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kafkaoftherubble · 1 month

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聊聊俺另个冷圈子漫画《AFTER GOD》: 解析、猜测、评论（暂至第58话，英译版为准）

An analysis/speculation/ramble of the manga, After God.

Edit: Upon re-reading some previous chapters for my next ramble, I realized that Yako's name isn't actually "Furuya Yako," but "Furuya Rin" (C56). I'd like to change it accordingly.

The sort of things I'll do for you, @orange-peel-candy, man. Yes, this could have been our Discord conversation, but it’s been a long time since I contributed something to this garden, and the After God appreciator circle is once again, a cold circle (冷圈子) that I thought hey, Future Lyns will enjoy reading. Maybe someone else other than you will, too?

This is up to Chapter 58, "They Don’t Understand."

I’m gonna reiterate some of the interesting things we mentioned back in Discord.

The latest chapter is cool because it showcases how Yako sees the word. “No colors; just lines. Faces are blocked out.”

Apropos of that, I’m personally stoked to see the mangaka spending time establishing the different kinds of visual impairment that might get someone to be legally or functionally declared “blind.” Then, via the elimination method, we get to see just why Yako stood out even within the community she is easily a member of owing to her congenital blindness.

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Blind Perspectives

In the first part of C58, we see the Outsider Auntie describing how much of a stand-offish creep Yako was. Her opinion is likely similar to what readers might have felt about Yako since she appeared in the story.

But, in the second part of the chapter, we got to see Yako reminiscing about her dad’s funeral, her mother, and—we soon find out—the first time she met Chicken (“Rooster,” this distinction is actually important, but I think I’ll make a separate post about it) God. In that flashback, she’s still a little peculiar... but is largely a quiet girl with pretty normal sensibilities. She was defensive of her mother’s character and questioned—but not disparaging of—her long-absent father. She even displayed kindness to a creature she identified as a “parakeet” found near her dad’s coffin.

Little thought that goes nowhere: Child Yako reminded me of a live-action character we really like: India Stoker, from the movie Stoker. They both elicit a peculiar bearing partially from their atypical sensory experiences, are seen as “unsettling,” and are left alone. Man, I dig characters like these. So ghostly.

This is why I’m very interested in C59: it will be a continuation of Yako’s memories of how the Chicken God and her life entwined. Sure, we’ll also get to her reputation as a butcher of eighty lives, but I’m at least 80% sure that the slaughter is related to Chicken God. How the slaughter happened (was it via her new power? Poisoning? etc..), though, is a lot less clear.

Juxtaposing Yako and Outsider Auntie’s perspectives like these made me wonder if Yako had always been as off-putting as the latter claimed. Could it be that, at first, Yako seemed weird because of her nigh-superhuman way of navigating through her blindness with an accuracy other peers like Outsider Auntie could only dream of? Did jealousy introduce a distortion to the Outsider Auntie’s assessment of Yako’s character?

As you pointed out: both narrators are unreliable.

I think that’s a good reminder. So here’s the follow-up:

Is the answer to who Yako is somewhere in between these two perspectives, or does it lie in a third position?

In other words: will Chicken God’s account of Yako’s personality end up being the most accurate version of who she is?

It won’t be surprising if the last part turns out to be true. Alula and Orokapi, who are both IPO/gods, seem to have the most accurate perspectives on Tokinaga compared to any other humans in the story—possibly including Tokinaga himself. Alula also seemed to have understood the sides of Shion that had eluded Waka until the time of their closure.

I think the gods’ impoverished understanding of humanity, plus their lack of emotional and experiential biases, actually gives the gods a clearer, fresher grip on the humans they are interacting with.

However, there’s a downside to learning about humanity with a blank slate. If you dip a piece of white paper into, say, a bucket of blue dye, you’ll get deep-blue paper. Then, no matter what color you try to paint on it later, the blue dye will influence how these colors present themselves on that paper, right?

That’s the second point—and hypothesis—I want to lead to.

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Formative Experience

You observed that it’s strange that Chicken God relied heavily on others to do its bidding while Orokappi (and presumably others) show no such reliance. You’re right, and as always, you give me one really important lead-up to this hypothesis!

The gods described humanity as an infection, yea? We’re their Covid-19, monkeypox—you get the idea. Getting close to humanity, to them, risks being infected by our behaviors and ways of thinking.

In other words, the gods’ first and sustained interaction with one or more, humans greatly influences much of their personality development.

Orokapi

Orokapi’s first sustained interaction is with Tokinaga, who—due to knowing his OG’s sob story about being a loner with bad decisions and no friends (unless he wanted to include debt-collectors or whatever as “friends”)—offered Orokapi friendship with as little prejudice as possible. Even when Orokapi exhibited behaviors considered offensive, repulsive, or even disgusting, Tokinaga simply—persistently—corrected him and took care of him. Orokapi is Stitch to Tokinaga’s Lilo, y’all.

It’s pretty strange especially after we learned who Tokinaga actually is and what he really thinks of the gods.

But the main point stands: Tokinaga teaches Orokapi about friendship. The human notion of it, with all its complexities.

I argue that this is, therefore, Orokapi’s formative experience of humanity. This is his version of the humanity infection.

Orokapi is also notable among the gods for being one who embodies a human being. That is, he borrows a human body and lives like one—likely similarly to Allula. That affords him more formative experience with a human’s spectrum of emotional complexities—which again, because of Tokinaga, is related to the concept of friendship.

All of this culminated in his last run-in with the Rabbit God, Vollof. They had been dear friends before Tokinaga was a thing in Orokappi’s life, and yet Orokappi voiced vexation on how to help his dearest bunny-eared friend. Rabbit God was important to him, but Orokappi didn’t know how to be a friend. In the past, he could only provide surface-level help like alleviating Rabbit God’s drug withdrawal symptoms with his toxins.

However, in their last encounter, Orokappi demonstrated emotional intelligence and sentiments paralleling Tokinaga’s treatment of him. The Snake God had used what he had learned and finally gave Vollof the peace and comfort it didn’t even know it wanted.

This was Orokappi’s humanity infection, manifesting. And it looks a whole lot like platonic love.

Orokappi ate Vollof and subsumed Vollof as part of his “self”—this seems to be a property of these gods, as Allula also seemed to have gained her chimeric form this way (hers is characterized more as “lust” than love though if I remember correctly). Interestingly, he expressed similar sentiments toward Tokinaga and wanted to eat him too.

The intrigue posed by Orokappi’s desire to eat Tokinaga and the latter’s own profound suicidal ideation is better discussed in another post that talks more about my mate’s psychology. So I won’t continue beyond this point!

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This is the basis for my hypothesis as to why Chicken God relies so much on cult followers. I’m about 75% confident of it.

Chicken God Ahu'az

Here’s what we know:

Chicken God was found by Yako in her own house, near her dad’s coffin.

Yako’s mother founded an abacus school.

She had quite a significant number of students, who seemed less interested in abacus and more in her charisma (and beauty). After all, Yako’s mom “talked a lot” after teaching for a bit, basically making her more of an orator than a teacher.

Her school fees were cheap.

Outsiders characterized the school as “a suspicious group of people,” stopping shy of outright calling it “a cult.”

Here’s what we know about Chicken God:

Bruh is the god of a cult.

Bruh doesn’t kill all humans—it lets those who are sickly or weak live. Could this be pragmatic—giving these desperate human powers and a second chance will strengthen their faith in it? Or did it actually possess a soft spot for the marginalized and/or variously disabled?

Bruh relies heavily on its followers to do its bidding.

For a time, bruh lived in a pond near the Furuya’s house.

Chicken God seems to be the closest to Yako despite proclaiming its contempt for humans.

Chicken God presents itself to humanity instead of embodying a human form.

The lowered fees, and the stated purpose of her starting such a school in the first place, suggested that there’s a chance the school attracted marginalized people. People who may live on the fringes and were forgotten by society.

At this point of the flashback, all of the attendees were male. But that doesn’t mean this won’t change in the future. Perhaps following Yako’s murder, the school became an actual starting point of a cult.

Either way, going from what the rumors said, Yako’s mom’s abacus school likely showed a fervor toward her in ways comparable to a following. Chicken God was already living in proximity to a dedicated group as soon as it regained power and sentience.

This backdrop was Chicken God’s formative experience of humanity.

If Orokappi’s formative experience centers around friendship—what if Chicken God’s centers around worship?

Side note: this will once again pit the Snake God and the Rooster God as foils, especially considering how much the two seemed to hate each other’s guts. Friendship denotes equality between all parties, but worship demands a designation of the superior and its inferiors.

It wouldn’t be hard for Chicken God to assume the role of a god, either. The IPOs’ eyes already have a hypnotic quality inducing religious-like devotion toward them. The questions I can ask, therefore, are:

What happened to Yako’s mom? Was she eaten by Chicken God, and so come to assume a womanly form if it so wished? If this was true, then Yako’s feelings for the Chicken God could very well be mixed with a child’s affection towards her mother.

Or did Yako’s mom perish in the clash occurring between this cult and the government when they found out about Chicken God?

Who were those 80 students, and to what purpose were they killed? How did Chicken God factor into this?

Was the Chicken God’s habit of granting favors to the weak, disabled, and marginalized a pragmatic preference, or a result of its formative experience with humanity?

What was Yako’s mom’s role in all of this? Was she the first follower, and therefore the first priestess? Or was she horrified by the abomination her daughter had awakened (though hinted to be her husband’s finding; more on that later)?

The last question concerns the origin of the Chicken God. If I recall correctly, all IPOs used to live scattered across the globe, until for some reason, they began to gather in Japan. Correct me if I misremembered about this one.

This is where the little tidbit of Furuya Shigetoshi’s scholarly pursuit comes in.

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“We joined him to take part in the excavation of Uruk.”

My neural network remembered Uruk enough to immediately think, “Mesopotamia?” So I went to double-confirm.

Yes, Uruk was an important city for Sumerian urbanization. It’s so ancient that it has multiple layers of cities built on top of an older city. It had seen quite a lot of rise and fall in its lifetime, including its annexation by the Neo-Assyrian Empire around 850 BCE[1].

The actual name of the Chicken God, Ahu'az, seems fictional. But the word “Nirosca” reminded me of yet another thing I read before, so I went to check. Again. Well, the only thing that I found closest to it was “Nisroch,” which was some god of Assyria[2].

There had been a scholarly effort in trying to ascertain what kind of god Nisroch was supposed to be. Apparently, in the 1840s, a British archeologist had mistakenly identified “winged, eagle-headed genii[2]” figures as “Nisroch.” Near Eastern scholars nowadays refer to them simply as “griffin-demons.”

There are two points here that converge to one specific ancient Mesopotamian civilization: Assyria. I don’t know if this is the period Chicken God would reveal to have gained its first sentience, but I do wanna show you this Neo-Assyrian ivory sculpture[3][4].

Assyrian winged Sphinx, excavated from Kalhku (now Nimrud).

From Yako’s memory, we learn that Chicken God wasn’t always a bundle of wings and some occasional chicken feet. It could even possess long, silky hair—one Yako compared to her mother’s.

Could our Chicken God originate from the Neo-Assyrian period of the Mesopotamian civilization, within the context of After God’s universe?

I’m 90% sure that it came with Professor Shigetoshi and somehow fell out of his person near his own coffin, which Yako picked up. After all, before these gods were “gods,” they seemed to be very microscopic—almost like bacteriophages, or something similar. It wouldn’t be surprising if micro-Ahu'az hitched a ride on a certain Japanese man—or if captured by him—and came here.

But of course, there’s this talk about how the IPOs had been moving to Japan despite their places of origin. Who’s to say that this wasn’t the directed work of someone, which would have allowed his job of exterminating these gods easier if they were all in one place? Perhaps someone even more ancient than the gods are supposed to be—and an enemy of them, no less...

---

Well! How the fuck did I get here?

And this isn’t the only After God hypothesis we have. There’s the one about the animal representations of each god which could lead to a full-blown essay about Tokinaga, your (unexpected) favorite character (thanks to me! Ahahahhaha!). Not that I mind. I really like Tokinaga too. He’s so juicy and interesting—and Orokapi is just as intriguing too.

Hopefully, other fans of this manga will find this an entertaining read. If you’ve stuck out here for this long—

Thank you for reading my ramble!

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Citations:

“Uruk” in Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uruk

“Nisroch” in Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nisroch

“عاجية اشورية تظهر طائر برأس انسان من كالخو ( النمرود حالياً ) القرن التاسع ق.م” in History of Mesopotamia. Twitter. https://x.com/GilgameshIQ/status/1537489293500899329

Nimrud Ivories عاجيات النمرود in Iraq In History. https://www.abualsoof.com/61-assyrian/detail/8604-assyrian-empire-age?tmpl=component

#after god #after god manga #after god meta #Ahu'az #furuya rin #after god yako #orokapi #tokinaga sachiyuki #ramble with citations #睿得失这个话痨的长篇大论

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aquarii-if · 8 months

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The gods of Aquarii and Chronos have ruled for billions of years. (Psst! You can take this quiz to find out which god parent you should choose!)

Delano, The God of Time- Delano is the father of all the gods and goddesses, except for Celeste, who is his granddaughter. Nobody knows how Delano came to be, it's just accepted that one day he appeared on Aquarii and decided to create the Mitans. Delano is beloved by the Mitans for his laid-back personality, and being one of the only gods who can actually take a joke. For some reason, Delano decided to give his demigod children clocks for pupils. The hands actually move. Being a father of ten other gods, and a grandfather, Delano is pretty much the perfect dad. He's supportive and caring, but strict when he needs to be. Delano values independence, so he expects his children to be able to complete tasks and challenge themselves without his help, but he'll still be there to protect them if they find themselves in a situation where they can't save themselves. He wants them to be strong, but also smart, don't overexert yourself.

Aquila, The Goddess of Water- Aquila is the eldest of all the gods and goddesses. Delano decided that Aquarii needed a planet, and used a couple of meteors with H2O in them to create a planet entirely made of water. The ocean then began to create a large whirlpool, and Delano used this whirlpool to create Aquila. Aquila is known to be very unpredictable, which causes Aquarii's oceans to be quite dangerous. At one point of the day, the water may be calm and gentle, but in a single instance, it can turn aggressive and furious. However, Aquila is known to be a very kind and supportive mother, so long as her children remain respectful to her. Similarly to how a single wave can throw a surfer off balance, one disrespectful move toward Aquila, and her child can be sent into a world of punishment. Aquila likes to turn her children's pupils into the ocean, their eyes tend to be dark blue with waves gently moving across the water, and you can even see the white seafoam in their eyes.

Mahina, The Goddess of Death- It's quite strange to see that the goddess of death came before the goddess of life, but Mahina has always liked to make her own rules. While Delano was distracted and attempting to create another planet in Aquarii, he wasn't able to stop a meteor from coming in and destroying the planet he created for Aquila. As the waters of the planet completely burned over and the planet exploded, a woman appeared. She giggled at the destruction and demanded that Delano do it again. Originally, Mahina was the goddess of misfortune, but she later switched her position to be the goddess of death when Alula created Mitans. Mahina is an impatient, selfish, and overall terrible person to be around, but she's even worse than her own children. She's known to be quite neglectful and abusive towards them and mostly sees them as weapons and servants to her cause rather than actual people. If they show even a hint of emotion in her presence, she writes them off as weak and practically abandons them until she finds another use for them. Children of Mahina tend to have small black cracks in their skin, and their scleras and pupils are turned completely black.

Aurora, The Goddess of Love and Beauty- Similarly to Mahina, many find it strange that the goddess of love came before the goddess of life. But even gods can feel love and want to be beautiful. Originally, the gods did not have bodies, they were just atoms floating around through space. Delano wanted to feel the ocean, so he decided to attempt to create a form that could feel. His first form can only be described as monstrous, but it was his, and he thought it was beautiful. These emotions caused Aurora to form, and she complimented Delano's form and caused Delano to experience love toward himself. Aurora is known to be an excitable and happy goddess, she adores the Mitans and wants them all to live long lives full of love and beauty. She doesn't believe there is such thing as 'ugly', and can find beauty in practically anything. She's also known to be quite a good mother to her children but can be a bit of a pushover as well.

Alula, The Goddess of Life- It didn't take long for the four gods before Alula began to feel lonely. Delano decided he wanted to create a species that weren't gods, but a species he could take care of. These feelings caused Alula to appear, and she said that she could help him. She caused some islands to appear from under the waves and began to grow trees and other plants on these islands, before she used the land, the water, and the stars to create the Mitans. Similarly to Aurora, Alula cares deeply for her Mitans. She does her best to keep the galaxy healthy and alive and takes care of the Mitans to make sure they live long healthy lives. However, she does have a bias towards her children, who she tends to spoil with an abundance of food and herbs for them to stay alive longer than the average Mitan. But she doesn't do this for nothing, she expects that her children use their powers to help others, and she's known to offer harsh punishments to her children who use their powers for evil.

Ida, The Goddess of Wisdom and Curiosity- Of course, Mitans wouldn't have lasted long without some kind of intelligence, but Delano also wanted them to be independent. He had the Mitans become curious creatures and encouraged them to explore the world to satiate these curiosities. While the Mitans were searching through a forest and discovering the other forms of life there, Ida came and guided them to a clearing that was the perfect land to begin building a civilization. Ida is stoic and withdrawn, preferring to keep to herself. She's not very interactive with Mitans or the other gods, but she is still known to be helpful when it comes to the evolution of Mitans. She's been a great asset to Mitan space travel. Ida is not the most emotionally supportive parent when it comes to her children, but she isn't against emotion like Mahina is, she just isn't good at comforting people. She's quite supportive of her children's personal endeavors and will help lead them on the right path of whatever they wish to accomplish. She believes there are many different forms of intelligence, and whether her children want to be scientists, artists, or warriors, she's right there by their side.

Cielo, The God of Creativity- The Mitans quickly grew bored with the geometric shapes of the world and the many mathematical problems they had to solve just to make a tent. They had creative abilities and wanted a way to demonstrate them. Delano gave them the idea of using the tree sap they used to make syrup and glue to make something they could write on and to use the charcoal for fire as a writing utensil. The Mitans began writing many stories, creating music, and even drawing on this newfound invention. As they did, they heard some music playing from the forest, and there they found Cielo, playing a tune using a stick he carved into a flute. Cielo is a very carefree god who prefers to have fun and play with Mitans rather than attempt to rule over them. Out of the twelve, Cielo is the favorite. Cielo's children tend to have healing powers and can heal others just by playing a simple tune. Cielo encourages his children to be kind and to dream big, along with doing everything they can to achieve these dreams.

Sirius, The God of War- It wasn't long before the Mitans began to see their differences. Originally, these differences were welcomed and encouraged. The Mitans used their differences to further civilization and evolution. But of course, different people tend to butt heads all the time, and that's exactly what happened with the Mitans. Two groups of Mitans began to fight more and more, and eventually, they began to get physical. Another group of Mitans stopped them before anyone got hurt, but they suddenly heard loud clapping. When they turned, Sirius was sitting nearby, encouraging them to keep going. When Sirius was younger, he encouraged Mitans to fight more and even stated that differences shouldn't be welcomed and should be challenged, because everyone should strive to be normal. But over time, he matured and realized that he actually didn't want them to fight. He doesn't encourage peace, though, and he believes that sometimes people have to fight to get along and that fighting can actually help you learn more about someone. Sirius loves his children but has high expectations for them. He expects them to be strong and stick up for themselves, however, he's still kind to his children who lack self-esteem, and he tries to help them build their confidence. Still, he doesn't like slackers or self-pity, he always expects his children to strive to be better.

Anatole, The God of Seasons- At the beginning of Aquarii, the weather was known to be a disaster. Control of the weather was shared between Aquila, Alula, Delano, and Sirius. All four have very conflicting personalities and opinions, which caused them to fight using the weather. Aquila didn't see anything wrong with it raining all the time, while Alula didn't want it to rain because the Mitans couldn't build their civilizations and couldn't protect themselves from her hurricanes. Sirius also didn't like the rain because he couldn't make it hot enough, while Delano didn't want the weather to be too rainy or too sunny, just calm. Alula then would argue that it wasn't challenging enough for the Mitans to just have calm weather all of the time. The excessive change of the weather every day was so intense that the four accidentally caused a flood. When the flood was over, Anatole was protecting the Mitans and a rainbow appeared over their small village. Anatole used to adore the Mitans, the same way Cielo and Alula did. But a couple thousand years ago, he randomly disappeared, and nobody has seen him since. The only reason the Mitans even know he's still alive is because their weather is still normal and predictable, which means Sirius, Aquila, Delano, and Alula still don't have control of it. Anatole has never had any demigod children, so nobody really knows how he would treat them, or even what kind of powers they would have.

Soleil, The God of Emotion- Technically speaking, Soleil and Anatole are twins. Just seconds after the gods and Mitans saw Anatole, Soleil appeared from behind him. Originally, Soleil didn't have a purpose, as his godhood wasn't very obvious when he first appeared. But Delano thought his reactions to things like artwork, the Mitans fighting, the Mitans falling in love, and his extreme empathy towards others were unusual. So Delano appointed him as the god of emotion, and he fit into his role perfectly. Soleil is very hard to predict, one minute he's happy and joyful and bringing hope and love to Aquarii, and the next he's pissed off and causing the gods and the Mitans to fight and wreak havoc on one another. Nobody really knows what makes Soleil mad and what makes him happy, because of this, he's not well-liked among the Mitans or the gods. He's known to be very calm around his children and his brother, Anatole, though. But he's quite controlling, and a lot of Soleil's children tend to be dependent on him, and quite spoiled, or they grow up to resent him and develop a desperate need to be independent.

Donati, The God of Fortune and Wealth- As Mitan civilizations grew bigger and bigger, they began running out of food for everyone, and had to begin splitting it. But they quickly realized they couldn't split everything equally, so they needed a way to differentiate who deserved the bigger pieces. Delano then grabbed some gold from underground and shaped it into a thin circle. The Mitans were unsure of how they were supposed to ration these coins when Donati appeared. He had the Mitans fetch more gold and make more coins, before explaining to them that the best way to ration them is to give more to the ones who work harder than others or have a more important job. Of course, the way money is rationed now in Aquarii is much different than Donati originally intended it to be. It's no shock that Donati loves money and expensive things, and out of all the gods, he's the easiest to please. Just drop an expensive gold piece of jewelry in front of his temple, and you're set for life. Donati is a nice father, so long as you're actually worth something to him. All of his children so far have been nepo babies, Donati doesn't like having children with poor people, or anyone who isn't famous. Donati loves spoiling his children, and he has a hard time saying no when they ask him for something, even if he knows he shouldn't be so lenient with them. Overall, Donati's children are pretty blessed.

Celeste, The Goddess of Consequences- Celeste was originally a demigod, a daughter of Aquila. But Aquila adored her so much and believed Celeste was so powerful that she couldn't bear to send Celeste down to Mahina, and when Celeste died, Aquila took her body up to the god's domain and ascended her to godhood. During her mortal life, Celeste took vengeance on a man after her mortal mother was harmed by him. He came and murdered her in the middle of the night, and Celeste trained for years and did every piece of detective work she could to find him. Once she did, she tortured and brutally murdered him, before doing the same to countless others who committed similar crimes. When Celeste ascended, she became the goddess of consequences, swearing to take revenge on those who did evil. Celeste has a very neutral opinion of gods and Mitans as a whole, believing that whether someone is good or bad is up to the individual, not the species. Celeste has no soft spot nor practices any kind of favoritism for her children, she believes that they are just as capable of bad deeds as anyone else and that they deserve equal punishment. She's not mean to them, though, but she's not the most present mother either.

#aquarii #gods #delano #aquila #mahina #aurora #alula #ida #cielo #sirius #anatole #soleil #donati #celeste

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iaus · 2 months

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okay. i'm going to start with a little background before i get into the wild ass session my party just had.

the premise of this campaign (which i am mostly writing on my own) is based on the game darkest dungeon. all you really need to know about that is that you play as the heir of a cursed estate. you receive a letter from your ancestor asking you to cleanse the estate for the good of your family's legacy. however, as you delve into the estate and its surrounding land you learn more about its origin AND your ancestor who tasked you with this.

this is the hamlet the party is currently at

now. we get to my homebrew aspects. i'm going to copy/paste the premise i gave my players as a guideline for creating their characters:

In 1817, a strange phenomenon began to start in all major cities of Faerûn. As the Church of Light began to surge in violence and boldness, most adventurers found themselves called away from adventuring life and were implored to take to participating in mercenary armies to oppose the Church. Adventuring jobs came to a halt and were replaced with enlistment pleas and propaganda from both the Church and those who opposed them. However, next to these were posts calling for adventurers—promising fame, fortune, a new life, and even protection from the horrible realities of the war. All adventurers were welcome: New, old, veteran, retired… no matter how many times the advertisements were ripped down more appeared. These calls persisted throughout the wars, they could not be stifled no matter how bloody and vicious the Light Crusade became. Due to the nature of the crusade, none can say how many answered the call of these advertisements. But many saw them as an ill omen. Something only the most desperate or greedy would answer. Even now, in the year 1882, you have found one of these missives—new, freshly stamped, and signed so recently the ink still seems wet. Lord de Vaux is still seeking adventurers of all skill sets and experience to help them clear their treasure-filled estate. Coin, housing, and community available to any adventurer who is will claim it. Fame, fortune, and a new life await any brave enough to show this missive to the conductor at the nearest train station. From there, you will find yourself where you need to be.

i'm not going to summarize the ENTIRE campaign as i've run it so far but so far my party (who i will give blurbs about shortly) have accomplished the following:

stopped a necromancer from ascending and merging his soul with his dead lover to help an extremist cult of light worshipers.

rescued children from being sacrificed to help open a gateway to something called the nameless god... while accidentally completing the ritual the cultists were trying to complete. (this part of the journey was taken from an adventure book i bought based off of dark dice, the only part that i have not personally written and EXTREMELY FUN i would love to run it again).

kidnapped/rescued/recruited a child cultist named cal umbar who was trying to complete aforementioned ritual.

entered the haunted estate to rescue their kidnapped benefactor lord kolyah de vaux from her imprisonment within the estate. she has now joined their party. she does not have her memories.

currently, the party is dealing with a band of brigands who have taken over the hamlet in their absence. (this is where my clusterfuck summary will pick up.)

now. just to give you an idea of the party itself we have:

alula a tiefling cleric/warlock who was recently reunited with their estranged child, cal. she has been doing her best to try and bridge the distance between herself and cal to varying degrees of success.

clementine a dhampir wizard who has ended up in an unfortunate love triangle that she really doesn't want to be in. she recently found and adopted a baby gold wyrmling and often ends up speaking with ghosts.

remaria a human druid/warlock who entered in a pact with a beautiful hag named satine during the party's time in the weald. they now have a third stone eye embedded in their forehead and a bag of seeds their patron tells them to plant in varying locations for unknown reasons.

these are all played by the friends i'm running the session for i adore them. they're all in saw traps.

party NPC wise we have:

kolyah de vaux the reborn estate heir who is now a barbarian. she lost all of her magic and memories after being trapped by the estate. according to rumors she cannot die.

cal umbar a 15 yr old tiefling cultist sorcerer who looks exactly like alula. the combination of their upbringing and other factors make them a little unnerving to others. the party learned this session that cal does not appear to sleep but to trance which is weird because they're not an elf!

chiara noi a satyr cleric who came to the estate to make maps. her tragic backstory is that she has a rival map-maker that she can never seem to outmatch. early on in the campaign one of our old party members did a history check..... they remembered chiara's rival's work.... not chiara's. chiara was cal's primary caretaker while the party was trapped in the estate (time dilation weirdness) and joined the current occupying brigands so she would be able to care for cal easier. she just got kidnapped by the brigands after being caught lying.

other notable NPCs:

lord de vaux (kolyah does get two): the heir to the estate and the one who sent out the missives requesting adventurers. lord de vaux is generally my most hated npc. she is rich, throws money at her problems, and seems to have some responsibility for her brother's death and arguably caused the necromancer issue. she and the party had a very tense relationship.

satine: the witch of the weald who has a pact with remaria. no one is quite sure of her intentions. she seems to have taken a liking to remaria and has a tendency to be a little cruel to them. (she made remaria hallucinate that she was being attacked by the forest the last time remaria went to seek satine out for help.) she seems extremely powerful and resentful of kolyah and the entire estate/hamlet.

now. there's some base information. there's stuff i definitely missed. but i'm gonna write a session summary in another post. but. welcome. to my cluterfuck of a saw trap campaign.

#bambi dms #.txt #i do also have a history timeline that spans 100 years for this campaign LMAO

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prophets-of-the-barrens · 5 months

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dear proto,

do you find anything scary? do... robots find things scary? maybe they're scared of bigger things and not stuff like... the dark

...did i ever ask you why you stopped writing back to me a few years after the sun went out. ? i can't remember (strikethrough)

( @alulablog )

[Dear Alula:

Fear is one of the most basic reactions to things. It exists to keep us from harm. It is safe to assume our aversion is not different from fear.

If it has the potential to hurt us or it has hurt us in the past, then yes, we fear it.

Do you fear the dark? By itself, darkness cannot hurt you, I can speak from ""experience"". But I am aware it is a common fear. Can you help me understand better? What scares you about it?

I look forward to your response.]

#as prototype #ask #alulablog #os game rp #letter sending arc #//he probably can't read strike through text but no worries I left some '''' leads''''

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homeofhousechickens · 1 year

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Are there any specific breeds of chicken that have wing claws, or is it just luck of the draw?

All chickens have an alula thumb as it's a general part of their anatomy but in a lot of breeds it is smaller and the carpal spur/wing claw is pretty nonexistent but in primitive and landrace breeds (serama,kirikiri,sumatra,ect) this trait is still commonly visible. Usually if it's a chicken breed known for being good flyers you will see more noticeable thumbs in my experience. Every bird is an individual though so some birds might have bigger claws then others for no particular reason.

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vaseflowerstt · 1 year

Text

more fankid shit because I’m bored and love them 😭👌✨

Celestia: "My parents love me. They’re pretty overprotective, though. But, yknow, parents are like that sometimes."

Finn: "Ugh, I love my moms, but they adore me too much. Like, excessively."

Tsunami: "Love my parents, they love me. Nothing more to say."

Rowan: "I love my moms and they love me!! I would give them hugs every second of the day if I could!!"

Aella: "My moms love me unconditionally, they support me, and they respect me."

*they all look at Alula, who just stares back at them.*

Alula: "Oh, uh…I think I’m just some failed experiment that’s now a burden to my parents."

Rowan: "Awe, don’t say that! They love you."

Alula: "…and my dad still won’t pay for my therapy."

Celestia: Glimbow

Finn: Catradora (not my oc)

Tsunami: Seamista

Rowan: Scorfuma

Aella: Spinnetossa

Alula: Entrapdak

I love them sm

#she-ra #spop #headcanons #incorrect quotes #glimbow #catradora #seamista #scorfuma #spinnetossa #entrapdak #fankids #my ocs #ocs

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uranustravel-blog · 2 years

Photo

Luxury, Adventures, Stunning landscapes & Rich heritage. Discover Al Ula! Special deals from AED3550*. Inquire Now: https://bit.ly/3prlzMh call us on 04 3355559 / Email: [email protected] / www.uranustravel.com

#experience alula #alula #travel to alula

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loppy-darii · 1 year

Text

storytime with Cedric

#oneshot #oneshot game #oneshot (game)#oneshotgame #alula #cedric #read right to left #digital art #how to experience pain ft Cedric oneshot #claws actually hurt guys did you know that?

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ashyronfire · 1 year

Text

Red Sky at Morning || Chapter 29: Tell Me No More Stories

Title: Chapter 29 - Tell Me No More Stories Rating: M Characters: Grimm, The Grimm Troupe (including OCs), The Radiance

Warnings: Introspect-Heavy, Found Family, Pre-Canon, Time Travel Fix-It Adjacent, Grey-and-Grey Morality, Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Dismemberment, Graphic Depictions of Violence, The Author Likes Gore

Summary:

“Atlas says you’ve improved.” She looked at Pyre, then turned back to say, “Greatly. He keeps talking about wanting to fight you in the Nightmare. He says he feels like you are crippled here, even with your magic.”

Author’s Notes: In the interest of making this available to more people after AO3 crashed, I'm gonna put the chapter itself under a cut as well. Right now AO3 is up and probably fine -- but just in case. :>

CURRENT CHAPTER || READ FROM THE BEGINNING

The Second Cycle - Mulake

Grimm shared in the child’s memories.

There was more to it than just seeing. While he did look through its eyes, he could not describe it as simply viewing. Whenever Pyre brought the child back to the camp, its experiences came flooding back to him like a tidal wave. Every little scratch, every touch, the whispered words, the affection. The spell that bound the child to the charm also bound the charm to Pyre.

Their lives were woven together, kindling to flame and the ash that remained in their wake. He was terribly attached to the hybrid already. Sparring with him was going to be… an experience.

And they had an audience.

Pyre did not seem to mind. He looked very calm as he stepped into the makeshift arena. It was a particularly large grassy field that the Troupe had helped clear out the night before at Grimm’s suggestion, so that the grass was shorn short for ease of viewing and any rocks lingering around were removed to avoid unintentional injury. Pyre had shed his usual cloak in favor of bracers that protected his arms and legs, and a chestplate in crimson that matched Grimm’s own natural coloration. He’d brought with him an elegant nail inlaid with a webbed pattern that brought to mind a damselfly’s wings; the engravings ran from the pommel all the way to the tip, giving the optional illusion of angles to the shape. It was a curved longtail; that, it seemed, was Pyre’s weapon of choice. Grimm did not fight with one at all. He was not that kind of fighter. He was a magician. But Atlas was trying to teach him to fight without the use of his flames.

Against Atlas, that was going terribly. Pyre, he hoped, would prove to be another story.

“Are you sure you do not want to arm yourself?” Nightshade asked him. She had a new set of daggers in sheaths at her side; she held one out for him to look at. “Atlas is adept at forging; he’s been –”

“He is?” Grimm asked, puzzled.

“Yeah,” the moth answered. “He’s been making weapons for all of us. He made Marra the most wicked scythe I’ve ever seen. Alula has a long nail, Atlas has his axe – that thing’s heavier than I am, by the way – and he even gave Reed some daggers like mine. He’s been teaching Mist to use a staff, too. Mist doesn’t really like blades.”

Making weapons for everyone but him, it seemed. He’d known Atlas used an axe, although he’d never bothered with weapons when fighting Grimm. He rarely needed to. He had the physical advantage.

He handed the dagger back. He had a staff, made elegantly by Marra, but he considered it to be more of a show piece than something for actual use. He’d be devastated if it was damaged in combat. All he actually used when sparring was his claws. Maybe he should learn to do more, but it was a rather redundant thought right before a sparring match.

“He never told me he was a smith,” Grimm observed; he glanced into the group assembling around them. Every Troupe member was present, but what fascinated him the most was that Mist was perched near Fae and ignoring everyone else entirely. And he had something over his head: a piece of filmy fabric held in place by woven bands around his mask. “When did our butterfly become so fond of the flashier twin?”

“Fae’s been teaching him about butterfly culture, actually,” the moth hummed. “Pyre gave him that veil. Apparently, there is a lot about butterflies we did not know.”

Did not remember, more like.

He knew, instantly, that veils had significance. The memory came flooding back, unbidden: wearing veils was a social symbol among their kind. Different colors denoted different things. Black was, traditionally, mourning, but adorning it with gems meant that the wearer was of considerable status. The twins did not wear veils, despite being half-butterfly, but clearly, they knew the importance of them.

He did not often think about such things. Who they were before the Troupe was of no great consequence to Grimm. They were his people and he was fond of them as they were. It should have occurred to him, though, that Mist would want to know more about where he came from. Especially since they were both the very last butterflies left in the world of that particular tribe.

Grimm would speak with him after the fight. Not just because he wanted to know what Fae was teaching him, but he also wanted Mist to know what memories he had from Luster. That had felt like a forbidden topic for so long, considering how young the butterfly was when he’d joined them, but…

Not anymore.

Mist was not young in truth now, and he would never be old, either.

“I like his veil,” Nightshade continued. “He’s very fond of it. It belonged to their mother, the twins. Pyre seemed to like that it was going to someone who would take good care of it. That it would be worn for eternity.”

That fit. Pyre was a sentimental creature.

“Speaking of him,” the moth continued. “He brought back the little one. It’s mean of you to send the baby away. Do you not realize how cute little-you is?”

He knew. He even agreed, strange though it might have been for him to admit.

“It is better,” Grimm told her.

“How is it better? You are a part of this family, you jerk. You need to remember that.”

It was better because he wanted to be more than he was. He wanted to be a thing apart. He wanted to learn from others, to take in their experiences, to –

To what?

To fix the holes in his heart, ever glowing like his eyes? To fix who he was, in hopes that he would become someone more worthy of the love that people offered him? Perhaps. Or maybe he was projecting. Maybe he just wanted to look into the mirror and like the person looking back at him.

(Time. Time would give him that.)

“Root for me,” Grimm asked of Nightshade; he twitched his tail and smiled behind his mask. “Your husband beats me up often enough. I need something to assure me that I am not totally hopeless.”

That was eerily close to how Cross had once described him and, inadvertently, it dug deep into an old wound. There was a time when those words would have paralyzed him. He did not think Cross would ever be a wound that fully healed. He saw the snail in everything. But Grimm was surprised to find that while it did feel a little like being slapped, the sharp ache to his heart faded. Atlas was not Cross, and Atlas meant it as a compliment, in his own way.

(And Atlas hadn’t given up on him, either. Stubborn moth.)

“If I manage to win, I will grant your husband’s wish,” he told her. “I will let him find out what it is like to fight the real me.”

“Can I watch?”

His tail playfully undulated to the side. “Perhaps.” But likely not. He did not like disrupting dreams, but he would make an exception to challenge Atlas in the Nightmare. He wanted to let him see exactly how right he was… because he was correct: in the real world, he was crippled, bound by mortal laws, tied to a physical form. He was not physical in his own world. He wasn’t anywhere close to crippled there.

He'd enjoy that fight immensely. But only if he managed to win. Only if he managed to prove that he could. Otherwise, what was the point? To lose to Atlas, as he had so many times before? No, thank you.

Grimm turned and crossed the field. The clearing was good enough for a normal spar. Pyre met him in the middle of it, and the child left the hybrid’s shoulder to fly over to him. He held one hand up and stroked its wings before sending it to settle on Nightshade’s lap (Complain less, moth).

“Are you sure that you are up to this?” Pyre asked him. “Iris told me you’ve been taking her venom. If you are not well…”

How sweet.

“I assure you that I am fine. Do you intend to use magic?” Grimm hummed, turning his head to the side. At Pyre’s nod, he said, “Then I will, too.”

“I would hope so.”

“Are you ready, my friend?” Grimm asked, with Pyre nodding again, and then he offered a flourishing bow, one wing spread at his side. “Then dance with me,” he purred. The lilt in his voice was impossible to miss. Musical.

He did so like to put on a show.

Pyre did not bow back, though he did hesitate (as though considering doing so – perhaps he’d never seen anyone bow in combat, considering that he had so little experience in it in a less life-or-death situation?). He launched forward with a slash, and Grimm teleported away with a soft ‘pop’ – which was perhaps not the most charitable response, but he was not about to be hit while he was being polite.

Rude, Pyre. Very rude.

He reappeared on the other side of the hybrid, who had whirled to meet him. Pyre raised his nail to parry Grimm’s clawed slash and then struck downward. Grimm danced out of the way of it and swiped again, and –

There was a tempo to it, wasn’t there? He’d called it a dance, and fighting was a dance. One-two step.

(Did practicing with Atlas have a similar flow? You slice, I slash. You back up, I step forward. I retreat and you close distance. Was it always like that?)

The sound of metal hitting his claws was loud. They reverberated and felt numb to him. He needed to get better protectors for them if he was going to use them in physical combat, he realized.

Slice. Parry. Scratch.

Rhythm. There was a melody to each movement and he hummed quietly to himself to match it. Pyre no doubt heard him but did not question what he was doing – which was kind of him, as Grimm did not know.

What he did know was that Pyre failed to dodge one of his attacks, and his claws ripped through his shoulder nastily.

Lost the tempo. Fell out of step. The next two hits landed soundly: one-two scratch.

(Give him a minute to get up.

Would a real opponent? No. But it wasn’t a real fight.

He’d drawn hemolymph first.

But he wanted to win. He wanted to win.

He wanted to win fairly. Give him a minute.)

Grimm scurried backwards, giving Pyre more space. The hybrid leapt back to his feet and then –

Threw his nail across the field. That was unexpected. Grimm dodged out of the way of it, only to be sliced on its return as magic propelled it back to its owner. He felt the wound gape in his side over tender scar tissue.

One-two slice.

He dodged. He parried. He moved like he owned the ground, and Grimm was surprised to find that he felt like he did. There was something incredibly satisfying about keeping the tempo, keeping to the melody, like – like –

Left. Right.

One-two scratch.

(You slice, I back up. I fill the distance with my own claws.)

He landed more blows than he took, but Pyre’s nail managed to nick his wings in several places, and at least once on his arm. It was good practice, even as his fingers started to numb from using the length of his claws to block attacks.

(They were going to be so, so sore.)

Every time one of them fell out of the tempo, they took a hit, he noticed. There was synergy between the two of them, and as long as he continued to hum along to it, he… didn’t falter.

Dirt kicked up under scuffling feet as Pyre dashed at him, both hands clenched on the hilt to swing the blade down, and the reaction was instant. Grimm jumped and landed, squarely, on the edge of the blade. He perched, crouched, fingers on one end and feet under him; his claws came up, then, to catch the hybrid’s face; Pyre’s grip on the blade faltered under his weight, the nail hitting the ground, but Grimm himself did not fall, levitating in the air.

Fire danced from his fingertips and flared, blindingly bright, right in Pyre’s eyes.

“Live up to your name. Burn for me.”

As he spoke, Pyre hissed and half-screamed, stumbling back and clutching his face. That was almost enough to make him feel guilty.

Almost.

Grimm skittered backwards, essence spirals trailing in his wake and he stopped far enough away to avoid a counterattack.

He could end it now. He could –

That thought was interrupted by fire igniting underneath him. Unlike his own flames, which were undeniably scarlet, Pyre’s were a rich orange that seared up like a vortex. If he was anyone else, he would have been screaming as his wings shriveled in the heat.

Instead, he called magic into them. His intention was to use them to wrap up Pyre, to disable him, but that was not what happened. No, as if of their own accord, his wings shot into the ground, burrowing serpentine beneath it. Flames rolled down his back, trailed over the extended lengths, and exploded out of the ground directly in front of Pyre, sending him careening into the air.

…when had he learned—

In the middle of a fight was not the best time to think about the fact that his wings seemed to have taken on a mind of their own; he could analyze it later.

He teleported, then, and when the still-blind hybrid hit the ground, Grimm landed on top of him, claws wrapping around his throat, piercing shell a little.

Pyre coughed. His throat spasmed between Grimm’s fingers. “You’re fast,” he panted. “And your fire is nasty. I relent. I need – I need –”

“Alula will have a salve for your eyes,” Grimm answered, releasing his throat. “You seared my wings.”

“You started with the fire.” Pyre coughed and brought his hands up to his eyes, his nail falling to his side. “Going for the eyes. That is a bit dishonorable—”

“It’s fucking brilliant, actually,” came the brusque correction. Grimm looked up to see Atlas approaching, one hand held out to the fallen twin. “Where the fuck is that when you fight me, princess? Where is this jumping on blades and dodging by a hair’s breadth instead of getting punched in the guts like you like it? Where the hell is any of this coming from? I’ve never seen you do most of that.”

One-two slash.

Pyre took Atlas’s hand and sat up. “Brilliant or not, my eyes –”

“You’ll be fine.” Atlas did not sound sympathetic at all. Grimm had thought that he and Pyre were friends. Or… at least friendly? “Alula will fix you right up.”

Pyre looked incredibly unhappy.

(Pyre was a bad patient, Grimm realized. As bad a patient as Grimm himself was. Even if he was fond of Alula – and he clearly was – he was not relishing the idea of being doted on. Grimm felt some sympathy for that. Good luck.)

The child rose from Nightshade’s lap and flew over to daintily land on Pyre’s shoulder. It mrrr’d quietly, bumping its head into his chin, and the annoyance on the twin’s face dissolved away immediately.

“Your father is a bit mean,” Pyre told the child, to Grimm’s quiet laughter. The hybrid leaned down conspiratorially. “I forgive him, though. Even if you and I are more alike right now than usual. Both of us blinded.”

“It can see,” Grimm corrected. “Through my eyes.”

The little buzz of wings told him that Pyre was aware and did not care. Dissociating the two of them, father, and child, seemed to be preferable. Easier for him to process, perhaps.

Pyre patted the child’s back and looked sideways at Grimm. “Next time, you will not get a chance to use such underhanded tricks. Think of something more clever.”

He was very hung up on it being ‘underhanded.’ Grimm was of the opinion that winning was more important than honor, to some degree.

He would ask Atlas if he was wrong about. But it did not sound like he was.

A real enemy would not ask permission before wounding someone, after all.

“I want to keep records.”

Grimm lifted his head to look over his shoulder. Mist stood in the entrance to the tent, arms folded, the short veil that Pyre gave him covering his face, and his wings were twitching slightly at his lower back. Usually when they moved, it meant that he was agitated. His voice alone gave that away, though. Mist sounded positively distressed.

Grimm had meant to talk to him, he had – he’d just… put it off, in part because of dread, in part because of being busy.

“Fae has been teaching me,” Mist continued.

“Has he?” Grimm hummed. He’d noticed the two of them together while he was dueling with Pyre; he’d retreated to his tent after the fight to let the hybrid and Alula have some alone time, for his own injuries were superficial by comparison. He did not ask where Fae went after the fight. The older twin was still something of a mystery. He’d taken to Mist immediately, but not to Grimm.

“Yes. About butterflies. About my culture.” Mist sat on the end of the table, pulling his knees up to his chest. “I didn’t know that our people have an oral tradition of storytelling, or that – that some of them keep complex recordings of every culture they visit. Nomadic. Like we are.” He took a long, shaky breath. “We are bad at being butterflies.”

Perhaps.

“So you want to keep records of the kingdoms we’ve visited, then?” Grimm asked, his tail coming up to undulate behind him. He was fiddling with the enchantments on a hilt not unlike the one he’d made for Iris. “What is stopping you?”

“I want you to, too.”

Ah?

He’d been keeping records for a long time. Ever since his first life. He’d started keeping them after Cross – at an off-hand suggestion from Nightshade. They were wrapped scrolls and bound into shellwood or silks to form books. No one in the Troupe had ever seen them. He did not intend to speak of their existence, either.

“Have you seen my handwriting?” Grimm teased. “It is barely legi—”

“You carry on my brother’s legacy. You owe him this.”

Oh, Mist was pulling no punches, was he?

Grimm turned his head to the side and then exhaled. This was bound to come up eventually, he thought. He’d learned of butterfly culture from Luster’s memories. Though it had been so long (how long? Centuries?) he could recall the events of his first body’s life with absolute clarity. In many ways, it was almost as though he and Luster had become one. The others did not remember him – including Mist. Mist knew of him, but could not recall Luster’s face, Luster’s voice, anything about him. All that he knew was what Grimm deigned to tell him.

He'd thought that kinder, once, but –

Maybe it was not.

Butterflies, as a culture, had oral traditions: they told stories around their campfires every night, for their children and for their adults. Legends. Myths. Some were invented on the spot and some were passed down. They performed music for one another, too, and he could not help but wonder if his fondness for it was at least in part fueled by Luster’s. They’d invented string instruments (was that why he’d picked one?). They existed in small packs and traveled. They never stayed anywhere too long. And they kept intricate, highly detailed chronicles, scrolls and books.

Mist was right. Butterflies were nomadic the same way that the Troupe was. Were they really all that different? But the tribe that he and Luster hailed from was different, because they’d settled in one place. They’d devoted their existence to the worship of the void at the shores of the great swell of darkness. Their people adopted Alula and Nightshade’s family and the others that had come with them. When they died, they threw themselves into the void sea as an offering, to return to the nothingness from whence they came. And when they became adults, they partook of it, ingesting it to forever be dying.

Luster’s past was poisoning him, slowly. The void did not give back what it took.

“ – please, I know, but—”

Speaking. Ah. He’d – he’d missed part of that.

“Come again?” he asked. Mist gave him a funny look. “I was thinking about what you asked.”

“I was reiterating that… bad handwriting or not. You’re the last of my people. Other butterflies exist, but you’re the last of my kind. Our kind, really, you’re one of us, but –”

“No, you had the right of it,” Grimm corrected. “Your people. I am a thing apart and I am not the god that they worshipped.”

He’d been thinking the same, though, that while he’d long abandoned Luster’s body, he had a responsibility to uphold his memory. In many regards, he considered himself a living tribute to a people long deceased: the last will and testament of a culture long gone. With that in mind, did Grimm not think that it was a good idea to preserve all that he knew, in case he himself forgot? In case he, himself, faded?

(He, who could not die?)

But…

He was not sure that ripping open that scar was the best of ideas. Mist did have a right to know. He did have a right to learn about the culture that he’d come from, the people he’d left behind. Alula and Nightshade would want to know what they’d lost, too. The problem was that poking a festering wound risked letting them remember it, and they’d given their memories up willingly to him in order to escape them.

(They are not the same people that they were that day on the banks of the void sea. They have grown. They are not alone anymore. No longer are Alula and Nightshade barely adults who’ve lost everything that they’ve ever loved. No longer do they have nothing left in the world but each other. They have you. They have Marra, Atlas, Mist, Reed. They may even have Iris, Fae, and Pyre. They are not alone. Will it hurt them, truly, if they should get those memories back?

Do you want to risk it?)

“You would have me record your people’s history, as Luster knew it, then?” he asked Mist; he let his tail flick to the side. “You may remember things that you would rather forget. Reading it could bring back the memories you gave to me. I cannot promise they are lost forever. If you stare too far into the dark, you cannot be surprised when eyes meet your own. Is that a risk you would be willing to take, my friend?”

Mist may have looked like a child but treating him like one would be disrespectful. Even if it felt kinder to hide from him the things that Grimm knew would hurt. And they would hurt.

Those were not memories that he would enjoy having.

That culture was dead, but they’d suffered in their dying. They were hurt, tormented, purged like a sickness from the earth by his sister. She’d burnt them away with fire. In their dying moments, they prayed to a god that did not answer and might not have even existed.

The void did not feel. It was a vast reservoir of power, yes, an endless fount. And it felt nothing at all for their problems. What care had it, when in the end all would return to it eventually?

The butterflies of that tribe worked hand-in-hand with the snails who worshipped the void’s magic, who were fixated with understanding its very nature. Cross was one such snail, and Grimm – Grimm had his memories, too. They’d intrinsically understood the nature of the void, of Soul, and of the beast that slumbered near that sea, whose blood flowed cerulean and could heal any wound.

Where there is death, there must also be life. All things in balance.

“I need to know my history. I need to know where I came from,” Mist told him, his head bowing. “I want to be a butterfly in truth. Right now I’m just… a strange moth at best.”

“The Moth Tribe has a very similar outlook on history. They do not tell stories as much, but they do keep records. Butterflies and moths have ever been two sides of the same coin. One flies in the day and the other under the cover of moonlight, but you are not that different of creatures.”

Mist fluttered his wings, agitated. Grimm lifted one hand to brush his fingers over the butterfly’s mask. “You know your history. You know your past. You are yourself. You have ever been. What you remember is your truth. What came before is what you left behind.”

That got him a slanted look, a slight glare, and Grimm smiled, a squint of scarlet behind the mask, and then he said, “But I have given you warning enough. I will grant your request. If your heart breaks at the history that you learn – for it is not the most pleasant story to tell, why else would you have given it up? – that is not something I will be held accountable for. Do you agree?”

He could deny Mist nothing.

He’d promised Luster, once upon a time, to look after his brother. Keep him safe, happy, give him the life that he deserved. He might not have always succeeded at that, but he was trying to get better, and if nothing else, he deserved acknowledgment for the effort.

Grimm was trying.

Mist shook his head. “I… I agree. I won’t blame you. But you can’t protect me forever. Not from everything.”

So sayeth he. That would not stop Grimm from trying.

Alula’s tent smelled heavily of medicine: a little bitter, with the heavy stench of alcohol only barely disguised by floral notes found in the soaps and cleaning agents. She combatted that scent with candles and her sister’s herb sticks, but there really was no way of ‘fixing’ it. She cleaned wounds. She kept the majority of her tent sterile. She was always soaking utensils. If she was in the process of taking care of someone or had recently, it would always be particularly pungent.

He found it comforting.

It was the dead of night, well after the sun had set. Pyre had retreated to one of the empty tents, with Fae and presumably Iris, and strangely, Marra was not with Alula. She was by herself.

He found her wiping down one of the chairs. Probably where she’d sat the hybrid down when she treated his eyes. Grimm had waited a few hours to give her plenty of time quite intentionally, but –

“The eyes were a vicious move,” the moth scolded. “In a real fight, the right choice. We really must teach you the difference between that and a spar, though.”

“He will heal, will he not?” Grimm asked curiously. Alula leveled him a disapproving stare from behind her mask as he crossed the threshold to sit on her table. He perched like he owned it. She always looked annoyed when he did that – which was, of course, why he did it. “And it gave you an excuse to give him medical treatment. Should you not be thanking me?”

“He’s as awful a patient as you are. Barely sat still once his sight returned. Kept insisting that he had things to do. And do you know, I considered pinning his wings to the floor.” She sounded so exasperated; he was deeply amused.

Grimm pulled his legs up and crossed them underneath him. “I might have been a little mean on purpose. I might be… still upset on behalf of Marra.”

That declaration earned him the most withering look. She pulled her mask off, stepped over in front of him, and yanked him down by his horns to meet his gaze. “Then you should be dropping firebombs in Marra’s eyes as well, because they are as much in the wrong as –”

“Lulu, I am on your side on this. I told them to talk to you,” he interrupted. “Do not berate me so.”

“Stay out of it then.” Her tone was sharp. Disapproving. And exhausted. He immediately felt guilty.

No. It was not his business or his place to tell Alula what to do with her relationships, and never would he presume to do so. She deserved to be happy, whatever it took, and if that meant being with Pyre instead of Marra… he would try to understand. He was attached to the dragonfly, she knew that, but he was also becoming very fond of Pyre. It was a complicated situation.

And she was right. It had nothing to do with him. He was not at all in a position to tell her what to do with her life. But…

He brought his hands up to catch her face and pulled her closer to press his forehead to hers.

“I want to see you happy, mama.” She was not his real mother but she was close enough that he was willing to fake it for her. “If it makes you feel any better, I promise that I will not say anything to Pyre, nor will I try to sway any of your decisions or Marra’s. I simply told them to talk to you. To make choices with you, instead of excluding you. That making them on their own without you involved was an injustice to you.”

The moth sighed and brought one hand up to scratch his horns. The shell was a little loose there, over the ridges where they tapered, and her claws gently dislodged some of the shedding bits. It chased away the itch, so he leaned his head into the touch instinctively.

“They did talk to me,” she told him. “For all the good that it did. It is Pyre that they need to talk to. But you stay out of it. And stop bullying Pyre because you’ve got a favorite. Marra would not want you doing that, either.”

She was right, he knew.

He laid his head against hers, closing his eyes slowly.

“I want them all three to stay with us,” Grimm told the moth and Alula laughed. “Oh, stop. It is not because of the twins at all. They are… an added bonus. For you and for Iris. But she is the reason I want them to stay. She is, not them.”

That made her somber up a little.

“She reminds you of your hurts.” At his nod, Alula continued, “And what you’ve overcome. What you have survived. That’s a poor reason to want to keep someone, though. You shouldn’t offer unless you have a better one than that. Iris deserves to be more than just a monument to your pain. She’s a living, thinking person, with feelings and hurts of her own. You’re not the only one who has suffered.”

He knew that. He did. She was right, though, to say it. Just because he was aware did not mean that he was consciously thinking about it at all.

“And you.” Alula’s words drew him sharply out of his thoughts. “Mister chronically single, wants no relationships, needs no one else, happy-by-myself. When you are in a committed relationship, then and only then do you get to start trying to give me or anyone else advice on that matter. Do you understand me?”

He laughed. She was right. He did not want any kind of relationship of that nature. He was not exactly ‘happy,’ but he did not want to give his broken and damaged heart to anyone else.

Better that he be alone than ever subject someone else to the storm that was his entire being. His was a soul on fire, burning forever. No one else needed to sear.

“Yes, mother.”

#ashe writes #red sky #rs chapter #hollow knight #hk fanfic #hollow knight fanfic

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