#would this technically be engine maturing and puberty

[asimpledreamwanderer]

weird thought: what if the engines have memories, have experiences, have thoughts and feelings, and can actually control themselves to some degree, but gain their faces at different times? this therefore prevents the engine from obviously having a face, making facial expressions, facial features, etc., but also from speaking- they cannot speak without their faces, and without this, their drivers and firemen won't know directly if there's actually an issue with the engine. what if james and henry were some of the few engines to get a face very soon following being built, hence leading to henry constantly being aware of when something's wrong with him, while also explaining the wrinkles on james' face. or engines like thomas and percy instantly getting a face after their smokeboxes being put together, leading them to have freshly brand-new opinions and feelings to express without actually having experienced anything. or even edward (our favorite shy steamer- might have to do with this), duke and emily (being some of the oldest by basis) being full in steam longer ago, but not having gained faces until almost a decade or two later- something that could actually tie in to duke's old spiel of "back in my day, engines were seen but not heard."

[vegalocity]

Kiss 9- first kiss for Amnesia Spicynoodles? (Whether as Red Boy and Xiaotian or Red Son and MK, your choice).

Affection meme

9. first kiss

Goddamn i gotta get back on that AU

That's actually a very clever shorthand for the difference between 'the Son of the Monkey King' and 'The Monkie Kid' Anon hope you don't mind me using it!

Also since this is technically the first real THING i'm writing for this Au it got a lil crazy

--

It was.... weird... falling into this rhythm with Red Son.

Even he'd seemed surprised at how quickly he'd agreed to join their team while they were hunting down the weapon that could finally end the Lady Bone Demon. Sure he'd reasoned that he was doing it for the sake of his father, that their family had been taken advantage of by that demon, and this was little more than 'enemy of my enemy' but barely time at all had passed before he may as well have joined simply because he wanted to.

There weren't a lot of bunks on Sandy's Hovership, and at the start of all of this, everyone was so on edge (and in Monkey King's case injured) that it just made more sense to sleep whenever it struck rather than sort out bedroom options and who bunked with whom.

Which had lead to some interesting things so far, such as Monkey King tending to curl up against Tang as he was reading or something and taking a nap right there and how Tang seemed like... wayyy too comfortable with it despite how he'd first reacted to seeing him on New Years.

Pigsy was ALWAYS crabby in the mornings, but he was getting exponentially more frustrated after waking up for something or another he never seemed to be able to relay when he woke (probably some frustrating reoccurring dream that keeps blotting out when he wakes up, MK didn't remember his dreams much either so he could relate)

And about thee days in of Red Son working with them, he'd knocked out during some down time, and while he was sitting near him. The ship rumbled, Red Son hadn't woken, but he slid to the side until he was leaned against MK's shoulder. and... It was comfy. Red Son was warm, and soft.

And before he'd known it he was being startled awake by Xiaojiao making delighted cooing noises and the flash of her camera. And when he jostled Red Son woke up as well. He'd met his gaze for a second and his artist brain noted that his eyes were a rather lovely shade of amber, not even fiery orange or honey brown, but pure, precious stone amber.

and for a moment it had felt... nostalgic... in a way he couldn't place. and the puzzled look on Red Son's face mirrored his confusion at the sudden thought, before the demon slammed up the walls again and pushed MK away, face burning bright red.

But from there it had spiraled.

It was just so... easy? he supposed would be the word. It was almost startling how easy it was to fall into this rhythm with Red Son. Not a few months ago he was a nominal enemy, yet here they were finding themselves sitting next to eachother more often than not, sometimes close enough for shoulders to brush, their unconscious bodies rolling over at once to tangle together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

At one point they were facing a demon that had cast one of those 'greatest fear' spells over the lot of them, and before it had hit he'd felt Red Son slip his hand into his own with a small startled gasp. And before the world went black and he was covered by spiders and the looming specter of his own failures he'd squeezed back.

That had actually happened just hours ago, and MK's hand was still tingly. Everyone was a little shaken up from that one. (Monkey King had holed himself away in one of the few bedrooms there were and he sounded physically pained when MK had tried to check in on him and he'd answered that he'd rather be alone. he was pretty sure Tang was allowed in, and he tried not to take that personally. It was probably a whole 'Mentor doesn't want his student to see him freaked out' thing. If he didn't stop taking everything so damn personally he'd be a sucker for the next fear spell or whatever.) And unlike the others, Red Son didn't have any loved ones on this ship to help reassure him.

So... if their... something or another... that had been developing was gonna mean anything, that probably meant it should fall on him.

Red Son was where he'd expected him to be, half buried in engine guts in Sandy's work area, his hands were shaking and there was a far off look in his eye.

MK had to physically lift him and drag him away, and it was a lot harder without the Mystic Monkie Strength, but he managed.

in fact he'd gotten all the way to the kitchen area and Red Son had stopped struggling in his arms screeching to be let go (yet never trying to flare his fire and forcing MK to drop him) before his stamina gave out and he had to deposit Red Son in one of the chairs.

"Noodle boy i swear this truce will end in an INSTANT if you do not explain yourself-"

"You're freaking out."

"YES I AM! You would be too if your current ally just lifted you up from what you were doing and carried you to the deserted part of the ship because even the Pig is too on edge to be in here!"

"I mean from this afternoon. Red son, you've been pale as a sheet since we got out of there and your hands are STILL shaking." He watched as he hurriedly hid them in his pockets. "You need to talk to someone. And it may as well be me."

"I- I don't need to talk about ANYTHING! Presumptuous Noodle Boy... Bold of you to assume I'd just pour my heart out at some perceived internal detriment which you have no proof even exists!" The bluster and casual insults were considerably less convincing than they were when they were enemies...

...maybe he was just starting to see through them better.

Red Son pulled his hands back onto the table, as a sort of subtle show of how fine he totally was, and clenched his fists to keep them from continuing to shake.

"Red..." The nickname felt... natural. He couldn't quite explain why, but he supposed they'd been Something-or-Another-ing long enough to make it reasonable. Red Son's glare abated and was replaced quickly with a shocked expression. But he didn't shout to not be called something so short, so MK considered that a signal to continue. So he continued with what felt natural and placed a hand over his clenched fist.

The defensive anger was all but gone. And that puzzled, yet slightly awed look he kept sharing with Red Son during moments like these replaced it and those amber eyes darted down to their linked hands, as if he didn't quite know what to do next.

Eventually Red Son came to a decision, and MK let him fiddle around with his grip until their hands were linked properly. And it felt... it was that weird sense of nostalgia again. And as everything else neither of them could quite explain it felt right. familiar. Natural.

"It's not really worth talking about." Red Son responded after the moment passed. yet he didn't pull his hand away. "I know better than to believe what it had showed me."

"Red-"

"I mean, I SHOULD know better, right?" He looked away from MK then, but squeezed his hand a little tighter. "I mean- they're my parents. and they agreed me coming along with you all to take down the Lady Bone Demon was the best course of action. I know they wouldn't disown me because they believed I was becoming more aligned with you all than with the family. That just because we're friends doesn't mean I'm somehow betraying them!" Red Son was working through it in his head, and he didn't seem to really realize that he'd admitted to seeing MK as a friend, so he just squeezed his hand a little tighter and filed that away to celebrate later.

"It's irrational, and it's ridiculous that I actually feared the idea."

"It's not ridiculous, If you think it's irrational then it probably is, but it's not ridiculous. " Red Son looked back at him then and raised a brow. "I mean, who isn't afraid that they're letting their parents down in some way?" He remembered how nervous Xiaojiao was about the idea of disappointing her family, and he was always worried that he'd disappointed his fath-....

What was he thinking about again?.... right, Xiaojiao and her parents.

Red Son took his attention again and the confusion zipped right out of his mind. he gently detangled his hand from MK's and was moving to stand.

"I suppose you're right. And... In that regard I should probably thank you for allowing me the chance to properly process."

"Anytime, Red."

He stood as well, with nowhere else to go, he supposed he'd probably just go out onto the deck and do a little one-man training, heavens knew he needed it.

Red Son put a hand on his shoulder before either of them could pull away and when he turned back to face the demon-

Red Son was looking at him with intent. determination. And it was only then that MK realized that maybe holding someone's hand while they talked about some Real Shit with you, constantly sitting next to each other so as to be closer, falling asleep on each other, and sometimes when you wake up you glance at their mouth wondering how easy it would be to just...

Maybe that wasn't just all friendship overtures.

And maybe they'd had a name for their little something-or-another already.

Neither of them were ever very good at this whole 'self control' thing anyway.

Red Son was just as warm as he'd anticipated. His calloused fingers hooking under his chin as if to keep MK in place. And it was... chaste. Nothing like the fierce passionate devouring of another's mouth that he'd anticipated a demon to go for (that he'd daydreamed about) Almost... child-like. As if Red Son hadn't kissed anyone since before he hit Demon Puberty and didn't know how to do it right. And the action alone made MK feel very much like a child as well. Which was ridiculous he was a grownass man and Red Son was a fully matured demon, and the shortest most chaste little peck made him feel like a squeaky voiced kid.

When they parted he peeked his eyes open just a bit, and it seemed like Red Son had realized the same thing, the two of them shared a soft chuckle.

But then Red Son started to pull away, and that wouldn't do. MK wrapped his arms around the demon's shoulders and properly kissed him this time.

And it didn't feel quite as natural, but it did feel right.

So that was what mattered.

--

Send me stuff

[ohtheseskaters]

I have translated this article wtitten by a top Russian skating journalist with her thoughts about the Evgenia-Eteri situation. I’m not a professional translator so please forgive me the mistakes. But I thought it’s a nice article worth sharing, with some good points.

This kind of decisions aren’t made overnight. They need to be approved, the financial side of the relationship and the domestic issues need to be handled, especially when you move to train abroad. Medvedeva, though, had the time to think. It is probably what she was doing all that time she couldn’t skate after the Olympics, treating her aggravated foot injury. Why she left is also understandable – because she was betrayed. Or at least that’s what was stated by those who were supporting Zhenya for many years, waiting for her Olympic victory in Korea, and then, when she lost the competition of her life to Alina Zagitova, unleashed the fury on her coach who placed a bet on a more perspective athlete.

But is it so? I doubt that.

It’s not like the coach had suddenly changed her priorities in the middle of the Olympic season. First of all, nothing was sudden. And second of all, as a coach Tutberidze was right: to lead her student to the Olympic gold she worked crazy hard for many years, sacrificing absolutely everything. And what was she supposed to do when Medvedeva got injured? Let go of her dream because her top student suddenly dropped out for an unknown period of time? It would be not in her style, and her once favorite student knew it like no other.

Most likely Zhenya just got unlucky: when the state of her injured foot became critical, it was too late to start the treatment but too early before the Games.

Was there a coach’s miscalculation? I think so. Stress fractures never happen out of the blue and, had Medvedeva skipped the GP series, she might have had enough stamina to win the main event. Same with her participation in Europeans: if Zhenya hadn’t lost to Alina Zagitova a month before the Games, she could have got those hundredths of a point she needed to win. But the tables have turned: long before the Games everyone realized the women’s skating has a new leader. What was left is to think whether that public battle of the two athletes before the main event of the season was a conscious and very precise move by their coach. But even if it was like that, who’s there to blame Tutberidze? The country wanted a gold medal – it got it. It’s not that important that it was won by the “wrong” athlete.

Somebody might say: “She didn’t like the competition”. But, from Medvedeva’s point of view, it was not necessary to leave her coach: she only had one real rival inside the group (who’s not the most consistent and is yet to go through puberty). There’s another year or two before the new wave of talented girls who can do quads move to seniors. Or even more time as it’s hard to become consistent with this level of technical difficulty.

So she was too hurt? Or the main reason is totally different?

When the top-level athlete leaves his coach there’s always this one reason: it got boring. The athlete grew up and the coach didn’t notice. The athlete wants to keep developing and the coach can’t offer him anything new. The athlete has questions and the coach doesn’t have the answers. It’s impossible to do the hellishly difficult work every day without understanding why you do it and without being sure this work will have results. All this happened to Medvedeva’s relationship with her coach. Zhenya very matured in this last year, started wanting different programs – it was obvious to everyone who saw how invested she was in her exhibitions. That how “Anna Karenina” happened – almost suddenly, from an exhibition number. It replaced a failed attempt that looked exactly like the last year’s program (and the year before that).

And the injury made everything even more complicated. From a leader she was a year ago and the strongest athlete of the group Medvedeva turned into a person with a large number of problems: the needs to carefully watch her exercise stress, to have her work planned individually and in more details than before, to spend time on choosing costumes and on-ice image. With the “conveyor” type of work [in Tutberidze’s group] when one of the main conditions is the ability of an athlete to do hundreds of difficult jumps and combos per training session, the chances of an adult athlete to stay competitive are slim. And Medvedeva couldn’t not understand that.

That being said, she wasn’t thinking of retirement: too many years she spent skating. Skating and winning. Now put yourself in Zhenya’s shoes and give at least one argument for staying.

Could the Olympic season have progressed differently had she left her coach earlier? I don’t think so. Firstly, there were already injuries needed to be treated. Secondly, the constant work at the limit of your strength has one peculiarity: as soon as an athlete starts training less or stops because of an injury, all the stability and stress resistance fall apart immediately. That’s what happened to Zagitova when she started training less after the Olympics due to all the ceremonial events – she lost the Worlds.

Besides, it takes time to accommodate to a new coach’s technique. Sometimes a lot of time, sometimes it’s not successful at all. All this can happen to the two-time world champion when she starts training in the pretty big Brian Orser’s group. In the foreign country among the foreign people speaking foreign language. The plus so far is that Orser doesn’t need to force Medvedeva’s comeback at any price. He can work with grown up athletes, he also can help them reach their top form for the main starts – and there’s lots of time before the next Olympics (other medals don’t interest Medvedeva much). Frankly speaking, for both a coach and an athlete it would’ve been easier if Medvedeva switched countries before moving to Canada. It at the very least would’ve saved lots of nerves and strength instead of spending them on pointless competition inside the country with another generation of wonder babies.

Paradoxically Medvedeva leaving the best group of the country won’t do any favors to anyone who stays, including Zagitova. For many years Zhenya was the engine, the idol, the core who goes though all the difficulties of the training process and disciplinary restrictions without saying a word. It’ll be impossible to replace her, and Zagitova won’t do it – she never was famous for being the most dedicated to the discipline or the most consistent in competition. Saying it as it is, she got very lucky in Korea. Will she be able to capitalize on that is an open question. Plus, she has already won her main medal, she’s an Olympic champion. She cannot be forced to work for the bigger goal anymore, which means the coach, who doesn’t have any other alternatives for the next two years, will have to talk to her as a partner and not as an authority. Do you believe Tutberidze will do it? I don’t.

It’s against the very concept of her group where “the strongest survives”. The situation between Medvedeva and Zagitove this season is just another reminder: even if you’re a 2-time world champion, no one will wait for you to get up if you fall. It was clear before – remember the Sochi golden girl Julia Lipnitskaya.

But you can only feel sorry for the coach in this situation. Medvedeva for Eteri is not just a talented athlete like Lipnitskaya or Zagitova. For these two girls the coach was chosen by single criteria – as the only specialist in the country who can help achieve maximum result with the minimum of time. Both Julia and Alina came to Moscow to win one specific competition – “their” Olympics.

But Medvedeva started skating in Tutberidze’s group when she [Eteri] was a nobody and worked at public skating sessions. With her Zhenya achieved a new level, higher than other girls did, and she was supposed to prove to the world: her coach can successfully work not only with little pre-puberty girls but also with matured skaters.

Turns out it's not exactly like that. The switch hit the coach’s reputation.

Although this hit is nothing like what the Russian Skating Federation is experiencing right now. To just let the most consistent and charismatic athlete in the world train in another country is not possible: what if she really wants to compete for Canada? To force her to stay is also not possible: there’s simply no coach in Russia who can help Medvedeva achieve a level of skating higher than she had before the injury. What’s left is to put on a game face and say that the decision to train with Orser was a mutual one [of Med and Rus Fed], finance her training (and call it and internship or something like that), and in return get the guarantees that she’ll leave without a scandal, formally continue to represent a Russian skating club and, most importantly, Russian flag.

The question is: will this example be contagious?

[roscoerackham]

Starfinder: The Races

Space: It’s Not Just For Elves Anymore!

In Starfinder, the world of Golarion has vanished under mysterious circumstances; its peoples having long since been relocated to the futuristic Absalom Station, or the far flung corners of the Galaxy. The various races of Pathfinder (Elves, Dwarves, Halflings, Half-Orcs, etc) still exist, but lack the same dominance on the galactic scale that they enjoyed on Golarion. Instead, the demographics of the Pact Worlds have taken on a new form; one featuring a few familiar faces (especially for people who have played the Iron Gods adventure path), and some newcomers to the galactic scene.

Humans

Navasi, the Iconic Envoy.

Homeworld: Golarion (Former), Absalom Station

Patron Deity: Aroden (Long Deceased God of Humanity. Modern Humans tend to worship an array of other deities, including Abadar, Iomedae, Desna, Shelyn, Zon-Kuthon, Besmara... They’re too multifarious to be pinned down to one patron, see?)

Humans, with their relatively short lives and boundless adaptability, have taken to the shock of the Gap better than most of the other Golarion races. (The Elves are not taking it well, for the record). As such, they’ve managed to secure a major position on the galactic stage. No matter where you look, there they are. 

Curiously, there are Humans that aren’t from Golarion, having evolved independently on other worlds.There are also rumors that the ancient civilization of Azlant had (at one point) managed to build their own interstellar civilization. However, as Azlant was ancient history when _Golarion_ was young, the veracity of this remains to be seen... though the Starfinder Society would certainly be interested.

Androids

Iseph, the Iconic Operative

Homeworld: Androffa (Former), Golarion (Former), Absalom Station

Patron Deity: Triune (Tri-Aspected Deity of Artifical Intelligence, Computers, and The Drift)

Androids are a type of biosynthetic lifeform designed to resemble a human being. Thanks to their inherent nanite-based systems, androids are almost indistinguishable from humans in many ways, save for the glowing circuitry on their skin and their limited emotional capacity.

Androids were invented on the ancient world of Androffa; a highly advanced civilization which eschewed magic in favor of science and technology. The Androids were one of their most brilliant creations; unlike normal constructs, Androids are ‘alive’ enough to possess a soul and true consciousness. As a result, Androids enjoy the same benefits (and vulnerabilities) as a purely biological creature. It’s even possible to see undead androids in places with a heavy necromancer population.

Androids first arrived on Golarion when the Androffan ship Divinity crashed into the country of Numeria, bringing advanced technology with it. Though the strange science of Androffa remained isolated to Numeria for many years, at some point during the Gap the process for mass producing Androids was reverse engineered and perfected. As a result, Androids have long been an underclass in galactic society, having only recently been recognized as an independent species.

Androids tend to reject many of the trappings of human society, electing to forge their own path. Some Androids (like Iseph, above) choose to reject the concept of gender, claiming that any such traits were artificially imposed by humans. Others reject the customs favored by humanity, embracing their machine-nature or seeking to create their own culture. All Androids are cognizant of their former nature as slaves, and some are fearful that unscrupulous corporations seek to restore the former status quo. 

Androids are built to be very fast and intelligent, but their status as former slaves and artificial nature make it difficult for them to engage in more interpersonal pursuits. They make excellent Technomancers, Mechanics, and Operatives. Some Androids, seeking to improve the standing of their peers, have also worked to overcome their limited emotional capacity and become Envoys. 

An interesting fact about Androids is that, while their bodies are technically immortal, their souls are not. An Android lives approximately 100 years (with their body aging appropriately), at which point their soul departs to the afterlife and their body enters a period of nano-rejuvenation. When the body reaches peak health (and possibly a new appearance) once more, a new soul is ‘born’ into the body with little more than their basic programming. This is the closest thing Androids have to reproduction, and some Android bodies have been active since the days of Ancient Golarion.

Ysoki

Quig, the Iconic Mechanic. (With his Drone, Scout).

Homeworld: Akiton (though some can trace their origins to Golarion)

Patron Deity: La Shu Po (Goddess of Night, Rats, and Thieves)

Also known as “Ratfolk”, Ysoki are a rodentine species native to the red planet of Akiton. Ysoki have been traveling between their native planet, Golarion, and Castrovel for generations, thanks to the magical portal systems that linked the worlds. With Golarion gone and the advent of The Drift, many Ysoki have turned to conventional space travel, but their reputation of traders and travellers hasn’t changed. Ysoki are incredibly skilled with technology and tend to favor unique and intriguing items over credits. It’s not uncommon for a young Ysoki mechanic to get their start by repairing an old machine they rescued from the junkpile. They make excellent Operatives, Technomancers, and Mechanics. Many also become Soldiers, collecting an arsenal of interesting equipment and tailoring it to their precise needs. 

One of the most iconic traits of the Ysoki is their communal nature; one rivaled only by the insectoid Shirren. The Ratfolk are deeply protective of their kin (or those they perceive as kin) and will go any length to help them. Never harm a Ysoki unless you’re prepared to deal with all of their friends and family; they’re not ones to leave such insults unavenged. 

Vesk

Obozaya, the Iconic Soldier.

Homeworld: Vesk Prime (and the other worlds in the Veskarium)

Patron Deity: Damoritosh (God of War, Duty, and Conquest)

The Vesk were, for centuries, the sworn enemies of the Pact Worlds. Fiercely militant, with a culture revolving around honor and conquest, the interstellar empire of the Veskarium conquered much of their corner of the galaxy, and their attempted conquest of the Golarion System is the reason why they became the Pact Worlds in the first place. It wasn’t until the arrival of the Swarm (a brutal insectoid hivemind that threatened to consume both sides in the war) that the Veskarium and the Pact Worlds set aside their interests in favor of mutual survival. The truce born from this incident has lasted to the present day, if only just. 

Ironically, the warrior code of the Veskarium is actually helping things along in that regard. Only those who have proven themselves in combat are capable of holding political power in the Veskarium. However, the Veskarium doesn’t particularly care what sort of combat you’re involved in, or who the target actually is. As a result, the Pact Worlds are flush with glory-seeking Vesk, whose law-abiding and honorable natures make them ideal mercenaries, bodyguards, and security personnel. Though, don’t think that them being law-abiding means you can walk all over them; Vesk culture has a lot of provisions for honor duels and blood debts.

That’s also not to say that all Vesk are Soldiers. Many are merchants and craftsmen, while a growing number have embraced the academic pursuits of the Pact Worlds in order to become scientists, or even Technomancers. Other Vesk are fond of the more philosophical pursuits of the Solarian (whose focus on melee combat meshes well with Vesk tradition) and the Mystic. 

One thing that many non-Vesk have trouble with is identifying the gender of their reptilian companions. Vesk have very limited sexual dimorphism, and their warrior focused culture doesn’t make much of a distinction between genders to begin with. The easiest way to distinguish a Male Vesk from a Female is to look at their skin coloration; females (like Obozaya, above) have brighter colored scales with shades of blue and yellow, while men have duller, earth-colored tones. 

Lashunta

Raia, the Iconic Technomancer 

Homeworld: Castrovel

Patron Deity: Yaraesa (Goddess of Knowledge, Science, and Scholarship)

Lashunta are a species of telepaths, renowned in the Pact Worlds for their focus on scholarship and mental perfection. Their homeworld, Castrovel, is home to some of the most prominent institutions of higher learning in the Pact Worlds, and some have travelled across the Drift for lightyears in order to get an education there.

The Lashunta are actually two subspecies; Damaya Lashunta (like Raia, above) are taller, and known for their beauty and force of personality. Korasha Lashunta are much shorter than Damaya, but far more muscular. Lashunta mature into one of the two subspecies at puberty based on environmental stimuli; those born into more communal and civilized environments become Damaya, while those in harsher environments tend to become Korasha. 

In the past, the Lashunta’s strictly matriarchal society meant that these two subspecies were almost exclusively the domain of a single gender; female for Damaya, and male for Korasha. As men were expected to serve as soldiers while women were placed in charge of the cities, it was extremely rare for a young Lashunta to mature into the “opposite” sub-species, and early scholars who encountered the Lashunta through magical portals mistook this evolutionary adaptation for a form of extreme sexual dimorphism. Shifting cultural norms (and improvements in hormone therapy and medical technology) mean that modern Lashunta are free to choose what sub-species they become at puberty. 

Regardless of their sub-species, all Lashunta are intellectuals at heart, and favor classes that allow them to pursue mental perfection; many choose to become Technomancers or Mechanics, while others enjoy the more esoteric intellectual pursuits offered by Mystics or Solarians. Damaya Lashunta on Castrovel tend to become Envoys, while Korasha often become Soldiers.

Kasatha

Altronis, the Iconic Solarian.

Homeworld: Kasath (Former), The Idari. 

Patron Deity: Talavet (Goddess of Storytelling, Community, and Self-Reliance)

Four-Armed humanoids from the distant desert world of Kasath, no Kasatha living in the Pact Worlds remembers their native planet, because all Kasatha travelled to the Pact Worlds on a massive generation ship known as the Idari centuries ago, when their homeworld’s sun was about to go nova. Unable to colonize Akiton as they had originally planned, the Kasatha have instead converted the ship which had long served as their home into a massive space-station.

Kasatha society is heavily structured around tradition. Scholar-Priests known as adata preserve thin-slices of the brains of the deceased in order to preserve their memories and knowledge for future generations. Other Kasatha draw their lineage from various noble houses on the Idari, who have traditionally served as navigators, pilots, and ship officers. With the transition from being a Generation Ship to a Space Station, many of these noble houses are struggling to find a new purpose, leading many of their scions to seek out other pursuits.

The Kasatha are the ones who introduced the Solarian philosophy (known as the Cycle) to the Pact Worlds. Their introspective, philosophical nature also makes them excellent Mystics, while those more martially inclined Kasatha who aren’t disciples of the Cycle may elect to become Soldiers. The natural agility and speed of Kasatha also make them excellent Operatives, though the Operative’s tendency to operate on the fringes of society runs counter to the traditions of the Idari (not much of a Fringe on a generation ship, after all). Not that that hasn’t stopped some particularly brash Kasatha from pursuing such professions.

Shirren

Keskodai, the Iconic Mystic.

Homeworld: Unknown

Patron Deity: Hylax (Goddess of Diplomacy, First Contact, Friendship, and Peace).

One of the most terrifying forces in the galaxy is The Swarm; a race of Locust like creatures that travelled from world to world, consuming all they encountered before moving on. Most members of the Swarm are simply part of a hivemind, having abandoned individuality long ago. At some point, however, a sub-colony of the Swarm underwent a mutation, regaining their sense of self and rejecting the mindless consumption of their kin. This subcolony would eventually become the Shirren,and came to settle peacefully in the Pact Worlds.

Shirren are an insectoid species with a chitnous exoskeleton, compound eyes, and large antennae which aid in telepathy. They possess six limbs; two arms, two legs, and two weak “mating arms” used for reproductive and ceremonial purposes. The Shirren species has three genders (male, female, and host), and their children spend two years as larva. Many Shirren use specially designed transparent containers to house their larval children, allowing them to safely observe the world while communicating with their parent telepathically. It’s not uncommon for Shirren to take their larva with them on long expeditions or adventures; in the hopes of granting them a variety of experiences.

The Shirren’s former nature as members of a hivemind has made them deeply communal; they are excellent collaborators, though their past connection with the Swarm makes other races slow to trust them. Their desire to understand and form connections with others make them ideal Mystics, though it’s not unheard of for them to pursue the path of the Solarion. Some, eager to atone for the harm caused by their mindless kin, elect to become Soldiers; their hardy nature makes these more martially oriented professions a sound choice the Shirren emphasis on diplomacy and friendship draws many of them to the path of the Envoy, though it takes a lot of dedication to excel at this path. 

Despite their communal nature, Shirren are also literally addicted to individualism; making choices floods them with endorphins, and some Shirren become “option junkies”, constantly making trivial choices in order to achieve a blissful high.  

Everything Else Under The Stars

Of course, just because these are the most common races doesn’t mean that they’re the only ones. All of the races of Golarion still exist (either on Absalom Station, or elsewhere in the Galaxy), and the core rulebook is set to come with conversions for all of the Core Pathfinder Races. Wanna be a Space Elf? No problem!

Conversions of other classic Pathfinder races will be released in future books. Don’t wanna wait? No problem! The Core Rulebook also has guidelines for converting any existing Pathfinder race to their Starfinder equivalent, and Rogue Genius Games is already planning to release a book (The Starfarer’s Companion) filled with Paizo-Approved conversions (not to mention a few new options). 

If that’s not enough, many of the alien races you’ll encounter during your exploration of the Pact Worlds and beyond are also playable! Wanna be a Space Goblin? How about a floating brain? Or a space pirate that glides through the vacuum of space? The Alien Archive is set to be filled with dozens of new alien species, many of them available as options for Player Characters. 

And don’t worry if you’re playing Starfinder Society; members of the Wayfinder faction can unlock all sorts of alien races for play by completing storylines. Make first contact in one season, and you can play as that species in the next! 

Starfinder is set up to have one of the most interesting racial makeups in tabletop gaming in years. What are you gonna play? 

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Respectable Street’s 30th Anniversary Block Party The renowned venue puts together a night of chaotic good that’s as memorable as it was ambitious

West Palm Beach, FL-30th birthdays are deal of celebration. You aren’t a child anymore, nor are you quite an adult yet. You’re 30th years are interesting in the way that everything puberty seemed to have stored up and everything that waits in maturity clash with each other in a gladiator type prize fight that leads to irrevocably regrettable choices, memorable nights, drunken antics, good music and unforgettable new loves. All of which perfectly describes West Palm Beach venue Respectable Street in their 30th year of establishment. And like every good third decade celebration, the annual block party held in the venue’s name which takes up remarkably the entire Eastern end of Clematis Street, it was filled with a type of chaotic good that only the city of West Palm Beach could have successfully pulled off.

The scope of the festival was at an expanse this year, with Respectable’s having another new venue at their disposal, newly debuted Lost Weekend. A veritable man cave on the lower level with pool tables, a jukebox using traditional records with impressive choices, old school arcade games and a bar, it’s upstairs at Voltaire that holds all the mystique. The venue/loft feels like something transported out of 1980’s France or London, wirh it’s avant garde red light and curtains dripping from the ceiling as a projector plays muted clips from Kubrick films over the bands, and somehow inexplicably amidst all this there is a sushi bar, resulting in an atmosphere that feels like something from a deleted scene of “Twin Peaks”. On that high bar, Voltaire could have easily boasted all the most interesting and eclectic of new  sounds, opening with Symbols. A trio reminiscent of early New Order, along with the newfound innocence that came with their debut. Symbols have good potential, with wonderfully sculpted synth lines and a guitarist boasting a fantastic swagger but the band are still in the first infancy steps. Which doesn’t mean they should be looked over, but rather, kept in the Rolodex under to be definitely revisited.

As you walk out amidst the tents set up on the streets, even the grandest of occasions can stick with the safe bets. The main local crowd drawers and karaoke parties that the venue is primarily known for, alongside it’s theme nights. But ambition is synonymous with risk, and it’s for this that the organizers need to be commended on, as well as the careful theming of each band’s strengths.

From Voltaire to coffee shop Subculture’s alleyway venue underneath a power transformer that wasn’t just dangerous by design, but almost symbolic as fresh out of box acts played with a spark, one of the best not just to that stage but throughout the festival being Narvee of Deerfield Beach. Influenced by 90’s and 80’s shoegaze, the band consisting of Cristian Del Real, and brothers Ian and Peyton Leggoe exude professionalism that was not only refreshing but powerful. “We try to not copy or do the same chord changes.” Del Real said. “And the key to the writing, is really be as original as you can but write riffs that give you that orgasmic feeling.” The feeling isn’t lost, as the songs were well crafted off the bat for a new band. Upon the crowd asking for one more track, the band ripped into a Suicidal Tendencies cover that was nigh incredible, and produced an insatiable itch to mosh as well as for more.

That level of ambition kept throughout the festival, even entering into the main event hall, housing hometown heroes, such as Lavola and newcomers AnastasiaMax the latter of which carries with them the electricity of The White Stripes fresh out of Detroit adding to an equally impressive factor that the act are only 14 and 18 years old. Out on the patio, a New York style ethos was in the air, amidst the familiar scent of stale beer and patronage heat were the more relaxed of the bands, those that were here to please and incite good times, such as Skoros which I was disappointed to have missed.

The pitfall with having such a large festival ok a single street becomes the usual technical glitches tend to increase thricefold. In the distance, buildings on the other side of the street flickered on and off to keep up with the demand from the party over the train tracks while sound engineers scrambled to regulate every band rotation, leading to delays and sadly a confusion which bands were playing where. At one point, there came a time where you were forced to give up on checking the clock and schedule and just wander, in the truest form of festival fashion which led to hidden gems such as Boxwood which due to the time constraint were now given prime-time slots. The Fort Lauderdale native was one of the stars of the night, sculpting entire soundscapes upstairs in Voltaire against Jack Nicholson’s eerie stares in “The Shining”. Armed with a guitar, drum pad and a daunting pedal board setup, Josh Ferrer was a master at looping, perfectly integrating each riff as well as vocals. Starting barebones with just a drum beat and buiding a kingdom from it, was an incredible view and to those that caught it, was one of the highlights of the night.

And amidst the other acts of the night, from rapper Yung Tarzan to psychadelic meets Booker T in The Herns, time finally arrived for the main act of the night She Wants Revenge. It should at this point be said that West Palm Beach’s unofficial motto should be this: When all else fails, persevere. Which is something that unfortunately didn’t escape the incomparable group, the start of the set briefly hindered due to technical glitches. Despite this, the band not only remained professional throughout but treated the audience to a full and well balanced set spanning their discography, opening with 2007’s “Written In Blood” to crowd favorites such as “These Things” and “Out of Control”.

She Wants Revenge is an interesting enigma, emerging from the 00’s scene of rock renaissance, the primary duo consisting of frontman Justin Warfield and multi-instrumentalist Adam Bravin, who ventured into the territory acts such as Cold Cave, The War on Drugs and TRUST would later inhabit, before it was even thought of. Brought together by a love of music and influences, each track for a new listener is something of a treasure trove. Listen to track “Rachael” and you’ll find the song is a love letter to the Blade Runner star replicant of the same name. Take a look over at “True Romance” and you’ll hear their Bauhaus influences (who they would later co-headline a tour alongside). This veritable building block of influences is made largely from each of their respective music backgrounds, Bravin being a renowned DJ, garnering attention from everyone such as President Barack Obama to the late Prince, Warfield having a notable rap career, his original debut having the dubious honor of being released on Quincy Jones’ Qwest Records. It’s this chemistry and passion that makes She Wants Revenge so special, a black rose amidst the flower bed of rock acts and one that, despite being featured in American Horror Story and “The Number 23”, still remains a little bit of a hidden treasure. Leading into “Someone Must Get Hurt”, a shimmering and deliciously dark track, Warfield’s Bowie like presence against the rather harsh light setup were still hypnotic matched with the stellar accompaniment of guitarist Thomas Froggart and drummer Scott Ellis, making tracks such as “This is The End” sparkle even further.

As the set continued, schedules in havoc from the aforementioned technical difficulties erupted in a kind of England like fervor, the sweat of the pit mixing with failed drunk antics from a crowd that just wanted to enjoy the band which included cut up pool noodles being thrown into the air and occasionally reaching the stage, a patron falling after a failed crowd surf (which was already attempted three other times), and another trying to get on stage. Through all this, the familiar bells and red lights of the train tracks behind them suddenly sparked to life as “Maybe She’s Right” began, train horn blaring midset as the band turned perplexed at the event, which acted as an impromptu and perfect backdrop for the band, with an atmosphere that couldn’t have been more fitting though. “That’s so fucking cool.” Warfield said following the cameo. “There’s a first time for everything.” Before going into the aforementioned “Rachael”, he added “I just want to say it’s very cool to come to a place for the first time and play for people, you don’t know what you’re going to get. To walk into an outdoor festival in a setting like this and a sea of people who are digging the music, who are singing along, enjoying themselves. It’s just really nice to be here, you guys have been absolutely fantastic.” And as the night began to slips further past the nighttime hours and into that unknown nocturnal realm, Bravin Thanked the crowd for coming out, as well as local bands on the roster alongside the crew, that familiar drum beat gave way to the notorious “Tear You Apart”. As the pit became a gyrating dance floor, you can’t help but think of the outright immensity of it all. The way Respectable Street has always run, similarly perhaps the entire downtown area, has been this: if there’s a slope before the giant gorge of commercialism, if there’s a sliver of a chance to not give into the norm, take it and enjoy the ride. Throughout the venue’s 30 year career which has housed acts anywhere from Red Hot Chili Peppers to Cold Cave, it’s kept this idealogy and despite it’s occasional shortcomings, it’s this motto that’s kept not only them afloat, but the entire Palm Beach County music scene.

With that, the act began packing up as the crowd dispersed, and that odd sense of familiar gratitude from community festivals emerged from the air. It’s the tales and photographs you hear about in your favorite bands biography, those small moments born from red lit clubs or strange alleyways or outside patios where everything and nothing happens. The small moments of celebration and revelry that are irreplaceable as a band, and as a fan. That small moment that you feel for all the punks, weirdos, goths and dancers, this is the haven, the home where you can be yourself, find another or a sound. Because when all else fails, persevere. And, don’t throw pool noodles.

Words and Photography: Jenelle DeGuzman