#and I know the horrors with the black sea arc only just begun but

[skywerse]

chip doodles (you have no idea how sad he makes me)

[michael-langdon-appreciation]

How Deep Is Your Love - A New Saga.

Jim Mason x Mermaid (AU)

Summary: All Jim Mason wants is to escape his turbulent in PV. Aurelia longs to find adventure beyond the sea. Once they collide together, their budding love becomes forbidden once Cornelius, King of the Ocean, learns his daughter is consorting with a human. 

Warnings: Open Ocean, things get dicey for Jim!

A/N: I cannot thank @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern​ enough for this brand new saga. She owns the original idea and we fangirled and came up with this legendary idea. This is an AU inspired by The Little Mermaid and will feature a cast of very familiar characters including Michael and Duncan. This is also the first time I have used a name for the ‘reader’ character. I hope you all enjoy, invest and love it as much as we do. 

Beautiful banner created by @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern​

JIM

The ocean is always calm first thing in the morning. Jim likes to be out as the sun rises, before the Bay Boys can get in the way and ruin the beauty of nature. His arms paddle Jim and his board out, a tiny wave swelling under him and lifting him as he bobs through the sea. Up ahead a dolphin’s tail arc out of the sea and a smile catches Jim’s lips. 

  Here he’s free. 

Out on the ocean, he’s home. 

He didn’t check the weather today, didn’t need to. The entire week had been a swell of sunshine and blue skies. Jim turns round on his board and lies his back against it, letting himself drift off into his dreams. The sun makes has his skin gleaming a healthy bronze as a wave laps against his board. Jim frowns, it’s bigger than the others. 

A rogue wave…it must be.

A raindrop falls on his shoulder and then another. Then another. The sky opens and rain hammers down, dark clouds circling above. The waves gather momentum, as if Poseidon himself had decided to reign down terror against him. Jim paddles and swims for shore, the waves lift and throwing Jim and his board forwards. The storm howls behind him, a wave nearly knocking him off his board.

He’s in trouble. Jim’s black wetsuit means no one can see him. 

The rain blurs his vision. He can hardly see a thing, just the momentum of the waves which to Jim’s horror are taking him further out to sea. His arms burn and then everything goes wrong. Jim’s board flips upwards, smacks him in the forehead and he’s in the water. He flails to stay above water, but wave after wave after wave crashes over him.

He can’t get enough oxygen. The leash on his surfboard is dragging Jim through the water, the current and waves are too much and his lungs are screaming along with every fibre and sinew in his body. 

He’s drowning. 

His arms work to try and free him from the leash and then pain unlike anything Jim has felt streaks through him. There’s blood in the water, blood and rain and rock and then…nothing. 

AURELIA

She’d always been adventurous. Aurelia loved nothing more than exploring an ocean that never seemed to end. There was a call to adventure around every coral reef, each fish with its own identity and ability to breeze through life. She was a saviour of the sea. Befriending those who were little and ready to go toe-to-toe with the predators who looked at her like she was a fine piece of plankton.

Today she’d swam far, disobeying her Daddy again and preferring to hitch a ride on Jigsaw’s fin. The Dolphin was as familiar to her as seaweed, Aurelia’s tail whipping behind her and cutting through the water as Jigsaw arced up and broke the water’s surface. Aurelia peeped above the ocean-line, a thrill licking her veins. Daddy always advised against their people going close to shore. 

What will they say to you? A girl out in the middle of the ocean? They will capture you. They will hurt you. We stick to our own kind. 

But the world above was ever-changing. The sea only held so much for her. Unable to swim lower than The Midnight Zone, forced to remain in the well-lit parts of the ocean or risk her lungs exploding, there was little Aurelia in her twenty-five years had not seen. 

But she would never show her tail. 

She’d kill someone before they saw her fully. 

Above her, the clouds had begun to darken. Aurelia glanced over at Jigsaw, who made a click and she nodded, diving back down with the dolphin. Better to get deep enough to avoid all bad weather till it had passed. Finding a flat rock, Aurelia stretched out, watching as her friend swept up small pieces of food, diving in and out of the coral. Her fingers swept over some of the Sea Anemones who bristled at her touch. A little further, some of the coral was stark white and bleached. 

A pang filled her heart as Aurelia’s gaze lifted upwards, towards the patter of rain hammering the top of the ocean. 

Humans will never understand. 

If it weren’t for Jigsaw, the board would have hit her. Her friend’s nose pushes hard into Aurelia’s ribs, steering her clear as the board cuts through the water above them. The water tumbles and rocks Aurelia as the storm intensifies above. A body is flung through the water, an arm smacking Jigsaw who whistles in indignation. 

A human…this far out? 

Aurelia knows the US shoreline is a good seventy miles from where they are. She can taste the current, whipped into a frenzy by the storm. Jigsaw has already swum after the human, his instincts kicking in. Aurelia is quick to follow, beating her tail and entering the current. Spurred on, she catches up easy as the board with its human slow to a stop. The human is unconscious, male. The body curls in and then expands in the water, just a couple meters above the surface. 

Aurelia halts, he could already be dead. 

Jigsaw swims under the body and pushes upwards, carrying the man to the surface. The board rises with him. Its then Aurelia realises the man’s ankle is attached. 

A surfboard.

She’s seen them often. Humans who ride the waves with little care for their lives in order to get a thrill. They know nothing about the ocean, or what lives inside it. She tugs at the leash as Jigsaw lies flat, giving the surfer some much needed oxygen. Aurelia tugs again and the leash releases, freeing the man as the board starts to drift. Catching it, the mermaid transfers the man from Jigsaw’s back to the board. He’s heavy, weighed down by water as she hoists her body onto the board. Her tail dips out of the water as she positions the surfer and begins to slide back into the water. 

He’s a beautiful boy. Eyes shut, but with full lips and skin bronzed from the sun. He’s new and exciting, even if he might be dead. Aurelia looks to Jigsaw again, who splashes the surfer with a flipper. The dolphin is quick to circle round, impatience and concern brewing as he whistles low again. 

‘We have to try.’ Aurelia murmurs. ‘We should get him to shore.’ 

The dolphin seems to share the idea. His nose pressing against the surfboard as Jigsaw pushes them through the water. It’s hard-work, his tail beating fast as Aurelia swims beside him. A protectiveness swells inside her, for the surfer and her bestest friend. 

No one else would save him with her. No one else would understand. 

The surfboard rolls up against the sand and stills, unable to move anymore. Jigsaw’s nearly beached himself as he slides back into the water. Aurelia hesitates, looking round for humans. 

There’s none. The houses overlooking the beach are motionless and quiet. 

The boy will still die if she doesn’t do something. 

Jigsaw clicks a warning as Aurelia crawls along the beach, abandoning the safety of the shallows. Her fingers brush some hair out of the surfer’s eyes, a hand running down his chest and pressing. She unzips his wetsuit down as far as she can and starts to pump, instincts carrying her as water spits out of the surfer’s lips and nose. His ankle is raw from the leash, Aurelia’s hand travelling down to run her fingers along the wound. The song leaves her lips as she works, a hummed lullaby from her childhood. The wound dissipates, flesh melding together, the redness leaving as the song blooms inside her. 

Music held so much healing, Aurelia’s head tilting up to the sun as she peers down at the surfer’s toned body. How she’d like to keep just this one. Give in to her urge to lure him back to sea and keep him with her forever. 

Her song dies as the surfer’s eyes open. Blue, crystalline and confused. 

JIM 

His head feels fogged, as if there is literal water on his brain. He squints, despite the cloudy, dull day as a balm numbs his every sense. Someone’s touching him. Someone’s got him wrapped in a blanket of beauty, soft green eyes capturing his own as he stares up at the woman bending over him. 

She’s more beautiful than heaven, looking down on him.

Her eyes crease in fear, but Jim’s already roamed down her figure, past the little sea-shell bra that covers her breasts to her…the girl darts back into the water as Jim surges upwards. His body drives him forwards on pure adrenaline. He’s coughing up more water and the world tilts and he’s crying out for her, ‘NO WAIT!’ 

Her tail, iridescent arcs up and disappears as Jim’s left coughing in the shallows. A tiny wave licks at his chest and he scrambles backward away from the water. 

He was lazing about. The clouds. The storm. The…he turns back to his surfboard, hardly scratched apart from the broken leash. 

The girl. 

She…saved him?

Jim gets to his feet, shaking. He wants to find her, but…no. 

They’re not real. 

He’s hallucinated. 

He’s probably dead after all. 

It wouldn’t surprise him. 

‘JIM.’ His head turns as a punch lands at his shoulder. Blonde hair and furious, Medina glowers at him. ‘Tell me you were not out in that storm.’ 

Jim pulls his twin close, hugging her fiercely. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

‘You’re an idiot.’ She cries, head burrowing into his shoulder. ‘Please, Jim. No more stupid ideas.’

‘I know.’ He says, ‘I didn’t know there was going to be a storm.’

‘You’re lucky you’re not dead.’ 

Jim knows he is. His gaze lifts back out to the ocean, scanning the horizon to see any glimpse of her. 

There.

She’s watching him, half her body lying on a rock. She’s trying to hide from him and failing miserably. Beside her a dolphin swirls in a figure of eight. 

Jim lets Medina pull him back to the house, back to his Mom and the spending and reality. He knows he should feel terrified by the ocean, from what just happened. But as he sits on the couch, leaving a wet-patch Mom is sure to kill him for, Jim’s only thought is when he can get back out there again. How he can find her. 

Tag-List: @leatherduncan @sojournmichael @duncvns @elizabethbennett @mochitheruby @dyns33 @xavierplympton @jimmlangdon @emmyrosee @brattylovee @lizhomitz1984 @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc​ @rocketgirl2410 @satansfavouritesons @blakewaterxx​ @lvngdvns​ 

[bisexualkramer]

Something New (Day 5: Wedding/Proposal)

(read on ao3) (for @tmafemslashweek)

 Basira had found herself a nice spot in the corner after dinner, and was eagerly waiting for Melanie and Georgie to get on with dancing already, when Daisy found her.

             “Best seat in the house,” she said, by way of greeting. Basira nodded.

             “I still can’t believe they managed to get The Mechanisms for the wedding band,” Basira grumbled, fuming. “I thought they broke up years ago. Wonder if they’re fans.”

             Daisy glanced at her, confused. “What?”

             Basira nodded towards the musicians, who were slightly hidden behind a huge flower arrangement that had, only an hour earlier, sent Daisy into a sneezing fit that had lasted nearly ten minutes. She’d had to disappear to take her allergy medication, which meant that she definitely wasn’t supposed to be drinking the glass of whiskey she was currently putting to her lips. Basira decided not to press the issue.

             “The Mechanisms,” she said. “I know I made you listen to some of their stuff, back when we got together. They broke up years ago. I never got to see them live. Glad I will now, I guess, if they aren’t just playing covers. I wonder if they were fans of What the Ghost, or Ghost Hunt UK, or something.”

             Daisy was giving her an odd look, the same one that she had given Basira when she, stumblingly, had asked Daisy on their first date, and Daisy had replied that they’d already had four.

             “’Sira,” she said, “can you tell me where Jon is?”

             Basira frowned, then glanced over the sea of friends and relatives that had gathered in the small dining room for the reception. Skimming over their heads, she finally located Martin, engaged in conversation with four older women – aunts, at a guess. “Found him,” she said, and then paused, glancing around Martin’s shoulder-level and not finding any grumpy eldritch horrors hovering around him. “Wait, no,” she said, searching more thoroughly through the throngs of well-wishers and elderly relatives. “Where is he?”

             “Basira,” Daisy started, but Basira wasn’t listening.

             “Shit,” she said. “I can’t find him.”

             “’Sira –”

             “Where is he?”

             “Basira –”

             “If he’s taking a statement on Melanie and Georgie’s wedding night, I’m going to strangle him –”

             “Basira,” said, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of her panic. “Look at the band.”

             “What?” Basira asked, turning her head. “I don’t –”

             She paused. It was impossible. It was horrible. It was too terrible to even consider. But no – there, standing at the microphone, was Jonathan Sims, lead singer of The Mechanisms.

             “Oh, god,” she said, and Daisy snorted.

             “I can’t believe you didn’t know.”

             “All this time, and it was him?”

             “If you were such a big fan, how did you not know the lead singer’s name?”

             “I listened to them in the archives all the time,” Basira said, “and he never said a thing!”

             Daisy offered Basira her whiskey. She drained the rest of it in one go.

             “Oh, look,” Daisy said, gesturing toward the crowd. “Martin’s coming. D’you think he knew?”

             “Do I think he knew that his boyfriend was the lead singer of my favorite band?” Basira hissed.

             Daisy’s smirk did nothing to help Basira’s rising anger. Martin’s kind and open smile, when he arrived, made it worse.

             “Hi,” he said, a bit breathless. “I’ve just escaped. They were asking me if I was married.”

             “What did you tell them?” Daisy asked.

             “Said I was a pouf, then panicked and ran over here. Why?”

             “It’s a gay wedding, Martin,” Daisy said. “I don’t think they’d freak out about that.”

             “Yeah, but I didn’t want them to ask when I was going to propose. Old women freak me out. What’s wrong with Basira?”

             Basira, who had been glaring at Jon for the entirety of Daisy and Martin’s conversation, huffed.

             “She’s upset that Jon is the lead singer of her favorite band and didn’t tell her.”

             “Ah,” he said. He gave Basira an apologetic smile. She pinched his arm. He squealed, but then he laughed and turned back to the band.

             As he did so, Jon stepped up to the microphone.

             “Hello, everyone,” he said, his face a bright red. Martin clapped, and Daisy wolf-whistled. He shot them both a glare. “If I could have your attention,” he said, “it’s time for the first dance.”

             Melanie and Georgie swept towards the center of the floor. Melanie handed her cane to her mother, then allowed herself to be led to the center of the dance floor. When they’d stopped, she bowed deeply to Georgie, pulling off her rather ridiculous top hat and sweeping it in an arc away from her. When she stood, Georgie stole the hat and put it on her own head. The two of them held each other firmly as the music began to play.

             “Really a beautiful wedding,” Daisy muttered.

             “It is, isn’t it,” Martin said, his voice breaking. Basira reached into her pocket and pulled out a tissue.

             “Spectacular,” she said. “Does anyone know where I could get another drink?”

 …

               The middle of the dance floor was hot and loud. Jon and the band had played for about an hour before Georgie had started her “Ultimate Sapphic Wedding Playlist” and grabbed Jon by the waist for a dance. Daisy had wandered off somewhere, leaving Basira and Melanie dancing together in the corner. Melanie had lost her hat and her bow tie, somewhere along the way, and was now sporting Georgie’s veil in addition to the ostentatious blindfold she had insisted on wearing to the wedding.

             “Did you really have to have your first dance to ‘No-Eyed Girl?’” Basira asked.

             Melanie shrugged. “It’s funny,” she shouted over what Basira thought might be a One Direction song. Melanie frowned. “This playlist sort of got away from us, eh?”

             “It’s your first dance.”

             “We had Jon do it all acoustic-y and slow! Isn’t that enough?”

             “I guess,” Basira said. “Fuck, it’s hot in here.”

             “I know,” said Melanie. “I’m thinking of taking the jacket off, but I don’t want to stop dancing.”

             “You look very dashing,” said Basira. “Very dapper.”

             “Thanks,” said Melanie, attempting a sort of modified Charlie Brown that nearly sent her tumbling into one of Georgie’s friends from college. “I wanted to look like one of those vintage lesbians, you know? Didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

             “You literally married a woman today, Melanie.”

             Melanie beamed. “I did, didn’t I? Where is she?”

             Basira craned her neck around an old man who was waving his arms around in a way that was, quite frankly, alarming. “I think she’s – no, wait – yeah, she’s doing the thing from Dirty Dancing.”

             “Aw, bless,” said Melanie. “I demand you take me to her!”

             “Demand?”

             “It’s my wedding, and I’m a bride, so I have the authority.”

             Basira rolled her eyes. “Right,” she said, and gripped Melanie’s arm, pulling her through the throngs of people to get to Georgie. As soon as Georgie noticed their approach, she flung her hands into the air, which was unfortunate, as she had been in the middle of dipping Jon. He landed squarely on his ass with an undignified yelp.

             “Melanie!” Georgie yelled.

             “That’s my wife!” Melanie yelled back, directly into Basira’s ear.

             “I know,” said Basira.

             “I love my wife!” Melanie shouted.

             “I think I got that,” said Basira.

             Basira released Melanie into Georgie’s arm and offered her assistance to Jon. He glared at Georgie.

             “Ow,” he moaned.

             Basira punched him in the arm.

             “Hey!” he shouted. “What the hell was that for?”

             “You didn’t tell me you were the lead singer for the Mechanisms, even though you specifically knew they were my favorite band, you absolute arsing –”

             “All right, all right, I’m sorry!” he said, dodging her subsequent swats. “I thought you knew!”

             “How on Earth would I have known that, Jonathan Sims, you complete –”

             “Hey,” said Martin, appearing at Basira’s shoulder. “Sorry, but can I please borrow my boyfriend? You can have him back if you want to abuse him later.”

             “Oi!”

             Basira sighed. “Fine,” she said. “Go be gross and gay somewhere else.”

             “Speaking of,” said Martin, grabbing Jon’s hand, “I think Daisy’s looking for you.”

             “Oh, thank God,” said Basira as Melanie and Georgie reappeared in her vision, trying to waltz to “Mama” by My Chemical Romance, which had just begun playing, and failing miserably. “I need to talk to someone normal.”

             Martin laughed. “She’s by the bar, I think,” he said, even as Jon began to tug him down and kiss him repeatedly on the cheek.

             Basira glanced at Jon. “You’re gross,” she said. He flipped her the bird.

             Daisy was, in fact, by the bar, having a weird half-conversation with the bartender, a young man who looked like he might be one of Georgie’s cousins. When she spotted Basira, she hopped up from her stool and gave the man a halfhearted salute. He sputtered something as a goodbye before being pulled away by a nice old lady who was wondering if he didn’t have anything stronger than wine, deary, and Basira and Daisy were left to themselves.

             “Our friends are idiots,” said Basira.

             Daisy laughed. “D’you want to dance?”

             “Oh god,” said Basira, but she let herself be pulled back to the dance floor.

 …

               “Last slow song of the night!” Georgie yelled into the abandoned microphone. “And then it’s just ‘Don’t Stop Believing,’ and then you all have to leave so Melanie and I can go and have sex!”

             The few friends and younger family members who remained cheered. Melanie’s grandmother wolf-whistled; Georgie’s cousin at the bar looked incredibly uncomfortable.

             The first few notes of a slow do-wop song began to play. Basira placed one hand on the small of Daisy’s back and pulled her close. Daisy leaned her head against Basira’s chest as the two of them began to sway.

             “I really love you, you know,” Daisy mumbled.

             Basira pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. “I love you, too,” she said. She squeezed Daisy’s hand. “Always will.”

             “I know,” said Daisy. “I keep asking myself how I got so lucky.”

             “Easy,” said Basira. “It was your incredible, incredible ass.”

             Daisy snorted. “Thanks.”

             “I just saw it, and it was like a black hole. I couldn’t escape.”

             “You’re very kind.”

             “I’m serious. I thought, ‘Oh my God, she’s got such a good ass. I can’t believe I’m going to sleep with her.’ And then I did.”

             Daisy pulled back and fixed Basira with a skeptical glare. Basira winked. Daisy pulled her down for a kiss. Her lips were soft and a bit dry, same as they always were, and she tasted of whiskey and wedding cake. When they parted, Daisy stroked her cheek.

             “Not to mention,” said Basira, “you’ve got abs for days.”

             “Sap,” said Daisy.

             “Yeah,” said Basira. She pulled Daisy back to her chest, and the two of them swayed together to the music. “Yeah, I reckon I am.”

[deadciv]

i tried to make a world that kept to a lot of the typical dnd mainstays (gods, fiends, dragons, etc) while also adapting theire purpose and their role in the world. i also enjoyed making up a whole bunch of factions and countries, although not all of that is actually on here. mostly i enjoyed making my definitely tyrannical probably evil (right?) draconic empire that once ruled the world and still rules a considerable portion to the north, despite the ire of pretty muc everyone. something appealing about creating a group that pretty much everyone loathes, you know?

Arc

5th Edition D&D Campaign

Though Arc is only a continent, for its denizens, it seems to be the whole world. The oceans to the north, south, west, and east are largely impassable, buffeted by storms, roiling with undersea horrors, and tinged by strange magic. But the continent itself holds more than enough wonders and dangers for any adventurer: The magically charged and monstrously teeming Wilds stretching endlessly to the northeast, the pirate-infested volcanoes and jungles of the archipelago to the southwest, and the war-torn lands of Kse full of robber barons and petty warlords in the midwest are only a few of the many dangerous and challenging places adventurers can find themselves in. Whether navigating the treacherous seas between the elven islands of Makkar and Amemno or the equally treacherous political landscape of the draconic Gashao-Rex Empire, there is always an opportunity for the willing, the able, the foolish, and the dangerous.

In this campaign, players will take up the mantle of these intrepid (or, once again, perhaps merely foolish) adventurers, endeavoring to defeat monsters, destroy or enforce tyranny, save or damn nations, factions, and individuals alike, unravel conspiracies, uncover cosmic mysteries, and generally make their mark upon the world. How Arc looks after your adventures is up to you, and Fate.

Players will begin as recruits, or conscripts, to the world-renowned Ipares Academy, located in the up and coming southwestern power of Revare. Though Ipares’ practices of taking recruits by force are now in the past, and the accusations of it being a state-run black ops institute have died down, ill circumstances—accidentally killing someone with magic in your hometown, stealing from a powerful lord, vandalizing a well-renowned temple—are just as likely to have brought you to Ipares as your own ambitions and desires. Regardless of how you got here, you are here because the powers that be at the Academy have seen something in you, some spark of potential, which sets you apart from your peers, for Ipares accepts only the best. At Ipares, you will be tested to your limit, and you will likely watch peers die—but by the end of your training, you will have the skills to enter the world of true adventuring.

This packet attempts to give a broad overview of the world and some pertinent details, but is not exhaustive; please do not hesitate to ask me for clarification or if you think your character would have more information than is listed here (they almost certainly do). Hopefully, this will be good fun for everyone involved, and I welcome feedback in making it such.

Note: You do not need to, nor are you expected to, read all of this to play this campaign. There are so many words. Like, so many. This is for your reference, and please, please feel free to ask me any questions you might have. I won’t care if they’re on the handout. At all. Read what you think might be relevant to your character and nothing else if you like. I love and appreciate you.

A. General History

Few, even the long-lived elves, seem to know what the world looked like before the coming of the dragons. The first event in recorded history is always thus: The arrival of the dragons, with their slave army of tieflings, aasimar, and dragonborn, and the rapid, brutal conquest of Arc at their hands. The Gashao-Rex Empire ruled the world for over a thousand years, their imperial family and council set in the ironically named capital city of Arc, ruling all the known world save the Wilds and the elven islands of Makkar and Amemno. It was not until 350 years ago, after the empire had been shaken by a massive undead incursion at the hands of a mad necromancer, that rebellion began to successfully foment, and even so, it took fifty years for the south to throw off the chains of the empire. Before any further fighting could occur, some force split the areas of Arc controlled by the dragons and the areas controlled by the rebels through powerful magic, ending the aptly named Breaching War abruptly. The northwest, known as Se, remains controlled by the empire, while the remainder of the continent, known as Sa, is a mish-mash of various nations, interests, and wild places. Today, unrest has begun to foment again, but it is impossible to say what chaos will erupt first.

I. Deities

There are three primary deities, as known by the people of the continent of Arc. Sen: Goddess of the Now. Sah: Goddess of the Then. Ses: Goddess of the Next. Broadly, they are considered deities of Truth and Reality, and are acknowledged, if not worshipped, by all. It is said they oversaw the creation of the world, and that they will oversee its end, someday. Some claim that they are actually one Goddess, in aspects of three, while others insist they are separate but equal, pushing and pulling against each other but ruling equally in their own way. Whatever it is, there is a strong focus on truth and objective reality around their worship and in broad cultural understanding, and great value is placed on education, history, and discovery. The actual truth of this truth can always be disputed, but the claims are always strongly made. The goddesses themselves, however, are not known to directly intervene in any way, ever. Their only direct presence in the world is through three Oracles, one for each goddess: But only the Chronicle, Oracle of the Past, stands on Arc, in the depths of old dragon territory. Faith insists the others exist, but no one really knows for certain where they are or what secrets they hold.

The other deities of Arc are both more knowable and less straightforward. They are ‘Aspects’ of the Goddesses, each representing its own set of beliefs and values. They represent both the darkest and the lightest that society has to offer, and have personalities and make decisions as though they were their individuals—but all flow from the Goddesses. More exist, but below are the best known.

Ischa: Known as ‘The Consoler’, Ischa is the patron of compassion, sorrow, and loss. She values mourning, reflection, and the bittersweet in-between spaces of sapient emotion.

Ische: The other side of the coin made by Ischa, Ische (known as ‘The Unwavering’) is often conceptualized as her brother. He represents the more active components of loss and grief: Dedication and obsession, justice and vengeance. He values action, response, and dedication to the cause; determination and fixation are both within his realm of patronage.

Revus: Revus, ‘The Upright’, is the patron of order, law, and honor. He values standing by one’s word, refusing to compromise, and acting for the ‘greater good’.

Saitsen: Saitsen, ‘The Bondless’, is the patron of freedom, chaos, and impulse. She values action by instinct, the destruction of created things and ideological structures, and the ability to choose for oneself. Often depicted as a former lover of Revus.

Ansile: Known as ‘The Impassioned’, Ansile is the patron of deep emotion, community, and beauty. They value desire, togetherness, artistic expression, and sacrifice on the behalf of others.

Anselm: Known as ‘The Detached’, Anselm is seen as the sibling of Ansile and is the patron of the mind, solitude, and simplicity. They value knowledge and understanding, personal enlightenment, control of emotions, and a plainness in presentation and lifestyle.

Kaeko: Kaeko, ‘The Vibrant’, is seen as the patron of life, growth, and creation. She values the natural order of things, change, the preservation of life, and hard work towards growth and goals.

Nephene: Nephene, ‘The Absolute’, is the patron of death, endings, and dissolution. She values things meeting their proper end, respect for the dead and the ending it signifies, and acceptance of fate. Often seen as the star-crossed lover of Kaeko.

Akamne: Known as ‘The Serene’, Akamne is the patron of peace, stillness, and vulnerability. He values humility, composure, compromise, and sacrifice.

Zuhar: Known as ‘The Turbulent’, Zuhar is the patron of conflict, action, and strength. He values doing battle, power and its seizure, decisiveness, and striving for goals and greatness, and is seen as the former lover of Akamne.

Aside from Goddesses, the Aspects, and the celestials that represent them, there are a number of other powerful beings that have carved out their own niches within different parts of the cosmos. These include the Fae, devils of the Nine Hells, and demons of the Abyss, though others may exist. Though they do not have the power of the Aspects, they nonetheless hold important places within the cosmos outside of the material world, and they have been known to affect the material plane in a number of ways.

II. Climate and Topography

Arc itself is a sizable place, split into two subcontinents—Se and Sa—after the cataclysmic, and little understood, end of the Breaching War three hundred years ago. This also led to some of Arc’s strangest features: The dead, sandy, rocky coastlines of Se and Sa, facing each other, the bizarre arcane eddies currents that flow through the Sand Sea between the two subcontinents, and the massive crack known as the Scar said to be where the spell that caused the splitting of the continent to take place. Since Arc rests near the equator, with about four fifths of it below, much of it experiences wet, humid weather, and rain forests are common. However, Arc is typically not as hot or wet as other equatorial areas typically are, possibly due to the same cataclysmic forces that split the continent, which may have created the faint, sheeny haze that frequently obscures the sun from much of Arc. All the same, Arc tends to get colder the in the south and warmer in the north, although a wide assortment of very high and very low altitudes mixed with bizarre, unexplainable weather patterns have made it difficult to predict the nature of a particular region’s climate. Additionally, distinct from our own world, the night skies of Arc are filled with only a moon and four stars.

III. Nations, Cultures, and Factions

The Amemno Republic

Location: Amemno (Island)

Capital(s): Alarro, Mnejir, Zhataa

Races: Predominantly elven with small enclaves of other races in the capitals. Unlike Makkar, elves from Amemno tend to have woody hues to their skin: Rosewood or yew or ebony or oaken, and remarkably diverse.

Government: Representative republic (triumvirate council, two legislative chambers)

Peaceful but defensive; greatly value equality, honesty, and civic/group responsibility

Religion: Primary deity Akamne, acknowledgement of other Aspects existent and allowed but not culturally prevalent.

Cata

Location: Mid-southwestern Sa

Capital(s): Thesh

Races: Human (forty percent), halfling (twenty percent), elven (five percent), dwarven (fifteen percent), mixed (ten percent), other (ten percent).

Government: Monarchy/oligarchy with meritocratic elements

Culture: Catan culture values pragmatism, self-interest, thinking ahead, and prudence.

Religion: Official religion Separatism, significant Syncretist minority

Gashao-Rex Empire

Location: Se (Entirety)

Capital(s): Arc

Races: All, excepting possibly gnomes. Largest amount of dragons on Arc (equaling approx. three percent of total population, if all ages included). Thirty-two percent human, nine percent elven, ten percent dragonborn, two percent tiefling, three percent aasimar, ten percent halfling, twenty-five percent dwarf, five percent mixed or other.

Government: Council of ancient dragons and a draconic imperial family, empress at the head, cascading hierarchy of heads of provinces and cities and so on

Culture: Rigidly hierarchical, with each individual or group belonging to one or more interlocking castes and rankings, but with heavy valuation on ambition and power/merit; fighting for power is common and accepted.

Religion: Worship of the Aspects is no longer permitted within the empire, although this has never stamped it out entirely. Though the empress and the imperial family are not presented as gods, per se, they are nonetheless presented as though they possess a measure of divine power and authority. The Goddesses, however, remain, acknowledged and respected but never quite worshipped, though with the lack of the Aspects as outlets for worship, cults of the Goddesses are more common inside the empire than outside of it.

Kyouko-Arame

Location: Southern Sa

Capital(s): Avaris-Ko/Kyouko (interchangeable)

Races: Humans, dwarves, elves, and halflings all at about fifteen percent each. Largest population of dragons outside of the empire, but still statistically negligible. About one percent for gnomes (of which there are a surprising amount, more than anywhere else in the civilized world), five percent each for dragonborn, aasimar, and tieflings. Large (up to as many as twenty percent) population of mixed individuals, about four percent other.

Government: Direct democracy (through use of magic) overseen by Prelate, an ancient and magically powerful silver dragon

Culture: Kyouko-Arame endeavors to be everything Gashao-Rex is not: Free, cosmopolitan, focused less on personal gain and power and more on art, knowledge, and cultural achievements

Religion: The home of Syncretism. Philosophers and clerics from Kyouko pushed against Revaren Separatist ideals about the individual nature of the Aspects, and their fighting soon precipitated a split in the newly founded religion, about 200 years ago. However, all religious faiths are welcome within the city, including Separatism, and nearly every deity of any kind has a shrine or temple of some sort.

Kse

Location: Southwestern Sa

Capital(s): Sha

Races: Humans (forty percent), halflings (twenty-two percent), dwarves (twenty percent), elves (ten percent), and other (eight percent)

Government: Loose federation of nobles and powerful people controlling the countryside and a margrave controlling Sha; not terribly organized or centralized and subject to constant shifts in power.

Culture: Kse has little when it comes to shared culture, aside from desperation. Resource-poor, subject to dangerous weather and visits from a whole host of dangerous sea creatures, and devastated by the Breaching War and by constant small or large scale fighting ever since, Kse is barely considered a country by its neighbors.

Religion: Separatism is the most common religious belief in Kse, coming from Revare to the south, although Syncretism has gained some foothold as well. However, a kind of mishmash is also very common, especially in the country, with commoners combining elements of both traditions and worshipping individual Aspects to the exclusion of all others.

Makkar

Location: Makkar (island), off southeast Sa

Capital(s): Alam

Races: Elven. Though there are small embassies of creatures from other nations, the Makkar are distrustful of outsiders, and though many leave their home on their ships to see other lands, they rarely allow outsiders the opportunity to see their cities or culture. Elves from Makkar tend to have a blue tinge to their skin, most rather light, though some have shades that are more striking, bright blues or even deeper shades.

Government: Monarchy heading up a complex clan system. The monarchy is not hereditary, and any clan is permitted to submit its leader or another member as a candidate for the role upon the monarch’s death. Individual clans and clan leaders make many of the choices as to how things are run in their area, with the monarch only given power over foreign diplomacy, declarations of war, and a veto vote (that can be overcome) in clan conclaves.

Culture: The people of Makkar value honor, discipline, the rule of law, and glory in battle. At the same time, they are very distrustful of individuals gaining too much power, and ensure that everyone fits and is content with their particular role so as to encourage as much stability and (a certain kind of) personal liberty as possible.

Religion: Primary deity Zuhar, acknowledgement of other Aspects existent and allowed but not culturally prevalent. Neither Syncretism nor Separatism have much influence. Formal religion surrounding Zuhar, with the Goddesses creating him as their primary envoy to the world, though they also have developed a great respect for Revus.

The Monae/Monae Lands  

Location: Eastern Sa

Capital(s): None

Races: Predominantly goliaths. The Monae tribes themselves are comprised entirely of goliaths. However, the monks that live in many of the larger monasteries and smaller communes, as well as the hermit ascetics, welcome people of all races.

Government: The Monae are a tribal culture, with no centralized leader. Each tribe does things slightly differently, although typically there is a tribal chief or council of some kind. The monasteries are equally diverse in the way they do things.

Culture: Though each individual tribe or monastery has its own cultural practices, and most would claim them to be significant from those around them, those living within the Monae lands do share a few common threads. The tribes are known for a fierce independence and utter unwillingness to bend or break to anyone, warlike tendencies that lead them to consistently raid nearby settlements and fight with one another, a deep respect for nature and connection to it, as well as a strong pride for their tribe and people that leads to a strong communal dimension in their culture.

Religion: Each Monae tribe holds different beliefs, but they share a common awe for nature and worship for the power the world itself holds. They do not worship the Aspects, and they see the Goddesses (as deities, that is) as no more than outlander superstition. The monks hold a wide range of beliefs, but their search for spiritual enlightenment within our own bodies cares little for gods or demons, and thus few monasteries have anything resembling a cosmology, caring little in lieu of finding a truer power within.

Revare/The Free Peoples of Revare

Location: Southwestern Sa

Capital(s): Ides

Races: Humans (fifty percent), halflings (twenty percent), dwarves (ten percent), elves (five percent), goliaths (one percent), mixed (nine percent), other (five percent). The most human-dominated nation in Arc.

Government: Monarchy with some representational elements. Hereditary monarchy dating back to the Breaching War, with the former leader of Revare’s rebellion taking the crown and passing it along to his daughter. Representational elements evident in a parliamentary council elected by consensus of elected officials in each district. Monarch retains the ability to veto legislation and also has procedures to override their decisions in particular circumstance, as well as broad jurisdiction over foreign relations.

Culture: Revarens are known for valuing enterprise, individuality, rule of law, hard-work, and propriety.

Religion: Revare is the original home of Separatism. Cropping up in the midst of the Breaching War, the individualistic strain of Aspect-veneration supported by the Revarens soon parted ways with the more holistic interpretation put forth by many from Kyouko-Arame. Though other religions are technically permitted, Separatism stands as the state religion, and wields considerable cultural and political power. Its emphasis on individuality and personal responsibility have also been very heavily integrated into Revaren society, and Separatism has been accused of being a tool of Revaren cultural expansion.

The Suarathi Island States

Location: On the Merktes Archipelago off of western Arc, stretching from near northern Se to near mid-western Sa.

Capital(s): Ipsis, Ekla, Dest, Amne, Sekt

Races: Original homeland of halflings, and still predominantly made up of them (sixty percent). However, trade, emigration, and immigration has also brought large numbers of other races, with humans (fourteen percent) and dwarves (nine percent) having notable populations. Additionally, elves (three percent) have a presence.

Government: The Suarathi have no centralized government, instead organizing themselves into a series of city-states and their surrounding areas. Each city state has its own traditions, governmental practices, and quirks, and none are beholden to any other, though there is extensive trade and cooperation.

Culture: The Suarathi tend to value friendliness, working together, appreciation for the gifts of life, flexibility, and humor. They value free expression of emotion and place great emphasis on its healthy channeling and externalizing.

Religion: The Suarathi worship all the Aspects, including some that few outside of the isles have heard of. Religion is, for them, a highly personal affair between an individual and the Aspects, and thus there is little formal doctrine or theology involved.

Ipares Academy

An academy/training school in Revare that trains both scholars and inventors as well as adventurers. Accused of being an arm of Revaren state power.

The Teeth

The Teeth are group of assassins and infiltrators aligned with Gashao-Rex. They are entirely non-draconic, and focus on destabilizing the other nations.

Syncretism

Syncretism, more formally known as ‘The Path of the Whole’, is a religion based in Kyouko-Arame focused on the belief that the Aspects are part of a greater whole. Syncretism believes that the actions of all beings are connected, and that everything is part of a greater whole mediated by both the Goddesses and the ultimate fate of the universe.

Separatism

Separatism, known officially as ‘The Heterodoxy’, is a religion based in Revare focused upon the status of the Aspects, the Goddesses, and every being as freely choosing individuals. Separatism is very careful to worship the Aspects as separate entities, and sets aside specific numbers of priests to focus on each deity.

The Scalawags (The Seabound Scalawags and Scoundrels of Se and Sa)

The Scalawags are a loosely affiliated group of pirates, smugglers, and other ne’er-do-wells who make their homes among the many islands, large and small, of the Merktes Archipelago.

The Unsmiling

The Unsmiling are an order of individuals of various provenance hailing from the Suarathi city states, trained in a variety of dangerous and secret skills. In contrast to the generally jovial and emotionally open nature of Suarathi society as a whole, the Unsmiling forswear emotion of any kind.

The Terriers

The Terriers fight for the freedom, independence, and unification of Kse. Though they are varied in disposition, methods, and short-term goals, they all ultimately seek the goal of a Kse brought to life.

The Ashen

Also known as gravehunters, the Ashen dedicate themselves to rooting out undeath in the world of arc. Though originating and based in the desolate wastes of the Dragon’s Desert, the Ashen can be found the world over.

Ferals

Though most are greatly intelligent beings appreciating culture, civilized society, and its various pursuits, dragons nonetheless do possess certain feral, animalistic instincts. Some have elected to give in to these, leaving the rigid hierarchy of Gashao-Rex for other parts of the world, endeavoring either to live as powerful beasts, rulers of the wilds in whatever corner they carve out, or as petty masters of small groups of sapient beings.

The Circle of the Land

This circle is a loose society encompassing many of the druids who live across Arc. Though they follow their own paths and most druids have a certain independence by nature, and there are many druids who do not belong to the society, the Circle nonetheless encompasses much of the impetus to worship and protect nature through its magic in the world.

The Circle of the Moon

The Circle of the Moon is little more than a rumor, a tale of beast men and women to frighten or excite peasant children. However, for hundreds of years, even before the Breaching War, whispers of individuals—sometimes alone, sometimes in packs—who lived as wolves, as bears, as tigers, but could walk as humanoids, have filtered through the lands of Arc.

The Stormers

Divided into two separate orders, that of the Stormweathers and that of the Stormwardens, the Stormers are one of the immutable realities of Makkar. Around as long as anyone can remember, the Stormers have a twofold purpose: To explore the world and hunt down Makkar’s enemies and dangerous creatures, and to protect Makkar from the massive, volatile, and potentially civilization-destroying storms that threaten to ravage the island.

Koru

Koru, meaning ‘unity’, is the word used to describe the Amemno Republic’s extensive network of diplomats, merchants, and ambassadors by both Amemnans and outsiders. Koru walk the line between agents of the state and independent entities, going out into the world both on their own motivation and initiative and as well as on that of the Republic.

IV. Races

Humans: Humans, by virtue of being relatively short lived (having a life span of less than 100 years) and fast breeding, are the most numerous race on Arc. Every nation has at least a sizable population of humans, if not a plurality. Even places like Makkar or Amemno, which have smaller populations of humans and have not traditionally been human cultures, have watched their human populations slowly grow, grow, and grow. Humans have a number of stereotypes associated with them, such as over-ambitious or shortsighted, but their presence is accepted nearly everywhere. Humans are good at many things and bad at many more, but they tend to be seen as versatile and reckless, when thought is given to them. Humans, so far as anyone knows, have been on Arc as long as anyone.

Dragons: Though their numbers are relatively few, for a number of reasons including intentional extermination both during and after the loss of half their empire, a slow maturation rate, intense and often bloody competition, and the unwillingness of older dragons to allow too many young dragons join their ranks, dragons are nonetheless the best known and most feared sapient race on Arc. Dragons can live for hundreds of years, and strong evidence exists that several dragons still in power in the seat of Gashao-Rex have been alive since before the conquest of the continent. Two different types of dragons exist—chromatic and metallic—and each type has its own ascribed characteristics, but both have been involved in the conquest of Arc from the beginning. Chromatic dragons are typically seen as the warriors, the generals, the enforcers, and typically have more physical prowess, while metallics are seen as the administrators, spies, and diplomats and are typically more magically inclined, but both can shapeshift and both have done great and terrible things. However, chromatics are typically seen as more cruel and base than their metallic counterparts, who seek to rule with a steady, firm, guiding hand rather than with a fist. With the Breaching War, however, and the entry on the side of the rebels several dragons of note, the general opinion on dragons has become far more muddled, especially with the existence of the humanoid-draconid nation of Kyouko-Arame.

Halflings: Halflings, typically living about twice as long as humans at two hundred years, are known for being scrappy, dependable, and down to earth. They are known for appreciating simplicity over artifice, for enjoying lives as farmers and merchants and other ordinary folk much more readily than other races. However, they are also known for being uncommonly tenacious and unwilling to bend their own codes of conduct regardless of the circumstance, and halflings were often some of the first people to take up arms against the dragons and their tyranny. Alongside humans on Arc for as long as can be remembered, they are often the next most common race within a city or country.

Gnomes: Seen as an uncommon peculiarity throughout most of Arc, with no known primary population centers throughout the world, gnomes can live for nearly five hundred years and are often found wandering throughout the world, exploring new things and then disappearing back to wherever they came from. Gnomes were almost never seen during the age of dragons, with only one or two recorded mentions popping up, but have become a much more frequent sight over the last few hundred years. Though it is unknown to nearly all, gnomes do in fact have their own society, existing far in the wilds to the north in well-hidden and warded burrows and villages, but the powerful magic placed upon them by their elders as they leave prevents them from ever revealing, intentionally or against their will, the location or nature of gnomish society.

Elves: Elves stand, besides halflings and humans, as the next most common race throughout Arc. Though it is said that elves have not been here as long as halflings or humans, no one really knows where they came from or what difference it might make. However, the long lives of the elven people (up to nearly seven hundred years, at times) have caused them to form communities more lasting than some of their shorter-lived counterparts, as they attempt to create continuities even through the insanities and tempests of history. Elves typically have their own schools, villages or parts of a city, and individual cultural habits. However, many also intermarry with other races such as humans, and many spend their early lives living away from their fellows, exploring the world and using their long lives to see as much as possible. Supposedly connected to the Fae, they are also often seen in the more natural parts of the world and have a strong connection to it, and explorers to The Wilds are often groups of elves believing that their attunement to nature will allow them to succeed where few others have. Though there have always been some elves on the continent, most ultimately can trace their ancestry to Makkar and Amemno, and those of Makkar show a very different side, having long been warlike and insular, never allowing the full control of the dragons and being among the first to attack them openly in the Breaching War.

Dwarves: Said, like the elves, to not have lived on Arc for as long as humans or halflings, dwarves have nonetheless spent their time on Arc industriously. Living for about three hundred to four hundred years, dwarves were initially very insular, building their own cities and societies and letting few others near them as they carved out worlds for themselves under the earth. However, the coming of the dragons destroyed this way of life as they were thrown from their burrows and forced to integrate into surface life, made slaves to the dragons just like the surfacers they had long disdained. Though it took time to adjust, dwarves eventually turned their efforts to building lives above ground, often offering their renowned architectural and inventive services to the dragons in return for favor and allowances. However, the dwarves never forgot what had been done to them, and they were instrumental in tearing down the rule of the dragons when time finally came to end their reign. Today, they live in the cities they helped build or beautify, often remaining in their own cliques but always respected and valued for their contributions to the current state of the world—at least outside of Gashao-Rex, the site of their erstwhile homeland.

Goliaths: Goliaths are one of the few races to still typically make their homes away from broader society. With the possible exception of the Wilds to the north, the only true remaining bastions of goliath civilizations are in the Soutwilds in the south of Revare, and in the grassy, rocky highlands of the Monae that border the Wilds. They typically maintain a tribal culture, though those in the Soutwilds hold loose allegiance to the Revaren Senate housed in Ides. They have typically cared little for the machinations of dragons and nations, though they did join the rebels in fighting off the dragons once the war had begun, before returning to their forests and mountains once again.

Tieflings: Tieflings are not common throughout the nations of Arc. Arriving with the dragons on Arc some millennium and a half ago, they are thought to be descendants of devils (or fallen Aspects) who tricked or bargained their way into the beds of humanoids and are often seen as naturally deceitful or dangerous. They are rarely trusted and, outside the empire, tend to stay in small communities or wander alone.

Aasimar: Much like tieflings, aasimar are very uncommon throughout Arc, except in the heart of Gashao-Rex itself. Though their situation is much the same, with many being solitary wanderers, exiles, and outcasts and the rest being servants of the dragons, their celestial heritage makes them generally more trusted in humanoid nations. Their real origins are largely unknown, though much speculation about their supposed parentage through the Aspects runs rampant, but their outwardly ethereal nature makes them naturally notable.

Dragonborn: Seeming to be the children of dragons and humanoids, dragonborn are the most feared and reviled humanoid race in Arc. Few make any attempt to live in or even visit the nations outside of Gashao-Rex for fear of prejudice or harm, and those living outside of the empire live almost entirely in Kyouko-Arame or the Suarathi States. Dragonborn tend to stick together, living in their own societies with their own kind. Their continued status as foot soldiers to the dragons have made them even more insular, as they continue to experience distrust from nearly every quarter.

[alisteningjournal]

I.

Last week, on the suggestion of a journalist from Australia, I listened to “The Radicalisation of D” while having breakfast one morning.

This track is haunting–– I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since, and have listened far more times than (strikes me as) healthy. It is the blackest shade of black; a modern day horror story or an episode of The Twilight Zone without any punchline. At sixteen minutes, it’s offensively long for a song that’s a few notes and chords that alternate back and forth, performed only by a guy and a guitar.

Guy + guitar is the most elemental form of our conception of popular music. There are, when you think about it, really only two modes of musical performance: times when there is a central performer, and times when there isn’t. Pop music is (mostly) the former.  Instrumental music: jazz, jam bands, post-rock, string bands, orchestras (in other words, niche genres that appeal at their core to other musicians) are the latter. (We’ll ignore electronic music today, which seeks a third place, where the music comes from no one and nowhere, but often just ends up hovering between points Y and Z).

The point being that in popular music there’s always a story, because at the center of what you’re consuming is a singular person. Whether the story is true or not, is connected to that person or not, it exists, because that person is opening their mouth and using language. Language creates images. We attach ourselves to the images in order to make sense of our lives.

The guitar remains static throughout the piece. It seriously doesn’t change at all. Maybe at some points Liddiard strikes it a little harder, plucks with more vigor, but ultimately, the music is not the driving force here. Intonation and storytelling are essentially the main focus of “The Radicalisation of D,” like the rest of Strange Tourist. The intonation is one long rise, from a soft, almost spoken monologue to the very last verse, where Liddiard is howling so hard that you can barely make out what he’s saying through his West Australian accent.

The words meanwhile are the hook, snaking back and forth through ominous images that squirm with tension one moment and then seem to release a second later, only to come alive again in the next line. This excerpt from the end of the first verse, when D is a young boy, is a good example:  

They find some car keys, Go outside and search a V8 car And there's a Beta tape in a brown paper bag, Hid under a seat, Hit play on the VCR machine And start to hear flute music Now there's two girls on a farm somewhere, Playing with a labrador Which rolls onto its back, like it has Been through this before and It's the last time D hears flute music, The last time he thinks about girls He sneaks home about 10 o'clock Gets inside using the dog door

In one memorable moment, D finds a King Kong doll on the side of the road after he gets sent home from school for throwing rocks at a girl he likes. He picked it up, and “it roars ants when he shakes it,” so he throws it out.

The arc of the song is a progression on this theme. Think of the opening scene of Blue Velvet, after Jeffrey’s father collapses on the front lawn, when the camera zooms into a nest of insects swarming in the grass. The repeated message that Liddiard hammers home is “there is a sickness underlying everything,” from ants and tape worms to institutionalized racism.

II.

On April 16, 2013, I took the subway into downtown Boston. The green line was closed beyond Hynes Convention Center, so I got out and walked along Newbury Street. The barricades that had been erected along Boylston Street for the marathon were still there. Police in neon yellow jackets milled around behind each one.

I had attended college in downtown Boston for four years and a month before graduation, someone bombed the city’s banner event. I already felt like the world was ending; this didn’t help. Though I had recovered from the depression that had plagued me for much of 2012, I was burning out hard as the end of my formal schooling approached. I’d given everything I had for twenty-two years. I needed to rest.

As I approached the Common, I saw the news crews. They had set up along the entrance to the Public Garden on Boylston Street, trying to get a tiny sliver of the distant Copley Plaza, where the bombing occurred, into the frame. 

I was a journalism student. I’d come downtown to find some kind of work to do, to be useful. I went to the college radio station. My friend Henry was there, along with the new director he’d begun a fling with several weeks earlier. She was tense, maybe because she was trying to produce news breaks under pressure, maybe  because she was trying to produce news breaks under pressure with Henry lounging around, or maybe because the city where we lived had been bombed less than a day before.

She and Henry were talking about what the tape they’d managed to get. They were juniors, still a year from graduation, and I felt like there was something vaguely unrealistic about the way they talked about it, like this was another assignment they were trying to score highly on.

I knew right then that I wasn’t going to be able to do anything. I can’t remember if I said much of anything, but I know I didn’t stay long. After I left, I walked up Huntington Avenue to avoid the news crews. When I’d reached the other end of reflection pool outside at the Christian Science center and I sat on a grassy strip that looks out onto Massachusetts Avenue and began to cry. I felt like I had no idea what I was doing anymore. I was horrified by everything that was happening. Five months earlier, I’d sat in the same newsroom while news broke about the massacre at Sandy Hook; five months before that, the Aurora Theater massacre. Without noticing, life had become a bloodbath broken only by long stints of sleepiness in which I was absorbed into other things.

The morning of the bombing, Sheep had slept over. When we woke up, we watched five minutes of the marathon and then disconnected the Internet, declaring it “for losers.” She worked on a school project; I washed the back deck. It was spring time, we had each other. No matter how scary the future seemed, at least we had each other.

Then, the panicked calls from friends and families. We plugged the router back in. We sat there on my futon just going over update after update, unable to turn away. Sheep asked if it was a terrorist attack and I said, “don’t say that, we don’t know yet.” I saw a picture of a man in a wheelchair with the bottom part of his legs blown off–– just sticks of bone where his calves should be–– looking dazed like I felt, like I would feel for the rest of the week.

There’s a moment from the “The Radicalisation of D” that clicked with this period this morning. After D is expelled from school, a man steals an APC and drives through the streets of Perth.

Channel 7 gets the scoop again, There's a man gone crazy He stole an APC from the army base And closed down half the city D's been expelled from school and he's quite happy Staying in bed He keeps track of all the updates, Surfing networks instead This tank arrives at police HQ about 8am It makes pancakes out of 5 or 6 patrol cars and then Runs out of diesel near a Castrol service station And there's a standoff Then he's teargassed and Not heard of again

The end of that week, while Dzhokar Tsarnaev was hiding in a boat in a backyard Watertown three miles from my apartment and waiting to die, I was awake from two in the morning until they arrested him at six that night, following EVERY SINGLE UPDATE on my laptop. At a certain point, the reputable outlets couldn’t keep up with my voracious need for information so I began to look at Reddit, where people were throwing around possibilities about what was going on, armchair investigators had their scanners tuned to police bands, and everyone was engaged in an act of digital nail biting.

I wonder now how I can square this person addicted to the violence with the person I was earlier in the week, a journalism student who felt to fragile to be a journalist. Without a doubt, that week affected my course in the last four years. I haven’t found a real journalism job since.

III.

When I first heard “The Radicalisation of D,” I was reminded of the song “Oh Comely” by Neutral Milk Hotel. “Oh Comely” is also just a guy and a guitar. (There some horns at the end, but ignore that for a second.)

In the 33 1/3 for In The Aeroplane Over the Sea, Kim Cooper recounts the recording of that song, which was just Jeff Mangum  alone on a stool with an acoustic guitar. The rest of the band, along with everyone else in Rob Schneider’s house, had been crammed into the console room and watched him––improbably–– lay out the whole fucking song in a single take. Cooper points out, and I’ve confirmed, that at the end of the song Neutral Milk Hotel horny player Scott Spillane can be heard in the background shouting “HO-LEE SHIT!”

When I first began learning guitar, I would practice with songs I knew that were two or three chords, like “Oh Comely.” I never managed to pull that song off in front of anyone because there’s a ferocity to singing it. You can’t do it while trying to imitate Mangum’s intonation. You have to feel out the expression of each syllable and make it into your own.

I have not tried to play “Radicalisation of D” but I can tell that it’s a similar challenge, complicated by Liddiard’s thick West Australian accent that renders words in a warped, chilling, shivers-down-my-spine sound. In that very last verse, when Liddiard let’s out a heavy “Cliff has a beautiful WYYY-FFFFE” it’s with the intensity of Jeff Mangum singing “We know who our enem-eeeees AAAAAARRRRRR.”

It’s also in moments of restraint: “be proud of me my son, ‘cause I am finally off the fags,” “something inside D finds all this very, very strange,” “he’s got pictures of Adolf Hitler, antique copies of Mein Kampf,”  “he finds five Valium in a Winfield pack, in a duffel bag in the hall.”

The theme of the repulsive darkness, or the ugliness, underlying contemporary society is not new: alienation is one of, if not the, defining them of Modernism and its subsequent movements. What strikes me about “The Radicalisation of D” is that it is a story about how a person becomes aware of that lurking sickness within all things, and the life he lives as a result of it is off-screen, written in the history of the guy with the guitar.

Most of the scenes in the song, the severed Kangaroo leg, the doll roaring with ants, the bestiality tape, the old black alcoholics in the park, even Werner the Jew Burner, are taken from Liddiard’s life and reconfigured with an eye towards understanding a person like David Hicks, an Australian citizen arrested and imprisoned as an enemy combatant in Guantanamo Bay. 

The depressing series of unfortunate events that make up D’s life are the radicalization, and the songs final image, of the burning twin towers seen on television, is the catalyzing moment.

It may have been the catalyzing moment for me, as well. Before the Boston Marathon Bombing, the only other terrorist attack that even pinged my radar was 9/11. That day, we were called into the cafeteria of my school before recess and told that a plane had struck the Twin Towers in Manhattan.

“But,” the principal said, “no one’s sure just yet if there’s been an attack, it might just be an accident.”

At lunch that day Henry (a different Henry), said when I asked why kids were being taken out of school that day, “because parents are worried that the school might be a target.”

My own father didn’t pick me up until after the school day ended. I went home and sat in the TV room on the white couch, watching CNN for what felt like the first time. There were the images we were all familiar with of greasy black smoke billowing out of buildings, matched with new names like “Al-Qaeda” and “Osama bin Laden.” I see myself as though I were outside of my body at the time, not in it: I’m laying on my stomach, my mouth twisted into the sad grimace that Sheep knew how to defuse so well with her intimacy. But this was nearly a decade before I’d meet Sheep.

My dad came into the TV room: “Everything ok Till?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“I understand it’s upsetting.”

I don’t remember much more comfort than that. I’ve never known how to express my emotions.

America talks about that day as the end of an era where everything felt safe. I don’t know if I see it that way. I still felt safe, certainly, for most of my adolescence, or at least I remember a feeling of safety...

But I also feel just barely conscious of a kind of dark, horrible life hiding in the world around the safer, more comfortable one that I have lived in. Were it not for a supportive family I myself might be living a very different life at this very moment. There are people like D alive this very moment, people who walk the edges of our comfortable world and can see its sickness. Yes, they are depressed, but they are depressed because they see all the darkness, and none of the light that comes from human relations.

I think that I’ve been so stuck on “The Radicalisation of D” for the last week because it’s where I’m at right now. I feel vulnerable. And when I’ve felt vulnerable in the past, I too have wondered if there isn’t someway to feel less vulnerable by transmuting it into righteous fury. One of the few write-ups that exist for this song posits that it, “dares to suggest that [people drawn to terrorism] might be right.” But no, that’s not wholly correct. That’s the marxist filter looking a capitalism and saying, “you did this, you made us this way.”

Gareth Liddiard is not so politically ideological, at least not in “The Radicalisation of D.” As he repeats throughout the song, “you are living in a nightmare that you can’t bribe your way out of.” I keep returning to that line when my mind is at rest, whenever I’m feeling particularly harried. No, I’m not going to spend my way out of the rut int dirt that puts me up close and personal with the disgusting looking things underneath every day life. But how?

The answer to this question seems to be in who you surround yourself with. D himself has no one; emotionally stunted and abused, the only friends he seems to feel uncomplicated about are the alcoholics in the park.

But look at who D is now: he is Liddiard. A man who, while I can’t fully judge his happiness from knowing so little about him, seems to have a stable life. A girlfriend he loves. Work that allows him to explore the darker things that trouble him in a (what strikes me as) healthy way. I always fall back to something that John Darnielle (yet another guy with a guitar) once said, or quoted: “we don’t write to remember, but to forget.”

For more information on the content of “The Radicalisation of D,” refer to this line by line breakdown by Gareth Liddiard (via the Wayback machine).