Full disclosure: Part of last night’s post was because a bunch of little kids went wide-eyed while looking at me, going “The tall Mandalorian!” It was... so cute and so worth the pain and self-loathing I went through making the chest.

New OC inspired by my most recent cosplay. Sorry.

Kyr of Clan Tol isn’t what you’d expect out of most Mandalorians. Most of the time, he’s friendly, cordial, and engaging with most non-Mandos. He may not say much immediately (until his threat assessment of you and the surrounding area is complete) but he’s totally the guy who starts buying strangers a round of drinks almost randomly.

He’ll also ruthlessly kill you with no hesitation if you interfere with whatever goal he has at the moment.

His armor is frequently mismatched, both in color and style, but there’s a reason for that. Clan Tol has no armorer. His task is to seek out the bodies of dead Mandalorians and retrieve their armor. He takes it back to his clan and distributes it to those who are worthy in his eyes. Upon his return, he will listen to the tales of the deeds of others and dole it out as he sees fit. This puts him in the awkward position of being both a detective, judge, and executioner in different ways than how many people view them.

He won’t attach a Mando to get their armor; that’s dishonorable and plain stupid in his eyes. But there were once a lot more Mandalorians out there, and with enough searching, he will find their armor. Woe betide someone who isn’t a Mando who wears it. He is crafty, cunning, sneaky, and quick-witted, and will use these traits to take you down in interesting ways.

One of his biggest flaws is his kindness and generosity, as odd as it sounds. Strength is important to him, but needless cruelty or suffering is not a thing he abides by easily. He might have to kill you tomorrow, but he won’t hesitate to help you today. It’s also why only his chest armor and helmet stay the same for very long. He’s too eager to equip others.

He also has a weakness for near-humans. He’d rather spend time hanging out with them than humans. It doesn’t even need to be sexual; he’s been running with a twi’lek for a while now, and has formed a familial bond with her. You couldn’t pay him to hang out with a Hutt, but he’d gladly sit and listen to a Zabrak mercenary gush about their wife and kids for three hours straight.

His favored weapons are blaster pistols, vibro blades, and tactical explosives set in advance to drop the building his target is in before beginning the engagement. Fight smart; it’s never a good day to die, but it’s always a good day to make someone else die through any means necessary.

He also likes plushies and dolls, though he frequently gives them to kids that take his interest.

Transmission 1

Hello there! Greetings from Wolf Pack Kāinga! My name is Sarah Banner, and I’m part of the crew of the Astarte. We’re the rotational gravity spacecraft at the rear half of the Wolf Pack. I’ve been given authorization to send out messages for everyone back home.

I know that everyone’s scared and grieving, but there’s still hope. Wolf Pack Kāinga has the primary goal of turning Ceres into a full-fledged habitation. I know that a lot of people have their hopes set on the Moon or Mars, but we know that each of those present their own unique challenges. Instead of putting all our eggs in one basket, it was decided that it would be best to see about turning planetoids into something somewhat habitable.

We’ll be supported by the other two Wolf Packs, but their main goal will be the collection of materials to send back to the Near Earth regions. So while we aren’t on our own, they’ll be focused on making sure that all of you have what you need to stay in good repair, and maybe even keep expanding the number of spacecraft out there.

I’m stationed on the rear section of our spacecraft. It has two separate rotational sections that go in different directions, so that we can simulate gravity without our craft trying to flip around constantly. Rotation is a strange beast. My section is mainly focused on growing food and feeding the animals that we brought. Yes! We have chickens! They’re still very skitterish, recovering from the launch and the time that they spent in microgravity. Our commander suspects that they’ll be that way for the rest of their lives. I hope that he’s wrong.

Regardless, the chickens help us to recycle our plant matter more easily; or they will once we get to harvesting. Their eggs also help supply the other spacecraft in the Wolf Pack with eggs. But I’ll go into that another time. We have a long way to go to the asteroid belt, so I want to make sure that I have plenty to talk about!

The front half of the spacecraft is dedicated to people. The two rotational gravity craft are the largest of the Wolf Packs, so our guests are lucky. I hear that some people who spend their shift resting on the other Wolf Packs have trouble when they’re assigned to R&R; in order to maintain .25 gravity, they have to spin pretty fast, and some people have problems with that.

Us and our sister spacecraft are lucky. We maintain about .35 G, or about the same gravity as Mars, with a lower rotational speed than the others. We have a couple of doctors on staff, helping to make sure that people can acclimate and to treat anyone brought onboard for treatment. They’re also studying us in the rear section, and they’re hoping to learn a lot about life at our gravity level.

You may be wondering why we’re so much bigger, but I already told you in a sneaky way. While there’s a lot of plans on how to create habitats on Ceres, one of our contingency plans is to just drill two holes and sink us in there. There’s a lot of variables there, and a lot of ways that it could go. Regardless, we’re going to be vital to the Wolf Packs as a whole. Before Kāinga even starts thinking about how we’re going to colonize Ceres, we’re going to deploy huge solar arrays to collect energy so that every spacecraft in every Wolf Pack can just drop by to recharge quickly and easily.

I’m super excited to tell you all more about our mission, and get to know all of you. Feel free to send messages to MIDOR, who will send them our way. I’ll answer as many as I can! I’ll talk to you next time!

Autism

“I never would have guessed you were autistic!” Thanks.  It’s the years of bullying and intense study of other people in order to pass as a semi-functional member of society who can’t even talk to people and has to use Discord to communicate after they get off of work.  Wanna see the semi-permanent fingernail marks that are hidden by my hair?

Rundel: On hospitality

The boy is taller now, three quarters my height, but despite how much I feed him, he refuses to get bigger. That makes me look bad to other lizahn. Like I don’t care for the boy’s comfort and basic needs. Elves might like the scrawny look, but we prefer our people to look well-fed. Perhaps more sweets are in order.

A fellow lizahn arrives, and we greet each other warmly, though truth be told I quite hate the fellow. But he is kin of a sort, and my comfort is his. I leave the shop to the boy, knowing full well that he will skirt his duties to read. As much as I hate to say it, I quietly encourage Tobias to read -- if he cannot look his part, then he can at least be educated enough to assist me in everything else.

My fellow and I go upstairs to my quarters and begin the pleasantries. Talk of breeding negotiations in the slums, how the elves made a deal with Quenta to push more of our kind out of government positions, and my most recent work. A gnome approached me regarding some lizahn artifacts that they found, asking for assistance in an expedition. Shards of crude pottery, and I am not sure if they are really of our race or not, but the desire to know more of our ancient history spurred me into finding like-minded individuals to invest in the effort. With conditions, of course.

I do not ask my companion if he is hungry, I simply begin cooking, breaking out my finest spices. Even if not hungry, he will eat his fill as much as he can. If there are leftovers, I will share them with the boy. Perhaps push him towards reading some Colzag -- orcish poetry is brutish, but contains a unique elegance.

My companion tells me of his own efforts, securing some more flour for the western stockpile. We know feast, but we also know famine. The great secret, the greatest, are our stockpiles for when things are bad. We must never let the other races know about these, as those damnable elves would do something about it.

But an offhand comment, about chuura oil of all things, catches my attention. Useless to us, but helpful for some less savory people of other races. And, sadly, useless for me at the moment. But I press him about it as my keen mind works. Useless to me is not the same thing as useless. The filthy mages here, they have a stranglehold on it. It was useless to me, but he could make some money hawking it to them, or better, to the dropouts who struggled to make a living recharging their wonders. Useless to me, as the mages would be on me fast, but useful for selling out in the slums where the mages have no ability to scry.  If I ever find out the bastard or bitch who is responsible for that little trick, they’re getting a permanent discount.

After that, it was mostly just pleasantries. It took nearly an hour and a full belly for him to tell me a rumor that he heard about a group of orcs heading towards town, ostensibly the reason for him coming, and another hour for us to wrap up. Typical among lizahn. Honestly, the less social races who would just give a message and get out were easier, but there was something nice about sitting and talking to blood, no matter how removed.

Tobias was the perfect picture of an employee when my guest left. Reading a book where customers could see, standing so poised and dignified. But he’s grown so much that I couldn’t help but notice that he needed a new suit. Bah. Lanky bastard. Fill out, damn you! I’m going to have to ponder this, but I have to prepare the wharves. It’s doubtful that the orcs are anything other than a stinking adventuring party, but if they mean trouble for the city, I have places to sent at least one of them.

If they are just an adventuring party, then chances are they’ll come to my shop. I’d rather they be raiders or bandits. Fucking adventurers.

Rundel: On Tobias

My name is Rundel, and I am not a nice man. My shop in the city of Trusis is ostensibly a hodgepodge of art, gear for adventurers, historical relics (note the lack of capitalization), and anything else that I either take a fancy to or think will fetch a good price. Like any other lizahn, I like to be comfortable, and that includes my shop. We’re all about survival, of course, and comfort is survival of the soul.

Like any other lizahn, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to become comfortable.

Illicit goods, illegal magical items and potions, anything passes my hands that can get me what I want. I’ve been an entrepreneur since I was a child, and I can tell you the price of every guard in the city, or how to distract them long enough for me to be safe. I know everything that happens in this city, even if my clawed fingers aren’t in it. And when someone crosses me? I eat well.

So, no. Despite my comforts, despite my cordial nature in my shop, I am not a nice man. And yet, I look at this boy...

A beggar, really. His story is as old as time. Parents worked for the nobles, upset the wrong one, and had trumped up charges placed on them. They “resisted” when the personal guards came to arrest them. It never even came to court. And a poor child, terrified of the noble district and determined to survive on the streets.

Now he scuttles around my shop, cleaning while I’m downstairs breaking someone who sought to steal from me. I’m teaching the whelp how to read, I’m fussing over if his clothes are comfortable enough for him. I’m getting him his own hovel to live in. Teaching him how to use a blade to defend himself and my shop.

Oh, I’m sure that the humans would call him a psychopath. Such rage, so willing to be honed into a cold, killer edge. I wouldn’t have taken him in otherwise, he wouldn’t work with my lifestyle. But even my heart isn’t unmoved by a child living on the streets. No child deserves such discomfort. And now that I found one who suits me, I see so many others who don’t.

I’m not a nice man. Not even by lizahn standards. I’m cruel, I’m shrewd, I’m almost dastardly.

But I think that it’s about time that the city had an orphanage. A child’s life is hard, dependent on the comfort of their parents, and if there are no parents, then there is no comfort. And that, my friend, is a travesty. One that I will not abide by now that I see it.

Nerd Friends

I had to explain to someone that they’re on my intellectual nerd friend list. They aren’t into astronomy, but are intellectual enough that they keep up with the jokes at the end of a youtuber’s videos that I watch.

I have a lot of people on my nerd friends list, but not all of them are intellectuals. There’s various kinds of nerdage, and that’s great. But there’s people who would only feel stupid if I tried to share some things with. There’s some who won’t get tabletop references, some who won’t understand aggro, so on and so forth. I respect that, but it means that I have to pick and choose beyond just personality who gets what. This person has the personality to enjoy this joke, but only after I spent half an hour explaining it. That’s not cool.

I dunno, just rambling.

My last post was vague, and for the single digits of people who follow me, you deserve better.

A little over two weeks ago, I went on a trip to spread Mom’s ashes.  I’ve been waiting for this since December of 2019.  First it was money, then Covid, then money.  I took my car to the shop, got her fixed up, got my second dose of the vaccine, and was on my way.  Iowa to Texas to New Mexico to Yellowstone to Mt. Rushmore.  Now, New Mexico was the outlier in that trip.  The plan, since 2018, was that when Mom passed I would move there... but I would visit first to see what I thought of it.

Spoiler, I LOVED it.  My friend who lives there is amazing and I had a blast, and completely fell in love with the environment.  (Camping might be... interesting, though.)  And even better, I had an interview at the place of work of my friend.  And it was a sure thing, they were willing to let me finish my trip, put in my two weeks, and then back to New Mexico with my stuff and start working.  This made me genuinely excited and hopeful for the future, something that I haven’t felt since the early 90s.  I continued my trip on such a high note.  (Yellowstone was amazing, bison are as beautiful as they are terrifying when only a foot away from your car.  That said, NEVER VISIT MT. RUSHMORE ON JULY 4!!!)

Wednesday night, my friend ripped the bandaid off.  Due to her mental health stuff and past trauma, she informed me that, basically, she wouldn’t be able to hang out if I moved there, and that I should consider moving somewhere else.  Anywhere else.  This triggered my anxiety, depression, abandonment issues, etc.  Hard.  Then come to find out... her workplace hired someone else pretty much as soon as I walked out the door.  And didn’t send an email or call me or anything.  This wouldn’t have been so bad, but I had been bragging about this from the moment that I got back on Tuesday, so now I looked like a liar which set my spiral off even worse.

(Note:  She is not at fault and I will never allow anyone to speak ill of her.  She has her issues, and I respect those.  Rather than ghost me or not say anything and let our relationship sour, she was direct and open in communicating what was going on.  I will fight anyone who calls her a dirty name, because I’d much rather have this than the alternative.)

So yeah.  I’m still struggling hard.  My mental health is worse than the period around when Mom passed.  I was her caretaker in varying degrees for a decade, with being a total caretaker AND trying to hold down a full time gas station job at the same time.  (A unique hell that I wouldn’t inflict on another single soul.)  Covid gave me time to remember to be me again, as much as it otherwise sucked for the rest of the world.  I’m still not writing in earnest, but I’ve been dabbling more and doing active research for my next proper story.

But being in Iowa right now is a unique hell -- a small town is filled with constant reminders of her, people constantly walking up to me and commenting about her loss, etc.  I need to leave if I’m going to start to really heal and living my life again instead of living in the shadow of her death.   And this feels like a significant step backwards.  I didn’t eat or drink anything yesterday, that’s how far bad I went.  I did get some sleep at 3, but not enough nor the restful kind.  I’m used to being depressed, but I haven’t gone from a high point into a crushing low in ages, and it’s really getting to me.  And I’m just so.  Goddamned.  Tired.

I’m tired. It’s the kind of tired where you stare at a paused menu for three straight hours trying to find the will to play.  Not the sleep tired, but the other kind.  I’m tired, feeling hurt and betrayed, abandoned, and a once sure plan now turned into mush.  A once sure plan that was literally two years in the making and that my future was based on.

fuck am i tired. maybe i’ll be tired enough to sleep tomorrow

Writing is hard, because it’s hard to get people to read. Art is quick to appreciate, but words take a level of commitment. I mean, I’m just as guilty as anyone else. But writing online is hard. Too few words and you won’t be taken seriously because it’s obviously just drabble. Too many, and nobody pays attention because it’s too much.

No real point to this. Just saying.

When you’re not a person

A friend is having a rotten day and is at zero energy. She informed me (via text because she’s on the other side of the country) that she no longer wishes to be a person.

Thus began the semi-roleplay! I informed her that I propped up my bed and put a fleece blanket under there for her. She quietly crawled in. I then offered her a water bottle and something to cronch on. She asked if it was the bones of her enemies, but we quickly agreed that you don’t want to eat those. We settled on celery and peanut butter. Lastly, we decorated her den with the three raven feathers I have (because ravens are awesome fearsome beasts and me finding their feathers was such an amazing thing and what self-respecting monster wouldn’t want them in their den?).

She felt a little better. Not good, and that was never my intention. I can’t make her feel good, there are no magic words for that. But some silly banter, acknowledging her feelings are valid, can be a wonderful thing. It can make the world just a little more tolerable.

But we all feel like we don’t want to be a person on occasion. I feel that a lot. And now I’m curious: What would YOU want in your den under the bed?

DM Tricks

If one of your players ever comes up with a theory about what’s going on with the plot or what’s going to happen, you’re perfectly allowed to think to yourself “That’s awesome, I wish I would have thought of that.”  BUT NEVER SAY IT

Because you’re perfectly allowed to grab that idea and run with it. Give it some twists, make it your own.  The way that their face lights up when they realize that they were right is awesome, and you got to run a much cooler campaign than what you anticipated.

The key is to respond to ANY guessing about the future plot by saying “You’ll just have to wait and see” with a knowing smile.

What’s the escape velocity from a terrasque wearing a party hat??

I’m officially writing off my D&D game.  A month and a half of trying to drum up a crew, and I have one and a half players.  The half is because one of the players, who signed on the day that I set up the game, still hasn’t made her character.  Writing doesn’t attract people, ARG doesn’t attract people, can’t attract people to my game...  I’m done.  There’s no point in trying anymore.  Persistence is a virtue, but you should know when to throw in the towel.

Also, I need to commission an artist for the Lizardfolk subrace for my D&D game.

Urban Fantasy Worldbuilding: Goblins 1

Goblins usually have litters of 4+ children and, until very recently, it wasn’t exactly common for them to reach adulthood. Frankly, goblin physiology sucks until they reach adulthood, and even just a few decades ago children might just drop dead suddenly. Things were safer once they reached puberty, but still worrisome. It isn’t until the last stages of puberty that their bodies work themselves out. Adults can expect a happy life until dying of old age in their late 50s... something that makes humans frown.

Psychologically, they’ve developed a very devil-may-care attitude towards the death of others, even loved ones or their own children. They feel a sense of loss, but not depression. They care, and will fight to keep someone alive, but when they die they’ll shrug and go “Whatcha gonna do?”

This makes birthdays uncomfortable for some other races. If a human lets slip that his birthday is coming up to a goblin friend, the goblin will go all out. However, goblins value individuality, and will try to make the birthday the best that a person could hope for. Sometimes that means a party, sometimes it means handing them a book and standing guard outside their apartment, and sometimes it means making sure that an obscure game’s lobby is full of people to play with the birthday person. The form of the birthday will vary from individual to individual, but to goblins, birthdays are something to be celebrated to the fullest.

Despite being omnivorous hunters, goblins are also a prey species, and their eyes sit further apart than a humans to grant them a wider field of vision while still being forwards focused. While their depth of view isn’t as strong as most races, being nearsighted by comparison, their ability to see movement is better, as is their hearing.

Due to them being a prey species and their psychology, they tend to do well in high-stress jobs where quick thought and action are encouraged, shedding stress afterwards without much concern. As bankers, tacticians, etc, they tend to favor high risk/high reward tactics and decisions after balancing all information. They won’t try for a bad deal just because it might work out for the best, but they will take the riskier option that others might shy away from if they think it could work. What’s the worst that could happen? They could die... and? (It should be noted that even goblins who suffer from depression rarely turn to suicide, and that suicide is one of the things that will completely flummox them. If they find out someone is suicidal, they will do everything in their power to help the individual, even putting themselves at risk if need be.)

Traditionally, they are viewed as cowards due to their historic military tactics. They preferred to set up ambushes, sending out a few goblins to lure others into traps. This led other races to think that they were quickly attacking and running away. In the modern era, military officers are strongly warned about this -- if the enemy is known to have goblins in their numbers, exercise extreme caution when pursuing fleeing opponents. Due to their ability to thrive in stressful situations and their prey traits, they excel as combat engineers, demolitions experts, sappers, and combat medics.

Goblins are borderline hedonists, reveling in anything that they enjoy at every opportunity, within reason. They might be dead tomorrow, so why not enjoy today? Despite this, they are as willing to do things they don’t like as much as any other race. They were the first to begin to use polymorph spells to alter ones appearance to make them feel at ease with their own bodies -- life’s too short not to be comfortable in their opinion.

....I had more thoughts, but this is enough.

More poetry from the same character

I'm a creature of chaos I live it, breathe it like clouds of spores so thick you choke on them Like your veins turning green and sprouting leaves inside your body I live it, eat it like the bacteria that devours you both outside and in Like the sun blotted out by the overgrowth of perpetual night Screaming screaming screaming to the drum beat of guns in sweltering heat Sweating dripping like bullets but doing nothing to cool you Water so thick in the air it drips off the branches but it's not raining A howl, a scream, and I smile A flash of light, a sharp retort, and I laugh The heart races, yet I hold Thousands of teeth Hundreds of footsteps Death rushes us and I laugh Chaos reigns supreme And at that moment I pull the trigger and release it all