#wynandir

[sky-scribbles]

There’s an interesting moment in Campaign 2, when the Nein are meeting with Ludinus to discuss the peace talks, when Ludinus remarks on Fjord wearing a ‘ curious symbol of Melora on your person’. And Fjord, who, like Travis, has fjorgotten that the Wildmother isn’t an Empire-approved deity, simply replies that he’s ‘new to Melora’s light and guidance’. Ludinus doesn’t make any further comment on it, and later Matt reminds Travis that Melora’s not legal in the Empire, but Ludinus ‘didn’t call you on it... he seemed unfazed.’

And I am fascinated by this and unsure what to make of it. I’m guessing that since the persecution of certain faiths in the Empire predates the Assembly, Ludinus has no skin in that game; he despises all the gods equally, so what’s the point of arresting some random half-orc who’s trying to help arrange peace talks (something Ludinus wants) when he’s got a much bigger plan for getting rid of all worship altogether.

I don’t have a main point here - I’m mostly just curious as to whether anyone else has any thoughts about this moment and what it might show about what’s happening in Ludinus’s head. Is he invested at all in the Empire’s system of outlawing certain gods? Does it benefit him? Did he just think it would be funny to watch what happened when Fjord tried to walk around Rexxentrum with a Wildmother symbol on his cloak? What the fuck is up with that???

[essektheylyss]

If Western Wynandir is that fucked, HOW bad is Xhorhas. What's up in Bazzoxan. How's Verin Thelyss.

[thevalleyisjolly]

Critical Role PCs (main cast) ranked by whether or not Chetney could be their biological dad

Disqualified (dad known/knew their dad):

Ashton, Beau, Caduceus, Caleb, Fearne, Grog, Imogen, Jester, Keyleth, Laudna, Percy, Taryon, Vax, Veth, Vex

Disqualified 2.0 (no dad):

FCG, Kingsley,* Molly*

*Even if you count Lucien's parents as Kingsley and Molly's biological "parents," Lucien both knew them and killed them, taking them all clear out of contention.

Honourable mentions:

Orym. The one who first made us think, is Chetney _____'s dad? Alas, we know from EXU that Orym's biological dad went by the name "Tarrintel" - that is not to say that it was not, perhaps, an alias of Chetney's once upon a time, but it would hardly be consistent branding for C-Pop Industries.

Scanlan. While we know that Scanlan's father was not in his life, Scanlan did at least know enough about his father to say that his name was "Vicou." Again, it's possible that this is another Chetney alias, but be honest, can you really see Chetney ever going by the name "Vicou"? Would also be very awkward with Number 1 on this list...

And now, on to the rankings!

4. Yasha. Does not remember her biological parents, and it's not impossible that Chetney might have swung by southern Xhorhas in his travels. On the whole though, I'd give it worse odds than the other names on this list.

3. Bertrand. International man of mystery Bertrand Bell is so enigmatic that at one point, it was even speculated that he was the Lord of the Crossroads over in Vasselheim. He does appear to be fully human, but it would be mildly funny if he "exited" the story right before his father came in, which is why he's higher than Yasha.

2. Fjord. Who's to say that his other biological parent wasn't a half-orc who had a great night or two with Exandria's best woodworker?

1. Pike. We actually don't know terribly much about the Trickfoot family, or Pike's parents. What we do know is that at some point, Pike's parents left her with her cousins and went to Wynandir. Now would Chetney do a thing like that? Hard to say. There's nothing saying that Pock O'Pea is his birth name - he could mayhaps have been born a Trickfoot who, say, got in really hot water over in Tal'Dorei and had to flee to Wildemount?

In conclusion, Critical Role has spent a great deal of time pondering the all-important question, "What is that mother's name?" However, it is perhaps time that we all start asking, "What is that father's name?" and maybe even, "Are you my freaking dad?"

[hydraxx]

An excerpt from Dunamantic Transmutation and Transmutative Dunamancy: A Cross-Disciplinary Chronicle (Iothe Bramblebrush, 955 PD), made available to affiliates of the Wynandir Society for Transmutative Studies as part of marketing materials for Coastal Academic Presses.

here we are, the most questionable use of my academic training to date, the wizard historiography fic! this is going to appeal to approximately two people and that's an optimistic estimate. it's a shameless indulgence of my own love for worldbuilding. it's also a gift to myself for submitting my final phd dissertation today.

shoutout to @essektheylyss for posting about "joan in the garden" that one time and absolutely jumpstarting my brain for this madness, the concept of which i've been sitting on since at least last august.

shoutout also to the incredible folks at @encyclopediacr for enabling me to do unnecessarily detailed research! you are legitimately more thorough than some of my real academic sources.

speaking of sources, i do have a half-completed bibliography for this "chapter," so let me know if i should finish and post that...

[ludinusdaleth]

while people have many mixed thoughts about the off-kilter dynamics of the bells hells, i think it provides a very fascinating dichotomy.

from the beginning, ludinus has sowed mistrust in exandria. he grooms the dwendal line to despise every other country and seek isolationism above all else. he attempted to ensure chaos in jrusar so that it would be too difficult for them to react quickly to the bloody bridge. he banks on vasselheim refusing to take the aid or advice of the grim verity to take out both - the verity one by one, and vasselheim in a massive sweep at the key. but he also is known far and wide as a master negotiator. he helps negotiate the peace between wynandir & xhorhas (after war that he sparked - by working with the xhorhasian wizard essek). he keeps the peace between assembly members - hell, the fact he even managed to recreate the cerberus assembly, and created tentative peace between the empire & mages, is a feat in itself. he knows when to put his pride away and accept help. his very first spoken line is loudly agreeing with beau, a cobalt soul member, over the rest of his war council, and he (almost) humbly asks yudala for the cobalt souls aid, and before the nein ask a thing of him personally he ensures the cobalt soul cannot find yasha as guilty for obann's crimes - and absolutely, those actions are connected. he does everything to ensure he wins but he does it with grace, to the point he - avid god despiser who seeks to kill them all - sees fjords wildmother amulet.... points it out cheekily, and never reports it.

the bells, bless their hearts, they try, but they have barely any trust in them. they were already people utterly traumatized by betrayal before yu betrayed them, before fcg was revealed to be wired as a killer, before everything. they have tried to patch things and can communicate at this point but it is obvious even now they lack two very fundamental things - the internalization of the fact that ludinus is counting on discord to win, and most importantly, the ability to wholly agree on a set plan to a set goal. ludinus races with liliana to predathos with the understanding that he, liliana, & otohan are a team that must work as effectively as possible for a goal they collectively believe in. the bells have that loosely - stop ludinus. but the very road to getting there is rocky beyond belief. imogen is pressured by orym to dig into predathos's psyche just as she realizes she's scared of it, just as orym is losing himself to the soldier psyche, and laudna stares him down as she argues. they believe the end goal of their trust is to simply tell the others they're about to do something dangerous when hardly any of them can process they dont have to be cannon fodder. i am aware of the fact we dont have full vanguard context here, but often i think of otohan jeering at zathuda, an archfey, as she wholeheartedly sides with ludinus over him when the elf isnt even there, contrasted with orym pulling fearne aside to ask her to kill imogen if they need to.

ludinus has seen the rise & fall of so much. im sure he witnessed the selfishness of wizards like the somnovem or perhaps the original cerberus assembly. he took it as a lesson, and that is why he is at the top of the world while vess & trent & thousands of others faltered. the bells cannot often take their trauma and turn it into a healthy understanding. they are literal children in age compared to ludinus but many have a kind of arrested development as well due to their trauma, and it becomes more cruelly obvious the longer their quest continues. the difference between ludinus & the bells functionality is so staggering it is one of the most fascinating parts of c3 to me.

[quinn-of-aebradore]

Caleb doesn’t know what to say. He’s in awe, as he almost always has been since Essek crashed into his life, but there’s something unique about it this time, something no other world they’ve visited has shared. Lucidian had perhaps been similar, learning that the blue-green world he’d glimpsed at through the Academy’s grand telescope teems with as much life as Wynandir, but this place. He’s been reading stories about Aeor since he was a boy. Essek brings Caleb somewhere he's dreamt about since childhood; things don't exactly go as planned.

More of my Shadowgast Doctor Who AU because I have brainrot that can only be stopped by a fickle writing braincell (which only succeeded in halting the brainrot). We've got some lore in this one! And perhaps a few Caleb tears, because you need some of those for enrichment from time to time. Enjoy!

[utilitycaster]

It could be true that Ludinus survived the Calamity, but I think he is as old as he appears to be, which is to say, perhaps 650 or so. And if that’s the truth, this might be his story.

He was born in Molaesmyr - the only real city in the region, and quite honestly, the only one of size on the continent. There are scattered communities on the coast. It is unclear if the Kryn have begun to rebuild in the shadow of Ghor Dranas and if they are, who would think to look there? Perhaps there are dwarves who survived under the mountains and have rebuilt, but elves and dwarves do not always communicate much. The humans and halflings of western Wynandir are surviving as best they can. This is Wildemount, circa 200 PD.

The forest around him had burned for over a century. Molaesmyr is an oasis of greenery and civilization surrounded by ash that is only just beginning to regrow.

His parents remember a time when great workings of magic were common. He hears stories of the times before the Calamity clear in the memories of older elves, a shining time before the end. This is a motley crew of survivors and their children in Molaesmyr, some of whom had been on the terrestrial cities for whatever reason when Aeor fell and had survived the remainder of the devastation by whatever means they had. Some could remember escaping Avalir, as children, on skyships that left for anywhere but the lost continent of Domunas. Some had always lived surface-side, in cities that don’t exist anymore. Some believe themselves to be the only survivors of those cities.

They say Zemniaz crashed some ways to the south, and Draconia even further. Cross-continental communication is rare, but rumor is that Cael Morrow is gone. Nothing has been heard from Tal’Dorei. Only Vasselheim stands, of the cities his parents recognize from their youth.

In Molaesmyr, the elves worship Corellon and Sehanine. The oldest clerics can perhaps be persuaded to speak of a time when they met these gods - when they walked Exandria like anyone else. Some saw them in battle, to the east, massive, fighting against their betrayer counterparts.

But the gods aren’t here anymore. They can only reach them in dreams, in indirect signs achieved through ritual and prayer. There is a hesitance in the ceremonies young Ludinus Da’leth attends. Something missing, or something that never had to be done before. It feels slow, as if it’s pushing through an impossibly thick barrier. There is a sadness that surrounds the older clerics that makes services an awkward affair, and once he’s old enough, he stops going.

Ludinus doesn’t want to be a cleric. He studies the arcane, or what’s left of it. So many secrets have been lost. One of his teachers mutters that they wish they’d paid more attention, that they didn’t know half the spells of Exandria could now only be found in their ancient, battered spellbook.

The world around him ended not long before he was born. That’s what Ludinus knows, most of all. He was born into a dead world scarred by the gods, and his city is what they’ve managed to make of the scraps that were left.

Centuries pass. Human culture begins to rebuild. Marquesian sailors and the Ki’Nau people of the western coast of Wildemount form a seafaring society and a loose chain of allied cities forms. Two human nations arise, one in the southern valleys and one out of the ruins of Zemniaz. They fight and form, however disjointedly, an Empire to the south.

When Ludinus is in the prime of his life, the world ends again. Well, not the whole world, but the part where he is, which is what matters.

The child refugees of the floating cities, now in their old age, die in the poisonous haze. Molaesmyr falls in days. He is shocked at how surprised he feels, because he has always known, before he knew anything else, that what takes centuries to build can disappear in a fraction of that time. No one can step in to save Molaesmyr. No one can fight for it. There is no god coming in battle like the clerics have recounted.

He sees the power vacuum created after what the Empire calls the Eve of Crimson Midnight, and he steps into it. Power is a tool, after all, and he needs to amass it. The Empire is a modern creation, no mageocracy, and the kings will accept anything he tells them if they believe it’s for the good of their expansion. Whatever information he needs becomes a matter of national security, and elves live a long time. Long enough to find the answer, when the texts from Vasselheim are unveiled.

Maybe the smaller moon did speak to him. It’s possible that red storms gave him nightmares, and that he fled the purple-gray mist nearly laughing hysterically, that his dreams had been right but the color was wrong before he learned the truth.

Or he might have never dreamt of Ruidus. He might have just read a missive from Vasselheim, that something was broken into, and perhaps worthy of mention to other important political powers, and despite growing up in its shadow, did not know the history he was about to retrace.

[bloopitynoot]

Shadowgast Space-AUs I love

I read a LOT of Shadowgast fics, and one genre that has my heart in the best of ways are the Space AU's and Space-Opera AU's!

Here are some of the ones that I just love (not all of them are complete, there is one WIP that I am following).

1.Icarus to your certainty

Icarus to your certainty (11429 words) by @essektheylyss Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Summary: Essek Thelyss is an arrogant researcher trying to reach a black hole on the edge of known space when his mistakes and intellectual zealotry result in the deaths of the rest of the crew and leave him stranded with nothing but a short-range radio. After seven months alone on his space station, the black hole spits out a shuttle, as lost as he is.

Why I loved it: I read a lot of sad/sappy/and poetic genres and this one was just that. The way it was written was so intentional and so to the point, every phrase just added to the development of the story. The writing style, the character development, and the raw emotional processing of survivors guilt was just so beautiful to read through.

____

2.The wine dark sky (series)

**I went with the second fic in this series because it was much more Essek/Caleb centric but honestly ALL of them were fantastic to read.

The Schwarzschild Solution (13650 words) by dawl_and_dapple (if you know their tumblr, let me know and I will tag them here!). Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Series: Part 2 of the wine dark sky Summary: Caleb pressed his palm into his chest. The weight of this affection grew and waned in intensity while Essek drifted in and out of his life, like a moon and her tides, but they never showed signs of withering in spite of the uncertainty of their relationship. As it stood, Essek was a satellite. He seemed happy enough to remain as such, as far as Caleb could tell, and Caleb was more than happy to be blessed by the tides of his love. A series of meetings between Caleb and Essek across the Wynandir galaxy. Written for Shadowgast Week 2021 - Day 1: Gravity/Attraction

why I loved it: The writing style of the entire series is just gorgeous. I love when the chronology of a story is played with and the story is told almost like each segment is a short scene in a movie. This story in particular was just beautiful in the way that it shared moments between Essek and Caleb- it really felt like the ebb and flow of a tide (also I am such a sap for happenstance meetings and two souls connecting so naturally). Anyways lots of space and space travel and I totally recommend for a shorter read.

___

3.A Tapestry of Stars

*Currently a WIP but it has been wonderful so far.

A Tapestry of Stars (100725 words) by cinderstorm (if you know them her eon tumblr, let me know and I will tag them!). Chapters: 39/50 Rating: Explicit Summary: “This is not a negotiation.” Deirta Thelyss’s voice cracked the air like a thunderclap, sharp enough that even her ever-bustling flock of attendants twitched. “You will agree to this marriage, or I will have you cast from Den Thelyss for dereliction of duty. Is that clear?” Essek held himself stiffly, his shoulders rising in affront. A dangerous lapse of control, considering the woman standing before him, and one he would berate himself for later in the privacy of his tower, but he couldn’t help it. To be bartered off as—as a diplomatic representative of all things. It was absurd, insulting. Was the prestige his accomplishments brought to the den not enough? The Bright Queen herself had awarded him the title of Shadowhand for the advancements he’d made to the field of dunamancy, advancements that had secured countless victories in the war. Why should he have to upend his entire life to accommodate some human he’d never even met? Or: A Shadowgast Arranged Marriage AU in Space~

Why I love it: I adore the arranged marriage but they fall for eachother slow burn happy ending AU's (I don't know if this will be a happy ending but I am hoping for it very much so). Put that arranged marriage au in SPACE with a looming war, secrets, and blackmail and well- I will take that space opera. This AU is so well written, my heart goes out to both Caleb and Essek and I am just happy to be here on the journey while the plot unfolds.

___

4. Among the Nein

Among the Nein (124172 words) by @nellasbookplanet Chapters: 14/14 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Summary: Beau only needed someplace to hide for five minutes; she never intended to stow away on a glorified research vessel headed for Ruidus. Caleb only wanted a chance to get at the arcane knowledge surrounding the further moon; he never meant to get involved with the foreign spy hiding among the crew. Both of them were making do with the situation at hand. And then someone murdered the captain. AKA the Among Us-inspired AU no one asked for (no prior knowledge of the game required; if you like space and murder you'll be fine).

Why I loved it: The space opera-au/Among Us fic I didn't know I needed. I fully admit I had no knowledge of Among Us going into this fic (it is not at all needed) but I am so happy I decided to read it anyways! It was such a good story! A happy ending after a path of secrets, trust issues, and loads of self-loathing. It is a multi ship fic so you get shadowgast but also lots of beauyasha as well. I did not sob, but I did tear up- so you know this story is a good one.

------

One more: Special shout out to one of my absolute favourite shadowgast fics and an absolute space opera (I wanted to mention it here but I have already mentioned it in my "Shadowgast that Made me Ugly Cry" list) it get's an honourable mention

5. what luminous worlds await another fantastic piece by @essektheylyss . This fic has my entire heart. I was destroyed and rebuilt in this Space Opera-AU.

[12pt-times-new-roman]

Desirat being released, Labenda being overtaken by marrow, Rexxentrum being besieged by undead and shadows -- if all of that is happening in eastern Wynandir, then what the fuck is happening in the Dynasty right now? in the Barbed Fields? in Blightshore?

[masterqwertster]

24. "Unless you ask me not to in the next five seconds, I'm going to hug you." from the vague dialogue prompts for Chetney and Ashton please? in the secret library AU.

-@inconmess

Prompt Gotta admit, I'm really pleased to see people asking for prompts with the different AUs this go around instead of me picking at random. I love getting engagement with them. The fun thing about the Secret Library AU is that it's (as @thecassafrasstree pointed out in the concept post notes) very well suited to extra little tv show style episodic adventures. And one of those little "episode" ideas that's been chewing at me is Ashton getting their genasi curse removed in a mishandled artifact incident/accident. And they're excited to be human again, but also just kinda bad at it. He's been made of stone since he was 15-ish and just doesn't know how to be physically soft and squishy anymore, leading to some (kind of funny) accidents around the library. Ashton takes the curse back, in the end though, because being human hasn't really been him in a long time and the strength he has as a genasi lets him better protect his people. ...And there's probably some desperate situation where he needs his old stone strength/body back to save everyone, as these things usually go. This little tidbit would be in the fallout of Ashton taking back their curse. 24 "Unless you ask me not to in the next five seconds, I'm going to hug you."

Chetney knows what it's like to go between human and what most would call monster.

That's kind of the whole deal with lycanthropy. Sometimes you're pretty normal, sometimes you're a fucking sexy beast ...with some feral instinct issues.

Anyways, point is: Chetney's got some idea of what's going on in that opal brain of Ashton's, and it's about time the punk rock stopped moping.

It's not very difficult to track Ashton down. When they're in a mood that isn't punchy, they can be found in the lounge, binging documentaries, snacks, and/or alcohol.

By the looks of it, they're not full on wallowing today, as there's only one empty beer bottle on the coffee table and the second in their hand is still half full by the swish of its contents while the mess of emptied snack bags speak to Ashton having parked their ass on the couch hours ago.

"So. How long do you plan on moping?" Chetney lightly asks, sitting down on the sinfully comfy couch and swiping a packet of jerky to gnaw on. Mmm, teriyaki.

"Shut the fuck up, Chetney," Ashton grumps, eyes fixed on the screen. Looks like a Western Wynandir castle documentary. Chetney's actually been to a few of those places.

"Right. No plans. Cool, cool," Chetney rolls with the attempted shutdown. "If you want my opinion on the whole thing-"

"I don't," Ashton growls.

"-as someone who's been a boring ass normal human for 70 years," Chetney continues undeterred. "I've never felt more alive than after I became a werewolf. I can do cool shit, and what I do here at the Library fucking matters. Can you really say you wanted to give that up?"

Ashton actually pauses the documentary, turns to face Chetney.

"Orym's a regular fucking human, and he does this shit. Being human doesn't mean giving up all of this," Ashton argues. But Chetney can see that it's more confusion, being lost, than anger behind the intense tone. The kid doesn't know where he stands anymore, and that's what's got him down in the dumps and tangled up in knots.

"True," Chetney softly agrees. "But Orym wouldn't be able to handle the problems here half as well as he does if not for all us not-so-normal types backing him up."

Ashton's eyes drop to their lap, their hands fisted in the fabric of their sweatpants.

"I just- I'm not like you and Fearne and Imogen and Laudna. I can't pass for human when pressed. I'm too hard, too heavy, too different. But I was human once and I don't- I can't be anything but this. Can't even pretend I'm not when I know how different it feels."

And Chetney's heart breaks for them a little bit.

"Fuck. Unless you ask me not to in the next five seconds, I'm going to hug you," Chetney declares. The kid obviously needs it.

"You're kidding," Ashton says, staring at Chetney in disbelief.

But Chetney's not, and he wraps the punk in a good ol' fashioned hug. Even gets fuzzy for it to make it even more comforting. Maybe. Look, he only caught a few minutes of that service animal documentary, but he remembers it saying that hugging animals is good for people.

Ashton stiffens for a second or two, and right as Chetney's thinking he should let go and back off, they lean into it. And fuck, the kid is heavy. But the wolf is strong, so he keeps them both upright for the hug.

After a little while, they pull apart and resettle on the couch.

"If you fucking tell anyone..." Ashton threatens a few minutes later.

"I won't," Chetney curtly agrees.

Neither of them are good at showing their bellies. It's the curse of a tough exterior and a gooey core. But every curse can be lifted, if only for a little while.

[mareastrorum]

WIP Wednesday: TF&TS (Bounties)

Here are two related scenes from early chapters of a longfic I am working on.

Fanfic Summary: Mollymauk Tealeaf survived the encounter with the Iron Shepherds, but a short time later, a spirit had begun hunting him, claiming that he stole his body. This Campaign 2 AU begins with Episode 26 and continues on from there.

This fanfic will be posted on AO3 starting hopefully by Friday 7/28.

3 FESSURAN 835 PD

“I have encountered some ‘inspiration’ to improve on my work. Acquire some specimens for me.”

The man picked up a slip of paper with scribbled notes. “How many?”

“An initial set of twenty will do for now. Ten thousand gold for living subjects. One thousand for remains. I anticipate that obtaining survivors will be implausible, considering their abilities. However, I will take any live ones you can find.”

“Is there a deadline?”

“Preferably as quickly as possible, though there is no particular end date. To encourage expediency, hint that the bounty will be reduced as more subjects are obtained.”

“Any other conditions?”

“Unspoiled. Deduct from the pay for lost limbs, severe damage, et cetera. Use your discretion.”

“Very well. I will get word out to the appropriate channels immediately.”

“Be sure to keep this anonymous. They are all dissidents, but with this new war, there is no need to risk further social upset. A quiet purge of the more heretical Julous remnants is best.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“Find more on that one from today. He had a team as well—look into them, especially the Xhorhasian.”

“Yes, Archmage.”

* * *

17 CUERSAAR 835 PD

Bull wasps were such an interesting species. Other than the usual diet of pollen and fruit, the aggressive insects also hunted. In addition to spiders and insects, they used mandibles to cut into corpses and harvest flesh from within, feeding the next generation on the fallen. They had an uncanny memory for faces, recognizing their foes and attacking without hesitation.

However, bull wasps preferred live prey. An apt symbol for the Archmage of Dysology.

Master Doolan Tversky had lived nearly two-hundred years by now, and the clever gnome had never quite grown out of her enjoyment of pulling things apart. Tversky was responsible for researching arcane biological threats to the Empire. Biological weapons were rampant in the prior age, and her research into the monstrosities of Molaesmyr, Shattengrod, and Xhorhas ensured the safety of Western Wynandir.

At least, that was the explanation provided to the Crown so that its representatives would stop asking annoying questions when the Cerberus Assembly took steps to understand such magics.

And now, the Assembly had provided a project far more intriguing than mutated and extraplanar monsters. A domestic threat, long tolerated because of their usefulness in eradicating fiends, undead, and fey without cost to those in power. Simple, non-magical mortals capable of using their blood to evoke enchantments. How intriguing such a weapon would be in the Assembly’s hands. How dangerous it would be in the Crown’s. How profitable it would be in the Myriad’s.

How fortuitous it would be in Tversky’s.

The operating room was too crowded, but there was no helping it. They had to work quickly in light of the unnaturally rapid onset of postmortem decay. Dozens of assistants, dressed head to toe in medical gowns, face masks, and hair nets shifted about five tables busily, like wasps tending to their queen’s commands as they prepared the dead for processing.

Tversky stood atop a floating disk and looked down at the corpse before her. She began dictating while an enchanted quill rapidly took down notes. “The date is the 17th of Cuersaar, 835 post-divergence. Subject number 21 is an adolescent human, estimated fifteen years of age, approximately five-foot-four-inches tall, weight one-hundred-fifty-one pounds, no remarkable identifying features other than numerous inch-long scars on the right palm.”

The other teams called out their confirmation of the same scars on their subjects. One of the assistants was sketching the hand and scars in case the arrangement was relevant. Another inspecting the skin raised their hand.

“Master Tversky, there are small scars on the outside of each upper leg,” the woman noted. “They resemble hyper-pigmentation spots. Same position, each approximately equidistant from the hip and knee.”

“Subjects 5, 13, 20, 29: confirm,” Tversky droned as she moved to inspect the scars herself. It would have been easy to miss if they had not matched. Within seconds, four more voices replied to confirm their subjects shared the same marks.

“Subject 20 has similar marks on upper arms, also equidistant from shoulder and elbow,” a man called from another table in the operating theater. Without instruction, another voice confirmed the same for subject 29. Tversky checked the human before her; indeed, there were two matching scars on his arms. She made a verbal note, her quill dutifully recording.

“Subject 29 also has matching marks on hips,” a woman added. No one else confirmed. This human did not have that set either. Odd. The larger subjects had more marks.

Interesting.

“Gather records of control subjects of the same race and sex for comparison,” Tversky instructed. An aid standing by made a note and disappeared out of the operating theater. “The rest of you, I expect careful dissection of each section bearing those matching scars. Continue.”

The others droned in the background as the teams shifted around their subjects and dictated their own reports. Buzzing insects hovering as they collected information.

“Subject 21 was deceased upon arrival, reportedly due to resisting arrest…” Tversky continued narrating as she inspected the wounds. Severe contusions on a right broken arm—the blow of a blunt weapon. Burns on the face, likely from some magical attack. But the lethal strike had been a large laceration across the neck, severing major arteries, destroying the windpipe, and damaging the spine in a single strike. Bounty hunters were so indelicate with her subjects. Her assistants were much more adept at pulling the subject apart to understand them.

The pungent smell of rotten meat and sharp sweetness filled the air as they began to cut. The face masks hardly blocked anything, but there was no avoiding it. The work continued rapidly, a well-choreographed dance while voices hummed, flat and on numerous registers.

Limb by limb. Organ by organ. Piece by piece.

“Master Tversky, there appears to be no alterations to the blood,” a man called from behind.

Tversky frowned and shifted her hovering platform over to the machines behind the operating table. The assistant stepped back from an apparatus with a small monoscope aimed at a blood sample held before it. She looked through the lens and was disappointed to find normal cells magnified in her view. Nothing strange about the blood. No altered structure. No unexpected developments. No arcane glow. No hint of magical taint.

That couldn’t be right. How could these cultists use blood as a component for magical enchantments if the blood itself did not carry any power? Perhaps the blood itself was not the source of the magic, but merely a conduit. Or perhaps the effect only lingered while the subjects lived. Could the act of sacrifice have meaning? There was only one school of magic that operated on such rules.

Necromancy.

To think the Assembly had allowed the Claret Orders to operate within the Empire for so long, and this was what they had been up to. The Martinet would want to hear of this. Such power could not be trusted outside the Assembly’s control.

Tversky looked back at the dissected corpses, each attended by several assistants who were carefully cataloguing their findings. A dragonborn, two humans, a gnome, and a dwarf, so it was not specific to race. These particular subjects were seen casting spells, but others were not. So far, she had categorized them into four potential groups, and they all could invoke those weapon enchantments, so that had nothing to do with their other magical capabilities.

Even more confounding: most had been carrying marks or talismans of the Raven Queen. That goddess abhorred necromancy—rather, so the clergy claimed. Could it be that perhaps these cultists were intentionally offending her? Or was it that the common understanding of her followers was subterfuge?

Perhaps those ties should be confirmed before informing the Martinet. After all, he had a habit of disproportionately weighing theories of the gods’ machinations. Tversky preferred to follow clues to their logical conclusions. At least, at first.

Tversky waved her quill over and used it to begin scribbling notes by hand. Even if the blood itself was not magically imbued, there was some significance to the spellcasting. The Orders called themselves “blood hunters” after all. She would need to test it properly to establish what sort of component it was. Perhaps infusing test subjects with the blood would yield something interesting. She rapidly wrote a note for her subordinates, which folded into a wasp and flew out the door.

What else? Those short-sighted Cobalt Soul idiots could be sitting on something useful. They were close-minded morons, but they were still adept at hoarding niche information. Tversky’s subordinates would not be able to access any of it because of the organization’s ridiculous ban. She scribbled another note to Baroness Iresor, the paper rapidly transforming and on its way. That young woman was lazy and distractable, but she had a knack for getting information that was otherwise off limits.

“We are ready to proceed, Master Tversky,” one of the aids called.

Tversky sighed. Right. Next were the bones. She returned to her position by the subject, now carved open with several assistants recording their own notes by dictation as they readied their instruments.

“Proceed, then,” Tversky instructed. The sound of snaps and cracks soon filled the air as needles and blades carved into the remains.

Those cretins had better find a live subject soon. Tversky was bored already.

[essektheylyss]

Trick or treat! :3c

okay so in poking around my discard piles, I realized I still have the original first scene of chapter two for luminous worlds, and it is delightful and also has some very :3c fjord vibes, so here's the full thing under a cut! this is actually the only thing with remnants of SIGNIFICANT plot divergences; it was back when Gemma and Artur were one character and neither of them were outside the Exandrian atmosphere. (also feat. Maryllis's original filler name lol)

The sun glints brightly off the distant sea, enough that your sensitive eyes are tight as you look anywhere else though you are protected from the shade by a slatted trellis covered in grape vines, but the breeze is pleasant enough and the surf here laps quietly against the rocks at this low of tide, the peninsula where Palma Flora sits protecting the coastline of Port Damali from the strongest currents of the Lucidian Ocean.

Fjord pours over maps, of the Coast, of Western and Eastern Wynandir, and you should be reading the unfamiliar names, familiarizing yourself with how the continent has changed while you slept, but the sun is beginning to pulse a migraine behind your eyes and your mother’s warnings echo in your mind. A servant sets out another immaculate tray of appetizers, followed by breakfast dishes of poached eggs and a tangy cream sauce that you know you have tried, but only in this region, though you don’t know what it’s made of.

It smells delicious, and you half-heartedly cut into your eggs even as Fjord eats heartily, still staring at his maps, laid out far enough away that they aren’t in danger of spillage. His reading glasses rest halfway down his nose, and he peers through them as you watch, one hand smushed against your cheek.

“Aren’t we in a rush?” you ask, as he reaches across to butter a piece of bread with some kind of herbed cheese. “Do we have time for all of this?” You gesture toward the food in his hand, and his eyebrow skyrockets as he shoves it whole into his mouth.

“Well, I prefer to save the world on a full stomach, personally,” he says, and covers his mouth with the back of his hand as he talks around his bite. “And I also prefer to discuss the fate of the world over brunch rather than in some dark war room. So I think we are doing just fine on time.”

“I have eleven days before this,” you flick your wrist, and the beacon you have kept in stasis all these centuries falls into your palm, “starts spitting out souls that Leylas Kryn would very much like to get her hands on. She will not mind invading the Menagerie Coast to do so, considering that is already on her to-do list. So perhaps—“

“Eleven days until it opens, yes,” Fjord agrees, and spreads cheese onto another slice of bread, maddeningly. “We have longer than that to counter her movements, however. She doesn’t even know you’re awake, in fact, and she certainly doesn’t know where you are, so right now, we have the element of surprise.”

“Mother told me—“

Fjord chokes on his bread. “Your—“ his voice lowers an octave as he clears his throat. “Your mother? Spoke to you?”

You nod, and flick your wrist again, sending the beacon back where you have it hidden for safekeeping. “I can speak with any soul held inside a beacon within my possession.”

“They just… talk to you? Anytime?”

“No, in dreams.”

He laughs, a small nervous chuckle, and goes back to his breakfast. “Well, better you than me.”

Your lip curls, revealing one sharp canine. “Fjord, do you fear the souls of the dead?”

He purses his lips, avoiding your eyes. “Not my cup of tea, thank you. What did your mother tell you?”

“She said I should get in touch with my brother. He would know best what is happening inside, though I… admittedly don’t know if he’ll talk to me. If he’s even alive, against all odds.”

“Well, your dead mother sounds like a very wise woman,” Fjord agrees, with a bit of apprehension that does not seem to alleviate. “Fortunately I am in contact with your brother, as a matter of fact. We should be able to get some good information from him.”

“Verin is alive then?” Your heart feels as though it has risen to your throat. “He became consecuted?”

Fjord nods slowly, and you lean forward.

“That means he found Mother’s notes?”

“Yes, he did,” Fjord agrees, and he peers at you with softness, a gentleness really, that you can’t place.

“Where are they?”

“Safe, but I do not have access to them at the moment. They are in very trusted hands at the Cobalt Soul.”

Memories flood back, of blue monk robes and a wicked swing. “Beauregard didn’t—“

“No, no. But she found a trustworthy individual in the Port Damali archive, and they chose another, and so on and so forth.” He smiles. “And right now, my great-great-great-great—well, some amount of greats down the line—granddaughter has them kept away within the Archive at a secure location. Unfortunately, she is in Tal’dorei at the moment on some kind of assignment, so I don’t know that we will be able to obtain the papers before our… ah, other engagements.”

Eleven days. You would very much like to get your hands on those notes, but there is other work to be done before then. “Perhaps you should reach out to Verin. Like I said, I… I don’t know that he has any interest in speaking to me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Fjord chides, returning to his maps. You half-heartedly eat through another third of your breakfast, though the hunger that gripped you yesterday has subsided. “He will be thrilled to hear you’ve awakened.”

You can taste blood on your lips, the remnants of a memory that hasn’t fallen into place, and somehow doubt it.

“Where is your wizard friend?” you ask casually, though Fjord can see through you like a window.

“He will be joining us, I imagine. Could you please let up on the man?”

Fjord did in fact sleep through your conversation last night—that’s perfectly fine by you. You don’t want to have to explain to him why you are struggling to read the notes Caleb left you, even if you understand that they could be useful. Your heart stopped ignoring emotion for reason a long time ago, and by now your reason is so muddled by memory that you hardly recognize yourself. “Man? He’s barely a boy.”

“I could say the same about you.”

You splutter, and Fjord sips his coffee with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t test me. It won’t end well for you.”

“Oh, fine.”

“And he’s not much younger than you, with regards to what he has lived. Don’t be such an ass.”

“But aren’t I always?”

“No, you are not. I did not suffer your husband’s self-pitying bullshit and I will not suffer yours.”

A quickly stifled laugh echoes behind you, and you spin to see Emryn step out from beneath the eaves. His hair is freshly washed, and you can see the bronze of it where he has braided it out of its face. Even with the sun not yet risen over the house, it gleams.

You exhale and turn back to Fjord who is watching you intently.

“My brother. How do we reach him?”

It had felt so simple, in your dream—of course, Mother, I’ll find my baby brother, who blames me for the death of you, Father, and countless others—but now in the light of day, you look at Fjord and you are at a loss to move.

That is all you have felt since you awoke. Loss, and uncertainty. You were not lying when you told her you’d rather go back to sleep.

You are so far from the shadowed streets of Rosohna, separated by space and time, though you can still remember fleeing from that glittering throne room with everything you hold dear from your home in your hands. It feels odd, to think how your priorities have changed in the time before you went to sleep, how uncertain they are now.

When you only knew how to run from something, how do you change direction to run toward it instead?

“Verin and I have a system of communication, I’ll show it to you after breakfast,” Fjord says. “Emryn, care to join us? I can have a plate sent.”

“I stopped by the kitchen already,” he says. He takes the chair next to you and pours himself a glass of lemonade from the pitcher on the table. “I trust you slept well after our conversation?”

You almost choke on your eggs. Fjord’s gaze turns into a very interested stare, and you nod, willing yourself to remember how small talk works. “Yes, thank you. You?”

“I slept just fine.”

“‘And Fjord, how about you?’ Oh yes, I slept quite comfortably, for falling asleep at a damn desk,” Fjord grumbles, wrapping a bundle of fruit in a cloth and tucking it into the pocket of his vest. “Alright, in that case, if we’ve all eaten, Essek, I’d like you to accompany me to speak with the Marquis.”

You blanche. “The Marquis? What for?”

“To persuade him that he does not need to prepare for war, you idiot.” He stands and pushes his chair in, and then stares into your face for a long moment. “Ah. Right.”

“The Port Damali Marquis and I do not get along.”

“The Port Damali Marquis that you do not get along with has been dead for nine hundred years.”

“Has the Coast recognized Brokenbank yet?”

“They are in negotiations, which should hearten you.”

“Negotiations—!” You splutter, and he takes a large breath in as if to argue, but you cut him off before he has the chance. He heads down a corridor, waving apologetically to Emryn as he leaves, and you follow after, ignoring the wizard altogether. “After all this time, we have gotten to negotiations?”

“I will have you know that the only reason they’re even considering it is because of the renown the school has received, so you should be proud!”

“It’s been nine hundred years! That school had renown nine hundred years ago!”

“Well, perhaps you can put in a good word,” he offers, and holds the front door open for you. Beyond it, a bright street lays before you, and you suddenly freeze, uncertain what the city of Port Damali has in store for you, after all this time.

[nihilisticlinguistics]

There's also this funky little tidbit: https://criticalrole.miraheze.org/wiki/Cerberus_Assembly_(Age_of_Arcanum)

in which we learn that the Cerberus Assembly of Dwendalian Empire fame is "named after" the original mage group "Cerberus Assembly" from the Age of Arcanum that was also active on the Wynandir continent.

crazy that 500 years post-Divergence Ludinus Da'leth just happened to be in town to "witness" the founding of the Cerberus Assembly 2.0 that he just happened to become leader of and that they Just Happened to name it after a pre-existing mage group even though most records from before the Calamity are totally lost to history, that's not sus at all

okay so with ep 51 it sounds like we've got confirmation that Ludinus is a survivor of the Calamity [he says he's been working on this for 1,000 years, and best guesses for the start of the Calamity are around 950 years before this point]

i feel like that means its Wild Speculation time

I'll go first: Ludinus trapped Halas in that gemstone

[primrose-path-of-dalliance]

prim’s wildemount map scale adventures

i apologize in advance to the folk that use screen readers for this post’s reliance on image references, i will do my best to make my logic and the contents of the images comprehensible in the text portions.

this post isn’t about spoiler territory either, so i won’t go into detail about how recent developments with e111 were the initial reason i started thinking about distance on the official wildemount maps. besides, i think plenty of people will understand when i say that my digging got a lot bigger than the initial question itself lol. regardless, i’m making this post in the hopes that it might be a little helpful for anyone dealing with the same confusion.

see, i realized the funny thing about the official wildemount maps is that they don’t have any scales. as a basic explanation, scales are those funky little bars usually found on maps that illustrate what distance on the map is equivalent to what distance in ‘reality’—AKA the scale of the map.

however, for whatever reason, matt and co. did not create any for the broader wildemount maps like of the menagerie coast or the zemni fields.

[id: two images from the explorer’s guide to wildemount. the first depicts the region of the menagerie coast and related islands in the lucidian ocean. the second depicts the zemni fields, which is the central area of western wynandir and the dwendalian empire at large. map scales are absent from both images. /end id.]

this was a little baffling and unhelpful, but i’m not here to judge matt about his choice to not include scales, considering how it would give people on twitter even more ammunition to rudely question his dming with.

but then i discovered that the maps of the major cities do have scales.

(continuing past a readmore.)

[id: an image from the explorer’s guide to wildemount. it is a map of the city of rexxentrum, the capital of the dwendalian empire. in the lower left corner is a compass rose illustrating the cardinal directions and a scale. /end id.]

at first, i was excited. maybe i could use the city’s map scale to approximate a scale for the larger maps. it wouldn’t be super accurate, especially as things got bigger and errors grew larger, but it would be a little better for some thought experiments than no scale at all.

but then it got weirder.

since the map of rexxentrum takes up a full page, the resolution of the image makes it difficult to read the map scale. so let me zoom in.

[id: an image at a higher resolution of the lower left corner of the rexxentrum map, clearly displaying the compass rose and the scale. the scale is a thin horizontal bar separated into four equal lengths of alternating black and white, with indicators claiming that each part represents 500 miles for a total bar length of 2000 miles. /end id.]

so. maybe some of you can already tell what the problem is.

for those with slightly worse spatial understanding though, that map scale is measuring in miles. and a mile is pretty damn long.

let’s have a comparative illustration from real life to show my point. los angeles, california, is the city in the united states where the critical role cast live and work and stream us their wonderful d&d games. the los angeles area as a whole is massive. anyone who lives there understands what i’m saying and has probably wept before while in traffic (and i’m sorry).

if we use the google maps function to get a distance in miles between two points in the los angeles area...

[id: a screenshot of a google maps route for traveling on foot from the olive view-ucla medical center in the far north of the los angeles area to the los angeles international airport in the southwest. the route is fairly direct as the bird flies due to the on-foot nature of the route and is labeled to be a distance of 31.1 miles. /end id.]

this is a pretty good representation of the distance from one end of los angeles to the opposite end. a modern city with a population of about 4 million people, filled to the brim with urban sprawl and suburbs.

and that distance is 31 miles, or about 50 kilometres.

that scale in the corner of the rexxentrum map? its claimed length of 2000 miles (over 3200 km) measures less than a seventh of the apparent width of rexxentrum. according to the scale, you would have to travel a distance of over 14,000 miles (over 22,500 km) to get from one end of the city to the other.

simply put, that scale at face value is nonsense lol.

[id: a screenshot of discord messages with no identifying account attached. the messages begin with, in all caps, “EXCEPT THE SCALE FOR REXXENTRUM MAKES NO SENSE” (new line) “WHAT IS THIS MATT MERCER?????” an image of the lower left corner of the rexxentrum map follows. below that is the final visible message which reads, in all caps, “DO YOU KNOW HOW BIG A MILE IS SIR. DO YOU KNOW HOW FAR TWO THOUSAND MILES IS SIR.” /end id.]

so. maybe you are wondering if matt, huge nerd that he is, is making some oblique historical reference to a previous measurement of a “mile” that is way shorter than the modern standard mile. that was the first possible explanation to occur to me! unfortunately, based on the wikipedia article on the mile throughout history, there is no prior known definition of a “mile” short enough to make this scale make any sense.

so maybe the explanation is a unit error. maybe it’s meant to be a smaller unit of length, like a metre or a foot.

i spent a bit of time trying to guess which unit it might be by comparing details of the map to each other, since there are detailed individual buildings and roadways illustrated. it quickly became obvious, though, that the details were more for artistry and not to a reliable scale.

so it was time to dive into the transcripts.

i looked for a point where matt not only described the length of time it took for the mighty nein to travel from point A to point B within rexxentrum, but a point A and a point B that i could locate with confidence on the map. i found a scenario that fit the bill in e86, “the cathedral,” when the party raced from the cobalt soul branch in rexxentrum to the chantry of the dawn.

MATT: [...] And you've stepped out from the Rexxentrum Archive of the Cobalt Soul into the wet, slick cobblestone streets of the city, heading eastward towards the base of the Shimmer Ward, where it is believed this cathedral, known as the Chantry of the Dawn, stands.

this bit (beginning 13:39) is the first clue in matt’s narration to locating the endpoints on the map. the chantry of the dawn is located near the base, suggesting the immediate south, of the shimmer ward, and is in an eastward direction from the cobalt soul. this is consistent with the relevant textual descriptions in the explorer’s guide to wildemount: the rexxentrum branch of the cobalt soul is located within the court of colors on the west side of the city, while the chantry of the dawn is near the southern wall of the shimmer ward.

[id: two images of the rexxentrum map. the first is composed of the center and western area of the city, displaying the labeled wards of the tangles and the shimmer ward along with individual points labeled “R7,” “R6,” “R3,” “R1,” and “R2″ from west-most to east-most. at the bottom is the map scale, added for reference, that measures about a fifth of the entire image.

the second image is the legend of the map, which defines a few of the illustrated details and clarifies the R-series labels. truncated to relevance: R7 is the court of colors, R6 is the vigil’s circle, R3 is the academy grounds, R1 is castle ungebroch, and R2 is the candles. /end id.]

as the party made their way to the chantry, matt revealed a few more notable details on where precisely they’re traveling through (17:18).

MATT: [...] Your [Caleb’s] eyes train on the rising walkways and towers of the Soltryce Academy that are peeking over the walls of the Shimmer Ward that you can just make out on the horizon as you pass by a series of buildings where the roofs are a bit lower than the other ones you've been rushing by. You can see pale yellow walls that surround the Shimmer Ward of the capital.

You begin to approach the exterior of the Vigil’s Circle, which is a region between where you are and your destination, as noted by the network of ring-like streets that denote the circular marketplace, some varied shops, and industries that normally fill this area, as well as the mini-fortress of gray rock known as the Tower of Writ.

the view of the soltryce academy is consistent with an approach from the western side of the city, since the academy is located along the inner side of the shimmer ward’s northwest wall. the placement of the vigil’s circle in between the cobalt soul and the chantry is also consistent with their depictions on the map, as the vigil’s circle is both labeled and illustrated through a pattern of circular roads with an apparent depiction of the tower of writ in the center.

anyway, the mighty nein had traveled a little ways into the outskirts of the vigil’s circle from the west when they were abruptly stalled by a giant purple xhorhasian worm coming out of the ground.

at that moment in time is when liam gets a travel time from their current location to the chantry (21:26).

LIAM: Caduceus just asked how far we are from the chantry. Would I know that?

MATT: You would know you're probably about, I'd say, depending on— with it being pretty empty, maybe seven minutes.

this brings me to getting a precise location on the chantry of the dawn. both the explorer’s guide to wildemount and matt’s narration only describe the chantry as located within the tangles and near the southern wall of the shimmer ward. that’s a wide potential area to be seven minutes from.

there’s a pretty helpful pattern in the map details, though. most landmark buildings are visible—the soltryce academy campus is clearly delineated, as well as the colorful tower rooftops of the candles and, as previously noted, the top of the tower of writ. castle ungebroch stands massive in the center of the shimmer ward illustration.

so if the chantry of the dawn is both a huge structure and a significant landmark, that should merit a visible illustration of it on the map.

[id: the image of the western and central area of rexxentrum plus map scale appended to the bottom, edited to include my personal labels. R7 is encircled in red with the label “cobalt soul,” R6 and the visible circular road complex is encircled in blue with the label “vigil’s circle,” and a large rectangular rooftop by the southwest corner of the shimmer ward is encircled in red with the label “chantry to [sic] the dawn.” /end id.]

the position of this large building fits the details of the narration and its description in the explorer’s guide—it’s near the southern wall of the shimmer ward, it is eastward of the cobalt soul, and streets of the vigil’s circle lie on the direct path from the court of colors to this building.

so there’s the approximate location of the chantry of the dawn. we also know the approximate location of the mighty nein on this map.

[id: an image, almost identical to the last, of the marked-up western and central area of the rexxentrum map plus map scale, but with a further addition of an orange star in the northwest corner of the vigil’s circle labeled “mighty 9.” /end id.]

since they had entered the outskirts of the vigil’s circle from the direction of the cobalt soul, they would be within its northwest area by the time they were interrupted via purple worm shortly after.

two approximate locations with a travel time in between means that now i could estimate a distance in length. so i took a look at the d&d official rules for movement speed:

a fast pace is about 400 feet per minute,

a normal pace is about 300 feet per minute.

for campaign 2, matt as a dm tends to follow the official rules. so taking into account how the urgency of the situation had the party moving quickly, along with the emptiness of the streets eliminating the variable of a slowed pace through crowds, the mighty nein are likely traveling between 300 and 400 feet per minute to get to the chantry.

with matt’s provided estimate of 7 minutes, that means the on-foot distance from the party’s current position to the chantry is somewhere between 2100 to 2800 feet.

[id: a zoomed-in image of the marked-up western and central rexxentrum map, focused on the vigil’s circle and the chantry of the dawn. imposed beside the orange star representing the mighty nein’s location and the chantry is the map scale edited to remove the ‘miles’ indicator. its position allows a viewer to measure the distance between the mighty nein and the chantry to about “1500,″ or three-fourths of the total length of the scale. /end id.]

since the scale there measures distance as the bird flies, comparing it to the probable distance the mighty nein had to travel needs to account for the twists and turns of the streets.

with that in mind, though: an as-the-bird-flies distance of around 1500 feet sounds like a pretty good approximation of the estimated on-foot distance of 2100 to 2800 feet!

so with that, it’s probably safe to guess the map scale meant to claim feet instead of miles as its unit of length.

so far i haven’t puzzled out how i might translate this into a makeshift scale for the larger maps, since none of the cities like rexxentrum are clearly illustrated on them. but if anyone was very confused about the unit of length for the city maps’ scales, i think i’ve reached a reliable conclusion that it should be feet.

hopefully some of you find this helpful!

[ludinusdaleth]

I'm half hoping the Hells run into some devout kryn, because it'd be interesting to see them deal with the parallels with the predathos followers of "all the gods are shit except this thing" and the doomsday goal where they could destroy the planet like mercer pointed out. Not to mention their method of lite immortality and reincarnation into people's children running against Ludinus's deal.

talking about the luxon is hard because my thoughts on it are wreathed in layers of meta like nothin else.... let's just say first off we're definitely getting that pov, as the kryn have aeor encircled (as we know from both the c2 aeor arc/frida & deanna during the c3 molaesmyr arc), and the discovery of ashton would be.... heresy? ascension? to them.

i think the luxon, in all its parralels to predathos and its domain of space & time, is kind of.... the answer to all this? the kryn are incorrect in their belief that the luxon was discovered by them, but i dont think theyre wrong about it in other ways. frankly i, someone who people think is a god hater for my analysis of the pantheon's actions, trust it. it has been used & abused throughout history whilst not even fully formed. where the pantheon & betrayers have had entire lives to make choices the luxon is a fetus who has been able to make none. as we understand it, it came to exandria because it was lonely and hungry to learn, to experience, to feel. it allegedly started life on exandria as folk worry predathos will end it. i presently think predathos & the luxon are both ancient, cosmic entities of higher power than the exandrian gods; one has lived and been beaten like an animal. one has seen eons of mortal history through an egg sac lens.

i think the kryn they can be extreme in how they wish others to join their faith, and i dont know how much of that counts as (for lack of a very non christian word) evangelizing; though ill say notably they ask others and try to win faith through mighty feats, over bulldozing & building temples with brute strength as vasselheim does. and frankly, while both wish for their cosmic entity to be free, the kryn certainly arent on the vanguard's levels; they want to understand the luxon and nurture it til it's ready to Become. the vanguard wishes for predathos to Wake and will rend the universe apart to watch it Devour. i think it is worth noting how beaten xhorhas is by wynandir; the society headed by a man who wants predathos freed does not sympathize with the luxon but despises it for being seen as a person and abuses it himself. ludinus, i think, sees predathos as a caged beast he can use or at least watch burn his worst enemies, and the luxon as a younger kind of it to force into service. the kryn see the luxon as a person-to-be like them. and maybe thats the key. understanding that even this galactic entity should feel care & grief & love right beside mortals. as if it's their child, even if they're by all means a parent to every living thing. as if it's one of Us. i think the real question i have isnt necessarily about the kryn parralels to the vanguard now, but rather the parralels in how they treat predathos when they learn of it; will they see it as alive and as worthy of care as the luxon? as well as the parralels of what actions the luxon will take compared to predathos; because i think, as predathos rages, the luxon will choose love.