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silverskye13 · 3 months

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(about the latest drabble): I'm sorry, Welsknight's code of honor says what

Gotta love Chivalry!

Welsknight in RnS is trying is ready best to be a good knight, but he has no church to swear fealty to [unless he builds one himself] and no Knightly Order to train and be ordained with [unless he builds one himself] so unlike Helsknight, who sought out a church in hels and got knighted the Ye Olde Fashioned Way, Welsknight follows the rules of Poetic Chivalry. The more he and Helsknight have fought it out, the more Helsknight's tenets have been incorporated into Welsknight's idea of Chivalry [and Helsknight's tenets themselves are based on Chivalric Laws anyway] but still, their personal creeds are a little to the left of each other.

With that little rant out of the way, the Chivalric Laws I'm using for Welsknight are augmented from Léon Gautier's Ten Commandments of Chivalry:

Thou shalt believe all that the Church teaches and thou shalt observe all its directions.

Thou shalt defend the Church.

Thou shalt respect all weaknesses, and shalt constitute thyself the defender of them.

Thou shalt love the country in which thou wast born.

Thou shalt not recoil before thine enemy.

Thou shalt make war against the infidel without cessation and without mercy.

Thou shalt perform scrupulously thy feudal duties, if they be not contrary to the laws of God.

Thou shalt never lie, and shalt remain faithful to thy pledged word.

Thou shalt be generous, and give largesse to everyone.

Thou shalt be everywhere and always the champion of the Right and the Good against Injustice and Evil.

For the sake of RnS, which has vague gods and saints in hels, but only the gods and saints players make everywhere else, for Welsknight, all tenets about God and Church are Hermitcraft the Server and what it represents. The laws and teachings of Hermitcraft are its pledges to creativity and fairness and prosperity. He will defend it to his dying breath, because it's his home, and the living, breathing part of the universe that he and his friends create in. And any enemy of Hermitcraft is his personal enemy as well.

[I like to imagine the reason Welsknight didn't get involved in the HC x Empires crossover was because he was busy making sure the Empires crew wouldn't start a war he personally had to finish lol]

He really is trying his best.

The problem with Chivalry though, is it is inherently about crusades. Chivalric poems, while filled with a good bit of manner and courtly love, are also filled with the ideas of self sacrifice for a ruthless Good, a Good that roots out evil, with tragic grace. A Good that, ultimately, crusaded against whole countries, because Good wouldn't abide by Evil. Chivalry needs something to fight for. Otherwise it's just a basket of nice, convenient morals, a horse and a suit of armor. So you can imagine, in his own subtle, misguided way, Welsknight is actually quite happy hels exists. What good is a knight without something to fight for? Or better yet, to fight against, because it is very convenient to define yourself by everything your enemy isn't.

And his enemy isn't kind to him. His enemy must be a liar, because what he says about his worthiness as a knight can't be true. And his enemy must be cruel, because he seeks him out to hurt him. And his enemy must be relentless, because he hasn't given up yet. And his enemy is Helsknight, and everything Helsknight stands for, and apparently, Helsknight stands for quite a lot, including other people, and other people can be fought.

(He and Helsknight, despite every kick and scream to the contrary, really are a lot alike.)

#answering asks #anonymous #redstone and skulk #welsknight #helsknight #chivalryyyyyy #gotta love chivalryyyyyyy #the first time i read an arthurian novel i remember thinking it was a bit cruel #the way the characters are punished for things they couldnt know because they were chivalric missteps was always interesting #very folkloric #rns asks

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near-pattern-must-agent · 7 days

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#cindy tran #university #high fashion #5 seconds of summer #graphic novels #friedrich nietzsche #nu'est #Earth Day #folklore #adult entertainers #panty and stocking #mayday parade #deacon

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b-a-r-c-l-a-y · 3 months

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thinking about how there is "Americanized Fantasy" and "American Fantasy"

Americanized fantasy is that vaguely european folklore aesthetic. Like elves, dwarves, gods, demons...etc. You'll see it in stuff like D&D, Warhammer, Video Games, Books... And then theres actual American Fantasy, which is stuff like bigfoot, the jersey devil, mothman, aliens, the wendigo, lizard people, area 51... I think Lovecraft stuff can fit into that too. I think Scooby Doo and Gravity Falls fit into the American Fantasy genre.

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arcadialedger · 11 months

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Jewish SF/F books for Jewish Heritage Month

I highly recommend you check out these novels! This is just the tip of the iceberg.

#jewish #fantasy #judaism #books #novels #sci fi #jewish heritage #jewish american heritage month #sff books #jewish folklore #jewish books #jewish mythology #jewish fiction #the arcadia ledger

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characterswithcolorsnamesfight · 18 days

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Prelim Poll 25

Propaganda here

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mplanetleaf · 4 months

Video

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సొరంగం - రుద్రుడు Episode 47 | Rudrudu Folklore Novel | SMBAB

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mauzeart · 4 months

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Hiiii. I finally finished his design. Yarilo is the god of the spring sun, spring work, passionate love and sexual passions. A loving and beautiful young man because his love too great for one girl. He is like a violent wind, cheerful and mischievous.

The illegitimate son of Veles and Dodola. I read about his birth in a story. In short: Veles turned into a flower, Dodola smelled it, and Yarilo was born. So Slavic mythology is no less surprising than any other ahaha

I think his design turned out very well. What do you think?

#folk tales #tales of lukomorye #slavic mythology #slavic #artist on tumblr #character design #digital art #comics #character concept #slavic folklore #yarilo #graphic novel #god of sun #mythology

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adventuresofmelody · 26 days

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Ok. So I have decided to share with y’all, the first chapter of the novel I’m writing! I’ve been working on it for 5 years, and after an excessive editing process I’m fairly pleased with it. Let me know, if you happen to read it, what you think though please.

Without further ado, The Fallen’s Outcry, Chapter 1

One man that people should not test above most else is the devil. That’s something we’ve been taught for as long as the devil existed. However, there are a select few that could test the devil and live to tell the tale. One who held the man’s respect. One who held the man’s fear. Or one who held the man’s heart. Few held his respect. Fewer still held his fear. But there was only one, who held his heart. After multiple lifetimes without the love of his being, Lucifer was finally reunited with Morgana, the only woman who had ever wormed her way into his heart. He hadn’t admitted it in her absence, but he had missed her greatly, more so than he had originally thought. He missed her eyes, and they way they’d sparkle when she laughed. He missed her voice, the way it seemed to soothe every ache in his soul. He missed her touch, the way it seemed to immediately calm him and bring him joy. However, since her return from the realm of purgatory, that cold, dulled place where it felt worse than the fires of hell themselves in Lucifer’s humble opinion, she had changed. Gone was that sparkle in her eye, replaced with hard determination. Gone was the soothing cadence in her voice, replaced with an almost raw grit that panged him every time he heard it. And gone was her calming touch, replaced by an absence of which he was unfamiliar with. He called it an adjustment period. She just needed time. Time to get used to things like warmth, color, and actual food. She would return to him. She had to. She was home now.

Lucifer took pride in three things: One, his ability to remain calm. Two, his ability to keep a clean dwelling. And three, his ability to enjoy a good drink. After being awake for a total of one week, Morgana was testing his ability to do all three things. After a reunion that was worthy of being written in the stars, she delivered a swift kiss to his cheek and disappeared into his study, where she tore through his library with reckless abandon. She ripped books from shelves and tore pages out of tomes older than she was. She knocked down shelves, overturned tables. It was as though she was trying to find a sewing pin amongst the heaviest and thickest books in his collection. It took him three days to clean up that mess.

After that, she went into a rage, refusing to assist him in his work or even partake in pleasant conversation. She went on about the fact that her confinement wasn’t fair, that them being placed in hell wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. She raged about how unjust the system was, and how rigged He had made things after the fall. How deities were given fates worse than death and how the demons in Lucifer’s realm were looked at as second class citizens, while angels could roam the cosmos, going wherever they pleased with nary a system for checking their whereabouts. Lucifer took it in stride, meeting all her complaints with a cool comment and a glass of wine. That is, until the day that she threw his favorite bottle of whiskey into the fireplace. That was the day he lost his cool.

“Alcohol does not grow on trees down here.” He seethed, glaring at the fireplace with an almost pouty scowl. Morgana immediately softened, recognizing that she had gone a step too far.

“I am just frustrated.” She answered, her voice softer than he had heard in a while. However, it still held that edge, that grit. And that kept his ire firmly in place.

“Yes.” He paced in front of the fire. “And your frustration is leaking over onto me.”

“My love, you cannot blame me.” She started, moving over to Lucifer’s expansive bar. He watched her as he paced and tried to calm himself. Deep breath in, deep breath out. She tinkered, pouring a bit of this and a bit of that into a glass, shaking it almost expertly before pouring it into a glass. Huh, a martini. He hadn’t had one of those in a while. He kept up his breathing, feeling a little more calm now. She brought it to him as he stopped pacing, his fingers brushing hers as he took the glass from her grasp. He smirked as a light blush covered her cheeks, pleased with himself that he could still cause a reaction from her other than anger after all this time. Morgana sighed, the sound seeming to deflate her frail body.

“There has to be something we can do.” She mused. He took a sip of the martini and fought not to make a face. It had been a long time since he had tasted a drink that was not in some form or fashion whiskey. But that jarring taste was enough for him to feel the remaining anger draining away from himself. Finally, he was calm again. He watched Morgana as her eyes darted sharply, as though she was hearing things he could not. Or listening to things he couldn’t hope to. Her eyes never lost that edge of determination though. He swore she slept with that look. He took another drink and gave her his best neutral expression, despite the sympathy he couldn’t help but let into his bright blue fire eyes.

“If there was anything that could be done, I would have already looked into it.” He answered her, watching her with that casual stare as she finally sat, folding herself gracefully onto a nearby chair. Lucifer didn’t move from his spot, just watched and waited.

“I heard a rumor while I was in purgatory.” She said carefully. He raised an eyebrow, but otherwise offered no reaction.

“I imagine you heard a great many of those. Especially given my feelings for you.”

“No, you don’t understand.” She took a breath. “I heard a rumor that, if proven true, could give us our lives back.” Now that was a dangerous line of thought. Lucifer wanted to immediately shut it down, to convince her to leave it lie. She didn’t understand, having been lost before the great battle. She didn’t know what His army had done, what the fallen angels had faced. The horrors that came about before the brief respite of peace that they now all seemed to live in. He wanted to tell her right then all the dangers, all the reasons why they could not think of these things. But he didn’t want to break her completely, and he thought being exposed to the horrors that He had unleashed in the name of peace would do just that. After a great pause, he continued their conversation, trying to shut her down gently.

“Morgana, we cannot think of these things.” Lucifer told her softly, a brief shake of his head.

“I heard Gabriel say He was no longer in power.” She argued. He raised his eyebrows. When had she spoken to his brother. She shrugged at the raise of his eyebrows. Ah. She wasn’t talking about it then. Lucifer gave one curt nod, deciding to ignore that aspect of the statement entirely.

“That’s true. But He won’t be out of power forever.” Morgana stood up, as though she had been filled with renewed vigor.

“Which is why we need to act.” Lucifer sat his glass to the side, panic beginning to set in. He tried his best not to show how nervous her statements made him, tried to deescalate the situation by checking her facts.

“What makes you think these rumors you heard are true, my dear?” he asked her. She grinned eagerly at him, thinking he was interested in her rumors, her theories, her plans.

“The man who told me of this, he mentioned the Olympians.” She said. Now Lucifer was intrigued. The Olympians believed themselves to be gods, and were even worshiped for a while as such. However, at the time of the fall, they too were cast out. Some were exterminated, of course. Made an example of. But no one remained in paradise with Him. No one was spared some form of punishment. At least, no one he knew of. But while they were cast out, they were not cast down to him. They must have been given their own punishment realms. Or perhaps…Perhaps they were in purgatory with Morgana. How cruel was that, to keep the people that could for sure set free the fallen so close, and yet none of the fallen truly knew. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, was it? One clearly did. One who was still in purgatory. One who told his Morgana about this in the first place. Feigning disinterest, Lucifer picked back up his glass, taking a drink of the martini. He almost choked, having forgot for a moment what he was drinking. He really did need more variety in his alcoholic beverages. Beside him, oblivious to his struggles, Morgana nodded.

“He mentioned one Olympian in particular. Which is why my attention was caught to begin with.” She said. Lucifer leaned forward.

“Which one?”

“Zeus.” She said his name with a tone that said she knew Lucifer’s attention would be caught with this knowledge. She wasn’t wrong. He was very much interested now. Lucifer knew the location of a couple of the banished ‘gods’. He knew the fate of a few others, ones that no longer existed after the fall. But the trio that he did not know were Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon. And knowledge to the location of the three of them, well. It could be powerful. He set the drink aside again, no longer interested in it.

“Who gave you this information?”

“I told you that already. A man in purgatory.”

“His name?” Lucifer could find him from here if she had his name. Names were something he was familiar with.

“No. I….I never asked. His cell was down the hall from mine.” She shifted, looking more than a little embarrassed. She no doubt knew that Lucifer dabbled in names, and that he could have easily found the man’s file had she been smart enough to take his name. Lucifer watched her, saying nothing. He couldn’t be angry at her for not asking the man’s name. She wasn’t sure she was ever getting out after all. And if that man was on the same floor as her, well. It was no wonder he never saw him. While Lucifer was granted permission to visit a few souls in purgatory, Morgana’s entire floor was off limits to him. He didn’t learn that until he was on his way to getting her back however. He shook his head, tuning himself back into the conversation as Morgana continued,

“He claimed he had been given information about the location of Poseidon by Zeus himself. Even described him to the letter.” Lucifer was definitely interested in that. More interested than he cared to admit. But he didn’t want to get Morgana excited for nothing. He looked at her, trying to study her face. Despite how much he was trying not to excite her, he could read the eagerness in her eyes.

“Can you remember the cell number you were placed in?” he asked her. She shook her head.

“The cell I was in was on a separate level. Down below. It was dark. I wasn’t…I’m still not sure….” The harsh glint in Morgana’s eyes wasn’t reflecting determination anymore, it was reflecting fear. Almost panic. Lucifer immediately felt guilty.

“That’s alright.” He answered, his tone surprisingly soft for the king of hell. He took to pacing again, not able to face her while she was in such a state, thinking a moment. He knew the area that she was speaking of, having been to purgatory many times. He wasn’t allowed to go in to that floor. He knew the barrier keeping him out was due to Morgana being in. But now that she was out…perhaps he could enter. He stopped pacing, thinking again. When had he last gone to purgatory? Had he gone since her recovery? No he hadn’t. He knew he should though. He knew he needed to go and check, needed to see for himself the state in which his love was kept for so many lifetimes worth of years. He moved over and kissed Morgana’s forehead.

“Stay here, my dearest.” He told her, walking out. Morgana moved as though she would follow him, but changed her mind, folding herself into the chair by the fire to wait. Lucifer was pleased she didn’t follow. It showed him that she trusted him to investigate. Lucifer walked down the stairs, deeper into the bowels of his domain. The heat barely phased him anymore, but he knew it was there. He could faintly hear screams from further down. He tended to ignore those. Taking a left at the base of the stairs he headed into his armory, and unsurprisingly, found his second in command down there. Raphael.

Raphael was tall, even compared to Lucifer. He had jet black hair cut fairly short on the sides, but a little longer on top. Just enough to brush his eyebrows. His eyes were deep green and almost glowed with an ethereal light that indicated he was not, nor had he ever been, human. The man wore a chain mail tank top and dark pants, the ends of which disappeared into thick black boots. He had a sleeve of tribal tattoos on his right arm, a swirling dance of ink that seemed to tell a beautiful story, even if no one but Raphael understood it. Lucifer nodded to the man, who gave a brief nod back.

“Boss.” Raphael greeted him, his voice deep and raspy from lack of use. Lucifer gave him a soft grin.

“You know as well as I do, you do not have to call me that.” He chastised him gently in response. Raphael gave a brief look before relaxing his stance a little.

“Yes, well. Old habits and all that.”

“Just because you are my younger brother, does not make you any less my brother. I don’t make the others call me by a title like boss.”

“Not even Gabriel?” Raphael flashed a teasing grin at this jab, not meaning any harm. Lucifer grinned right back, not at all bothered by the brotherly teasing.

“Gabriel, I might ask to call me boss. If I could get the stubborn man to agree to do so.” Lucifer answered. Raphael laughed, relaxing fully. He nodded in agreement. Lucifer decided to move to the armory, pulling out some basic blades and sheathes, setting them all aside. Raphael raised his eyebrows.

“Rare you decide to spar with the army.” Raphael said, not hiding his curiosity. Lucifer nodded.

“Indeed. But I am not doing that today either.”

“Those are sparing blades.” Raphael answered, stepping forward now. Lucifer almost growled aloud at his mistake. Was his mind truly that distracted? He looked at Raphael, who immediately took that step back. Lucifer sighed.

“Forgive my attitude.” He said, gesturing towards the cabinet of blades. “If you please?” It was rare Lucifer asked for help. Raphael came over and carefully removed the blades that Lucifer had picked from the table, putting them back slowly. Almost as if he were afraid of retaliation. Lucifer merely watched him work, uninterested in being hateful. His mind was too full to bother. Raphael could not keep this information to himself.

“You’re distracted.” He murmured.

“You point out the obvious often?”

“Only when needed.” Lucifer bristled a little.

“What are you saying?” he asked. Raphael pulled out the proper blades, setting them down next to the sheathes, which Lucifer noticed he did not put back. Well. At least he got that right. Raphael looked at him with almost sympathy as Lucifer began taking off his expensive jacket, hanging it temporarily on the back of a chair near the weapons closet.

“I am saying that you are dressing for battle and your mind does not appear to be ready for it. You are not joining us for sparring, so it’s a legitimate fight, isn’t it? Should we be prepared for an invasion?” Now Lucifer felt bad. Raphael, besides being his little brother, was his second in command. His military leader. Of course he’d be concerned to see Lucifer gathering weapons with no explanation. Lucifer took a breath and shook his head, trying to clear it. No more distractions. And no more causing unnecessary distress. At least not today.

“No, no. No need to worry.” He said, sounding much more like himself than he had previously. Raphael seemed to notice that too, and snapped back into a more military stance. “I am merely going to do a bit of….recon, shall we say. And I’m not sure how dangerous the situation may be.”

“So you’re bringing weapons just in case?” Raphael asked. Lucifer nodded, removing his button down shirt now as well, to slide the sheathes on. One at his hip, two more at his wrists. He would put the fourth at his calf on his right leg.

“Exactly.” He answered, struggling a little to put the wrist sheathe on the left side. Curse of being left handed he supposed. He struggled with it for a few minutes before he looked over at Raphael, who had not relaxed his military stance, but could not hide the amusement that danced through his eyes.

“Do you mind?” he snapped. Raphael grinned a little briefly, before composing himself and asking.

“Do you want me to help or give you privacy to struggle on your own?” he asked. Lucifer all but rolled his eyes. Little brothers.

“Just tie the damned thing.” He answered. Raphael murmured a ‘yes, sir’ and came over, tying the sheathe firmly in place. Lucifer didn’t say anything else, but studied his brother’s movements. When the sheathe had been tied into place, he began putting the blades in, testing them in his hands before hiding them on his body.

“Will you need backup?” Raphael asked. Lucifer thought about it. He truthfully didn’t know. He wasn’t sure what awaited him in purgatory. For all he knew he couldn’t enter where Morgana used to be. For all he knew, once he tried, an alarm would sound. Or his twin would be informed, and then he would be confined only to hell. Or worse, one of the beasts that were released to help Him defeat the fallen would be waiting for him. He shook his head, cleared his throat, and then answered Raphael.

“I do not know. I hope I will not, because I don’t intend to take any.” Lucifer got dressed again in silence, not giving his brother a chance to respond. Raphael resumed his stance to the side of the door, standing guard once again as Lucifer recomposed himself, hiding the blades perfectly underneath an expensive shirt and suit jacket. Without another word to his younger brother, he left the armory, heading back up the stairs from which he came. Wordlessly, he focused his energy, thinking of purgatory. With a slightly uncomfortable pull behind his navel, he was off.

Ok that was it, that’s the thing. Does it suck as much as I think it does?

#novel #writing #second draft #mythology and folklore #little bit of theology too I guess #hope you enjoy

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writingwithfolklore · 1 year

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Writing Legend and Folklore

Unlike mythology, legends are more rooted in historical events and may even have recorded, proven details. Your legend will likely feature real humans as characters experiencing something that happened in a real place in your world. The fun things about legends is that often the truth of the past has been twisted and changed over time. While it’s important for you as the writer to know the absolute truth about your history, your characters may never learn the truth behind the legend, or may trade slightly different alternate stories.

Legends reflect the values or fears of a society. Much of Folklore comes from parents intending to shield their children from danger—whether going out at night and getting snatched by the boogeyman, or wandering too close to the rapids and being dragged in by a dangerous Kelpie. So start with a real value or danger, and begin to embellish.

Maybe in your world society really values compassion. A tale may start out with someone hoarding resources and ignoring those in need which then manifests a shadow monster that gobbles both them and their riches right up! Name the monster, and you have a campfire-worthy folk tale for your characters to tell late into the night.

Or, if your legend has no moral or lesson, it may feature something unexplainable that happened to real people. Stories you hear of disappearing cities or villages come from this place—people witnessing something or experiencing something they can’t explain, and creating a story to explain it anyway.

The original teller of this story, or the original source, should be difficult if not impossible to track down, to make sure it remains shrouded in mystery.

Does your world feature any legends or folktales? Let me know!

#writing #writers #writing tips #writing advice #writing inspiration #creative writing #writing community #books #film #filmmaking #screenwriting #novel writing #fanfiction #writeblr #writing legend and folklore #legends #folklore #folk tales

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frackadactyl · 8 months

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(via Whisper of the Woods: Lavishly Terrifying)

@ennunanaiurov illustrates the power of folklore with their @madcavestudios graphic novel. Oh and @micahmyers helps sell the “whisper” to make sure nobody forgets this.

#comics #graphic novel #folklore #romania #folk horror #mad cave studios

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thescopophobe · 4 months

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I think about the daughters and just female descendants of helios a lot, like a whole lot. I like to draw equivalents between them because they’re all so damn tragic. His daughters becoming trees out of grief, Lampetie and Phaethusa being shoved aside and ignored by Odysseus’ crew, Pasiphaë and the bull she was cursed to fall in love with, Medea and her failed love with Jason and the subsequent murder, Phaedra and what Aphrodite had her do in spite of Hippolytus (not to defend her, but there was divine inspiration there,) and then there’s Circe. She wanted to defend her women and she did, and she feared Odysseus was going to kill her — though afterwards she was safe.

Then we have Ariadne, I think she’s the most tragic. Befriending Icarus , only for Icarus to fall in love with her. But Theseus came and promised her a better life, much better with a god backing him! And then due to the influence of Athene, she was ditched on Naxos. Running away with Theseus also doomed Icarus, having king Minos trap both him and his father in the tower as Icarus helped her escape.

I mean all this only for Theseus to marry her SISTER!! Not to mention within the Odyssey it’s stated that Artemis shot Ariadne dead , going along with what Apollo requested of her. Apollo’s Jealousy? I think so. But at least sometimes she has a happy ending and married Dionysos, that’s always a plus.

Anyhow, this post!!!! This is a drawing of Circe and Ariadne, because in the novel I am working on, Icarus paints a picture of who he thinks Ariadne is in comparison to her auntie Circe. Had a lot of fun with the colours lmao !

#digital art #art #greek mythology #mythology and folklore #circe #kirke #ariadne #theseus #icarus #novel #wip book #Helios

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cienie-isengardu · 8 months

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Jango Fett' childhood on Concord Dawn

One of the things that I think bothers me the most about Jango Fett: Open Seasons comics series is how a 8 (or 10) years old Jango was told by his dad to repair a harvester

and then… left alone for who knows how long in the middle of a crop field?

I was born in the city so obviously I don’t know how life on a farm goes and all so forgive me my ignorance but:

A) Jango was introduced with a weapon in his hand, while he walked through his own family’s property

and was taught by father how to use a blaster at the age of 8 - 10.

At this point in the story, I think it is safe to assume Jango’s dad knew Mandalorians were in his field, as he brought food to Jaster and his men. So I assume he was contacted by comlink or he already talked in person with Jaster and he probably had some idea of what was going on - unless Jaster didn’t warn him about Death Watch on his trail, but I think this is pretty unlikely, as the Mandalorians stayed hidden in the field, instead of coming to Fett’s house.

So there is a reason to think that leaving a kid alone in the middle of the field was not the smartest idea.

B) Jango has never been any technology genius or even that good with it in sources? His jetpack was repaired by a droid whose main job was to take care of little Boba on Kamino. I’m pretty sure Jango as a Mandalorian Merc was capable of maintaining his armor, weapons and ship but if the harvester was so important to put back into use - and I assume this is the case, as Fett’s parents were usually described as simple farmers and the first part of comics clearly represents the season of summer (childhood) and this was very likely grain harvest time - then I would not pick a kid to do the job, unless the kid was Anakin Skywalker who could fix all kind of machinery, as it was his specific gift. Jango though? I’m not so sure about his 8-10 year old self’ skills.

Of course, the harvester’s problem could be a simple matter but then why not send Arla, Jango’s older sister (14 years old) to either do the job, or help Jango to speed up the repairs? Not saying Arla did not have her own share of duties and all (unless the kids were treated unfair, as Arla did not hold/use a gun against the invaders

but that could be just matter of her being too terrified or there could be not enough guns which is why only the mother was armed), but considering how the comics implies that Jango’s dad, mother and Arla were at home when he was working during sunny (if not hot) day, in the middle of a field, no shadow, repairing a vehicle bothers me a lot.

And sure, on Concord Dawn living on farm could be just that tough even for kids, but looking at AotC novel (that admittedly does not mention Jango’s time with Mandalorians at all)

Other than that, though, this was just a job, well paying and easy enough. Financially, he couldn't have asked for more, but more important, only the Kaminoans could have given him Boba - not just a son, but an exact replica. Boba would give Jango the pleasure of seeing all that he might have become had he grown up with a loving and caring father, a mentor who cared enough to criticize, to force him to perfection.

This, then, was Jango Fett's greatest reward, right here, sitting with his son, his young replica, sharing quiet moments. Quiet moments within the tumult that had been Jango Fett's entire life, surviving the trials of the Outer Rim alone practically from the day he learned to walk. Each trial had made him stronger, had made him more perfect, had honed the skills that he would now pass along to Boba.

and old source material like outdated starwars.com’s databank entry:

Fett all but disappeared from bounty hunting circles as he took time to raise his son. He sought to experience what his life might have been like had he been raised by a caring guardian.

I can’t help but wonder about Jango’s childhood before the Mandalorians showed up.

So far my research showed, only Fact Files v.3 #14 mentioned he had "as idyllic a life as could be while making a living off the land, in close family unit with his mother, father and sister, Arla"

which gives some hope Jango's childhood although tough, was a relative happy one.

[Just to be clear here: I don’t think Jango’s biological family was by any means pathological, I just think Concord Dawn is a pathological place as this planet's record is not the best when it comes to people's backstories.]

#star wars #cienie's research #jango fett #jango fett's family #concord dawn #this is seriously one of the most bothering things from JF:OS #mandalorian brutality? got it #but leaving a kid in the middle of field alone?#i can't help but think about slavic folklore and Południce #the demons huntingthose who were in the field at noon during summer #i started collecting data for jango & walon meta #so of course i sidetracked XDDD #also the early sources for jango puts jaster & mandalorians too in bad light once collected together #though aotc novel seems to have its own version of jango's backstory with no mention of mandalorians or detailed events from jf:os

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