could be born of an intrusion, a violation of their sacred grounds by audacious adventurers or plundering bandits. These goblins, known to be fiercely territorial, may well be plotting a defense of their home, their anger fueled by the audacity of uninvited guests.

In the end, whether it's a beast of legend or the all-too-familiar greed of man, these goblins find themselves bound by a common cause: survival. Their expressions are the masks worn by those who live on the edge of a knife, where fear keeps you sharp, and anger keeps you alive.

[florbelles]

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐈𝐑 ❧ [eight/∞]

+ shadowheart

[maegalkarven]

My favorite aspect of "nature vs nurture" with Dark Urge is what it's both why Durge was Like That.

It was both nature (a pureblood bhaalspawn) and nurture (Sceleritas and Bhaal's teachings).

Durge was born into their role of prodigal murderer AND nurtured into it.

Which makes the defying Bhaal so much interesting because at the beginning of the game it's a battle against nature (dark urge) but the lack of previous teachings. So Durge is a clean slate trying to battle their very own origin.

And after the temple, after Durge defying Bhaal and being resurrected, it...reverses.

Because there is no dark urge in them anymore, no Bhaal's unholy blood.

BUT there's nurture. The glimpses of the memories of the person they once were, the eerie familiarity of it, body and mind acting without thought and slipping into old habits. Most of Durge's memories are lost, but they have recovered enough for their raising and past habits to affect them now. And so it's a battle against nurture now, to be different than you used to be, was raised to be.

[libraryspectre]

I love cryptids so so so much and always have but I engage with them very differently than I did when I was like 7. Back then I was obsessed with evidence and evaluating the existence of each cryptid individually to decide what I did and didn't believe in. If I didn't believe in them, I still liked the folklore, but I took the ones I did believe in very seriously. Now I love the folklore and reading about encounters but if you ask me if I believe in any of them I just wiggle my fingers and say "wHo's To sAy" in a spooky voice

[swordmaid]

the fact that the only way for minthara to survive in shri’iia’s playthrough is if shri’iia is the dark urge meaning she does not care about lolth that much. like … just thinking about the sheer cunt and eatery two ex lolth-sworn oath of vengeance paladins would bring (though one of them is an oathbreaker…). one has the noble background and the other a charlatan they’d be so so terrible and magnificent together I fear

[sisterdragonwithfeathers]

so apparently sitting almost all the way up front in my own pew by myself was a little load-bearing actually

[killbaned]

tumblr’s aging populace etc but local goblin (me) thrilled w the state of the seasoning on their cast iron frying pan

[mariana-oconnor]

OK, I've done it. I've reached beyond the point in BG3 where I was in my first game.

But I've got a question about after the tiefling party. Spoilers under the cut.

We did the tiefling party, I was unnecessarily horny with the wizard because my only other option was diminishing his relationship with Tara and I would not do that. She's clearly his best friend, I'm not going to call her 'just an animal companion,' excuse me. So sure, I guess my Tav is just that forward when she's had a drink.

I may also have accidentally flirted with Halsin because apparently thinking it's funny that he'd sing and declare his love for people means I now have a dialogue option about hoping I didn't come on too hard last night... Whoops? Sorry? I don't consider that coming onto someone. There should be tone indicators.

None of this is the question. The question concerns goblins.

Because now I am wondering a thing because I didn't get this far last time. So... I killed the three leaders, then I immediately went to camp and then fast travelled to the grove. BUT when I go back to the goblin camp to search for the Nightsong are the goblins still going to be there and angry at me? The ones in the Blighted Village are still there, but they still seem pretty chill. I guess no one told them I murdered the cult leaders?

(Also, people who were saying how you should put your ranged fighters in the rafters for the Dror Ragzlin fight were absolutely right. I managed to pick off literally everyone in that room other than Dror himself without everyone even joining the battle. Gale just firebolted them into oblivion and no one even noticed him? Genuinely he was MVP of that fight. Still not sure that wasn't a bug because Astarion got dragged into initiative after his first kill. Sure, Gale was pissy about all the stealthing and the heights, but sometimes when you're a squishy wizard with low HP you've got to be practical about these things.)

But yeah

tl;dr now there's maybe still an entire camp of goblins who are maybe kind of mad at me and I need to get back in there at some point? So are they still there? Am I going to have to clear them out anyway?

[al-ghoul]

Dec 16, 2022, Los-Angeles, All Within My Hands Helping Hands Concert & Auction @ Microsoft Theater

[xacobes]

Thanks to this post I discovered the existence of Pengolodh which, intersting in its own as it is, led me to the discovery of Ælfwine. It seems that Tolkien did write a story where a "modern man" (a sailor from the IX century) from Gales reached the coasts of Tol Eressëa. Apparently he lived there with the elves for a while and learned and translated the history of Arda from them. He then returned to England and his translated works were presumably found centuries later by Tolkien himself.

As an archivist, thinking about the right to be forgotten in a specifically archival context, and the idea that not everyone wants their stories or their records to be made available to anyone/for everyone; that often, what a community judges to be the best preservation for their own histories and culture is not what is beneficial to outsiders, especially outside academics.

More specifically, thinking about this in the context of Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit/The Silmarillion/other Legendarium books as “historical” texts.  Thinking about maybe the “authors” not writing everything down because they understand the power of stories and how the telling of a thing grants a certain power over it, over how it is known and spread, and positions the teller as a figure of authority over what (and who) is depicted.

We already know that Bilbo is an unreliable narrator, that he changes things and leaves things out.  There were a few posts and fics years ago, when the Hobbit movies came out, about Bilbo befriending a young Estel in Rivendell and deliberately leaving that out of his stories at Gandalf/Elrond’s request.  What other things might he have left out, perhaps, out of respect for his friends in the Company and their desire to keep their culture and language private and closed? 

Pengolodh compiling the Annals of Beleriand from which came the greater part of The Silmarillion - but he was in Gondolin for much of the First Age, and would have had to rely on other sources to give an account of the rest of Beleriand.  Who did he talk to?  What might they have said and not said, and what might they have requested he include or keep out? 

Anyways, the Legendarium as an archive, something actively created and shaped by the different people in and around it, who both added things and left things out unintentionally or by design or on request. 

[foldingfittedsheets]

In general I try to be a reasonable and rational person but I am also at heart still a feral little creechur governed by instinct. I get somewhat territorial and if people leave their smells in my home it puts my hackles up if I’m not friends with them. Their smell is invading my space. It doesn’t help that my sense of smell is very strong.

Folks have gotten weird when I’ve talked about it but it’s insane to me more people don’t acknowledge each others smells. Hair products, deodorant, baseline body smell all compose scent signatures people leave behind, all the time.

I don’t mind a friends smell lingering on my couch. When I sit down later and detect a memory of my friend I’m not unhappy, but I get uneasy if we’re not as close.

Good friends are allowed to leave smells in my bedroom, or in some cases my bed. When I smelled a dear friend after she watched the house and slept in my bed I was perfectly content.

But in every category there’s little exceptions like, it’s okay for most friends to be on the couch but I don’t want their smell on my couch blanket or pillows unless they’re in an upper category.

Tonight during the one shot one of the guys was just nonstop hugging my favorite couch pillow and I was like. I will not be a goblin and tell him not to use that pillow, that would be so rude. But I don’t want his scent all over my favorite pillow.

But now that he’s gone I went to use the pillow for reading and had a visceral Nope. Can’t rub my face in that smell, gotta wait for the pillow to air out before I can use it again.

[lady-ace]

The cities are alive

By now, it's a pretty common fact that the cities — yes, cities are in fact, alive.

They can project a body in their territory, thus showing their presence.

Lady Gotham is a dark mistress. Her wings are black like the fog that covers her whole city — as black as Gotham's night. Her long dress, even though seemingly soft and elegant in first glance, won't ever sway, not even in the harshest winter winds Gotham offers.

Even though she wears a blindfold, she sees all, is all. She sees beyond the surface of what eyes can see; knowing full well the pain and suffering every single Gotham citizen goes through, and bears that burden.

Her whole body seems to be made of pure, dark energy. Some accounts of eye witnesses say that if Lady Gotham wished so, she could easily blend into the shadows, as if she was never there. Ever watching over her people, even though unseen.

Legends say that if you ever feel like you're being watched even though there's nobody there, it's a sign Lady Gotham's spirit has her sights on you.

The person who have her favor, the ones she sees herself the most in, are her royal knights, who fight to keep her city and her people safe, every night.

Metropolis' spirit was very different, in many ways.

Metropolis was sunny and hopeful — a truly carefree soul.

Metropolis was the city that showed himself the most, simply enjoying being able to watch as the civillians go about their day, making the city burst with life.

Metropolis thrives on the energy of its people — that is reflected on the bright, sunny days with no clouds in sight, where the skyline gleams.

Of course, Metropolis' chosen is Superman, the most bright symbol of hope there is. Inspired by him, Metropolis even decided to encorporate a cape in their astral projection, said cape that shines like the sun and gleams like the sky no matter the time.

Everyone knows a city's spirit has at least something in common with their chosen.

Metropolis is the most boyscout city spirit out there. More often than not, the spirit can be found watching the sunrise, flying over the clouds, enjoying the freedom, or simply swinging his legs on a building, looking at everyone down below. The feeling of hope, of a chance of a better tomorrow — that is what Metropolis is looking for. And Superman has more than enough of that.

Even though Lady Gotham is cloaked in shadows, she doesn't wilt, she thrives— Just like her chosen, the Gotham Bats.

No one questions these things, they all make sense, don't they? The dark Lady has her dark Knights, the sunny city and the boyscout...

So imagine the faces of the League members when they find out through casual conversation that Fawcett is an actual child.

──────────────────────────

Green Lantern: “I know i shouldn't be talking about someone being childish, but the spirit that chose him is literally a child.”

Wonder Woman: “Are you certain that is the reason that the spirit chose to reflect a child's body? For his.. mentality?”

Green Lantern: “Yeah, pretty much. I mean, do you know any other reason that Fawcett could have chosen that form?”

Zatanna, who sometimes goes to Fawcett's magical market: “You all know that Fawcett's magical, right? What's more magical than a child's imagination?”

Flash: “If the spirit wanted to reflect something of Marvel's, why choose the mentality? The lightning bolt is right there!”

──────────────────────────

“Uno!” a child made of yellow energy exclaims, grinning devilishly.

Freddy gasps, holding a single card in his hand — having played the second to last one just seconds before. “Oh you did NOT just do that.”

Fawcett giggles like a goblin, watching as Freddy glares at them, pointedly making eye contact as he starts buying cards.

“Well, if you had been just a little faster..” Billy says, playing a reversal card. Freddy looks once at his new cards, then proceeds to sigh in frustration, buying even more cards while glaring murderously at the Champion.

“Batson, if i were you, i'd sleep with one eye open tonight.”

Billy can't contain his giggles anymore and bursts out laughing, Fawcett following suit.

[beemovieerotica]

a lot of criticisms of jkr's antisemitism still revolve around goblin imagery from her books which is worth talking about but surely we should include much more recent events from her wizard world alternate timeline, where she could have just...not included the holocaust---but she asserts that her wizards could have stopped the holocaust, but it would have resulted in a much worse world (???) which is why they didn't intervene (???) and why dumbledore specifically wanted to kill the guy who was pushing for intervention(???)

like if I could give any advice to fantasy writers, it's that you don't have to engage at all with how your characters would have / could have intervened in major genocides through history. this is both specifically creeping into fantastical white saviorism territory AND minimizing the real world harm that was caused, by submerging the events in a realm of "what ifs" where (your usually young) readers are asked to imagine away real life atrocities and divorce their thinking from historical reality. don't do it.

[stevebabey]

this is pure stupid hell crack that took more time than it should’ve to finish BUT i’m ready 2 release it from my drafts <3 this is actually technically written partially w @corrodedcoughin in mind bcos i think u will mighty enjoy it! for cockney eddie!

It comes with the territory, the accents.

Drama kid or dungeon-master, either one could be credited with contributing heavily to his affinity for all of Eddie’s little voices.

There was the deep, low raspy one reserved for trolls in campaigns — and a nasally high one he used for goblins to pair. Wise wizards giving out crucial advice sometimes had a strong Scottish drawl to their words. And Dwarfs? Always English.

So, yeah, Eddie has a couple different accents in his different repertoire. Pulls them out as he needs — a regal tone when referring to Hawkin’s very own royalty or a buried Southern twang used when he’s in trouble with Wayne. The most common is a shoddy Cockney accent for when any conversation dips too far towards awkward or boring.

It's why it's not so surprising anymore when they just... slip out sometimes.

He's learned more now, when specifically not to do it (Mrs. Donnell had not found his plea for a re-sit, in a heavy Irish accent, endearing in the slightest). But with friends who know Eddie, they know the accents come along too.

Steve fucking loves them.

The first time one had taken over his voice, some New Yorker twang to carry a joke, Steve had laughed so hard he’d snorted. And god, had Eddie lit up at the noise— loved knowing that, deep down Steve Harrington had a delicious wonderful ugly laugh that he only showed to people he trusted.

Basically, it’s hardly news to Steve then, all of Eddie’s little voices.

But well, even Eddie didn’t expect… okay, the truth is he never expected to be in this situation at all.

It’s a Wednesday evening when it happens. Steve is over round the trailer like he is every Wednesday, keeping Eddie company while Wayne is out on the double night shift.

It originally had started out as ensuring wounds were checked and dressed properly — considering half of them had scaled up his back, where Eddie couldn’t reach — for the both of them. Then, when technically Eddie could manage the worst of his words, Steve was still coming around. Dustin’s insistence, he’d said.

Then it was… because Eddie asked Steve to come around, to stay a little longer.

So, Steve Harrington is in his kitchen and it’s a Wednesday ritual that they have together and that’s not even the weird part of the evening.

(And somehow, neither is the fact that Steve is, as of a few months ago, his boyfriend.)

Steve’s cooking. Something simmers low on the scarlet glowing hob, bubbling quietly and releasing aromas of spices that percolate into the Autumn evening air.

Eddie feels his stomach growl in its own twist of hunger as he follows his nose. With one hand still scrubbing a towel against his wet hair, he ambles down the hall, fresh out the shower, ready for love — be it the form of food or, he thinks giddily, kisses.

Steve’s not watching the food as Eddie enters, his eyes fixed somewhere across the room. There’s a crease between his eyebrows, an indication of his deep thought.

Eddie grins, approaching without any attempt of being sneaky, (Steve’s as good as comatose when he’s distracted as he’d found) and jabs his boyfriend’s calf with his toe.

“Thinking mighty hard there, Stevie. That’s dangerous.”

Steve jolts, snapping out of his thoughts. He straightens up automatically, then seems to recall the company he’s keeping, and relaxes back down.

He scowls affectionately at Eddie’s barefoot, still jabbing into his leg, and reaches out to flick it with his finger.

“Dickhead.”

Eddie’s faster. He dances away and laughs at the instinctual pout that forms on Steve’s lips.

“What ponders thy mind, hm?” Eddie drawls, a lilt of a Regency style accent in his voice. He sinks into one of the kitchen chairs and drops his task. The towel hangs over his neck, his damp curls resting against it.

Steve seems to jolt again at that, his shoulders rising for a moment. He spins, picking up the wooden spoon beside the stove to swirl the contents of their dinner around. Eddie admires him, broad shoulders and long back, ripe for his taking. Silently, he sighs dreamily on the inside.

“Just… what movie we’re gonna watch tonight.” Steve says unconvincingly. “I’m not doing another re-watch of the Fly.” He adds lamely, an attempt at his usual bitch.

Eddie lets him have it. With one final squeeze of the towel, trying to wring out all the droplets in his hair, Eddie abandons it on the chair as he stands. He waltzes forward, into Steve’s space, and hooks his chin over the other's shoulder.

“You know, that’s what you said last time.”

Steve side-eyes him, his eyes narrowing into a minuscule glare; bitch personified. Eddie grins. Then bats his eyelashes.

It makes Steve laugh, shrugging Eddie’s weight off politely as he gives their dinner another stir. There’s still this tenseness to his frame. Though, maybe it's one Eddie can only notice because he’s paying such close attention.

“Alrightttttt,” He pretends to relent dramatically, his hands coming up to give Steve’s shoulders a quick squeeze. “I’ll let you pick the movie tonight.”

He drops his hands back to his sides, smarmy grin already plastered on as Steve turns to face him, the wooden spoon placed down on the bench.

“Oh, you’ll let me, will you?” He gives this incredulous look, even if there is this playfulness toying at the corners at his lips.

“Uh huh,” Eddie affirms with a severe nod, then begins counting on his fingers as he lists off. “No badgering, wailing, complaining, of any sorts I—“

Suddenly, Steve’s reaching out, his deft hands reaching out to snag the waistband of Eddie’s pyjama pants. It supposed to be a smooth move he’s used countless times before; fingers looped through belt loops to pull a girl in for a kiss. It usually works like a charm.

Except, there’s no belt loops— and when Steve tucks his fingers beneath the waistband and tugs him forward, Eddie shrieks.

“Fucking christ, Steve!” He bats Steve’s hands back without thinking. Steve holds them up defensively.

“Sorry! I was just—”

“What are you doing sticking your hands in my pants?!”

“It was a move!” Steve insists, voice a little whiney. “God, you’re dramatic- I was trying to pull you closer, numb-nuts.”

“Oooh,” Eddie switches up in an instant, hands shooting out to grab Steve’s own. He pulls them forward and settles them on his own waist, shuffling in closer like he hadn’t just shrieked a minute earlier. “Continue.”

Steve chuckles, delight peeking through on his face. His hands, large and slender, curl around the skin of Eddie’s waist and Christ, he’s still not used to that. Eddie’s too focused on repressing his shiver to see the shadow of nervousness cross Steve’s face.

“I was actually thinkin’ about,” Steve starts lowly, eyes skirting off Eddie’s face, over his shoulder. His fingers tighten their grip. “How—”

He sucks in a breath, like drawing in courage, and meets Eddie’s gaze. “About how much I love you.”

There’s the smallest tremble to his voice, giving away the immense emotion behind the words.

And here’s the situation that Eddie never expected to be in, ever. His breath catches, his eyes widen — his heartstrings tangle and knot themselves as he soaks in Steve’s admittance. Love, love, love — he loves me.

His lips part, a raspy noise escaping as he tries to compute, tries to think of anything to say because the longer he stays silent, the more crushed Steve’s expression becomes. And then—

“Well, I luv ya too.”

The words fall out, thick in that godawful Cockney accent.

Steve's face doesn't change but Eddie's does, contorting in an amalgamation of pure cringe and panic as embarrassment crawls beneath his skin. He slaps his hand over his own mouth as if it can take back his awful reply to being told he's loved by Steve.

"I—" He starts, speaking through his fingers, except it still comes out in a funny accent. Eddie squeaks, his grip over his mouth tightening, brown eyes wide in his panic. Oh God, never in stupid silly life has his accents come back to bite him in the ass so magnificently.

"I'm so sorry," Eddie whispers-yells in his regular voice, finally dragging his hands off his face sluggishly. "Jesus H Christ, I didn't— that wasn't making fun of you, I— oh god, you know that happens when I'm nervous sometimes. Shit. Shit, I'm so sorry, Steve."

Steve hasn't moved, his hands still resting on the small of Eddie's waist. His expression is guarded, nothing betrayed. His dark eyes scan across Eddie's face and just before he speaks, the smallest glimmer of amusement glitters across his face.

"Well," Steve begins, heaving a faux large sigh. His hands squeeze comfortingly at Eddie's waist again. Eddie who is still frozen, still cursing himself internally, still echoing around the apparently true fact that Steve loves him— well, maybe not anymore with how awfully Eddie responded.

And then Steve opens his mouth and the most appalling attempt at some accent comes out. It makes his words all garbled and Steve's pink in the face, obviously embarrassed but trying to commit to some shoddy Scottish when he says, "Aye, that's al'right."

Eddie stares at him. Steve stares back.

The moment of silence is broken as laughter seizes him, a guffaw bursting from his lips and holy fuck, Eddie loves him so much. Steve laughs too, the two of them relaxing and sinking into one another. Eddie's hands, previously fluttering and unsure, find their natural place curled in underneath Steve's jaw and when he leans in, he's fighting off his laughter. His grin is unbearably wide, cheeks aching.

Steve's got this shine in his eye, his hands sliding further around to pull Eddie in closer, his pink lips quirked in delight. Eddie practically purrs, so close to kissing him but not quite closing the gap.

"Yep," He says, eyes bright as they bounce over Steve's face to drink in his boyfriend's love-soaked expression. He loves him. Steve loves him. Eddie sounds as lovesick as he feels when he whispers, "It's decided. I think you're it for me, Stevie-baby."

He presses forward, lets his mouth find their home in the curve of Steve's lips. It's warm like nothing he's ever felt before, softened by their gooey-grins of love. It's an in love kiss.

"Even if you're terrible at accents." He murmurs against Steve's mouth.

"Shut up."

Steve hisses, but he’s still grinning. The dinner bubbles behind them, still cooking away behind them. "Like I'm ever going to let you live that down."

Eddie finds he doesn't really mind all that much — God forbid his boyfriend ever remind him they're in love.

"Shut up," He still says, then sticks out his tongue, like he's ten years old. "You love me."

"I do." Steve admits easily, his fingertips dancing along the small of Eddie's back. Eddie has to tuck his bottom lip behind his teeth to restrain his wild grin.

"And I love you." He says, properly this time, jabbing his finger into Steve's chest — so there's no absolutely mistaking it.

[dimmadoome]

Listening to Zevlor's voice lines all the way through is so interesting....and enlightening. Because this is a proud man whose confidence in himself is shattered, but he's still proud none the less.

Zevlor threatens you if you punch him. Just straight out says, I WILL kill you if you do that again. He punches Aradin if he spews slurs. He asks you to kill khaga, he asks you to kill the goblin leaders. No hesitation on any of that. Just ..hey buddy you wanna do a couple of murders since I am currently incapable of doing those murders. But he also fights if you ask him to, defends his people through everything. And he won't beg you to do any of that yourself if you reject him. If you don't say yes, he respects it and respects your decision...though he does get snippy as hell about it. If you do turn on him, he'll call you a coward, but he will not beg because once again. Zevlor is proud.

Zevlor is also possessive. You can hear it in the way he says MY people. Sure that could just be the way he speaks because they elected him leader, but he was a commander before that. He was a man who spent his life fighting to have that position of power and respect. Plus he almost sells his soul to the absolute to keep them, both the people and the power. As he says....those people are HIS. His to look after, his to care for his to protect. There's gotta be something in there, deep inside of him that clutches at these people like a dragon does their gold. They are his after all. They're all he has left of the life he once lived. He would rather die than give them up to anyone. Even when the absolute pushes into his mind, it offers him power to keep them safe, plays at his devotion to his oath and his people....and his pride which.....as we've established...is not an insignificant part of him.

He is also protective and caring. That obviously comes with the territory of becoming a paladin of helm, a hellrider and taking the oath of devotion. From what he does for his people to what he's done with his life ...well.....nothing more really needs to be said about that. Its his most prevalent trait and his most commendable.

Zevlor also curses a lot. He is very quick to anger, though he tries to keep himself from flying off the handle and can be reeled back in. He still throws punches and threatens lives with very little prodding. Which, once again, harkens back to his pride. Its quite entertaining to hear every other line be a curse or a shout or some growling threat. Sweetheart where? That man is FERAL.

Another thing is that Zevlor definitely respects you if you are a selfless Tav/Durge/Origin. I think he tries so hard to be selfless as well. Sees it as a good trait to have, but he isn't. Not really. Not where he thinks it counts. Its probably what he percieves as a fatal flaw, which I would guess comes from living in holier than thou Elturel where you basically sign your life away to "protect" the city. I personally don't think total selflessness is a fantastic trait to have, but I could see where Zevlor could pick that up as the Ideal trait for a paladin to have.

Throughout the game, you see this man crack under insurmountable pressure. You see the chips in the facade that he puts up but if you look, you can see the good and the bad trapped underneath those chips. It tends to be frustrating that people only see the cracks and not what's underneath of them and I think thats what annoys me the most. He's a fun character. He's a strong, powerful man who has shattered like iron under pressure but at the end of it all he IS a good man and a menace and a half with such an interesting mindset and backstory that I can't help but wonder if anyone who sees the character, sees him at all.

In summation.

I love him, Your Honor. 10/10 would let him go feral and smite my ass for talking back to him.