"pROduCE ANoTheR cHrISt..."

Welcome back! Good to see you! Today we take a crack at the people who so desperately want Christian stories to be what they're not.

Do you know how to tell if someone is a post-Enlightenment shill or not? It is really, really, really easy. Tell them that heroes are those who cannot back down from their convictions, and that morality has nothing to do with it. Just watch  them squirm! It hurts! I am about to tell you why, so you can enjoy this as much as I do. And recently, when I did this, the person responded with the most honest thing I have heard yet in response: 

"Produce a character as good as Christ"

I mean, the naivete is so incredible, I almost respect it. Almost. Here's why that very good-intentioned statement is actually Satanic.

First of all, none are Christ. Factually. Nevermind that on the surface "make someone as good as Jesus of Nazareth" is a blatant absurdity. The entirety of the Bible is an argument that no one has done what Christ did. He did what the rest of us couldn't. A lot of the New Testament is about explaining why we're not Christ, and why He is. If you can't absorb this one point, then nothing else is going to make sense. Everyone. Else. Failed. In fact, Paul says this. He calls himself a failure after being taken up to the third Heaven. Peter definitely says this. John does, as well. It is the essence of a follower of Christ to acknowledge oneself as a failure in comparison to what Christ did. Not necessarily as an act of despair, but as a matter of fact. In fact, you shouldn't be despairing as you say it! Christ came to help you do what you cannot do! Hooray! He succeeded! And He wants to make sure we do too!

So, to be a Christian is to know that you have the friend, who will help you accomplish what you could not normally. Boast of your weakness, for God is your strength!

Here's the thing, though: nobody allows this to happen perfectly. We all screw it up. And God has mercy on us anyway, by taking our screw ups and making good out of them. We  get to watch as our failures and horrifying deeds are turned into blessings, and we get to know that all things are useful to God, even if He didn't want it that way.

Now, the thing is that aesthetics flow from ethics. What you believe determines what you enjoy. So, if you actually believe that, you'll enjoy stories of people who try to do what is right, fail, grieve, try again, fail, grieve, and then have to accept that the failures somehow lead to things they never thought possible. Good things. And even if it all falls apart, you hope that someday it will be put right, because that's what God does.

Starting with Scripture, let's look at Peter and Paul, arguably the closest thing to "protagonists". Peter and Paul start in darkness, find Christ, and exposure to Him gradually changes them. But they never fully pull it off. Peter is still a loudmouth and a coward, Paul checks him for it later! Paul and Mark have disagreements. But both say the same thing: "I am not perfect, I am weak, I am not enough, but Christ is." They don't point to some ideal, because they cannot. They are failures who Christ has worked with to produce results they can barely understand. Peter and Paul are not examples: they're company on your own journey. They're only examples insofar as they're consolations that God really can make use of anybody.

Going further, into our modern day, characters like Boromir, Frodo and even Anakin Skywalker exemplify the ideal I am talking about. These characters are flawed, their decisions are hardly perfect, and the ramifications of their decisions are not clearcut; Frodo's destruction of the Ring ends an age of wonder, for instance, removing enchantment and magic. Don't pretend what he did was an entirely good thing, because he didn't either.  There was a cost. And it was tragic and ended much that was good. None of these characters wholly succeed, but Mercy meets them anyway. There are no win-wins in this world. Period. Mercy turns that into something that can give life.

A Christian story features a protagonist who needs (not wants, needs) Mercy, the most treasured name of God. It's a fundamental part of the work.

"God knows well that as soon as you eat this fruit your eyes will be opened, and you yourselves will be like gods, knowing good and evil."

Genesis 3:5

That's what Satan says. The promise of Satan is self-sufficiency of knowledge, the ability to thread needles all on your own. Satan's first promise is one of epistemological sufficiency. And because they have full epistemological sufficiency, they don't need mercy.

A Satanistic story is one where total self-sufficiency, where God is not needed to enact mercy, where the world is a totally enclosed globe and nothing is outside it, waiting to come in and rectify the mistakes, is beautiful. 

Where the hero has clarity and is able to make the perfect decisions, or if they don't there's no fallout in the end. Ones where there's no lingering issues. Ones where the self-sufficiency is beautiful and perfect and-

Oh.

I just summed up why Tolkien doesn't like Disney, all over again, didn't I?

Nothing new under the sun, kiddos!

I don't want another Christ character. I can't be Him. I have His story, and it challenges me to my core, but I don't want someone trying to recreate an experience they have no interior connection to. I want more of Peter: someone whose wreckage is salvaged, whose vicious stupidity is embraced and redeemed. I want more of John, whose temper and violence were turned, who was converted into fiercely saying "God is love". I want more of Paul: a violent zealot whose drive to destroy all those around him in service of the truth was turned into realizing that may mean him too... and that God would save him from that. Even him.

Give me more Christians.

Not bronze demigods who have a clarity I can never achieve.

It is here I pause. If you do not follow me, I cannot blame you. It is no easy road.

A Criticism of Frozen by Way of Tehanu

Welcome back! In a world ordered by right and justice, Frozen would not have won over Tangled.

It would have been whipped raw and left bleeding on the snow, begging for the mercy only a good executioner’s sword—or perhaps a sister’s unflinching gaze—could provide.

Terminus. Freaking. Est. (Yes, that's a Gene Wolfe nod. Le Guin would approve.)

But songs matter more than substance, people love a catchy tune, and so here we are.

Hooray.

Frozen is broken. Here's why and here's how to fix it.

Rebaptizing Terms

It is inevitable, in the course of this blog post, that two very loaded words come up: masculine and feminine. I am not using them in the modern sense, but am using properly Christian definitions. If you want to keep your Marxist-defiled bullshit terms or think that Christianity disagrees with me, now's your warning to go away. Thanks.

Masculine

A way of relating two or more distinctive objects together in a way harmonious way. This is not imposition so much as the realizing of innate potentials in a way that amplifies all parties involved.

Feminine

A way of relating an object to yourself, in a way where both the object and you are amplified.

Sex

This post posits biological sex as an inherent part of one's spiritual identity. If you don't like that, that's nice, but I am not going beyond that definition. Men are men because they are genetically men, and women are women because they are genetically women. Masculine and feminine are not inherently bound to either sex, however, and both sexes must learn to to use masculine and feminine energies in ways consonant with them.

Why this Matters

If I do not define this terms, right out, someone is going to assume that when I say "masculine" I mean "patriarchy", and then we get that Marxist horseshit we have to contend with. Nope. These are my terms and how I am defining them. If at any point you get confused, return the definitions.

Lilith vs Eve, Plus Periods

Working backwards from our heading, we shall cover the most the ickiest part first.

Elsa has two conceptual snafus:

1. The power is inherent, independent of sexuality. 

2. It demands control. 

These are both masculine problems. And that makes some level of sense: liberalism's chief conceit (rationality is an innate part of the human animal) is a bastardized masculine assertion upon the world. Instead of relating two objects together, the liberal bastardization imposes self upon as many objects as it can. It is draining to the imposer, destructive upon the objects, and creates something truly putrid. Instead of controlling yourself so that the world is grown in a complimentary way, the world is enslaved. And, as masters of our little hellish universe, it's a lot easier! World as slave is easy to go along with. Men must learn to not impose their self upon the world, but to allow themselves to be a conduit where other people and creation can achieve their true potential... without harming the man, if at all possible. Male sacrifice is a theme for a reason, folks,

But Elsa is a woman.

And women do not have the problems men do.  Now, I am no woman, but I do have sisters, am married, and am rather... frank... with my sisters about sexuality. Unlike a lot of men I know, I actually have my fair share of women as friends, and again... I do not necessarily censor, nor do they. There is no point. We are human beings, and sometimes if you actually want to be friends, you have to talk about things that make others squirm. That's why you're friends, after all. So, I share my shit, they share theirs. And a very interesting series of observations were made by my sisters and female friends, that contrast strongly with my male friends.

Male friends barely say "I", when talking, conceptually speaking. They usually are talking about the world and how to help it relate to itself better. This is a pretty standard thing I have run into. It's not that men don't think about themselves, they usually just think about themselves by thinking about the world. And frankly no man thinks he's worth that, and if he does there's either something extremely right or extremely wrong.

Women do not do this, by and large. "I" comes up a lot, conceptually. It is a question of how they relate to the world. And, unlike men, women think about their bodies a lot more than men do. Like, a lot. And it's small wonder: men are not defined by their body's rhythms nearly as much as women. Men are not sexual in the way women are. The double standard that exists for sexual promiscuity between men and women is actually extremely simple and denying it is stupid: men, by default, are not bound by pregnancy. Women always are, even if given the option for abortion. Women are a fact in a way that no man can ever hope to be.

And now we come to Lilith and Eve. You see, women are the crown of humanity. They are what is best about it. The full embodiment of the microcosmic potential of humanity. Tied to every bit of creation, women have a power that needs absolutely no exercising to turn everything around them to their will. Gene Wolfe, in his work "An Evil Guest", goes so far as to call sexual intercourse between man and woman as a "defeat" for the man. A happy one, but he has been claimed! Woman claims man much more than man ever claims woman, even factoring in pregnancy. Women, by nature, are magnetic.

So, Lilith refusing to lie under Adam? C'mon, that's weird. It's not that cowgirl ain't fun. It's that Lilith's decision that lying beneath Adam was Adam claiming power over her, which is just patently an absurd thing to say. Regular ole missionary is actually highly preferred, if you go digging into those women's sex position surveys, because they feel closer to their lover. Lilith seeing a power dynamic where is... dumb. And evil. Sorry.

At worst, missionary is a gauntlet thrown to the dude to perform, for God's sake.

It ain't an exercise of power, and anyone who thinks so is a twisted little troll.

Yes, this still has something to do with Frozen. Hang in there.

Eve, however, does not see the world in terms of power, immediately. Yeah, yeah, I know the Church Fathers teach that Eve and Adam didn't couple until after the Fall, but that's a patently dumb position, and is solved by asking a very simple question: when does Genesis say that man and wife become one flesh? Is it before the Fall, or after?

Did you check? It's before, isn't it?

Cool.

St. Maximus the Confessor is wrong. He gets to do that. He's not an oracle. He's also a celibate. He doesn't get to talk about stuff that he doesn't have direct experience about, that's Desert Fathers 101.

So, what does women's power look like? 

It's Tehanu staring the dragon in the face, and the dragon recognizing its own. Y'see, Tehanu is Le Guin's returning to her Earthsea world, to put some of her own views in. She's pretty open about this and her feminism is well-known. But, in critiquing a "patriarchal" stance that's oddly reminiscent of Roman Catholic universal celibacy for priests... she puts in this image. 

In Earthsea, the mythology is that all used to be dragons. And then one day, a schism happened, and some of dragonkind became human. But some females can still become dragons again... by just accepting their true nature. And so, in the end of Tehanu, the little girl stares into the eyes of the dragon... and chooses to remain a little girl. Even while claiming her heritage as dragon. She is not claimed, but she claims. And she is not challenged on this. It is the point of the novel. Later, in 

And doesn't it contrast strongly with Eve's confrontation with the serpent? Who, you know, goes after Eve before Adam? It's almost like he sees Eve as an equal. In that moment, Eve has a choice: let her northstar properties still pull Adam and creation to to God... or to the serpent. Adam is framed without much of a choice (and in fact in the Hebrew Adam says he cannot choose differently, even if they repeated the exercise). The choice is upon Eve: who will she align creation to? Lilith's subsequent sexual relationship with Satan and any demon that wants her is also to be remarked upon. Neither woman retains who they are in the face of the Devil. Eve may not have copulated, but it was her guardianship that failed, not Lilith's.

Fixing It

Elsa is aged up, implied to be in the middle of initial puberty, and is rendered lonely by her physical difference from Anna. Elsa hears a voice. If she does what the voice says, she feels better... but ice. Anna is delighted. Elsa doesn't feel so alone, because she has Anna, a legit secret friend, and cool ice powers.

Elsa "accidentally" hits Anna (it's now implied that the "voice" orchestrated the accident). "Let it Go" becomes a duet and is actually sinister, like it's actually supposed to be.

Hans dies trying to defend Elsa from Weaseltown's goons, no stupid villainous turn for him!. Elsa didn't mean to do it. This makes it all worse: there's a blast from her that's implied to have frozen everyone in the room with her solid. We already got Weaseltown Duke for the bad guy. Since he's the only remaining noble, he's relied upon, so he turns the people against Elsa, thus giving Alan Tudyk even more of an opportunity to shine. Anna is horrified and depressed... and then gets even more so when she realizes she might need to kill Elsa, if only because she knows that this isn't something Elsa wants to do. Someone who knows her for who she actually was should be there for her, at the end.

Yes, this is still going to be a children's movie. Hang in there. We're not even Land Before Time yet. Hell, we ain't even Old Yeller. If you're thinking this will be traumatic for children, you really need to watch good children's movies again.

Anna, herself dying from the blast to the heart, sees Elsa, who has wandered down to the river, "the voice" tormenting her past reason. Ann gets up behind her. Raises the knife. "The voice" alerts Elsa that someone's behind her. Elsa leans in, ready to die.

In the whirlwind of ice Anna finally sees the demon. It's literally holding Elsa, whispering into her ear, and Elsa can't help but hear it. She's trying to shut it out, but she simply can't anymore. But, for the first time, Anna hears it too. And Elsa can see her hearing it! "You hear it too???" Anna nods, ice already having claimed her legs. "Elsa, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I'm sorry I only know now."

And this part is very crucial.

Elsa forgives Anna for taking this long.

Anna can't kill her. The pity she feels is so deep and intense that she drops the knife. The ice is creeping up her chest and Anna can't really breathe anymore. But she won't stop. Anna grabs Elsa's face. With a great effort she says. "We. We. WE. CAN-"

Anna's mouth freezes, but her eyes keep gazing at her sister, holding them, comforting her. Even when she dies, the expression is one of sorrow, comfort, and understanding. 

Elsa screams the kind of gasping scream that should absolutely traumatize a child and falls to her knees. She's barely able to breathe from crying so hard. A child should know just how all-consuming sorrow really can be. It shouldn't be dignified. It should be the kind of mess that sticks in a child's mind until the day they go cold, old and in a hospital bed. This one moment, where Elsa shuts her eyes and just grieves with her whole body, needs a lot of time and attention.

"You're all mine now," the demon says. But Elsa won't look at it. Elsa opens her eyes and looks at Anna's frozen body, her face frozen in love. Weeping, Elsa stands back up. Places her face back into Anna's frozen hands... and sees Anna's soul walk out of her body. Walk behind her. Wrap its arms around Elsa, and cups her still-weeping face from the other side. Soul hand goes over frozen hand. Elsa looks at her sister's soul, and sees it mouth one word: "Us". Over and over and over. Elsa starts repeating it, out loud, with her.  "She said 'us'. And I... she's with me. Right now. Even now. She's dead and death didn't take her from me. I don't need you." The demon vanishes. It simply has nothing to hold onto.

The apocalypse storm stops.

Anna's soul smiles. And walks back into her body, which thaws.

Anna and Kristoff get Elsa to the trolls, who promise to help her.

Anna is made queen. Kristoff kisses her, later, in private. Elsa, sitting with the trolls, looks up at the aurora borealis, and smiles.

In this version, Elsa and Anna both confronts their own serpents ("the voice" and societal pressure) and choose to relate, not impose. Anna's act of love, the moment she sees her sister for who she truly is and cannot kill her, is then mirrored in Elsa's realization that she must honor what her sister fought for, refusing to despair... thus driving "the voice" out. There is no disembodied spectacle; instead, rooted acceptance, refusal to despair, and thus healing. Frozen's original misses this—Elsa and Anna never stare down their dragons, never claim without control.

Oh, there is one thing Frozen got right, and I will brook absolutely no disagreement: Olaf is awesome. Every frame with him is a good one.

Here I stop for now. If we part ways, I do not blame you. It is no easy road. 

The Elephant in the Room: Circles on Circles

 

I sat down. On my park bench. The air was mild. My tree grew. It was a beautiful day in the “not-dream” space. 

“Hello, Gift,” and she was suddenly sitting next to me. It’s hard to tell someone what it’s like, seeing a child as an adult for the first time. I don’t mean physically. I mean the way their eyes change. I looked at hers and almost didn’t recognize her. Almost. There was a fierceness there that wasn't there before, but there was also a gentleness that was so achingly familiar it burned me.

I smiled. “Hello, Defender.” For the first time, it felt like I was talking to an equal. And it felt so good.

“Odd name to give me, isn’t it?” she laughed. “Why would my parents call me that? What possessed them to do so? And it sounds funny, coming from you."

“Names are given, Defender dear,” I replied. “I am Gift. People give me things. And I give things to people. You defend. Someone had to defend you first. So I gave you defense.” 

“That is an interesting way to sum up the last 20 or so years,” Defender said. “You think you can do anything?” She was teasing. 

“I can receive and then give anything, but it never really stays mine. ‘Gift’ is a verb in this case. All names are just verbs. I gave you what no one gave me,” I said. 

“I know. Thank you. I owe you.”

“Gifts with obligations aren’t gifts. Don’t insult what I did by turning it into an obligation.”

We sat there awhile. Looking at our trees. 

“You’re forgetting already, aren’t you?” she asked. 

I nodded. “I barely remember agreeing to forget. I don’t even know why I did so.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?” she asked. 

“Why? I still remember you,” I said. But she had to put an arm around me, for my shoulders shook and my vision swam. It was the first time she ever held me, in two decades. 

After a few minutes, I stopped and looked down, ashamed. "I... I am angry. Am I really that easy to get rid of?"

"No one got rid of you. You volunteered."

"... just like that."

"Actually, yes."

"I don't understand why I would do that!"

"You knew something then that you don't know now. You were quite willing. Do you not trust me?"

"Oh, you know that's not a fair question!" I snapped. I stood up, away. I felt cold and wanted to stay that way. "You're telling me after all that time I'm just... being told to stop?"

She looked at me with a pity that burned. "Yes, you're being told that you need to stop."

"NO!"

"I know it's hard to accept," she said. 

"Hard to accept?" I shouted. "You realize how insulting that is? With everything I did? I'm just dismissed?"

"No one said you were being dismissed," her eyes were starting to fill.

"No, you can just take my memories and then lie-"

Defender stood up. And glared. And I stopped. I had no choice. What I had channeled before, she just had. It took me effort to do what she now did naturally. "I would never lie to you. You were told that you had given enough, and were told I was old enough to do it on my own. No one sent you away. You paid dearly for what you gave. And you need to recover. You have to. Please. Please stop fighting. It's okay, let go, Gift."

"I CAN'T, DAMNIT. I CAN'T STOP. YOU NEED TO BE OKAY. I CAN'T NOT."

She rolled her eyes, and yelled at me. Full out. Not a single word in English, but the tone was very clear: Shut the fuck up and sit down.

I stared at her a moment. And I sat down on the park bench. I turned red. “You can go,” I told her, confused. “You have a life you can now live. You have so much to do. You don't need me, not anymore. And I know your heart is so full already. If I am done, why are you staying here? With me?"

“My life is full. And this is part of it. You are part of my life. So I stay. I am going to make sure you recover. You need it." There was that glare again, although it was softened by a smile that made me uneasy.

“Defender…”

“Don’t insult my gift by thinking it’s obligation,” she said sharply. Her strength was now out in full, and it was aimed at me. “Someone should guard you, you know.” 

“I--" 

“I didn’t claim to want anything other than that,” she said with a snort. “And I don’t."

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

We sat there awhile, in silence. I finally had to ask. “You’re really staying? You won't go?"

“You spend twenty years giving me the gift of defense, and wonder that I wish to use it for you?”

“… yes. I really do. What on earth do you gain from this?"

She looked at me with pity. “Don’t be an idiot.” She muttered something. It wasn't in English. She usually drops out of English when she's feeling sarcastic. Or when she's too frustrated to think straight. 

“Okay.”

Another agonizing minute of silence. I couldn’t bear it. “You’re really not going anywhere?”

She looked at me, the pity mixing with something sadder. “I made you a promise, that I would see you again. That you would never have to wonder. I promised. Did you not believe me?” 

“You remember that?”

Her mouth dropped. “Gift, is there any limit on your distrust of people??? Of me?”

I grew redder. “People say things all the time.”

“Since when have I been like anyone else? After all this time? How could you?... wait do you do this to your wife? I've met her, here. She's lovely. And she just glows looking at you. I... I didn't know someone could look at someone else with that much tenderness."

I couldn’t say anything. I didn't look up.

She said something softly, definitely not in English. She stared, mouth still slack. After a minute my shoulders shook, and I had to wipe my eyes again. She put her arm back around me. And we looked at our trees.

I don’t know if she will ever find this. But I hope she knows I woke up, eyes dry, chest lighter than I knew it could be, looked at the sleeping curve of Maria’s hip, and for once, didn’t feel bad for thinking “That’s MY wife".

The other memories fade. The dreams are slowly easing into the night. There's just blanks now. I know something is... not there. The  dreams pass through my hands, into the dark. Somewhere out there stalks a black-haired force of nature. Whatever she is doing, I know it to be good. She has kept her promise, and may even keep it again. 

My hands are open, regardless. The memories run through like sand, as do the dreams.

Out of love, out of time

Gotta leave you now, dream of mine

Morning’s bitter, bronze to blame

Spelled me asleep in it’s frozen frame

There then gone through drifting days

Underworlds in red, black, blue and gray

Once bright and free, so hard to leave

Right ’til the end, the swallowed sea

Circles on circles when gray’s run the game

The gray runs the game

Circles on circles when shadows remain

The shadow remains

Once felt your fire, warm and near

Until it burned everything, searing sneer

Evening’s promise, all the same

Spelled me asleep in it’s frozen frame

Here and now through drifting days

Collisions in red, black, blue and gray

Bend, then collapse eventually

We all submit, we all deceive

Circles on circles when gray’s run the game

The gray runs the game

Circles on circles when shadows remain

The shadow remains

Circles on circles when shadows remain

The shadow remains

Crescendo and the Undying Sun!

Dark Souls: Fourth Session Report

 

Real Life Sucks

It's been a few weeks, because real life caught up hard, and we just couldn't play. Today we got:

Hazbil, level four knight

Fizbun, level three pyromancer

I pull up a new "location" from the Core Book: Archdragon Peak, page 269. I wanted to make the place feel different as they got close to the dragon. No, I haven't talked about the dragon yet, but I will in a minute.

Play!

Hazbil and Fizbun return to the door from last session, with the purple sign right in the doorway. Hazbil, as  has to burn Position to pass  the Wisdom Save that's permanently on him, to touch all bad summoning signs. With Fizbun granting advantage, Hazbil passes. They jump the sign and enter the room.

Standing across from them is a figure. "You are now in the Dragon's Keep, why should you stay?" Hazbil and Fizbun feel a compulsion to walk over the Purple Sign as they leave through the door they just entered. Both of them, knowing the summoned knight would get a free attack, burned a ton of Position to pass the save.

The figure seemed impressed at their resilience. "Very good, why should you stay?"

"And walk over the purple sign again?" both Hazbil and Fizbun asked, scoffing at him. He smiles at them, and vanishes. It's a Large Soul, 20,000 souls apiece! Hazbil and Fizbun went back to the previous bonfire, and are both now level 5! Hazbil has 3,400 Souls, only 10,600 to go! I cackle. The resetting of the souls counter is honestly amazing, especially since you lose the souls upon death.

There's a door, which they check: wooden, unlocked, not trapped. They open up the door, and burn the Position to make the Perception check: two wyverns, sitting on the roof! They manage to sneak into the large room, and take up positions. Fizbun realizes the wyeverns are immune to fire, so he decides they'll try and make a distraction, and then bottlneck the wyverns. He shoots off a fireball at a nearby pillar.

The wyverns look down, and don't see what made the fire. They jump into the air... and then land on the roof. Both Hazbil and Fizbun barely evade, getting back into the previous room. Fizbun runs up  the purple sign and touches  it, planning to lure the summoned knight into combat with the wyverns, who charge. Hazbil preps his greatsword, and  gets three swings. And he puts his back into it. He puts almost every bit of Position he can into taking out one of the wyverns. 

Hazbil barely bruises the wyvern, with three hard hits: 20+ damage a shot. And it just isn't enough.

The first wyvern sticks its mouth through the doorway and spits fire. Even making the save, Fizbun and Hazbil die immediately. They both wake up at the bonfire. Fizbun fails the Wisdom save, -1 to his Strength. Hazbil also fails the Wisdom save, gets a -2 to his Charisma

As far as Hazbil and  Fizbun can remember, there's two options: attack the lizards who stomped on them a few times, or go back after the wyverns. They have no idea that it's actually the same difficulty level... but I know! And I try not to laugh.

They sneak back down to the wreckage where the giant lizards were... and Fizbun fails the stealth check. The lizard charges, hits Hazbil, 1 shots him! Fizbun rushes up the stairs, getting away from the lizard and resetting time. Hazbil comes back to at the bonfire, and  gets a -1 to Initiative. Honestly, people are just laughing, almost helplessly, at the death spiral that's in this game. It's so blatantly unfair that my players are almost pissing themselves laughing at times.

They go back, get a sneak attack in on the lizard, getting two full rounds of wailing on the one lizard. They know if they let live, they die. They get it to 75 damage. Which is... not enough. It just isn't.

The lizard takes a quick breath in. Breath weapon. Dead.

Hazbil -1 Passive Perception

Fizbun -1 Wisdom

They realize they just don't have the firepower to go after the lizards... or the wyverns. Just as they're about to take a passage to the right, I reminded them they have another way they can go too: back where the scythe had come down and they'd gotten jumped by their first summon. They'd just run out of their without really checking the room.. They decided to retrace their steps, running past the lizards successfully. 

They meet another person named Ghorm, who has a spear he says can pin the target in time, and he has a target in mind: there's a dragon in this castle, who holds The Last Flame.  If they kill it, the frozen world outside will thaw, and they'll be able to leave.

After convincing Fizbun that being able to leave the castle is good idea, they decide to go for it! Unthawing the world sounds like a great idea, even to Fizbun.

Reflections

It's here where "encounter balance" starts to rear its ugly head: Dark Souls is about combat, and you have to be willing to let differing areas have different difficult levels. I didn't do this, so I thought I'd throw that time-sticking spear in to even the odds in finishing the adventure. When I next play, I'll put multiple tables into the levels, allowing for farming in certain areas, and risks to be taken in others. It's a learning process, but a very enjoyable one.

The Dragon's Fire: Book 3, Chapter 7

 

The Legend

Last chapter, with Jesse and King Melny... I knew the end was coming. You run enough Belief-based games, and it starts to become... apparent. And I knew it was time. The mechanics just... popped into my head. Melny was no longer a Hero, he was a Legend.

The Investiture

The Weaver announces that the Hero in question has been stripped of the status of Hero. The Player may change one Trait, as well as all Beliefs for their Hero. The Legend’s Traits and Beliefs may never be changed, ever again. The Scruples part of the Legend’s Hero Sheet is crossed out, with pen. No Scruples now apply to them, even from Magical Items; the Legend is free.

All Defy rolls a Legend makes are always made with the top two results. They never have to justify it. Ever.

Legend’s Fate Point Rewards

Legends don’t earn Fate Points like Heroes. Their existence is inherently a challenge to all around them.

Go through each Belief the Legend has:

Did you use this Belief to challenge and confront a Hero’s Belief? If so, write what you did, and why it was necessary. Take two Fate Points.

You get no Fate Points for breaking Beliefs. Nor do you get Fate Points for PVP.

The Prompts for This Week

Consulting my byzantine little series of charts, the following prompts were generated for me to write with:

War Bad

Generosity good

Grief complicated

Love bad

Eous ascendant

communication/air

Why, yes, I can more or less put together an entire Orthodox Matins/Orthos with only a few minor discrepancies, why do you ask?

The Undermaze

The undead swarm you. Below ground, they're an insubstantial purple flame. They can phase through walls. The magic swords are capable of cutting through them, but normal swords cannot. They never stop. They always seem to know where to go. They're joined by sickly-green shaggy men, led by a vampire who calls herself The Lover. Level 3 Exhaustion or Level 1 Injury (you decide what's hurt)

After three days of being hounded continuously, the three of you are taken in  by The Undermaze King- a gold encrusted gigantic figure. He feeds you and provides more provisions, but cannot defend you for long, as his scheming wife, who is still grieving the disappearance of their child, dislikes outsiders.

Raphael

Raphael’s Response (Injury choice):

Raphael takes the Level 1 Injury instead of exhaustion.

During the swarm, one of the sickly-green shaggy men lunges from the side while Raphael is cutting through the purple flame undead. Raphael shoves one of his companions out of the way and the creature’s claws rake across his shoulder, tearing through armor and leaving a deep gash.

He grits his teeth, wraps the wound tight with cloth, and keeps moving. The injury burns, but Raphael refuses to slow down while the swarm is still hunting them. 

When the Undermaze King takes them in, Raphael finally lets the wound be cleaned and bandaged while he eats and regains strength.

“Next time something with claws wants a piece of me, it can take a number and get in line.” 

Alistair

I take the exhaustion.

Three days I stood my ground, three days I fought. For three days I killed and slashed and maimed, until all I could see was blood and viscera, and then I killed more. I clogged the arteries of this world with the corpses of undead, and we are still alive.

King Melny

Despite three days of grueling fighting, I make sure to lead my friends in the best manner possible. I take exhaustion as I led my friends for three straight days.

Book 3, Chapter 7, Kaskusa 14 

 

There were obvious problems with the Legend's Fate Point design, namely that the scale of their actions needs to be rewarded, as Legends should have a "holy shit that was awesome!" category. Beyond that, this chapter was an amazing time. The Defies started early, and there's sometimes where someone decides it's time to fuck around and find out. And then the next guy realizes that the whole situation is cooked, and if they don't keep Defying they can't get anything done. It's not all the time, but every six or seven chapters there's this explosion of activity, where everything breaks and there's severe, long-term consequences. Or, as Ross says with a growing dread "I don't think Defying solves any problems".

We know, Ross.

Oh, we know.

One Way Out, into Green: Excalibur

 

Welcome back! We’re talking about Excalibur today. 

I had heard about the movie Excalibur for years. I heard it inspired Zack Snyder, which kept me away from it, honestly. But the further I got into Arthurian lore (and that's not an actual indication of education) the more I got this vibe. This feeling. And I realized that vibe. That feeling. Was something I knew. I commented upon this somewhat in my review of Andor that Star Wars was irrevocably Arthurian. This moment:

Is Arthur in a nutshell. It's also linked to a feeling, deep deep down in my bones, that has driven me my whole life. It is why I made my TTRPG, Crescendo. 

Small plug for that, if you want to feel this "THERE IS ONE WAY OUT" that's very much Crescendo. You will find those moments, really easily.

But. And this is huge. Star Wars usually isn't big on the central truth of "THERE IS NO WAY OUT": humans can't keep that going forever. Show them TLJ Luke and people lose their minds. The central Arthurian conceit that I have found, is that even if you get "THERE IS ONE WAY OUT" correct.... it will fall apart, even as you're doing it. Mortals are limited. Even if everything is at peak performance, friction in the machine will build and you will get a Mordred. Eventually the good will wear out,  be taken advantage of, and something foul will be born. And it will take everything to expunge it, king and land both. You can't eradicate evil without eradicating the land itself. And, at some point, it's either let evil enslave the land or flip the table, destroying all around you.

There is but one way out.

So one day I watched Excalibur. And it hit me like a tidal wave.

But not like it hit most people. Most people who like the movie go "Wow this is really faithful to Arthur!" And they enjoy it. And they should. That wasn't how I took Excalibur. For me, Excalibur entered into my heart with a sigh of profound relief. The movie was so careful to portray the good guys as truly good people, the bad guys as despicable... but they're all subject to the

same

pull

down

down

down

It all ends in death. For everyone. And not just one, but in multiple stage deaths every seven years as our cells cycle, as the world grinds out another piece of lightness, as consequences and failures gradually chip you out. Trying to pretend that you're not losing something is cope. 

So I see the final end is a mercy, however it comes. Hopefully it's with a bastard on my blade.

At one point my baby sister, who is getting reacquainted with me on some levels, told me she had no idea how to interact with me emotionally. She has not begun to understand the multiple shocks of loss to my nervous system that have permanently altered my ability to see life as anything other than a tragedy to be deeply grieved. Trying to go "Well, that's just the way of things" is something I am constitutionally incapable of doing. I am that person who, faced with someone bigger and stronger, will burn himself to the ground as he attempts to take him down. I may not win but you will not win either. The earth will be salted if I have anything to say about it. The world will regret my passing, if only because of the wake I leave from being extracted like a tumor. The word my sparring partners have used is "crazed". I fight with a ferocity that takes others aback. I am not here to win. I am here to make sure you lose too.

So, again, when I found Excalibur, I found something others were not looking for. I was not looking for Arthur. I already have that deep in my bones. I wanted an aesthetic.

And this movie is fucking it.

The chrome and green. The haze and metal. There's something to this film that feels bigger than life, bigger than me, bigger than all of us. It feels like all my favorite songs became a soundtrack, and I had been seeing this movie in my head for years. It was a bit surreal, truth be told. I felt like I had stepped into my own head, in a long-forgotten corner, and it now had an aesthetic. It's just... it's glorious. I love it.

And that ending. Oh my goodness. It still wasn't as dark as the real Arthurian tales. Lancelot gets there! Him missing the battle is turned from a critical misunderstanding of Arthurian lore to a doubling down on theme: Lancelot couldn't have stopped it, watch as he dies like the greatest badass of all time. Arthur taking the spear so he can kill Mordred had me cheering. They are both the land, in the end, are they not? Arthur and his misbegotten piece of shit of a son. I felt that. I looked at Mordred and saw far more of me in him than I should admit, but it's my blog and I can go as dark as I want, and you can choose to stop reading! I saw myself in that little shit and felt Excalibur go into him. I don't have nearly enough self-worth to connect that with Arthur, but I knew why he did it. He knew the land was doomed, and therefore he was as well.

But.

And this is what people miss.

There is mercy, at the end. Arthur is whisked away. He is not allowed to die, not fully. He is the land, and he is allowed to rest. What people do not understand is that, at the end, it should all burn. The assumption that the good will outlast the evil is a defiling of a great Christian truth: good and evil will go before Sister Death's scythe,  but there is the great intervention. Mercy will fall down, get into the cracks, and He will save what desires to be saved. In the wreckage Arthur is pulled from, and is taken to the the lake. We are given the calm assurance that, at the end of the horrifying series of existential losses and betrayals that will cut us into ribbons, there is something quiet. Peaceful. Waiting for us all. Even that asshole Mordred, although he doesn't want it. At the end, when the inevitable collapse into a shower of sparks ends everything.. there is Silence. 

And then the reason why the greatest of His names is Mercy will become apparent.

He does not condemn the good along with the evil, even as it all burns.

I do not launch myself into sparring sessions like I want to kill someone because I want death: I want what comes after.

Silence. Mercy. 

Rest.

When I was younger? Sure, it verged on a suicidal need for an ending. Now, it's a soft ache to finally face the One Who does not measure like I do. Who sees the inevitable mistakes, breakings, and outright moments of bad faith as a sign of unspeakable tragedy. And Who will make it right.

Which I will not pretend I don't ache for.

If we do not meet again, I do not blame you. It is no easy road.