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neppys-hub · 2 months

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The Battle of Moonrise (Aftermath)

Hi all! Neppy here, talking real quick about this fic.

This fic gently explores how Isobel, Dame Aylin, and Ali (my Tav) might see each other in the aftermath of the Battle of Moonrise. It gently teases some feelings overall, it gives a lot of Two Moon's love (my temp ship name for Isobel x Aylin), and really is a way to write my character at this part of the game, tease their backstory, and explore them/present them for y'all!

It's my first fanfic in a long time so your comments and thoughts are really appreciated! If you want me to explore this further please let me, as I'd love to write it <3

Enjoy~!

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“You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“...Isobel…”

Ali watched as the chosen of Myrkul, general in the Absolutist army, a leader of Darkness and Loss, then Death, fell to the ground. They cringed as he fell face down, the netherstone embedded in his armor clanking harshly. It was too important. They had to grab it.

Before she could, Dame Aylin, despite her scars and recent rescuing, descended in her beautiful moonlit glory. She landed on Ketheric’s head with a metal boot, her wings spreading outwards gloriously as brain and gore exploded.

“The villain. Is. DEAD!” She continued to stomp on him. One, two, a dozen times. She panted, she gritted her teeth and seethed with hatred. Pain. “The WRETCH! Together we have crushed him, brain and body!”

As Karlach, Shadowheart, and Wyll watched with something akin to horror, Ali just sighed. Their eyes didn’t dare break away. No, they understood all too well Dame Aylin’s pain. What she had gone through. What it took to fly out and fight with the fury and strength she had. What motivated her to push on after a century of enslavement and solitude.

After all, Ali had already experienced so much in their own mortal life. Before this damned tadpole. Before the nautiloid, the Absolute, the war between Shar and Selune, and the threat against Baldur’s Gate. Ali nodded their approval as Dame Aylin looked up, breathing heavily but finally calming down. The mortal warrior wanted to speak- To tell Dame Aylin she was free, yet the expression on the immortal's face stopped her.

“My friend…my ally,” She spoke softly. Ali’s eyebrows knit together with confusion. She hadn’t known Dame Aylin for very long but why did she seem so concerned? Why was her voice so soft?

“By the gods…” Wyll gasped, as Shadowheart used magic to heal a nasty cut on his arm. She looked up and covered her mouth in shock. Ali frowned, turning to Karlach. The tiefling was easily the closest to them. She alone was weirdly able to get Ali out of their usual quiet solitude. To open them up.

“Ali,” Karlach said. That was the real indication things were very wrong. Karlach only used her name in private. Besides that it was always ‘Soldier’. “Put down your sword.”

“Why are you all so panicked? I’m fine,” Ali replied, easily sheathing the longsword, which was coated in Ketheric’s blood.

“Brave warrior,” Dame Aylin said. “You have fought masterfully. Remain calm.”

Ali’s heart began to rise with anger, beating faster as they glared at their companions. Would someone tell her what was wrong? Ali turned that angry look onto Dame Aylin as she approached- Hated that soft and worried gaze on her beautiful face, that it was directed at Ali to begin with. Why were they being fawned over? They killed Ketheric. They drove the blade into his chest, into the god form’s heart, they had survived it all-

“...what…” Ali said meekly as a sudden weakness overtook. The aasimar’s wings flapped once as she suddenly closed the gap between them, catching her mortal ally in her arms as they collapsed. ‘

How gentle, Ali thought as Dame Aylin held them, one armored hand holding the back of her neck, as the dame hooked a firm arm around her waist. Considering how she squashed Ketheric. Ali’s brain felt fogged. The anger and energy had disappeared. A lightheadedness overtook and Ali smirked at the thought they just had. Then they saw it.

In Dame Aylin’s armor they saw the reflection of a person. What was once lightly tanned skin had turned sickly gray. Dark brown eyes were now unfocused and glazed, struggling to make sense of what they saw. Chocolatey curls, short in length, had begun to fall out in patches. It was themself. Ali. Rotting away like a corpse.

“Fuck,” Ali muttered before the darkness overcame them.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Aylin did not hear as the other mortals called out. Did not hear their suggestions or worry. Did not see Karlach’s tears beginning to well in her eyes. All she saw was Ali’s eyes close. Then she bent down, her wings flexed, and in one powerful movement she launched herself into the air. She did not look back or even think to explain herself. She simply flew as fast as she could. Up and up through the tower, until she was above ground, until she had passed the flesh and guts formed by the mindflayer colony and could see the roof of stone. The warrior of Selune did not hesitate as she protectively curled over Ali, her armored back crashing through the roof as she shot into the sky.

Her mighty wings continued to flap as she flew in place. The cool air reached her skin and lungs. The moonlight enhanced her senses. It brought her comfort. She did not, however, calm down. Time was of the essence. Her eyes scanned the ground for a sign, any sign-

“Victory!”

“We did it! I can’t believe we did it!”

“The battle is won!”

There, far below, she saw the rag tag group that had assaulted Moonrise towers following her freedom. Warriors in red and blue armor, hugging each other, cheering, many mourning the dead or aiding the wounded. Aylin’s eyes scanned the crowd looking for it. She was not sure what but she had felt it. The second she saw Ali’s deterioration, Aylin knew she could save her. Surely, the Moon Mother was guiding her. But what was out here that could help?

“Isobel,” Dame Aylin gasped, her thoughts completely taken away from the dying Ali. For the first time in one-hundred years the chosen of Selune spotted her better half. Alive. Healthy. Her alabaster skin. Her silver hair. The spear Aylin had gifted her so long ago. The robes bestowed upon her as a Selunite cleric. Her Isobel.

Aylin truly could have stayed there forever. Watching. Frozen in shock. But she had a warrior’s mind, and as fast as her surprise came it left, understanding that her mother was guiding her to the solution. The warrior looked down at Ali and muttered a quiet promise.

We will save you, my friend, she swore to herself before diving down to the crowd. She seemed like a bullet of light streaking through the cursed shadows of this land. Yet by this point her unknown allies had come to recognize her white flames. To understand that Dame Aylin was a friend of great power. The aasimar initially landed to cheers and claps. Weapons banged on armor. Someone whistled loudly. Normally, she would revel in the recognition of her strength and godhood, but today the towering woman pushed her way through the crowd, knocking fully armored elves over and yelling as loud as she could.

“ISOBEL!”

By the gods. The look her lover gave was almost enough to break Aylin’s heart. Much like she had just experienced, Aylin could see the shock, the panic, and the disbelief in Isobel’s eyes. The struggle to process what was happening. Then Aylin yelled again.

“MAKE WAY!” The demigod ordered with her booming voice. The crowd quieted. They finally seemed to realize she was carrying wounded. Many made calls for medics. For potions. A circle formed around her and a path parted as the cleric, who all knew by this point, ran to Aylin.

“Aylin, my love, how is this-”

“Isobel,” Aylin cut in, her voice shaking despite herself. “This warrior saved me. We are reunited due to them. Save them.”

Another moment of shocked silence.

“Please.”

This finally seemed to properly snap Isobel out of it. The cleric had never heard Aylin beg. Never. Not with this desperation. This heartbreak. She had a fleeting thought, wondering if there had been a funeral for herself, and if Aylin had sounded so terribly distraught. Then she got to work.

“What is wrong?” Isobel asked as Aylin gently laid Ali down.

“They are rotting away, like a corpse, but were a vision of health not a mere hour ago,” Aylin explained. The crowd remained silent, those that had supplies quickly setting them at Isobel’s sides. Water, rags, a potion, and even a suture kit.

“We fought your father, he had been blessed by Myrkul,” The aasimar continued. “This one dealt the final blow. They ensured my freedom.” If this news shocked Isobel the cleric did not let it show. She had begun to expertly undo the straps to Ali’s scale armor. She felt their forehead. Leaned close to hear their raspy breaths. Aylin watched helplessly.

“Bring me the other cleric- The one who follows Shar, that accompanied this one,” Isobel ordered.

Dame Aylin disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“Move- I said MOVE damn it!” The voice came from High Harper Jaheira, who had finally exited from the towers. Blood stained her but it didn’t seem to be her own. Her eyes widened as she saw Isobel’s patient. “Oak Father, have mercy,” she muttered.

“A dagger- I need a dagger!” Isobel yelled. One was quickly handed to her. She could not fix the rot- Not without Shadowheart. Not yet. But Ali had other injuries that would hamper the healing spell- Perhaps even make healing impossible.

The damage was impressive, although if the group fought off a god it was unsurprising. Acid burns coated the left of Ali’s neck. Blood had been seeping out of her side through an arrow wound that had pierced the scale armor.. Two fingers were bent in the completely wrong way. Part of her armor almost seemed melted- Which meant some serious burns on their right leg.

So Isobel did what she could as a dozen or so onlookers observed. She prayed to Selune and pressed her hand to Ali’s neck. Ali groaned in their sleep as the cleric’s hand glowed and the burns slowly healed. Then Isobel, with help from Jaheira, turned Ali over and made a small incision. She broke the arrow shaft protruding from Ali’s side and pushed the arrow through, managing to pull it out. At this point Ali’s eyes fluttered open as they groaned loudly with pain.

“It’s alright- You’re alright,” Isobel immediately said, although she wasn’t certain if this was the truth. “Stay still; You’ve taken a beating.”

“Aylin,” Ali gasped. Her voice sounded like death. “She’s alive.”

This comment was enough to make Isobel freeze, if only for a few seconds. Yes, she already knew that Aylin was alive, even if she was not able to process that properly yet. But why would Ali, someone who barely knew either of them, someone who was an inch from death, prioritize this information.

They were on the ground, dying, and still needed to let Isobel know her love was alive. They wanted her to know. Understood the importance of this to her. A stranger. Their eyes met and an unspoken understanding passed between them.

“Be quiet,” Isobel said. “Conserve your strength. I will heal you,” she promised as Ali seemingly slipped back into unconsciousness.

“I’m here!” Shadowheart called out, and Isobel’s head whipped back just in time to see Aylin land in the circle once more. Shadowheart was being held bridal style, arms around the aasimar’s neck, but Isobel couldn’t register an ounce of jealousy. Not after all this. Not with Ali on the ground. “What can I do?”

“Your friend is afflicted by Veridon’s chiller,” Isobel explained. “Otherwise known as-”

“Chill touch, I’m aware,” Shadowheart answered expertly. “I understand the effects.”

Effects was a rather simple way to speak of Veridon’s Chiller. The spell was extremely lethal, rotting away at a person spiritually and physically by filling them with undead energy. Chipping away at their life force. Ali had a strong will- That of a warrior. But it could not keep them alive forever.

“We will unite our magic,” Isobel declared. “Together, we will purge the infection, and heal your friend's spirit.”

“Is this even possible? With me being a follower-” Shadowheart froze, pain and confusion on her face. This told Isobel everything she had to know. She had sensed a difference in Shadowheart when she approached. She could tell some of the shadows had been lifted. Could feel a comfortable and similar power radiate off the other cleric.

“The Moon Maiden blesses you now,” Isobel said, confirming what might have been Shadowheart’s hope or fear. “Your power does not rely on Shar. It is not at odds with my own.” She took Shadowhearts hands in her own. “I can not do this alone. You must embrace this change, now, to save your friend.”

Three seconds. It took three seconds for Shadowheart’s conflicted feelings to be put aside. One look at Ali and the former follower of Shar became decided. She took a deep breath and squeezed Isobel’s hands.

“Lead the chant,” Shadowheart said.

And she did. Aylin watched on anxiously as her angel closed her eyes and the two clerics lifted their hands. With a voice the dame hadn’t heard in one hundred years, god’s that beautiful voice, Isobel began the chant. Shadowheart’s voice followed perfectly.

The chant ended seconds later. A glow momentarily spread over Ali’s body then disappeared. The crowd waited with bated breath. Three seconds felt almost as excruciating as the century of imprisonment, for Aylin could not accept that her savior would perish. Not like this. Not to Thorm.

“Thank you, mother,” Aylin whispered as, finally, everyone saw the spell begin to work. Hair suddenly grew back. Her skin color returned to normal. Her scratches disappeared and she inhaled a deep and clear breath. Her body relaxed as a deep sleep took over. The crowd cheered as Isobel sat back with relief, and Aylin noticed Shadowheart take Ali’s hand.

It was over. Truly over. Now, they could revel. Victory had been earned.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It had been days since the battle for Moonrise. In that time, the towers had been properly secured. Jaheira led the Harpers and Flaming Fist in capturing or killing the stragglers. Aylin regularly flew patrols to make sure the Absolute army was not approaching their position. Isobel worked tirelessly with Shadowheart and other healers to not only heal the group of adventurers, but any other wounded. The group that had saved her; Karlach, Wyll, Astarion, Gale, Lae’zel, and Halsin made sure to help where they could, or rested and waited for their own wounds to heal. Ali had not been the only victim of Ketheric’s strength.

The land had even begun to heal. Deadly shadows still plagued, of course, as Shar would struggle against her influence being torn away. But plants were beginning to grow. Monsters seemed to be less of a threat.

All the while Ali slept. It was anything but restful. They tossed and turned. They mumbled and groaned. One night, they muttered “fuck off” to no one in particular. Their friends took turns by her side. Some, like Karlach and Wyll, would speak to Sol and give updates on the situation. Others, like Lae’zel or Halsin, sat silently and busied themselves with some menial chore. Gale in particular would talk quite a lot, explaining magic, science, theories, hopes and thoughts to Ali, as if they were awake and eagerly engaging.

Then there was Aylin and Isobel. The two women were, understandably, inseparable. Aylin took Isobel on patrol with her and stayed by her side as she worked on the wounded. The two held each other closely as they watched over Ali, when it was their turn to do so. Rarely, they snuck little moments of privacy, but they hadn’t been able to enjoy their reunion to the fullest extent quite yet. Not under the circumstances of war and death. Still, they caught each other up on what had happened. What Ketheric had done to both of them. What the threat of the Absolute was and meant. They tried to plan their next move.

“Why do they sleep so long?” Aylin asked one night, after the couple had relieved Karlach. The tiefling in particular seemed to watch over Ali the most, having not shown the barest trace of a smile since her friend went unconscious.

“I don’t know,” Isobel replied again, although patiently. “The spell used against them was powerful. And my father was powerful.”

“Ketheric was weak,” Dame Aylin said, staring intensely at Sol. But she wasn’t truly watching her. She was lost in thought. In memories of pain. “He used my power, and died the moment he lost it.”

“...”

“He will not kill this warrior. I will not have it,” She continued, then turning to Isobel. “Your healing will work.”

“My love,” Isobel began gently. “We do not know this.”

“My angel, my light, my reason to live,” Aylin responded lovingly. “She will survive. I can sense it.”

“I hope you are right, my sweet,” Isobel answered. She made her way over to Aylin, who was sitting next to the bed which Ali lay in, and leaned down to plant a soft kiss on the taller woman’s lips.

“I hope so.”

“Where I’m from, we say ‘I know so’.”

Both women went wide eyed and turned to look at the bed. Ali hadn’t moved an inch, but their eyes blinked. They remained half-lidded, as if they were groggy, weak, or perhaps only half awake.

“Could I have some water, please?” Ali requested. The two scrambled to get them the water. Aylin gently held and lifted the warrior’s head as Isobel put the bottle to their lips, carefully allowing Ali to sip. She wiped a single drop that had dribbled down Ali’s jaw. Both of them waited expectantly for the fighter’s next words.

“I’m glad you two are together again,” Ali rasped. A soft smile spread on her face as she relaxed back into the pillows. A smile of relief, perhaps.

“My friend,” Dame Aylin said. “We cannot thank you enough. We will never be able to thank you enough.”

“What you have done here, for us, for the land, for everyone…it is amazing. It feels impossible,” Isobel continued.

Neither one of them felt that they could say enough. Neither one could find more words to say. Now that Ali was awake they didn’t seem to know what to do. And so, they sat there. Waiting. Watching as they had been for the past few days.

“How is the group?” Ali asked, their expression turning sour. Worry ate away at them. But not just that, the two selunites realized, expectation. Ali expected bad news. Terrible news. They had already braced themselves, mentally. Prepared for the worst.

“Everyone is fine,” Isobel answered kindly. “You have nothing to worry about. They all wait for news on your condition.”

“Everyone is alright?” Ali asked again.

“Everyone is alright,” Aylin repeated. “You can rest in peace, my friend.”

And Ali did sigh with relief. They seemed to sink into the bedding once more. Their eyes closed as they inhaled deeply, their first conscious breath without blood, or rot, or darkness in quite some time.

“Thank you both for saving me,” Ali added. “In the moment, I had no idea I was hit. I am still not really sure how Thorm got me. It was a mistake.”

“Ali,” Dame Aylin began, crossing her arms. “You faced a god of death. As a mortal. No godly blessings. No warlock patron. No real magic. And you dealt the final blow. You slayed Myrkul.” Aylin waited a few moments, waiting to see if the magnitude of her achievement would dawn on her, but Ali remained neutral in her expression. “You have made no mistakes. You fought in a way few ever could, or will, you should be proud.”

“Did the others worry a lot?” Ali asked, their eyes finally meeting Aylin’s. Then Isobel’s.

“Um…yes, of course.”

“Then I am sorry,” Ali added simply. As if this made sense or changed anything. The two white haired women looked at each other, equally confused and unsure. Isobel spoke up, changing the subject.

“Ali, I know you’ve just woken up. You need your rest. But…I have a question,” She began gingerly. Aylin raised a brow, curious. Ali gave a slight nod. “When I was caring for you, right after the battle with my fa- Ketheric. You awoke and told me Aylin was alive.” Isobel looked up at her lover and smiled sadly. “You were dying, you were hurt, you could not have known the condition of your friends and allies. But you made sure to tell me Aylin was alive.”

“If I were to die, I needed you to know that. I needed you to be aware,” Ali explained. “Just in case something insane happened. Or if we were defeated. You would know. You could find her.”

Again, the two women looked at each other. There was confusion. A gnawing question among them both.

“With everything happening why- Why would you-”

“Why was that your priority?” Aylin asked softly, interrupting Isobel. The room grew ever silent. The work being carried outside even seemed to fade away. The question was of no consequence to them now. It did not change their reunion, their love, what had happened to the others or…well, anything, really. But neither of the followers of Selune understood why Ali had cared so much. Neither had believed anyone could understand the importance they felt for each other. Despite this, it seemed Ali did.

“I had an Isobel once,” Ali whispered. They closed her eyes. “Her name was Victoria. She never came back.”

This reply would end the conversation. It struck both women and it struck deeply. Yet there was nothing to be said. No consolation. Not only was it long in the past but both Dame Aylin and Isobel knew that pain, although Dame Aylin could relate more closely. The loss of, not just a lover, but one so perfectly fitted for you. One who has been so close and spent that time with you…to many, it is irreplaceable.

So, both of them quietly sat down on either side of the bed. They allowed Ali to rest. As the wounded warrior allowed sleep to overtake once more, they each made a silent promise. They would aid Ali in their quest. They would protect them. Their grace for what had been done- No, for what Ali understood, would be infinite.

As the night dragged on anyone who was inside the tent, be it the Selunites, or Shadowheart, or Karlach, or even Jaheira coming in for the odd check in, would notice something strange if they only paid attention. Ali’s skin seemed to glow with the faintest white light. And if one were to look outside the tent they had been left to rest in, one might also notice the faintest beam of moonlight shining on the tent.

Ali, asleep, smiled lightly.

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its-a-lark-blog · 6 years

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What does "Dragon" mean?

I decided that this is what my first Tumblr post should be about. So, what does it mean? If I'm honest? Arse all. Absolutely nothing. It's just a nonsensical non-word. Wait! Put down the torches and pitchforks, I'll explain.

So... Honestly, the faux, hollow concept of a 'dragon' has always been something of a bastardised melange, right, which is why we have the arguments as to whether the creatures in Elder Scrolls qualify more as dragons or a form of pseudowyvern. Lots of those. Everywhere. I feel they're more prevalent than the Mass Effect Indoctrination Theory ramblings were.

What's called the 'Eastern dragon' (as anything can technically be a 'dragon,' including the mug sitting beside me) is truly a ryu, which is a very separate conceptually from the serpent referred to as drakon in Greek literature. And they are both equally as detached from the concept of a quetzacoatl. Just as neither of those three have any link or relation whatsoever to cymru dreigiau (Welsh draig).

The draig, in particular, is a fascinating example. It looks like what people think of as the 'typical Western dragon,' the heinous hexapod with six limbs (four of which are legs, two of which are wings). And yet, it's very different in concept; The draig is a creature of infinite kindness and wisdom, the guardian protector spirit of the cymru peoples. So how did the draig end up appropriated as the 'Western dragon' with such a different personality?

I mean, it's Rome's fault. When it isn't America's or Germany's, it usually is. Which is just an incredibly controversial way of blaming it on 'fascist douche-canoes who enjoy conquering people.' I mean, look, Trump is basically just Caligula with a spray-on tan, right?

When Rome assimilated Christianity in order to try to use religion to then assimilate other cultures (since Rome was always looking for new and interesting ways to conquer and enslave all those who weren't Roman), it appropriated a number of beliefs and customs from other faiths and beliefs into Christianity.

"Oh, you celebrate that? So do we! That's a Christian holiday. You silly pagans didn't realise? Oh, you ridiculously uncultured pagans."

The druidic pagans were especially difficult to indoctrinate as they were understandably far more fond of their soft-spoken, kindly, quite lovely dreigiau than they were of fascist Roman emperors, who were frankly quite rude by comparison. So the concept of the draig, itself, was perversely morphed into 'dragon' -- an evil creature who sought to kill the poor little pagans. Only the good, decent Christian gawd could protect them all. Damn nearly everything about Christianity after its assimilation by Rome is culturally appropriated nonsense.

You might think that Japan or America have a monopoly on improper appropriation of other cultures, but noooo. Oh goodness me no, not at all. Not at all. Christianity did it first, and to a depraved extent that no contemporary enterprise would e'er dare match. That's why I'll always raise an eyebrow, baffled yet amused, whenever an armchair historian cites post-Rome Christian history and heraldry as if it were somehow some sort of sanctified, perfect, pure thing.

It really wasn't, you know? That's silly. It's mostly a hodgepodge of stuff stolen from other cultures, in much the same way as the very English language itself is nowt more'n a gestalt of bits and bobs clumsily snatched from other languages.

Sorry, other languages. It was quite untoward and unbecoming of the British to do so.

Anyway, after 'dragon' was used as a nefarious tool by Rome's fresh, fresh new take on Christianity, it then became a construct of the media; Used for entertainment in various forms. Ultimately, yes, the 'dragons' in Skyrim are 'dragons' because the non-word 'dragon' is as completely meaningless a non-word as hungleflibbow, which I obviously just invented to encompass all deified human-like avatars.

I'll belabour my point as much as I need to, thank you very much.

So, Jehovah? You mean Jova, right? Weeell, he's just a hungleflibbow. One of innumerable kinds of hungle in the flibbow.

It's silly, really. The non-word 'dragon' is silly. The concepts of 'Western dragon' and 'Eastern dragon' are equally as ludicrous and deserve to be soundly lampooned. Personally, I'd prefer a remembrance of the source material they came from -- like the draig or the ryu, implemented with the aid of a cultural advisor. Instead of the brainrot we saw in Skyrim, the Hobbit films, and Game of Thrones, which are no different really than my hungleflibbow.

Yep. Hungleflibbow. Whether it's Zooz, Jova, Neppy, Ganish, Bhuddy, Kukoo, or any of the others, they're all part of my religion, now! They're all just different flavours of the hungleflibbow of my naturally better religion. And they have absolutely nothing at all to do with your farcical paganistic beliefs. My hungleflibbow are innately superior to your risible pagan 'gods.' In fact, these so-called 'gods' of yours are evil, they're out to get you! So I invite you to become a hungler and worship the holy hungles of the flibbow. Truly, what choice do you have?

I mean, Flibbowity -- my obviously matchless and distinguished religion -- even has a Jovakiin. Of course.

"But there is one they fear... In their tongue, he is Jovakiin. Hungleborn!"

I think you unwashed, under-educated, uncultured pagan savages call them 'saints.' Of all things. Tsk, tsk. How utterly crass. Your efforts are naught but a pale imitation of our patron hungleborn Jeebus. Jeebus, son of Jova, born in a backyard in Beaufort...

I could go on like this, it's actually rather fun! I won't, though. I don't think I need to, do I?

I mean, I sound salty but it's mostly just mildly cross satire. Of course, that might be what salt is? I've never been clear on its American meaning beyond its definition as a type of condiment.

Anyway, this grand effort is all just to make a point about how silly of a non-word 'dragon' is. I'm quite tired of it. it truly is a ridiculous non-word. Such a multimedia non-word. I do wish we could just leave 'dragon' as a concept by the wayside. I'd say 'no more dragons.' That would make me happy.

Jeebus, save us from the 'dragons.'

That said... I would, however, very, very much love to see draig, ryu, and other such creatures repsectfully represented in a similar vein to their cultural origins. Really, just give me a draig any day over a 'dragon.'

It really is a silly non-word.

If we can be honest with ourselves, 'dragon' today is nowt more than a means to have a beast for some pompous, stuffed shirt to slay. Whether as some heroic figure in film or one played in a video game. Would it truly matter if the beast they slew was called a 'dragon' or a nibblesnot to the vast, vast majority? I can't imagine it would. They care not for names nor lore.

I'd be surprised if most of those who played The Witcher games knew as much as ten of the names of the creatures they slew.

For those who do care, lavishing a beast with a decent name simply improves upon the experience. Slathering 'dragon' over everything just tells me that you couldn't give a rat's arse about your creation; Which is very much the impression I got from Skyrim, really. I got the very distinct impression that Bethesda is so sick of game dev. They're merely going through the motions to make the money.

Anyway! Once we can stop using the non-word 'dragon,' we can also stop having bloody arguments about what a 'dragon' is, since the non-word 'dragon' doesn't actually mean anything. Never has. If we simply cease using it, we don't have to argue about it.

Problem solved. Just so. Simple as that.

Honestly, how much more would you have enjoyed Skyrim if the creatures present were always, solely described as dov, and never as 'dragons?' On a similar note, wouldn't you have enjoyed Game of Thrones and The Hobbit more without the deployment of 'dragon?' Wouldn't it have been better if each respective species of beastie had possessed its own unique name? As opposed to plastering 'dragons' over everything as though it actually meant anything.

If you ask most people they'll say that 'dragons' are boring or played out. They're utterly bored of it, it's asinine to them. So why bother?

Point made? Sort of? Maybe?

It’s just a silly non-word.

So give us poor sods something more akin to a draig, ryu, or quetzacoatl, as they're far more compelling creatures. And you could actually have a chat with them, I find that far more compelling than jabbing a phallus repeatedly into a poor critter's newly made gut hole. But that's just me. You know, talk to the monsters, that sort of thing. I must be some sort of idiot as I find a good conversation all the more stimulating.

That might just be me. I tend to prefer a Night in the Woods to a Stabby-Man Simulator 2018. And I can see a whole gamut of value in trying to write from a distinctly non-human perspective. One could build an entire game or film around conversing with such a being.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this now, though my point is is that 'dragon' is an utterly silly non-word and I'd really like to see more media where a character interacts with a draig or a ryu in some way other than giving it various new orifices that it didn't request, requie, or ask for.

That's that then.

Footnote: This isn't an attack against Otherkin as I'm an Otherkin myself (see my prior posts). Simply -- Otherkin 'dragons' aren't really so; They tend to be Otherkin draig, Otherkin ryu, et cetera. The Otherkin perception is closer to those words than the multimedia non-word 'dragon.'

#dragon #dragons #skyrim #game of thrones #the hobbit #draig #drakon #otherkin

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