Friday, March 31, 2006

Index Entry: Rothcar and Radrezaria

Tower of the Gods
(Toggle)

The story of a couple of assassins, a priest, some talking cats, a god, and a city. The original concept came from my first reading of Eve Forward's Villains by Necessity.

Most of my story fragments involve Blaine, an excommunicated priest and healer working in the Assassins' Guild, and Silverlock, his lover and a conscience-less killer. Occasionally Blaine's adopted daughter Foxbird makes an appearance, too. Silverlock also appears in Stella Matin as Theron's teacher, a good 200 years after the end of this story.

Earlier fragments no longer fit into the story continuity as it currently exists.

02/02 (blaine/silver dance)
08/02 (if wishes were fishes)
09/02 (young foxy)
04/03 (foxbird no father)
1/06 (silverlock, foxy)
2/06 (silverlock, blaine, blindness)
2/06 (silverlock, blaine, yes dear)
02/06 (silverlock, blaine, a match made in heaven)
03/06 (silverlock prepares for a funeral)
04/06 (silverlock: you need to be nicer)
6/06 (blaine, greymalkin)
8/06 (blaine, silverlock, domesticity)
10/06 (blaine, silverlock, dying)
12/06 (addendum to dead inside)
01/07 (meet the zanadreths)
01/07 (silverlock, aya, death)
02/07 (maddel, kicking ass, chewing bubblegum)
02/07 (silverlock, blaine, end of the world)
03/07 (various, fragments)
03/07 (silverlock, orrin, for the love of thee)

Info posts:
05/06 (timeline)
05/06 (creation mythos)
03/06 (magic use)
02/06 (plane system, races)
01/06 (not-entirely-accurate timeline)
07/05 (half elves)
06/03 (blaine)

-------


Stella Maeroris (or Stella Matin)
Nanowrimo 2004: Zombies! It's a story in two parts, the first part being mostly backstory for the world in the second part. It revolves around Theron, a superpowerful user of forbidden magics, and Bren, his best friend and an all around nice guy. They fight crime! Only they don't, not at all; Theron snaps and takes over the country, killing Bren and a lot of other people in the process. He turns them all into zombies and turns himself into an immortal quasi-undead thing, and starts doing his damndest to turn the whole world into a zombie infested ball of pollution.

Cut 200 years in the future; live people are second class citizens, and Theron rules everything with an iron fist. A Dead woman starts showing prophetic powers, and sees Theron's downfall. She leads a revolution, eventually; Theron (known as the Voyance at this time), tracks her down and presses her into his service. The second half of the story isn't really plotted, but it involves Stella, the prophetess, Walker, the zombified version of Bren, and a bunch of other characters who are vaguely important, sort of.

The earlier fragments aren't entirely accurate, story-wise; I wrote them before the start of the Nano, so they're mostly just proto-plot and character pieces.

At some point after meeting Bren but before he goes crazy, Theron leaves Radrezaria and goes to Rothcar to learn magic. Silverlock picks him up and spends seven or eight years training him and making his life miserable; a number of these fragments deal with that.

Theron also occasionally runs into Drake and Finbar from Asprosdrakos' 2003 Nanowrimo story "Wake of Wings." Shennanigans generally ensue.

9/04 (Theron, blacklisted)
9/04 (Bren, Mih, healing)
9/04 (child Bren)
9/04 (Theron, Bren, unravel)
10/04 (theron, molestation of corpses, stella, bus stop)
12/04 (walker, stella, rooftop)
03/05 (bren, theron, end of all things)
06/05 (bren, theron, aftermath)
9/05 (sometimes Theron wakes up his mother)
9/05 (Drake, Theron, barfight; crossover with Wake of Wings)
11/05 (drunken shennanigans with drake and finbar)
12/05 (theron, apprenticed)
12/05 (theron, silverlock, what's in a name)
1/06 (winter in shaivhen)
02/06 (silverlock, temple of varun)
6/06 (cold light: part 1)
09/06 (cold light: part 2)
8/06 (cold light: part 3)
01/07 (wake of wings nonsense)

Info posts:
09/05 (magicrafting)
05/05 (character spotlight: brenon zonila)
07/05 (necromancy, Theron style)

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

The measure of love isn't loss. (Rust and the rain endure, I'm sure.)

SELF-INDULGENT DRIVEL/INFODUMP

Silverlock prepares for a funeral, and I am an opportunistic backstory/worldbuilding whore. -Or- I have no idea where this came from (that's a lie, that's a lie!) and all I really have to say is, WTF, Silverlock. WTF. Being solemn and cryptic doesn't count as angst.

Warnings for Silverlock wandering around bleeding and Blaine being both a transcendentalist and dead, but not at the same time. And warnings for nowhere near enough editing, dear god.

---------------------

A bell chimed as the door of the tattoo parlor opened; the girl behind the counter looked up from her sketchpad and grinned. "Well, if it isn't our favorite customer! It's been a while since you rang our bell, Silverlock." She was human, but she wore her skin like a half-elf, and left her apprentice smock unbuttoned to show off the geometric patterns that covered her shoulders and torso.

"It's good to see you, too, Annali. Is Zi in?" Silverlock untangled his hair from the hood of his cloak, still unaccustomed to the weight of the tiny braids.

"You even got skin left under that getup? Thought you'd covered it all over by now- unless you came for new shinies. We got those. What do you need?"

"A blank canvas."

The grin fell off her face in an instant. "Oh, no." She pressed a hand to her mouth. "Zi's gone to visit some of his Kin in Tarmish. Won't be back for another month. Silverlock..."

He shook his head, braids swaying violently with the motion. "It's two days to the funeral. I've already asked Sherrick and Orianne, but they're booked through to next week. Zi's the only other Kin in the city I'd trust for the job."

Annali tore a corner from her sketchpad and scribbled out an address. "Sherrick's a drunk and Ori don't know up from down, anyway. Here, you go to Kupric. Tell him I sent you."

He took the paper and raised an eyebrow at her. "Candlemark?"

"Lot of talent in Candlemark. Just gotta know where to look, s'all. He's the only man Zi'll let near him with a needle." She shrugged uneasily. "Get there early enough, and he'll take you, even for a clean slate."

"Thank you." He paused in the doorway. "You can tell Zi I'll have some work for him in a few months."

The bell chimed as the door shut behind him.

------------

The judicial council gave convicts two choices: they could work and live on the chain gangs in the rock quarries, or they could live as free citizens in Candlemark. Most of them chose the chain gangs. Silverlock had never had to deal much with the district's inhabitants; his clients had always made some effort to walk on the sunnier side of legality. The city watch had abandoned the place to the dogs, and the Guilds avoided it at all costs. Any gods that might have watched over it long ago were dead.

Candlemark was a breath of fresh anarchy; Silverlock had to remind himself that he wasn't here for a fight, no matter how much he itched to break some bones. He cloaked himself in power, sending a not-so-subtle message of "Fuck off" to the groups of hollow-eyed, wolf-like youths haunting the narrow streets. He'd promised to abstain from bloodshed, if only out of respect for the deceased.

Annali's scrap of paper led him to a battered door in a dark, narrow alley. The interlocking rings of Joshel's Shackles had been drawn on the weathered wood in chalk. The door swung open before he could knock.

"What do you want?" The man was practically a half-giant; he had to stoop to fit in the door. Lines of green and bronze bisected his face, and a row of interlocking bronze plates hooked into the skin of his neck as a collar. He radiated distrust and the threat of violence.

"Annali from Zizi's shop in Southmark sent me, said you did good work." Silverlock pulled back his cloak hood and tucked a few loose braids behind his ear.

Kupric grunted, and some of his hostility was replaced with grudging curiosity. "What'd she send you for?"

"A blank canvas."

"Funeral?"

"It's in two days."

The curiosity turned into pity tinged with respect. He held out his hand. "Kupric Sanavess."

"Silverlock D'Alestri." Silverlock took his hand, and felt the respect turn into something more like admiration; he wasn't surprised to find that his name was known even in Candlemark. Fortunately, the man was nearly unreadable beyond his surface emotions. There was something comforting in his utter blankness.

"Room's in the back." He stepped out of the doorway. "Let's take a look at you."

A dim hallway led to the studio, bypassing a number of curtained doorways that probably led to living quarters of some sort. There were other people in the building, all wrapped up in their own sleepy thoughts and emotions.

The room was small, but surprisingly clean and well lit. A padded chair and table took up most of the space and a curtain partitioned off one corner. The walls were covered in charcoal sketches of religious figures and wrapped in aether. It was a solid warding spell, with no obvious weaknesses. There were wards on the case of needles beside the chair, as well.

Kupric leaned against the door with his arms crossed and gave a perfunctory nod of his head towards the table.

Silverlock almost smiled as he removed his clothing. He left his cloak and robes folded neatly on the table, and placed his Guild tags on top of them. He faced the other man, naked save for the black collar around his throat. If he was anything, he was comfortable in his own skin. "Well?"

"Collar's gotta go too." Kupric cocked his head to the side. "Full body blanking usually takes a week. Could be dangerous to do it in a day. It'll hurt."

"Pain is hardly a deterrent." He hooked his fingers underneath the back of the collar an unlatched it with only the slightest hesitation. "I'd appreciate it if we got this done with as quickly as possible."

The artist nodded. "On the table, then. I'll start with your back."

Kupric's touch stung a bit, like the pins and needles tickle of dead nerves being slowly woken up. It wasn't nearly as bad as having a hand reattached, but few things in Silverlock's experience had been. The sensation intensified gradually, but not to the point of being unbearable.

Magic rang clear and bell-like in his head- a familiar tune. "It's none of my business, of course, but I do find it curious that a Leech would live as a tattoo artist in Candlemark, of all places." He pillowed his head on his arms and chuckled softly. "I told you, I don't care if it hurts. Concentrate on your work, Artist, and I'll deal with my own pain."

Kupric grunted, and the magic took on a different tone. The pain spiked; he channeled it away into a separate, isolated corner of his mind. He could deal with it later- a week or a year, or a hundred years from now, when he wasn't preoccupied with other forms of pain.

Something warm and wet trickled down his shoulderblade; he could smell blood mixed in with the ink. It was a good smell.

Silverlock closed his eyes and let himself drift.

----------

Blaine's health had never recovered after all that had happened; humans weren't meant to seize godhood and let it go. It sometimes seemed like he'd left most of himself in the aether, afterwards, as though everything in him that had been truly alive had been eaten away by raw magic.

Silverlock was still angry with Varun for letting it happen, and not only because he'd lost friends to Mandhatri's culling. Even after the heresy and the betrayal, Blaine still held to his faith.

"It's not like I have a choice in the matter," he'd said once, not long before his death. "And that angers me as much as it does you. But even if I did have that choice, nothing would change. It has nothing to do with the gods- I know how little in this world is truly of the divine.

"It's the ideas behind them that matter. I can live as I do and believe as I do, and in doing so I can touch something greater than myself or Varun or the memories of the Six and the Twain. Scoff all you like, but I know you understand it, too.

"I have no regrets now. I am exactly who I choose to be, and nothing else. How could I ever need anything more?"

Blaine always had been very good at throwing Silverlock's words back in his face.

----------

The absence of pain jolted him back to his senses.

"Enough for now," Kupric muttered. "You're still bleeding, so step carefully. There's a bath behind the curtain. Clean up, and then we'll continue."

Blood and ink pooled along the curvature of his spine and dripped down the backs of his thighs as he slid off the table. "I've had worse paper cuts." His back ached in a way that indicated massive bruising.

Kupric said nothing, and began wiping down the table.

Silverlock examined his back in the tarnished mirror behind the curtain once he'd cleaned off the blood. There were still faint shadows of the tattoos in places, but otherwise, his skin was completely blank from the top ridge of his spine to the backs of his knees.

Kupric nodded to the chair when he finally left his contemplations in the mirror. Silverlock sat down and made himself as comfortable as possible while the taciturn artist examined his left arm.

"Spellsigns?" Kupric prodded at a few of the sigils.

"Most of them, but they've been disabled." That was one of the first things he'd done, after the Avatar had taken Blaine. Accidental mayhem was never as fun as the premeditated sort, and some of the spellsigns operated on a hairtrigger. Keeping them active just wasn't worth the risk when he was feeling unbalanced.

"Good." Kupric's hands engulfed his own, and the pins and needles tingle began again.

There was a little magic in all of his tattoos; it was the only way to keep the ink from fading or rejecting. The blanking spell was deceptively simple- Kupric was pulling the ink out of his skin, dragging it to the surface and sloughing it off.

A little blood was inevitable, but the trick lay in not calling out too much of it, or pulling veins and bone out with the ink. There were always stories- rumors of sloppy artists who left their clients mutilated or dead, torn to pieces by uncontrolled magic.

Blood and ink trickled down his fingers and dripped on the floor. For a single disconcerting moment, it felt like he was watching his past drain away to spatter across the floorboards.

"I did most of those myself, in the last few years of my indenture," he said absently, watching the ink seep out of his skin. "As insurance, mostly, in case my master tried to cheat me out of my allotment. As you can see, I'm no artist. It took me years to find someone willing to ink a sleeve around the spells to make them look less like a child's scrawling."

"Zizi?"

"You can tell?"

"Geometric work is his specialty. And he's not afraid of magic." Kupric tapped the center of the sigil on his palm, already half melted away. "Your teacher was an occultist?"

"An eclectic. He knew a few Greater Shrive by name, and he taught me the basics of summoning. It was never one of my interests, though."

"You started out as an elementalist." Kupric touched the rune on the inside of his wrist, then followed a succession of sigils up to his elbow. "Air. But then you found you had a knack for healing and creation, and that led you to necromancy."

"You're good," Silverlock observed. "But I never had much of a knack for healing." He turned his arm over, where another series of runes crawled from wrist to elbow. "I learned fire after I grew bored with air, and then the basics of healing when my master grew tired of cleaning up after me. I spent several years learning creation, and then my indenture ended. I didn't learn necromancy until after I joined the Guild."

"You must have been Gannet Sorlin's last apprentice, then, and Banshee taught you necromancy." The rest of the summoning rune on his hand melted away.

Silverlock laughed; it was a tired sound. "Master Sorlin has been dead a good thirty years now, and Lady Banshee left the Guild not long after I earned my tags. I'd wonder how you know of them, but it's clear you've been in this business a long time. Go ahead, Artist, and tell me the rest of my story, if it pleases you."

Kupric shrugged. "I only know what you tell me." He obliterated another rune with a flash of magic between his fingers. "Your skin is very loud."

"I suppose." He watched the swirls of excess aether drift away from his skin like so much smoke, and thought of silence.

--------

The tattoos on his torso came away layer by layer, arrays of runes giving way to fantastical creatures, which sloughed off to reveal stark abstract lines. Underneath all of them, against bare, blank skin, a line of black cherry blossoms stretched across his collarbones.

"Those were my first- one outline for every year of my indenture." His voice was hoarse from too much speaking; Kupric didn't say much, but he listened, and Silverlock had plenty of stories to tell. "I had to pay back fifteen years when Master Sorlin bought me." He tilted his head back, feeling dizzy with exhaustion and blood loss, and grimaced. "Do you have any idea how much a trained, licensed Southmark whore is worth? It took me decades clear that debt, even after I joined the Guild- I earned more in a month then than I do in a year, now."

That still annoyed him. If it weren't for the Guild's exorbitant fees, his current income would be comparable to the profits he'd pulled in for the brothel.

Kupric didn't utilize much range of facial expression, but he radiated amusement all the same. "Gannet should have paid that debt for you."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? But Master Sorlin was a drunkard with a gambling problem; he couldn't afford to buy me, much less pay off my indenture. They only let me go because he marked my face, and there are laws about that sort of thing."

His voice was steady, but he was drunk on pain; they'd been at this for hours, pausing only occasionally for Silverlock to sluice away the blood. "I'm bleeding to death, aren't I?" The only tattoos that remained where the chest piece and his face and neck work.

"A little. I did say this was dangerous."

"So you did. I think I'll survive a bit longer, all the same. Ironically enough, I've nothing left to die for."

"Is what you've lost worth this?" It was the first real question Kupric had asked; possibly it was the only one he didn't already know the answer to.

"Shouldn't you have asked that fifteen hours ago?"

"You wouldn't have known the answer then." The cherry blossoms dissolved quickly; the magic holding them together was old and easily broken. Kupric cupped his chin in one hand and examined the intersecting lines of scar tissue and ink on Silverlock's face. His fingers were warm and slick with blood.

Silverlock obligingly closed his eyes, and felt the tickle of magic on his eyelids a moment later. "The woman who did those told me I was crazy to let her put a needle that close to my eyes. Said it would be my own fault if she blinded me. The writing is Shrivish, one of the Ikatian variations; the words mean different things depending on which direction you read them in."

The Shrive had a love of puns that was, at times, unbearable. The words on his eyelids could be translated as "death" or "the stillness of moonlight reflecting on a pond at midnight," with another half a dozen meanings in between. When combined, they spelled out his own pseudonym: "Silverlock."

Kupric grunted in response, and continued with his work. The words slid away like dark tears, and pooled in the hollows beneath his eyes. The rest of the facial tattoos went just as quickly.

His hair went next; the slide of the razor against his scalp was practically painless, but watching the pile of braids gather on the table hurt more than he'd expected. Three lengths of bleached silver landed on top of the black, and then Kupric was washing away the blood, ink, and stray hair with a soft wet cloth, and the only things left were the letters around his throat.

Kupric's large hands settled around his neck. "Is what you have lost worth doing this?" he asked again.

There was a glib reply on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it; there was no point in avoiding the question any longer. "Of course not. Objectively, I haven't lost much. One lover among many, a few dozen years of my life. I intend to live well beyond the limits nature intended; I can hardly balance everything that I am against the memory of what he meant to me."

Kupric looked at him steadily and said nothing.

"It's time for me to shed my skin," he said quietly. "I owe him a great deal, but ultimately I do this for myself."

The name tattooed around his throat came away with a single swipe of Kupric's hand.

---------------------------------------------------------

---------------------------------------------------------

I AM SO UNSUBTLE, I THINK I JUST GAVE MYSELF A CONCUSSION. JESUS.

Bleh. There was a sex scene in there that I didn't write, because I feel dirty enough as it is (and I'm incapable of posting any sex scenes that are longer than two lines, anyway), and it ends abruptly because there should be at least another three scenes, not including the sex.

I should, I don't know, maybe write the fucking story. Maybe. (Brief rundown: Nagendra's successor as Avatar of Varun is even crazier than she was; he does a lot of evil shit and kills a lot of people, and eventually Blaine takes him down by becoming an Avatar himself. Afterwards, he goes back to being a normal human, and they all live happily ever after until Blaine stops living. Also, there are riots. I'll do a proper outline at some point, I'm sure.)

City babble!

Shaivhen is divided into six districts: Southmark, Eastmark, Redmark, Candlemark, the Harbor District, and the Temple District. Southmark is the ritzy district- all the fanciest restaurants, all the famous theaters and opera houses, all the most expensive brothels. Eastmark is more middle class- it's also the sales district, where out-of-city merchants sell things in the giant open air market in the center of the district. Eastmark is home to a number of universities, arcane and otherwise. The Harbor District is mostly industrial- shipyards and the like, but there's also a fair bit of organized crime. The slave markets are in the Harbor, too. Redmark is the political and historical district; Rianna's Tower, the Great Library, the palace, and a number of museums are located there. The Guild Council and the City Watch operate out of Redmark. Candlemark is the slum district- all of the districts have a lower class, but Candlemark is the end of the line, more or less. There isn't even any organized crime, because there's no money in Candlemark. It's just a lot of very poor, very hungry people trying to scrape by- and the occasional misfit and ex-convict, like Kupric. The Temple District was once dedicated entirely to the worship of Celesiana, the Elemental of Life- but after the Sundering of the Six, it became home to the Thousand Little Gods. A memorial dedicated to the Six and their Avatars is located in the very center of the district.

The entire city is built on top of an enormous system of tunnels and catacombs. There are entrances to the underground in every district- but some are more easily accessible than others. The Thieves' and Assassins' Guilds guard their entrances vigilantly; the Gypsy Court doesn't care who comes and goes from their camps. There are tunnels beneath Candlemark and Harbor that are rumored to be filled with dark creatures with flailing tentacles and gnashing teeth, but very few people are interested in exploring them to verify those rumors. The Emancipation Movement uses the catacombs to transport slaves out of the city, but with minimal success- the City Watch uses the tunnels as well, and they get a kickback from the slave traders for every escaped slave they recapture.

Very few individuals actually own slaves; most of the slave population in the city is owned by the city, or by businesses. They're expensive; beyond purchasing and upkeep, slave owners have to supply freed slaves with enough capital to become functional, contributing members of society. The laws concerning slave ownership are very detailed, and the fines for breaking them can be astronomical. Most people, aside from the very wealthy, find it more trouble than it's worth.

Monday, March 27, 2006

Index Entry: Naruto

I spent a year obsessing over this series with a frightening intensity. Here are the fruits of that obsession; the asterisked ones are either on FF.net or will eventually be edited to the point where I will post them there. Links to the finished versions on ff.net or ficwad are provided.

Blindsided Index (multichapter fic)

12/04 (hinata)
12/04 (neji/lee)
12/04 (shino)
12/04 (sasuke/naruto)
*12/04 (naruto, psychic cancer- sorrows and rejoicings) ficwad
*12/04 (various- Spirals) ff.net
*12/04 (team 8) ff.net
*12/04 (team 10) ff.net
12/04 (kakashi, iruka)
12/04 (kakashi, iruka, epic length)
12/04 (sasuke)
*12/04 (kakashi, burnout)
*12/04 (kakashi, aftermath) ff.net
12/04 (team 8)
1/05 (sand nin)
2/05 (kakashi, iruka, rooftop)
*2/05 (kakashi/sasuke- apron no jutsu) ff.net
3/05 (kakashi, sasuke, obito AU)
*3/05 (kakashi, yondaime) ff.net
06/05 (dreamscape crossover AU)
06/05 (dreamscape crossover AU)
07/05 (dreamscape crossover AU)
*08/05 (temari/kankurou, paint)
08/05 (kakashi, dreaming)
*09/05 (onesided gaara/temari, soft)
11/05 (Naruto, Gaara, pictures)
10/05 (sasuke, naruto, insanity)
*11/05 (kankurou/gaara, control)
*12/05 (tsunade, orochimaru, cancer)
12/05 scars (ino, sakura, part 1)
12/05 (house hyuuga, hope)
12/05 scars (ino, part 2)
12/05 (kankurou, 20 truths style)
12/05 scars (ino, part 3)
12/05 scars (ino, part 4)
12/05 scars (ino, part 5)
05/06 (temari)

Index Entry: Birds of a Feather (Boffo)

I began this story in October of 1999 and finished it in 2003; however, the final chapter and epilogue were never posted, and my old website, along with the other chapters, has since been taken down. I'll rewrite it someday.

The story goes a little like this: an angel falls in love with a human and is imprisoned for it, while a different human sells his soul for wealth and love and power, and eventually ends up dying for it. Their children, half human and half celestial, meet and fall in love (naturally). Shennanigans ensue, particularly when someone wants to use one of them to destroy humanity.

The characters don't get interesting until after the end of the story, of course; I'll continue to revamp this page until it's a little closer to coherent, and I'll probably pull up links to all the world building entries, just to put them all in one place.

The important people, are as follows-
Opal, the half angel.
Tyler, the half demon.
Dei/Dee/Deodat/D.E.I., Tyler's half brother, and the token human. MADE OF ANGST.
Radueriel/Lenore Von Engle, the angel of music and Opal's mom. Kind of crazy after six thousand years of imprisonment.
Jubal al Lamech, the patron saint of musicians and Opal's dad.
RK Karolus, the guy who sold his soul for nookie, and Tyler and Dei's dad.
Leala, a now-deceased demoness, and Tyler's mom.
Aislin, a raving bitch, Dei's mom, and RK's ex-wife.
Catenus, a demon with a chip on his shoulder and a burning desire to kill all humans.
Jance, a second generation demon who becomes a fashion designer and was in love with his sister.


And now a listing of all Boffo related writings on the blog (keeping in mind that most of the early ones don't make sense unless you're me, and a lot of them are only just barely related to the story or the characters):
2/02 (Dei/Shade)
2/02 (AU Opal/Tyler)
2/02 (AU edward albee)
3/02 (Hellbent)
6/02 (Cara/Jance)
7/02 (AU Opal)
08/02 (if wishes were fishes)
9/02 (Jubal drinking)
12/02 (Abercrombie Jance)
1/03 (Dei, New Year's Eve)
1/03 (Lilith, Lucifer, chessboard)
1/03 (Tyler, Opal, psych ward)
5/03 (Sheep, God, cake)
7/03 (AU Halleluia songfic)
10/03 (Opal, Dei, tea)
11/03 (Tyler, Dei, teapot)
12/03 (Len, Jubal, Jude)
1/04 (Dei, Jance, New Year)
3/04 (Dei, Lyra dialogue)
4/04 (Tristan, Jim, betrayed)
6/04 (Tristan, 7-11)
6/04 (Dei 7-11)
6/04 (Dei morphein)
6/04 (Tristan, Carly)
7/04 (Tristan adopted)
8/04 (Tyler, Opal, icecream)
9/04 (Dei, Lyra, V8s)
12/04 (Tristan, Dei, scars)
12/04 (Christmas, with family)
12/04 (Jance, wedding plans)
12/04 (Dei, Carly, sword)
4/05 (Dei, Lyra, bar)
5/05 (Carly)
5/05 (Dei, Tyler, Opal, theme song)
11/05 (Dei, Tyler, dialogue)
12/05 (deja vu)

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Bleach babble!

So, I watched a lot of Bleach this week. As in, 69 episodes of Bleach. A sane person would have spread this out over the entire week, but my brother and I are not so much among the sane- we watched up to episode 34 between Monday and Thursday...and then spent all of Friday watching the remaining 35 episodes. We stopped for food a few times, and Kev took a nap and I baked some banana bread, but otherwise? Nothing but Bleach.

...guh. Too much anime. But! I must share this with you: Jump Festa 2005. Zaraki in a biker jacket! Byakuya dressed like a pimp! Soi Fong in a frilly, frilly dress! And Aizen. Guhbzuh.

Also, 50 Sentences Chad/Ichigo. Very much in tune with the "OMG stupid boys" factor. XD I love Chad so, so much. So much.

Thoughts on Bleach the anime vs Bleach the manga- I liked it. There were all of three episodes of filler in the first sixty episodes. That alone makes this an awesome anime- it moves fast. I thought it was interesting that they included the Renji-Kira-Hinamori Academy filler episode but cut out the Rukia-Kaien backstory. That particular flashback was one of the more important ones (unlike Renji's- don't get me wrong, I love the guy, but he's just not that interesting), since it goes a long way towards explaining why Rukia is such a fucking useless doormat for the entire plot arc. >_< I also thought it was interesting that they gave Kuukaku an arm- I suppose it's less traumatizing to see her with a prosthetic than a stump, but it just seems odd regardless.

I take back much of what I've said in the past about Kubo Tite's plotting ability- the end of Soul Society does read a little like a Scooby Doo episode, but the hints are there if you know what to look for. That whole "release the limit" thing that happened in the recent chapters is mentioned earlier on- it doesn't come out of nowhere, though it feels a little like it does. Ikkaku's ban kai, on the other hand, does come out of nowhere, though I suppose it isn't unprecedented for officers of the Eleventh to hide things from their superiors.

(I do prefer Ikkaku/Yumichika, but I now understand where the Hisagi/Yumichika is coming from. What I don't understand is why Hisagi always tops in that pairing- it's pretty clear he's the one who gets bent over in that fight. Hells, even my brother saw it. (His actual response- "Dude, that guy looks like he needs a cigarette." XD) Yumichika's zanpakutou ability is surprise buttsex!)

The anime only affirms my love for Chad, the Eleventh Division, Ukitake and Kyouraku, Urahara's hat, Tousen's hair, Hanatarou (so cute! so useless!), Unohana and Isane, and Zangetsu. It has also created in me an intense and sudden love for Soi Fong and Yoruichi (anyone have any lesbian ninja recs for me?), Keigo (aka Spazzy Spazzspazz McSpasticpants III), and Kuukaku, who totally needs to smack some people around with her prosthetic arm. However, I still hate Byakuya, because he's a prissy bitch with a pink ban kai and very few redeeming qualities whatsoever.

(And next up on Death God Death Match! On the right, our returning champion, Kuchiki "Pretty in Pink" Byakuya with Senbonzakura! And in the challenger's corner, Kurosaki "Size Doesn't Matter" Ichigo with Zangetsu! This is the fight of a lifetime, folks- we're finally going to find the answer to those unanswerable questions! Is Ichigo really compensating for something? Can Byakuya really make pink cherry petals look badass? Tune in to find out!)

The most recent episodes are all adorable, adorable filler- there are dancing plushes, and I'll probably make seven million icons of Nova and Chad being stoic, silent, and adorable, while Lilin and Claude are spastic. It'll be interesting to see how they pick up the manga plot again now that Renji and Rukia are back in the living world. I suppose I'll keep downloading it to satisfy my urge to collect whole sets of things, but I'm not sure I'll watch it with any fervor.

Bleach the anime gets a gold star from me, at any rate. It's shiny, occasionally adorable, occasionally creepy, and remarkably true to the manga.

I have a incredibly porny cliche Chad/Ichigo fic bouncing around in my head that wants to be written; I don't know if it'll happen because it's actually just porn, but there will probably be more Bleach related things kicking around here in the future. At the very least, there'll be cosplay musings- though the Shinigami uniform would be a pain in the ass to sew. I'm thinking I could pull off either Yachiru or Ulquiorra. (Urquiolla? Mistah Emobags?) It would be very, very easy to make my hair do the Rukia flippy thing, but I refuse to cosplay her.

Song Call- KT Tunstall, "Another Place to Fall"

Are you blind
Blind to me trying to be kind
Volunteering for your firing line
Waiting for one precious sign
The flicker of a smile
You should try it just once in a while
It's simply too easy to do
And you might not see it through

Find yourself another place to fall
Find yourself up against another brick wall
See yourself as a fallen angel
Well I don't see no holes in the road but you
Find another place to fall

Are you proud
To have founded a brand new behaviour
With haired and hurt as your saviour
But nobody's choosing to follow
So you choke back the tears and you swallow
Men who have ruined your life
You consume them with minimum strife
But now you have got indigestion
The antacid comes as a question

Find yourself another place to fall
Find yourself up against another brick wall
See yourself as a fallen angel
Well I don't see no holes in the road but you
Find another place to fall

Are you alive
Is there a young woman hiding inside
Does she know that we're trying to help her
Is she totally frozen with fear
If you let her come out for a day
She might even like it and stay
But it's gonna take you to invite her
Cuz you seem so determined to spite her

Find yourself another place to fall
Find yourself up against another brick wall
See yourself as a fallen angel
Well I don't see no holes in the road but you
Find another place to fall

There isn't much more I can say
For I don't understand the delay
You're asking for friendly advice
And remaining in permanent crisis
Affection is yours if you ask
But first you must take off your mask
When you're back's turned it's decided you'll throw it away just like I did

Find yourself another place to fall
Find yourself up against another brick wall
See yourself as a fallen angel
Well I don't see no holes in the road but you
Find another place to fall

-KT Tunstall, "Another Place to Fall"

KT Tunstall is pretty awesome- she's got a great voice, all low and scratchy and delicious. Good stuff. The refrain makes this a Cain song for me, in a post-game, looking-out-at-the-horizon-from-Mount-Ordeals sort of way.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Worldbuilding wank Part 2: General Magic Use

Follow up to the planes/non-human races post back here. Gonna need to completely revamp the index at this rate; things are getting messy, and as entertaining as I find it to go wandering through my archives, it's time consuming at the best of times.

This is going to cover arcane or aetherial magic only; magicrafting keeps rewriting its own rules in my head, so I'll deal with it later.

Your standard mage operates by gathering up some aether and telling it to do something. Aether is agreeable stuff, and will respond to just about anything- chanting, singing, gesturing, dancing, written words, bright lights- you name it, there's probably a spellcasting technique surrounding it. Mages like adopting a "whatever works" attitude towards magic.

The ability to sense and manipulate aether in some way or another exists in 20% of Shaivhen's population. Of that 20%, only half become trained, licensed magic users. Some of these mages are born with the ability (standard magic users), some gain it through intense mental and spiritual training (Mystics), and some have it forced upon them by gods or other mages (priests). Spellcasting without proper training, no matter how strong your aether-sense is, is incredibly difficult- so the untrained ten percent of the population don't pose much of a threat to the general populace. It's quite possible that people can be born with aether-sense, never realize it, and live out their lives completely content, and untrained.

The upper plane is a sea of aether; the plane-border allows for a constant, low level sort of magical osmosis. There's always some free floating aether in the middle plane, just drifing around doing nothing. There are also tears in the plane-border that allow greater amounts of aether through. These tears are called wellsprings. People have historically regarded them as sacred spaces. Temples get built on top of them, or magical schools. Aether is also manufactured by living things; aether forms a person's spirit or soul, and the soul is constantly growing, changing, and renewing itself.

Some mages can only use free-floating and wellspring aether. Others are strong enough to pull directly from the sea of energy on the aetherial plane. And others still can harvest it from people and other living things. Most mages fall in the first category; a few fall into the second, and a very small number into the third.

People in that third category are called Leeches. The ability to sense aether also comes with an increased sensitivity to the physical and emotional states of the people around you. This enhanced sensitivity is weak in standard mages, but Leeches feel the emotions of those around them in almost pornographic detail. (If you're Silverlock, there's no "almost" about it.)

People manufacture aether when in the throes of particularly intense emotions- intense happiness, misery, terror, what-have-you. Pain counts as an emotion, as far as Leeches are concerned. They feed off of this excess energy; there's virtually no limit to the amount of power they can absorb from a person.

A number of deities consider Leeches to be unholy blights upon the land- magical parasites. Most Leeches will cheerfully agree with this assessment, and continue poking people with pointy objects to get an aether-high. They're manipulative, hedonistic, and often cruel; aether production is greatest under the influence of negative emotions, after all. Leeches are capable of using free-floating aether, and most can pull directly from the upper plane, but it's easier for them to siphon it away from the people around them.

Depending on their level of control, some Leeches can harvest aether without their victims ever realizing it. Those with poor control, or those who just don't care, leave an emotional and spiritual void behind. This is nice if you're in the middle of a panic attack and a Leech decides to feed on you- suddenly, your terror is gone, replaced by detatched apathy. On the other hand, if you're feeling ecstatically happy, you'll suddenly feel as though you can never be happy again- which, in turn, provides the Leech with even more aether to steal as the despair sets in.

Very few Leeches pursue productive, legal careers. Many of them work as thugs for the various branches of organized crime in the city. Silverlock is currently the only Leech in the Guild; assassin mages are rare in general, because so few of them have the time or inclination to follow a career path that requires so much study outside their area of specialization.

Spellcasting, like anything else, is more profitable for specialists. The dozen or so schools of magic in Shaivhen offer a variety of specialties, covering most of your basic D&D style schools of magic- elemental magic, conjuration, healing, evocation, illusion, necromancy, and so forth. (Healers are just mages who specialize in aetherial techniques that put bodies back together. It's acceptable to refer to them as either Healers or Mages- but people with knowledge of medicine and no magical talent are also called Healers.) Not all mages are connected to the schools, however. There are plenty of freelance, unaffiliated mages in the city. Some of them take on apprentices, and various techniques and specialties get passed on that way.

Priests are essentially conduits for the will of their god. Their ability to use aether comes directly from their deity. They can't draw aether from any other source- if a mage becomes a priest, he'll often have his inborn sensitivities sealed off. Preists generally don't have to train as long as mages to gain mastery over their magic, because the will of their god guides their hands and the aether.

Deities of Rothcar's pantheon can't leave the aetherial plane, but they need to communicate with their churches and select priests. To circumvent that problem, they create Avatars. An Avatar becomes an extension of her god, and is able to create conduits between priests and her deity and perform miracles. Miracles are, of course, just extremely powerful acts of magic.

As I said in the last wanky worldbuilding post, most Avatars aren't crazy. But sometimes they are- becoming an Avatar is a decently traumatic experience, and isn't for everyone. If an Avatar goes crazy and becomes a tyrannical dictator, there isn't a whole lot the members of the church can do on their own. Most deities check in on their churches often enough to notice when things go wrong, but some of them don't bother to involve themselves. Varun is easily distracted, as far as deities go, and he has never been particularly active in the running of his church. So, when Nagendra rewrites church doctrine to suit her own sociopathic tendencies, no one can do anything. (Silverlock offers to assassinate the bitch for a discount, but no one in the church has the balls or the cash to take him up on the offer.)

The link between a priest and a deity cannot be broken without killing the priest. Once a priest is ordained, her life is no longer hers- it belongs to her god and her church. This is her greatest strength and greatest weakness: the greater her faith, the stronger her connection and the greater her power. But, the link between a priest and a deity is fragile at best, and even the slightest interference can cause incredible agony to the priest.

Blaine has one of the strongest connections to Varun ever seen in the church- but because Nagendra is a perfect example of an Avatar gone wrong, he risks his sanity and his life every time he approaches one of the many, arbitrary things she has declared to be anathema. Angst and vomit everywhere.

It's all just magic in the end, though- so there are ways to get around the limitations placed on priests by the Avatars. Gods aren't all that special, after all- with enough drive and motivation, anyone can become one.

And that brings us to the last class of magic users, Mystics. Mystics are people who spend their entire lives training and studying to be incorporeal. For some reason or another, they decide that life would be much better if they lived on the astral plane, so they meditate and stand on their heads under waterfalls and practice martial arts until they ascend to a state of pure energy.

This has the unfortunate side effect of dissolving their bodies into so much sparkly dust, but most Mystics think that's pretty hardcore. Mystics aren't magic users the way mages and priests are- they can't manipulate aether. They are, however, masters of astral projection, and they are infinitely more sensitive to fluctuations in aether than either mages or priests.

If you lose something- your lucky turtle, your best friend, your lunch- you go to a Mystic, and he'll follow the aether trail to find it. If you want to speak to your dead grandmother about that meatloaf recipe of hers, you go to a Mystic and he'll set up a seance. The gamble lies in finding a Mystic who is both willing and properly trained to perform these services. Many of them see themselves as being above such petty things as money and employment (and food and corporeal form), and those that don't like to charge extortionate prices for their services. The Guild has a couple of Mystics floating around, because they've got more than enough money to pay for that sort of thing.

Mystics tend to creep out normal mortals; as they advance in their training, they dissolve, and they give a whole new meaning to the phrase "not quite all there". Very old and wise Mystics have no bodies- some of them inhabit jars, so they don't lose track of themselves. Even after a Mystic has reached a totally incorporeal state, there's no guarantee that he'll be able to ascend to the aetherial plane- it's a very hit-or-miss sort of discipline. Once you're incorporeal, your time on the middle plane is limited.

Once a Mystic ascends to the aetherial plane, he can chill with the gods or hang out with ghosts, or just float aimlessly on the unending sea of aether. He'll survive indefinitely in that form until he decides to move on, and the aetherial plane reabsorbs his spirit matter.

That's arcane magic in a larger-than-average nutshell, I guess; the mechanics are basically the same for everyone, even if the methods are occasionally different.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

AUGH

I need to be in Japan, with a PS2 and copious amounts of free time right now. (Damn you, Gina!) AUGH. Akihiko Yoshida, I want to have your sassy-hipped babies all over my body. Also, Cid and another Cid- this game has an overabundance of Cid. How can it not be great? Especially when they look like that? Everyone knows that a game's quality is directly proportional to the amount of Cid in it. The Cid, it overflows, and has 80s hair.

And- and- and- Ivalice. Ivalice, and sky pirates (ain't nothin' sexier) and revolution and a complete lack of a love story and Hitoshi Sakimoto working with Uematsu for the music and goddamnit I haven't wanted to play a game this badly since they were playing ads for VII on TV, and that was some intense longing right there and- fuck, I need to go to class.

Shit want want want want want- and Hiroaki Hirata is Balfrea's seiyuu and goddamnit need to go to class now, for serious. >_<
(Waaaaaaant.)

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Drive by Bleach rec

20 facts about Kurosaki Ichigo and Sado (Chad) Yasutora

...Okay, fine, maybe I do like Chad/Ichigo better than Chad/Ishida. Or maybe I just like Chad, period. It's the shirts, you know. No one can resist a tacky shirt.

I'm going to spend all of next week forcing my brother to watch Bleach. He will protest, but eventually he will be won over by the allure of the tacky shirts and Rukia's arteestic skills. Yes. It will be good. And then I will convince him to go to Otakon and cosplay as Kenpachi, because he would have far, far too much fun doing that. (The other option is to convince him to be Shunsui, but I'd have to blackmail and bribe him something awful to get him to wear pink. Hm...)

Saturday, March 11, 2006

OoT: The Boy's Gone (and so is the Girl)

She is as wise as she is beautiful, her people say, and her beauty is surpassed only by her love of her country, her dedication to her land.

She wants to tell them that she is not wise, nor is she dedicated. She wants to tell them that she nearly destroyed the country she loves so well; that for seven years, she hid in shame and fear while the monster her deeds unleashed wreaked havoc on her kingdom.

None of them remember. There are days when she doesn't, either, when those seven years really are just a dream. The Hero of Time is just a fantasy, and Ganon a nightmare, and she is just a Princess, and not a Sage.

She knows it was no dream, because the Triforce of Wisdom burns in her: a reminder of that horror, and a portent of what is to come.

On nights when there is no moon, she can feel the oncoming storm- on dark nights, she can feel the wrath of the goddesses trembling in the air. She removes a set of clothing from its secret, hidden place and strips away the crown and the robes of her station. Naked, she is no longer a Princess or a Sage or a Leader- she is herself only, simply Zelda.

When stars provide the only light in her room, she wraps her legs in bandages and ties back her hair. She binds her breasts beneath the sign of the all-seeing eye and veils her face until there is nothing left of Zelda- not the Princess, not the Sage, not the woman.

There are nights when she can feel the fate of Hyrule in the air like a funeral dirge, awesome and inevitable. There is nothing she can do to prevent it.

On these nights, she becomes her own shadow, and stands vigil for a Hero who will never return.

---

Ocarina of Time and Majora's Mask really drive home the fact that Link's life sucks immensely- but things can't be a whole lot better for Zelda.

Anyway, crossdressing makes everything better, even when you're facing the apocalypse and your boyfriend is missing and presumed dead. (Genderfucked!Zelda is, quite possibly, one of the sexiest things ever.)

Song call- Fall Out Boy, "Sugar We're Going Down"

Am I more than you bargained for yet
I've been dying to tell you anything you want to hear
Cause that's just who I am this week
Lie in the grass, next to the mausoleum
I'm just a notch in your bedpost
But you're just a line in a song
(A notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song)

Drop a heart, break a name
We're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team

We're going down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it
[x2]

Is this more than you bargained for yet
Oh don't mind me I'm watching you two from the closet
Wishing to be the friction in your jeans
Isn't it messed up how I'm just dying to be him
I'm just a notch in your bedpost
But you're just a line in a song
(Notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song)

Drop a heart, break a name
We're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team

We're going down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it
[x2]

Down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down in an earlier round (Take aim at myself)
And Sugar, we're going down swinging (Take back what you said)
I'll be your number one with a bullet (Take aim at myself)
A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down (down, down)
Down, down (down, down)
We're going down, down (down, down)
A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down in an earlier round (Take aim at myself)
And Sugar, we're going down swinging (Take back what you said)
I'll be your number one with a bullet (Take aim at myself)
A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it
-Fall Out Boy, "Sugar We're Going Down"

Holy shit, this song just got three thousand times more awesome now that I know what the lyrics are. Not changing the title of the blog, though; I prefer loaded guns to loaded gods, really. (OMG, is it next week yet? I want to go to Virginia and shoot things full of holes so badly. Shit, I'm such a bad liberal.)

Friday, March 10, 2006

50 sentences

More Ramza/Mustadio.

43: God
"There is no god in this," he chokes out; Mustadio takes him by the elbow and leads him away from his brother's grave.

30: Ghost
He wasn't afraid, and he said as much; Ramza looked up at the trees then down at the fog curling around the roots, and muttered, "I am."

16: Need
He doesn't fool himself into thinking Ramza wants this (hands and mouths tangling in the darkness, bodies twined together), but want and need are two separate things; he will cater to either as long as Ramza will allow it.

40: History
He's always been fascinated by it: in the ruins beneath Goug, in the Stones, in the air between Ramza and Delita as they stand on the Warjilis docks.

--
I adore Akihiko Yoshida's art, but did he have to make Zalbag and Grissom look so much alike? They've got the same stupid hair and they both get turned into zombies! Balfrea has similar hair; does this mean he's getting turned into a zombie, too? That would be either too amazing to contemplate or too awful to stand. *le sigh*

Monday, March 06, 2006

One Piece fangirling

Guh. One thing I will say in favor of the Naruto anime- when the animators are getting paid properly, they do some amazing fight scenes. And Kishimoto's grasp of anatomy and ability to choreograph fights is impressive.

One Piece, on the other hand, gives anatomy a cursory glance and then dashes off to create more crack. The good crack, mind, but it's still crack and the animation isn't all that technically impressive, even at its best. But it does occasionally get things right- like episodes 94 and 95, when we see Ace fight. Guh.

ZOMG, Ace. And, good god, if I thought Smoker (with his hungry pants) was awesome in the anime? Ace is five hundred million times cooler. Just- guh. Freckles. And the smirk. And the hat. And- and- guh. Just- guh. So much love. I don't normally approve of anime filler, but when I think of all the Ace the manga doesn't have, it makes me sad. (My newest OP OTP is Ace/Purple Lizard, because- what the hell, it's good crack. Damn you, filler!)

Seriously, it doesn't get any better than a narcoleptic pyromaniac pirate with freckles, a cowboy hat, and better manners than anyone else in the entire series. And god, his smirk, it's made of sex. The manga needs more Ace, damnit. And the fandom needs more Ace/Sanji, because that's totally the hottest pairing since the invention of hot, and they're both my favorite characters, next to Shanks and the Red Hair Pirates.

Ohman, Vivi's dad is awesome. So are Chaka and Pell. God, I love Alabasta. So full of awesome! Even the filler! Baroque Works is an excellent evil organization; I'm half-heartedly considering doing a Miss Goldenweek cosplay, because she's the only member I could feasibly pull off, what with being short and fully clothed. I kind of want her shirt, anyway.

Also, this pleases me immensely shut up no I don't watch the dub when I'm home stop looking at me like that. As does this. Oh webcomics. I've missed you so.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

Character spotlight: Blaine

I did a character spotlight on Blaine many, many moons ago, but much of his history has been altered since then. So here's an updated one, along with a little intro to the actual story. I'll probably do a Guild and Temple District post eventually, since those have changed, too.

name: Tyrin Samarkand/Blaine Torkehaav
status: Apostle of Varun; ex-thief
age: 17 at the beginning of the story, mid-late 20s by the end
appearance: Blaine is the epitome of ordinary; he's exceedingly skilled at fading into backgrounds and getting lost in crowds. His height, build, hair, eyes, and skin-tone can all be described as "medium," leaning slightly towards "sparse" and "skinny" depending on which stage of his life we're dealing with. He has some nasty scarring across the bridge of his nose and his mouth, over his shoulders and down the left side of his body, and on his hands.
family: Civet Seldriss (mother); Hawk Samarkand (father); Foxbird (daughter); Silverlock D'Alestri (partner)

Tyrin's parents were both well respected members of the Guild; it was a great disappointment to them when it became clear early on that their son would not be following in their footsteps. While not accident prone in normal ways, Tyrin was incapable of touching anything that might be construed as a weapon without hurting himself. He learned to use chopsticks at a very young age after a few too many accidents at the dinner table.

Civet and Hawk knew a losing battle when they saw one, and they gave up on training their son as an assassin. When he was eight, they sent him to the Thieves' Guild.

It turned out that, while he failed utterly at assassin skills, he excelled in areas of sneakthievery. He earned his tags at the age of fourteen and became a happy, healthy, productive member of the Guild, specializing in pickpocketing and burglary. His parents were immensely proud of him; they still kept in touch, since the two Guilds were practically down the hall from each other. (Shaivhen has an extensive system of sewers and catacombs dating back to the early Second Era; they were used primarily by the royal family until the end of the Third Era, when gypsies, the Rogue Guilds, various religious cults, and a few races of monsters that dislike sunlight moved in.)

Life continued on in this vein for awhile until someone sold out his team on a heist. None of them escaped; a few were lucky enough to be killed outright by the mark, who didn't take kindly to being burgled. The mark had the survivors flogged and then cut the tendons in their hands. Then they were left unconscious in different alleys in the harbor district- the harbor district being, of course, home to the slave markets and various other unsavory businesses.

Tyrin woke up a few days later in the Temple of Varun, where he should have been for the last ten years or so. Varun himself was starting to get a bit irritated by the delay; normally the people he chooses as Apostles realize they've been God-Touched before they join the Thieves' Guild and nearly get themselves killed.

Unfortunately for Tyrin, no one in either of the Guilds realized that his inability to use weapons was a sign of holy favor. They saw it more as being shitty luck that would probably get him killed, and he tended to agree with them.

He wasn't entirely pleased to hear that his life had been planned out beforehand by a god he didn't even worship; he was even less pleased when the Avatar of Varun told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn't become ordained as an Apostle, he would live out the rest of his life as a disfigured cripple.

He didn't really have any choice in the matter. He was the only survivor of his team, and his hands were useless; he couldn't go back to the Guild. He agreed to Varun's terms, but he made it clear that he wasn't happy with the situation.

And so, Blaine Torkehaav was born as the Most Revered Eighty Sixth Apostle of Varun.

He spent the next few years growing into his position and picking fights with then-Avatar, Lady Nagendra. Nagendra didn't approve of Blaine beling alive, never mind Blaine being an Apostle.

Blaine and Nagendra did their best to make each other completely miserable; Blaine found himself feeling devout reverence for his god and utter scorn for the voice of his god on the middle plane. Unfortunately, the Avatar sets earthly doctrine, and Blaine, as the most junior of the Apostles, had no real influence in the church.

Foxbird's arrival was the final straw; as a creature of demonic descent, she was anathema according to Nagendra's laws. When a couple of Acolytes found her floating off shore, the general consensus around the temple was to ship her back out in a box. Blaine decided to adopt her; Nagendra banished and damned them both. Blaine's response was, "Screw you guys, I'm going home!" He went back to the Assassins' Guild and got a job as a healer; unlike the Theives' Guild, they don't outsource their doctors.

As an Apostle, Blaine ranks in the upper echelons of the church hierarchy; the only person closer to Varun is the Avatar. He hears the voice of Varun whispering in the back of his head at all times. Being human, he can't understand the words- but he doesn't need to. Like it or not, the desire to worship Varun is built into him. It's not his god he has issues with, just his church.

All of Blaine's abilities- his healing talents and sensitivity to emotional and physical states- come from his connection to Varun. He doesn't have any magical talent on is own, but the strength of his faith is remarkable even for an Apostle. When Nagendra damned and banished him, she broke his connection to Varun. She couldn't sever it completely; instead, whenever Blaine is in the presence of someone or something Nagendra has decreed to be evil or unclean, he stops hearing the voice of Varun. To Blaine, this feels a little like someone hacking off the back of his head with a cleaver, scouring out his brain with acid and steel wool, and shoving hot coals into his skull.

He's fine around most members of the Assassins Guild, because they're no more or less evil than anyone else in the world. But sometimes he runs into someone who matches certain criteria on Nagendra's shit list, and he has to spend a day or so in utter agony, praying for forgiveness. The Guild is large, though, and the people who reek of evil and wrongness tend to not end up in the Healer's Ward, anyway.

He refuses to return to the temple and apologize to Nagendra, however; he is convinced that what he's doing for the Guild and Foxbird is right, no matter what the Avatar decrees. The fact that he doesn't lose his connection to Varun around Foxbird, even though she is a Malestri, is proof enough for him.

A number of traumatic events occur to him in the Guild; as a result, he picks up the bad habit of moping and being emo. Eventually he meets Silverlock, and more angst ensues. If Silverlock hadn't already been acquainted with Foxbird, he probably wouldn't have given Blaine a second thought after their first meeting- but his curiosity was piqued, and he's a tenacious bastard when he wants to be. It takes a few years for them to get past the screaming and vomit stage of their relationship, but they do manage it eventually, and Silver successfully cures Blaine of his emo.

Just before the actual story begins, Nagendra dies and a new Avatar takes over the running of the church. The new Avatar, Mandhatri, ushers in a new era of tolerance and universal acceptance for the church; with Nagendra dead, Blaine's banishment and damnation are lifted.

Blaine's life after this is pretty rockin', all things considered- until a number of high ranking and talented assassins go missing for a few weeks. They return, over the course of a few days, in bite-sized chunks. The story (which has no title) begins with Blaine cataloguing body parts from the last delivery of assassin-bits, and finding some too-familiar, tattooed pieces of skin mixed in among the rest.

DUN DUN DUNNNN.
--

Technically Foxbird is the main character, but I think Blaine may have displaced her; he certainly gets the most awesome fight scenes later on in the story. *grin* And I like him almost as much as I like Silverlock; the two of them tie with Jubal and Len of Boffo as my favorite original-character couple. I have a weakness for excessive cuteness in the face of adversity.

This story originally had a lot less religious and social commentary in it; Blaine only recently decided he was actually a fanatical priest of an incredibly screwed up religion. *sigh* And it's possible that my scar fetish is getting out of hand, but these guys are really old characters for me, and I don't think I'm quite as bad anymore. Just- mm, facial disfiguration.