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ask-alf-oddworld · 14 days ago

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I know that this might be a very weird question, but do you have any headcanons for glukkon religion?

Absolutely not a weird question at all—in fact, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about Glukkon religion and how it evolved (or devolved) alongside their rise as industrial tyrants. Here’s my headcanon:

Glukkon religion in the current age isn’t so much about faith as it is about control. It’s become a convenient tool. Weaponized spirituality—used to justify the unjustifiable. It masks corporate greed, and rewrites history. Much like in certain real-world regimes, religion for the Glukkons is a smokescreen; an ideological tool for Industrialists to make their conquests/destruction/exploitation seem ordained or even righteous. While most Glukkons don’t actually believe anymore, they’re more than willing to pretend they do if it protects their interests or absolves them of guilt in the public eye.

Historically, though, it was a different story. Before the Schism, Glukkons were genuinely spiritual. Deeply invested in alchemy and mysticism. Sought cosmic inquiry. They weren't always the soulless industrialists we know today. They coexisted with the Mudokons, who themselves were spiritually revered advisors, like Tibetan monks in a medieval theocracy. The Glukkons had their own form of spiritual pride—rooted in alchemical tradition and secret knowledge—until the Mudokon Moon appeared, of course.

The Schism was a spiritual breaking point. The Mudokons’ declaration of chosenness upon seeing their species’ mark in the sky, even though they at no point declared themselves superior, still deeply humiliated the Glukkons. Their failure to refute this caused them to abandon the clear sky and any pretense of humility (glukkmility?). That’s when they fully embraced their alchemical practices and became the “Enclosurists,” walling themselves off from both literal nature and metaphysical truth. Their religion didn’t die—it was buried, commodified, and ultimately turned into propaganda.

(Putting some concept art here from Steven Olds, which shows Glukkon(or Oldger as they were called at the time) dressed in ways that highlighted their practices in alchemy)

Even now, vestiges of that old faith remain. Alchemy still exists in Glukkon culture, though it’s largely symbolic—used for product names, branding, corporate sigils. Think of it like how modern society treats Greek mythology. Aestheticized, fictionalized, decontextualized. Brewmaster from Soulstorm is a great example btw—he practices alchemy privately, but it’s taboo, something the general public considers to be a relic of a forgotten past.

Then there's the Priest concept art for Oddworld by Farzad, which I think is incredibly telling.

This monstrous preacher, with soooo many eyes, clearly could see the sins of Industrialists but deliberately chooses not to. It’s the perfect metaphor for an Industrial religion; a faith that once demanded introspection and accountability now exists only to absolve the powerful. This character seems like a satire of religious hypocrisy, confirming that maybe at some point Industrial religious institutions once had weight but now function as merely hollow theater. Their god(s), if they still have any, are just mirrors that reflect back what the elites want to see.

So, I think Glukkons absolutely have their own versions of televangelists. Maybe they're Sligs, or Chroniclers. Maybe even Vykkers, especially if they're demanding donations from viewers to fund their churches. They go on airwaves and spout sermons about how "divine will" justifies monopolies, worker exploitation, and planetary destruction. They claim that wealth is a sign of divine favor, and poverty or dissent is a spiritual failing. Poorer Glukkons who can’t climb the corporate ladder likely do turn to religion—but it becomes a trap. They end up donating what little money they have to their faith and winding up as street preachers, barking sermons no one listens to, or as scapegoats for corporate failures.

Some industrialists likely push this narrative further, declaring that the Mudokon natives (who are still vibrant and deeply spiritual) are practicing “black magic” or “dangerous cultism.” It’s a clever inversion; those who maintain true spiritual practices are demonized, while the false prophets on TV claim moral high ground. It’s fear-mongering, pure and simple. If the Mudokons are seen as spiritually deviant, then their enslavement becomes not only economically justifiable, but morally necessary in the Glukkons’ twisted worldview.

In sum, I think modern Glukkon religion is an illusion. It’s a marketing strategy, a shield against blame, and a tool of control. It reflects the collapse of their ancient spiritual identity, hollowed out by vengeance, capitalism, and/or fear. The faith that remains isn't about gods or truth—it’s about preserving power.

However, I do also think that Glukkons do still have active alchemical cults, or "brotherhoods", that are reserved for the rich and powerful. But i'll get into that another time. Wink wink

#very interesting!#you’re so clever #glukkon #headcanon

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ask-alf-oddworld · 1 month ago

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part 2 of 3 (part 1)

‘Shouldn’t be much longer now’, was what Abe said, much longer ago. The ridges of mountains on either side were the only indicators that they were moving forward, as the trees may as well have been identical after hours of travelling.

Howler trudged behind Abe, feeling her age as her knees clicked. It didn’t help that she shouldered their supplies; she suspected that Abe employed a touch of manipulation of her blossoming drone instincts to get her to do so. She wouldn’t have agreed to take both of their bags before, but now being called big and strong turned on something in her brain. Was it because Abe was becoming a queen? Would she have even noticed it if he didn’t tell her?

As curious as she was, it wasn’t any of her business. Just like it wasn’t any of his business as to why she was transitioning, herself.

Abe looked virtually unbothered with travelling on foot by comparison; he was ahead of her by a few paces at all times, to the point of occasionally stopping to let her catch up. His kindness, as always, came off as patronizing. He looked over his shoulder at her, leaning casually on a walking stick. “Any of this startin’ to look familiar to ya?”

Howler scoffed. “Nah mud, I didn’t go very far from the village.”

The more of her past she let slip, the more Abe’s curiosity piqued. She could see it in his eyes. “Too young?”

“Yeah. And when you’re the only princess, the tribe is gonna watch you like a steef.”

It felt alien still, to speak of her life before capture. The life she felt wasn’t hers anymore, that she almost didn’t deserve to keep in her heart. Though her past had faded at the edges in her mind, speaking it aloud brought some clarity to it again. It made it feel real.

Abe kept encouraging her with careful questions throughout the day, though she started to suspect it wasn’t just out of an interest in her tribe and culture. “Ah, so they were overprotective?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. It was… a big thing for them, me hatching. A queen can only bear princesses after she’s settled, and settling is a big deal.” Howler glanced over to find Abe hanging onto her every word. Just as she suspected. “So, did that mask-holder ever tell you anything about queenhood?”

A purplish flush rose in Abe’s cheeks. “He uh, he doesn’t know about… you know.” He gestured with little subtlety to the chest he kept covered. “None of the natives know, actually. I’m kind of figuring out how to tell them.”

There it was. Howler’s drone crest perked up in interest. “That so? You know, it’s gonna start becoming obvious real quick.”

“So were your drone feathers, and you still hid those.” Abe countered. It was Howler’s turn to go violet.

“... Alright, fine. Ya got me there.” She rolled her eyes at his sly little smile, and shifted the weight of their bags over her broad shoulder. “So, what do you want to know?”

Abe did a double take, his pace faltering. “Huh?”

“I said: what do you want to know about being a queen?” It was only a little satisfying to catch the branded mud off guard. She watched the embarrassed blush reach his forehead and neck.

“Well, uh. Everything, honestly. It’s not just that you’re - you were - a queen, you didn’t end up…” Abe’s voice was suddenly lost in his throat. A familiarly harrowed look passed over his face. “You didn’t end up an industrial queen. Like my mother.”

Howler considered his words for a moment, then said, “How long have you been on hormones?”

“Four months, at least.”

He watched the still-developing drone nod sagely. “No suitors yet?”

“Oh, uh, heavens, no.”

“You lookin’ to settle?”

“I don’t know what that means?”

“Settling is what queens do when they build a tribe.” Howler gave him a serious look. “Layin’ on the regular, becoming sedentary.”

Abe swallowed, hard. “I don’t know, honestly, I don’t… I don’t know if I can.”

“Well you’re scrub stock, so I don’t have high hopes, myself.”

He let out a sardonic groan at that. “Thanks.”

“It's for the best.” Howler picked up the pace. Ahead of them they could see the gradual end of the tree line, and at this point any change in landmarks would be welcome.

Abe caught up with her easily, unburdened and more suited to travelling on foot. “What do you mean by that?”

“Settling makes you vulnerable. You become the tribe’s most valued asset, and its biggest weakness.” Howler grimly stared straight ahead. “A queen gives up her entire life for her tribe, in more ways than one. Especially when industrialists come knockin’ on your door; if they take you, it’s worse than death.”

Abe knew exactly what she meant, and that understanding went unspoken in the look they shared. The branded mud carefully asked, “did they take your mother?”

Howler clammed up at that, and for a second Abe thought he had lost all that process opening her up in an instant. In truth, she was distracted by the treeline opening up before them. The valley they were entering held a wide, flat, golden field of tall grass; lined on either side by steep hills and rocky faces. Abe noticed a landmark on the far end, and pointed it out excitedly. “Hey, that’s gotta be the place, right?”

He was looking at the distant dome shape carved into the face of a cliff. Howler’s eyes had already lit up; but as she dropped her bags and jogged into the field, it was clear that it wasn’t what she was looking at.

Abe only passingly acknowledged the herd of very large, dome-shelled insects that grazed in the clearing. He was familiar enough with meetles, though they weren’t as common in the smog-choked industrial wastes and the Monsaic Lines beyond. Howler looked back at him with wide eyes and an even wider smile.

“I can’t believe it, all these years and they’re still here.” Emotion crackled in her synthetic voice. Abe felt a tug in his chest, empathetic even if he never had a home to go back to himself.

He considered catching up to her, but as she approached the meetles it became apparent that they were very large; much larger than a scrab, or an elum. With their size, it made sense that they didn’t seem to see Howler as a threat, though maybe there was more to that.

She circled around to the face of one, and it regarded her with a placid look in its four eyes. It continued to grase, ripping up the ripened, golden grass in front of it. Carefully, she placed a hand on a head that looked partially retracted under its broad, protective shell.

Abe flinched warily on her behalf. “Be careful-”

“Nah mud, it’s fine.” Howler waved him off, and pointed to the side of the grazer’s shell. A symbol had been scratched into it, old enough to only be faintly visible amongst the accumulated scratches and knicks it accrued from years in the wild. Abe internally compared the symbol to the shape of the temple in the distance, and it all suddenly clicked.

“Oh, these are Mudellan meetles, aren’t they?”

“And they’re still kickin’!” Howler patted the meetle’s shell firmly, and it made a pleasant drumming sound. “Thought the sligs would have driven them off. I guess they came right back during migration anyways.”

Cautiously, Abe approached the enormous creature, and gave it a tentative pat. He flinched back when it huffed in response.

Howler looked over the grazing herd with a prideful smile and misty eyes. “Oddamn, there’s so many of ‘em now.”

“They certainly got busy with no one else around, huh?”

“More like wild bulls must’ve settled right in…” Howler trailed off. Her face fell. “...Look.”

The meetle she pointed to stood out among the others, mainly for the faded, embroidered canvas still stretched around the dome of its shell. The saddle atop it was nearly falling off, but straps still remained in place for so long they cut deep grooves into the edges of its shell.

Abe watched as Howler approached, and the meetle acknowledged her more animatedly than its grazing fellows. It made a low, vibrating, gutteral sound, as if to greet someone it recognized. It hit Abe belatedly that maybe she did look like someone it recognized, now that she was a drone.

“Oh, you poor thing. You must’a had this thing on for years.” Howler tested the straps that anchored the canvas to its chell, and waved Abe over. “C’mere n’ help me with this, wouldja?”

Abe wasn’t much help, as Howler did most of the work using her bare hands to break the bonds without putting more distress on the meetle’s shell. It would have been easier to point out he still had a hunting knife amongst his travelling supplies, but… there was something impressive about watching her. Droning had certainly brought out the definition in her arms. Were her shoulders always that broad?

Not that he was staring. Or that he was still internally grappling with Howler’s transition. He had never cared for huge, flashy, preening drones before. But, he could admit those feathers were handsome on her, though they still had some growing to do. The thickset frame she had as a queen was redistributing all of that bulk into a more masculine shape, though her hips remained broad and her third row of breasts still threatened to slip out from under her shirt every time she raised her arms. She was very… distracting, now.

Abe hastily re-focused his efforts on helping the meetle. His own soft spot for animals made him wince, seeing the state of its shell from years of having it bound; it had become brittle looking and dull, sickly pale where the material had covered it. Watching the saddle get pulled off of it finally certainly looked like a massive relief for the animal.

As soon as it was free, the meetle grumbled in its low tone again. Abe imagined it to be a thank you, or at least a sigh of relief. The sections of its shell shifted for a moment, and with a measure of effort it opened to unfurl crumpled, misused wings. Howler winced in sympathy.

“It’s a miracle it survived this long not being able to fly, gettin’ left behind every migration.”

“Well, it looks like his herd never forgot about him.” Abe pointed to other meetles around them that mirrored their recently freed brethren in unfurling their wings. The sound of buzzing filled the air and made the grass ripple without the need for wind. When he glanced back at Howler, he found her inspecting the ruins of the saddle curiously.

There was still a silver charm tied to the fringe of it, an old decoration that hadn’t yet fallen off. The symbol of the Mudella, a facsimile of a meetle’s four-eyed face and dome shaped shell. Howler tried to look passive as she stared at it for a long moment before pocketing it.

“Guess that’s one thing to bring back.”

Traversing the field was not without its distractions, both from Howler gently harassing the meetles and the younger, feral members of the herd regarding the muds with caution and the occasional aggressive display. Howler, ever the stubborn one, retaliated by spreading her arms wide to mimic their raised shells, sending her own warning in their own language.

For as much as Abe acknowledged she changed, some things would always stay the same.

Thunder rolled faintly in the distance. Howler’s head snapped towards its direction before Abe could acknowledge it. Unlike her, he shrugged it off. “Hopefully we'll be inside by the time it rains.”

“If we can even get inside.” Howler muttered to herself.

The temple loomed before them, cut into the face of the cliffs; carved pillars held up a high ceiling at the entrance, shielding the door from the elements and covering it in shadow. As they got closer, it became increasingly apparent that there was no way to get up to it, from where they were at.

Howler paled a little at how far up it was. And how there seemed to be no walkways, stairs or ladders leading up to it.

Abe pointed out the shaggy fringe of foliage above it, at the top of the cliff. Faintly, one could make out the remnants of a rope bridge covered in vines. It hung limply over the edge, long since cut. “I guess that used to be our way to get in there.”

“One way to keep raiders out.” Howler noted.

They both stared at the sheer wall of rock that stood between them and their goals. Abe cracked his bandaged knuckles. “Welp, better get to it.”

Howler watched him promptly start scaling the wall. For a Mudokon, a surface like that was easy to simply climb… if they were a mud that could stand climbing.

He was about ten feet up before he looked down to find her keeping her two feet firmly on the ground. Howler tried to play off her hesitance with a shrug. “You uh, you go ahead, mud. I’ll keep watch down here.”

Abe glanced at her over his shoulder. “Aw c’mon, it’s not that high.”

“You jokin’? That’s like a hundred feet up! I ain’t fuckin’ climbing that.”

Abe dismounted, and landed on his feet. Unlike her, it seemed like he only got more nimble over the years. “Don’t tell me you’re still afraid of heights.”

Howler folded her arms, immediately going on the defense. “I ain’t afraid of heights, I’m afraid of falling.”

“I remember when you used to hold my hand on the catwalks up at the farms.” The teasing smirk Abe gave her was incredibly punchable. “I wonder what your boys think of a big tough guy like you being afraid to climb a few feet.”

“My boys never let me hear the end of it, let me tell ya.” Howler scoffed. Her drone crest fanned out irritably. “I ain’t exactly a spry little featherweight worker, if you haven’t noticed. I ain't haulin’ my fat ass up any mountains.”

“Well, I can’t just leave ya down here.” Abe scratched at his feathers thoughtfully for a moment. His eyes wandered in the direction of the fields they came from. “Say, meetles fly, right?”

Howler gave him a disapproving scowl. “You better not be doin’ what I think you’re gonna do with my meetles.”

“It’ll just be for a minute. I’m not gonna hurt them, or anything.”

“I’ve seen you turn people inside out with that kata shit-”

Abe held up a finger. “I turned sligs inside out. I don’t hurt animals if I can help it.”

“You ever even possess a meetle before?” Howler didn’t get an answer from him. Abe was already hunkering down into a position more comfortable for meditation, his head bowed and his hands clasped.

His chanting was quiet, but it still thrummed in Howler’s chest; a low and steady accompaniment to the beating of her heart. There was something striking about hearing it still. Something that made her want to join in, an instinct shared through generations of Mudokons. The kata was part of a mud’s soul that couldn't be bred or beaten out of them. The scar on Howler’s throat had been proof of that.

Howler had tried to harmonize with him before, and found the tones taught in their respective parts of Mudos differed too much. An off-key chant was fine for everyday ritual and meditative harmonies, but it wouldn't do for this. Still, humming quietly along with him under her breath satisfied that instinct.

A familiar buzzing came from behind them. Howler watched the lone meetle fly over the treetops, lower than it naturally would. With a resigned sigh, Howler held out her arms, and braced herself.

“You better not drop me, ya hear?”

She shut her eyes tight when she felt the meetle’s legs wrap around her, holding her close to the underside of its thorax. She gasped when she felt her feet lift off the ground. It was all Howler could do to force herself to swallow her panic, and pray that Abe knew what he was doing.

She couldn't open her eyes again until she felt her dangling toes brush against a cold floor. The possessed meetle dropped her rather unceremoniously, but it had successfully flown her to the entrance all the same. Holding onto a pillar cautiously, Howler looked down to watch Abe pilot the meetle all the way back down to the ground, and have it land safely before breaking his concentration.

As soon as its mind and body was its own again, the meetle seemed to look around its unfamiliar surroundings, disoriented and confused that it was away from the herd. Its upset lasted only a few seconds before it took wing again. Abe looked up at his traveling companion, and at this distance Howler could only assume he had a smug smile on his stupid stitched face.

Abe climbed his way to the top, himself. He made it look easy, save for the few missteps and broken handholds that made Howler clench everything in anticipation. She knew he wasn't the most graceful of muds. The saviour of the Mudokon race falling and breaking his neck would have been pretty unfortunate news to return home with.

When he reached the edge, Howler pulled him up the rest of the way with such ease that it made the branded mud gasp. Being manhandled didn't make his heart flutter like that before - or at least, being manhandled by her didn’t.

Their hands lingered on each other for a second too long. They both pointedly looked away from one another. Howler turned her attention to the door.

The circular stone door was easily twice their height, the stylized meetle face on it serving as the symbol of the Mudella. Its eyes were chunks of red rock, and the grooves that traced patterns around them looked more conspicuously deliberate than decorative. Howler preemptively groaned.

“Oh no, it's a puzzle.”

“Oh boy, it's a puzzle!” Abe clapped his hands together eagerly as he walked up to it. He looked over his shoulder to find Howler rooted to the spot. “C’mon Howler, it can't be that difficult if it's for the front door.”

“Yeah, you have fun with that, then.”

He ignored her remark, and focused on pressing in the ‘eyes’ in different sequences. Several failures were met with no response from whatever mechanism sealed the door

Eventually, Howler sighed and ran a hand through her feathers. She butted in to make her own attempt.

“Here.” she pressed the buttons in a combination she seemed familiar with. To Abe's surprise, a dull clicking heralded the mechanisms springing to life; with the grinding of stone against stone, the two halves of the face parted to slide into perfectly fitted openings in the rock. Stale, ancient air blew hit their faces.

“How the heck didja get that in one go?!”

Howler rolled her eyes. “I drew the Mudellan letter for ‘M’. You know. For Mudella?”

She went ahead and entered first. Abe narrowly sidestepped her shoulder-check. “Well it sounds obvious now that you say it.”

The sun bleeding through the doorway had to have been the first light to touch the temple in untold years. With each tentative step inside, they both kicked up glittering plumes of dust in the sunshaft. Squinting in the shadows, Abe made out the unmistakable shape of an unlit torch on the wall.

“That’s helpful,” he pointed out, smiling to himself. He handed it to Howler, because predictably she was the one who kept a lighter on her person. “More of these places need these right at the door. I’m always stumbling in the dark in temples.”

Howler smirked as she lit it up for him. “Thought a hero-type like you would come more prepared.”

Abe sighed; he didn’t find the jab so lighthearted. He took the torch a little too curtly, and mumbled, “do you even want me here or not?”

Howler’s heart sank a little. “I didn’t mean it like that, mud.”

He went off deeper into the chamber without her. Howler had to find her own torch before she could catch him. She found him still giving her the cold shoulder. “C’mon mud, you know my n’ my own tell each other to kill ourselves a dozen times before breakfast.”

Abe stopped, and held out the torch towards a wall. In the orange glow of firelight, stylized carvings of familiar figures decorated the walls. Muds, meetles, elums… Glukkons. Abe leaned forward to squint at the vertical lines of writing that accompanied them. “Say, can you still read this? I only know south Mudanese.”

She was still rusty at it, having no opportunity to even see Mudellan characters since… odd, since seeing what was left of them in Necrum. Or what wasn’t left of them. Seeing more complete sentences tripped her up.

“We remain… standing - no, unmoving - against the ‘lo-’ - no, ‘lūr-’... I think this is just straight up callin’ the Glukkons a slur.”

“They really are your people, huh.” Abe said flatly.

“Mudellans were all high n’ mighty about standing their ground against the deforestation industry, up until they couldn’t be.” Howler took a step back, taking in the whole scene. “They dug their temples into mountains and carved their names into rocks, letting everyone know they were stubborn and unbothered as meetles. Up until they weren’t.”

There was a beat of silence. The fire of their torches crackled gently. Abe looked at Howler from the corner of his eye. “Sounds like someone I know.”Howler sighed, and continued onward. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s keep movin’.”

#MEETLES MY BELOVED #howler #abe #fanfiction #fanfic

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