Jesus Humperdinck Christ, that caterpillar took ages. Little fucker had a moped. And he didn’t even taste that great!
Now, where were we?
Political movements come and go, governments change hands, and churches worship different gods throughout the years. But when it comes to shaping cultural identity, there’s nothing as powerful as shitty weather. So, the Elvish diaspora settled in the hottest and coldest parts of Aries — Nekelmu and Rosencrace — they were doomed to be interesting forever.
Nekelmu was the home of the Desert Elves. It was a mighty empire on the southwestern coast of Dunngate, hugging the border of the Ashentrough desert. In their heyday, Nekelmu as always at Dunngate’s throat and vice-versa. Territorial disputes along their borders led to Dwarven pharaohs and Nekelman emperors declaring full-blown race wars on one another every given Tuesday.
The territory controlled by Desert Elves was once so expansive that it was once comparable to modern-day Aries in surface area, and they conquered Dunngate multiple times. Their conquests continued until the last king of Nekelmu, Asargirru, made what historians refer to as a liddle fucky-wucky: the Tragedy of Asargirru.
(TL;DR: He discovered magic, then used it to accidentally hit the “delete all the Desert Elves” button.)
Nekelman society and ancient Dwarven society were very similar. They both worshipped the sun-god Rafeth, held drinking and brawling in high spiritual regard, and both smelled just as bad after a long day of desert labor. If anything, the only real differences between them were over theological loopholes, height, ear shape, and whether or not beards were sinful. The Desert Elves’ invention of magic certainly shook things up, but that only lasted a few decades before it led to their disappearance.
Now, you’d think that this would create some kind of lasting racial enmity between modern-day Elves and Dwarves. But the Dunngatians’ enemies were the Desert Elves, not they didn’t even think Rosencrace existed until A.L. 12, when Dwarf-King Fraugrim II asked if anyone was going to tell him there was another Elf country, or if he was supposed to learn this from his jester trying find a rhyme for “Swollen Face.”
And granted, a lot of Dunngatians fell in line with standard Ariesian anti-Elvish prejudice — but none of it was about the Nekelmans. In fact, a great deal of money has been invested in Dunngatian museums and universities to find a latter-day rationale to be angry at the Desert Elves post-extinction. Stubborn bitterness is a Dwarven virtue, after all.
Post on Rosencrace forthcoming this week. (And fear not, I’ve made sure to stick with store-bought caterpillars.)
Hey, kiddos. Ned here. As promised, here are a few updates about one of the race issues that takes front & center in the Neverstone saga.
The meaning of “Elf” varies from universe to universe. In Lord of the Rings, they’re immortal twinks with who like wistfully staring into the distance. In Christmas specials, they’re a two-foot-high race of gremlins who daren’t leave the confines of their master’s slaving-grounds. In Berserk, they’re these Tinkerbell-ish dealies. In the Elder Scrolls, they’re a good reason to get in an argument with strangers in Skyrim Facebook groups.
(Spoiler: Skyrim actually belongs to the giants. Poor fellas just want to chill with their mammoths.)
But in Luminar, the world of the Neverstone saga, Elves are humans. Pointy-eared, tan-skinned humans. They have human lifespans, human abilities, and human everything-else.
So, what makes them so different from the rest of humanity? And why are they so commonly persecuted? To answer these questions, we’ll have to start from the very distant past…
50,000 years before the Mad Elf, there was a country on the opposite side of the world from Aries: an massive island state called Ofucha. They weren’t a particularly advanced civilization – I mean, I guess they could skin a walrus a bit quicker than you could, but you’re not very good at it to begin with.
Life wasn’t great in Ofucha. Stone temples, human sacrifices, tyranny, slave labor… you know, the usual trimmings and trappings of ancient peoples with no access to magic. (Magic wasn’t discovered in Luminar until later – more on that in a minute.) If anything, the nicest aspect of Ofuchan life was the lush and beautiful jungle and its constant abundance. (Then again, it was filled with the Goragna-Gorag Hateworm, which likes to breed in the colons of swimmers.)
I suppose that much is obvious about a lost tropical island full of ancient peoples, but the sad fact is, not much is known about the ancient Ofuchans. Because one, they never wrote their history down, and two, no archeologists have been allowed on it since Queen Aurelia Koschei bought the island.
(No one’s sure what she wants with Ofucha, but King Gregor drops her off there every three months or so for her “Special Ofucha Time.” And whenever he picks her back up, she’s naked, running a fever of 107, munching on a fistful of monkey fetuses, and proud to declare that “the pact has been satisfied.”)
“Elf” was the Ofuchan word for “human.” And since they never interacted with outsiders until after the Mt. Nidhogg incident, the Ofuchans weren’t aware of any other types of humans.
Over thousands of years, most of the Elvish lower-class population developed pointy ears. There wasn’t any magical reason for this. Truth be told a few Elves randomly developed that trait at birth, and when they grew older, they had UNGODLY amounts of sex and babies.
Now, the ruling class of Ofucha were round-eared, and not too keen on the new type of ear that was making the rounds among the peasants. And 20,000 years before The Mad Elf, the pointy-ears were banned to the edges of the island, while the rest sat comfortably at the capital… which was at the foot of an active volcano.
The volcano – Mt. Niddhog, by the way – did what volcanoes do best, and the round-eared elves went extinct. The surviving pointy-ears called this disaster much-welcomed divine retribution for about five minutes… until they realized that their once-abundant island was now the world’s biggest ashtray.
So, the Elves left their island in search of a new home. And while a few tribes ended up elsewhere, like Desert Elves of Asargirru (more on them in another post), the majority landed on the shores of Aries.
The Ariesian Elves all ended up settling in the northwestern province of Rosencrace. This was because the Kingdom of Aries had a very interesting public housing system going on at the time. This was known as the “everyone we don’t understand has to go freeze to death in Rosencrace” plan.
And much to the chagrin of the xenophobic Ariesians, the Elves adapted to the cold, forming a unique kingdom of their own throughout the ages. Elements of the Ofuchan folk traditions blended with the Church of Aries, and the Northwestern Orthodox Church of Galgalim was formed.
…I hate to end this here, but I just saw a caterpillar, and a duck’s gotta duck. Let’s continue this tomorrow.
Well, folks, now that Book 4: The Voice Highmost is currently in the process of being given a thorough lookings-at by the editors, I’ve come to realize something: this shit’s fuckin’ weird.
Especially in this last installment of the saga, there’s going to be a lot of talk about “The Gallery” and “World-Pillars” and whatnot. Without a little extra help, you’d think you were walking into something the Kingdom Hearts universe would have come up with.
So, here’s the aforementioned extra help.
The way the multiverse is set up is for the following reasons:
So that the Pale Hawk can dip His fleshy little Demiurgic fingers into a bunch of other non-Neverstone stuff that’s in the works, in subtle but extant ways.
To create a structure for the multiverse that’s just as chaotic, flawed, and fundamentally human as our own world. There are gods, but they’re less “I AM THE LORD THY GOD AND I WILL PURGE MY WORLD FREE OF NAUGHTY PICTURES OF GIRLS WITH CLEANSING FIRE” and more “Flustered civil servant who ultimately means well.”
That last point – if you’ll permit me to speak for a moment not as Ned Caratacus, but as Dave, the guy who invented him – is the only way God could exist that makes any ethical sense.
Now back to my Ned bullshit. Quack, quack, where’s my peas, et cetera.
So let’s dive in. BEHOLD, A MULTIVERSE!
…that requires a little explanation, doesn’t it?
The Gallery: The multiversal hub world. It was never created at any point, it simply is. The Gallery takes the form of wide, open plains, extending for eternity, interspersed with towering columns of black clay.
(Ever been to this area in Dark Souls 1? Same vibe.)
Perception Level: If the Gallery were a building, these would be different “floors.” It’s nigh-impossible to travel between floors.
They’re called “Perception Levels” because if we saw something from a different perception level, we wouldn’t be able to comprehend it in any way that makes sense – or we’d only be able to see it as fictional.
The Neverstone saga takes place entirely on perception level six. Usually, fictional characters are on lower perception levels — but Bighorn Studios’ accidental use of PrometheOS to make a reboot of For The Light! caused a world to appear on the same perception level as Earth.
(Q: “But Ned, does that mean all stories are real in lower perception levels?” A: Not all but lots.)
(Q: “Does that mean the Shrek universe is real?” A: I am legally obligated to neither confirm nor deny. [Meet me in the back alley at 1 AM. Bring an onion.])
(Q: “But me, reading this at home – hypothetically, what Perception Level am I on?” A: Level Seven.)
World-Pillars: The aforementioned black columns. They’re infinitely high and hollow inside. The walls within are lined with paintings. At the bottom of the pillar is the painting for the “root world” from which all versions of that world in questions were born. After that, the rest of the wall is taken up by an infinite amount of paintings, each labeled “Root + (number)” or “Root – (number)”. Each one represents a parallel universe caused by a different decision made by someone or something in the root world.
Pillar Master: The ruler of an individual World-Pillar and all the parallel worlds within. This is usually whoever embodies that world’s concept of godhead. Some Pillar Masters have arbiters of their will (basically angels or “sub-gods”) who help out in individual worlds.
Antegalleria: A space within an individual world-painting that connects to its World-Pillar – and by proxy, the rest of the Gallery. These spaces are often used by Pillar Masters to store their unused content for various worlds – or in some cases, their personal effects and things they borrowed from the Demiurge.
Antegallerian spaces are the Demiurge’s jurisdiction, and coming too close to them without a clear goal often results in a mortal subject’s mind being taken over by the Demiurge. (This, of course, is accidental on the Demiurge’s part.)
Demiurge: The lawful-neutral supernatural being who rules an entire perception level. They usually let individual Pillar Masters take care of their own worlds and only interfere whenever the safety of the Gallery is threatened.
A Demiurge is omnipotent and its authority is absolute. But in order for mortals to have free will, Demiurges take great lengths to limit their own power. (The nature of these limitations is a huge spoiler.)
An individual Demiurge answers only to Demiurges from higher perception levels. This collective of Demiurges is known as the Infinite Hierarchy, because by definition, there’s no one at the top of the pecking order – only higher and higher authority ad infinitum. That way, there’s always someone to hold someone else accountable.
It’s important to remember that the Demiurges didn’t create the Gallery. They are merely stewards of reality – cosmic janitors, if you will – trying to hold the Gallery together.
Zurvan: The inscrutable homeworld of all Demiurges. It’s the only world that exists outside the purview of the Gallery. Very little is known about it except for the following:
1. It’s older than the Gallery (which, as I’ve said, is already eternally old). 2. It’s mostly a dark ocean. 3. The wildlife is exclusively made of these weird little pterodactyl-things called Amphettes. They’re immortal, about the size of a pigeon, and mostly just scream. The Gallery’s full of them, too.
Lostin: The capital city of Perception Level Six. It exists between World-Pillars. The Pale Hawk Himself is the mayor. It’s the multiversal big apple, where wanderers from all over the Gallery gather to mingle and do business with other worlds.
(Yeah, yeah, but it’s not official art, so… nyeeeeh.)
Full Name: Miqaelo Anselmo Arsenio di Sergio Dick Disaster 9000 Gualtieri Aliases: Meesh[Liv-exclusive], Meatbag[Family-exclusive] D&D Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Age: 47 Birthday: November 30th Race: Elvish Gender: Male Orientation: “Chaotic Straight…?” Relationship Status: He’s a de facto concubinus of Titania at the end of The Mad Elf Family: Era Gualtieri (Son), Julia Tarranti (skeevy li’l vampire lord lookin’ ass sack of shit ex-wife – missing), Gena Gualtieri (daughter – missing) Favorite Weapon: His robotic right arm & trusty combat shotgun Fighting style: Doesn’t like to get involved in fights, but probably will anyway if he’s drunk enough Favorite Food: “No no no, listen, seriously, I did this whole-ass scientific paper on it the other day, 5,000 words long. Beer is 100% ‘food.’ Don’t vog with an Elf who did his homework.” Favorite Music: Rosencracian hardbass Likes: Tracksuits, septuagenarian hookers, massive amounts of alcohol, futzing around with cars, his recliner, cigars, making DIY weapons of mass destruction Dislikes: Cops, being nagged, having to take something seriously, paying more than the bare minimum, personal hygiene Greatest Fear: Outliving his son “If I were an animal, I’d be…”: An elderly sea lion that’s currently sitting on someone else’s sports car and refusing to leave.
The Mad Elf’s nuclear dumpster fire of a Dad Elf. In Mischa’s troubled childhood, he taught himself to read with illegal bomb-making guides and carjacking manuals. He grew into a pioneer at the forefront of the “irresponsible usage of random crap” industry. As such, he spent much of his life selling his talents to various black markets and street-pirate gangs.
Mischa’s notorious for taking piss-poor care of himself and getting into stupid, risky situations. But even if he doesn’t care much for his own welfare, he’d throw down his own life in a heartbeat to keep Era out of danger. Despite what his last cardiology check may have told you, Mischa’s heart is in the right place.
Full Name: Her Blessed Imperial Candescence the Crown Princess Pamina O’Connell Belden IV Aliases: Pammy[Liv-exclusive] D&D Alignment: Lawful Neutral Age: 19 at the start of The Mad Elf Birthday: July 12th Race: Celsioran (Not Elvish or Dwarven) Gender: Female Orientation: Straight Relationship Status: Engaged to Noah Family: Aleister O’Connell (former legal guardian), Queen Stella Belden (mother – deceased), Royal Consort Thaddeus Schittelbricke Belden (father – deceased) Favorite Weapon: Political sanctions & white magic Fighting style: Regimancy, a.ka. legislative magic. (For example, she can cast spells that literally make it illegal for her enemies to move.) Favorite Food: Spaghetti carbonara Favorite Music: Smooth jazz, R&B Likes: Noah, pantsuits, taking a nuanced approach to problems, butterflies, attending charity events, fan mail from children, singing Dislikes: Anarchists, the Koscheis, crime, body odor, pickles, alcohol Greatest Fear: [CLASSIFIED] “If I were an animal, I’d be…”: A fluffy white cat that smells like warm laundry.
Pamina has been the ruler of the Ariesian Empire for little over a year. But in that short amount of time, her charm has captivated the hearts of people from just about every side of the political spectrum.
As a ruler, she’s a natural-born people-pleaser, always gravitating toward the solution that causes the least amount of people to be upset. Does anything of value get done? Probably not. But what can she do?
Complaints against her are usually directed at her choice of fiancé – “aim higher, dammit!” and variations thereof. The thing is, she and Noah were childhood friends, and already were together before she knew she was a part of the royal family.
Full Name: General Leona Theodosia Cloudbreaker Aliases: The Bear of Dunngate, the Sun Queen, AKSL’s Grim Reaper D&D Alignment: Chaotic Good Age: 24 at the start of The Mad Elf (Often mislabeled as 29 or something due to how perpetually rough-spun she is from fighting.) Birthday: October 15th Race: Dwarven Gender: Female Orientation: Lesbian Relationship Status: LOVE IS FOR PEACETIME, YA TRUST-FUNDED SACK OF DISAPPOINTMENTS! Family: Sir Leonid Cloudbreaker (father – deceased), Unknown Mother, Hortence Cloudbreaker (Grandmother, senile), Branwen Hammersmith (Cousin, figuratively senile) Favorite Weapon: Her Pouncer, a type of two-handed scimitar popular with Dwarves. Fighting style:This. Favorite Food: Absinthe. (…and salad, with some blue cheese n’ walnuts n’ shit, maybe some dried cranberries.) Favorite Music: Anything that’s good background music for decapitations. Likes: Fighting, killing, fighting, punching people, fighting, post-battle absinthe, working out, fighting, the Sun-God Rafeth, fighting Dislikes: Bigotry, asking nicely, people who tell her to use her indoor voice, and don’t even get her started on those bloodsucking Koschei horse-buggerers Greatest Fear: Being useful to the Koscheis “If I were an animal, I’d be…”: A bear with lion heads for hands.
AKSL’s belly-laughing, throat-slitting head honcho. The familiar sight of her jeweled war-braids has soiled the breeches of many a Greencoat. If you’re an Ariesian and you’ve heard of her, you’d either think of her as a great hero or a bloodthirsty terrorist – nothing in-between.
Since the dark ages, the military might of AKSL has been Aries’s greatest safeguard against tyrants. Her father, Sir Leonid Hammersmith, was one of AKSL’s inner circle. Leonid saw how his brotherhood of fierce warriors had been tamed into a Koschei puppet – and died for it.
Leona was left with the Inner Circle’s Lilac Talisman, giving her the right to reform AKSL whenever she pleased – into the band of badasses her father knew they could have been.
For five years, she never found the nerve to begin again. But one day, she met a certain Elvish fencer on the train. And as a media shitstorm followed him, she saw that he was the first real threat to the Koscheis’ power in centuries…
Full Name: Prince Hadrian Athelstan Greyrock III Aliases: Look, most of them are NSFW. D&D Alignment: Neutral Good Age: 20 Birthday: September 12th Race: Dwarven Gender: Male Orientation: Pansexual Relationship Status: Depends on which supermodel you ask. Family: Dwarf Queen Iris Greyrock II (mother), some guy she executed immediately afterward for sucking at cuddling (father), Princess Annetta Greyrock (aunt) Favorite Weapon: Summontales from his personal collection, a cavalry scimitar Fighting Style:“Bullets fly in the sky / you’re gonna vogging die / take a look / I got his book / I summoned Rambo” Favorite Food:(Deep sigh…) Okay, baklava. Favorite Music: EDM, techno, house Likes: Wearing lots of jewelry, collecting summontales, training elephants, sex, groupies, cheap wine Dislikes: Wearing a shirt, lectures from his mom, the taste of Ambrosia (and his dependence on it), being alone in the dark, the fact that I wouldn’t let him put “ass” as his favorite food. Greatest Fear: “Going back” (see below) “If I were an animal, I’d be…”: A cobra with a party hat.
Hadrian’s the Prince of Dunngate – and the God-Emperor of Dunngate’s tabloids. When he goes on quests to fight monsters or help out Chosen Heroes, he does it for the sole purpose of getting in the camera and having as much fun as possible. Hadrian’s new crazes change like the weather – he was a movie star one month, a porn star the next, a summontale collector for half a year, and he went to law school for exactly five minutes.
And make no mistake: as hedonistic and wasteful as he is, Hadrian doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. His closest friends say he might have calmed down on the Mr. Toad bullshit by now if it weren’t for his brush with “the Great Pink” as a kid.
Long story short, the three-year-old Hadrian had a near-death experience. Just before he was revived, he saw what he believed to be an eternal damnation that awaited everyone, bad or good. So now, he has as much fun as possible to distract himself from the nastiest case of necrophobia that Dunngate has seen in decades…
(“But Ned, why is his skin blue?”) Buyan Lifespan Enlargement Program + youthful preservation magicks + experimental alchemical cosmetics x 500+ years = he’s paler than a goddamn mime. That may or may not be mold.
Full Name: Prince Raphael Percival Koschei Aliases: The Hero of Luminar D&D Alignment: Lawful Evil Age: A little over 500 years old Birthday: January 31st Race: Celsioran (not Elvish or Dwarven) Gender: Male Orientation: Straight Relationship Status: Currently single, judging by the amount of brooding into the horizon. Family: “House Koschei is not incestuous. That being said, the classified details of our family tree are none of your business.” Favorite Weapons: Stun baton, dart pistol, syringes, magical disguise kit. Fighting Style: Stealth & nonlethal combat. Favorite Food: Gin & Tonic Favorite Music: “Music is a distraction; next question.” Likes: The smell of a woman’s hair, silence, the status quo, little boys saying they want to be just like him, his father’s rare moments of genuine compassion. Dislikes: Elves, religion, mollycoddling, attempts to change the world, idiocy, jokes, sexual immodesty. Greatest Fear: Astrid on a bad day. “If I were an animal, I’d be…”: “I have neither the ability, need, nor desire to change into an animal. This discussion is pointless, and you are a dishonorable cretin for wasting my time with it. Get out of my sight.“
One of the most important figures in modern Ariesian history. Raphael has had at least a little say in how the world keeps turning since he was born – often by training Chosen Heroes and helping sort out the occasional Dark Lord.
Raphael may be known for his finesse in combat and his adventures, but he has sworn to never take a human life – an act he sees as morally indefensible. His reputation precedes him as a peaceful but unyielding guardian angel for the Ariesian Empire.
On the other hand, those who have actually met Raphael know the side of him that never reaches the tabloids: a cold, calculating, and joyless manipulator.
Raphael knows that his family uses him as a pawn to keep their future victims tame. But he goes along with it because he believes that their long-term goals are in the best interest of world peace. And hey, they never ask him to pull the trigger, right?
The one thing from which he seems to take any pleasure at all is romance. And even then, the best of his relationships end with lifelong trauma for the poor girl. The worst end in disappearances.
And the reason you ask that is because I just implied that you did. And I own you.[Citation needed]
So, without further adon’t, here’s a brief guide to the main characters of the Neverstone saga.
Shaddup, I format how I please. (And FF6’s sprite style makes me feel like I’m still comfortably sipping Surge and playing SNES games in a pre-9/11 idyll.)
Full Name: Erasmus Papageno Gualtieri Aliases: Era, the Mad Elf, Slasher[Liv-exclusive], Little Dork[Family-exclusive], Public Enemy Number One D&D Alignment: Chaotic Good Age: 19 at the start of The Mad Elf Birthday: May 25th Race: Elvish Gender: Male Orientation: Demisexual Relationship Status: (…ask him later; he’s still figuring it out.) Family: Mischa Gualtieri (father), Julia Tarranti (mother – estranged after birth & missing), Gena Gualtieri (older sister/mother figure – missing) Favorite Weapon: The schiavona, a basket-hilted sword he has kept and maintained since his days at Mt. Colibri Academy Fighting style: Telekinetic fencing, trickery Favorite Food: Chicken strips Favorite Music: Most types of metal, save for thrash and nu-metal. (Has a soft spot for folksy Elvish accordion music.) Likes: Sitting in the rain, birds, naps, alone time, philosophy, solving problems Dislikes: Large crowds, Medusa Guns, arrogance, people incorrectly identifying his sword as a rapier, laissez-faire attitudes towards solvable problems, nasty comments about his sister Greatest Fear: Dying alone “If I were an animal, I’d be…”: A magpie holding a knife.
Era’s a passable swordsman, but his wits are sharper than any sword. Despite all his self-doubt, his analytical approach to fighting has made him a terrifying force of nature that keeps his enemies up at night.
He is the descendant of Baron Lutero Gualtieri, the famous Elvish adventurer, philosopher, and gourmand. Lutero’s writings form the basis of Era’s strategies. In particular, Era’s a staunch proponent of Lutero’s “Third Path” theory — that there’s a minimum of three solutions to any given problem, never two or one.
If Lutero’s riches hadn’t been squandered by his grandfather on erotic slot machines, Era would have had a much happier upbringing. Sadly, Era spent much of his childhood in abject poverty. Gena took up competitive dueling to support the family with prize money. Era idolizes his sister; everything he does is done in the hope of either becoming just like her or making her proud.
During the Fall of Rosencrace, Era’s right leg was destroyed by a Medusa Gun. His sister has been missing ever since. But with no home to come back to, Era wanders the Ariesian Empire as a train-hopping vagrant, searching for any trace of Gena…
Full Name: Olivia-Mae Sandrine Matapang Aliases: Liv, the Black Knight, Starlight[Mr. Sam-Exclusive], Screechy the UberBitch[Exclusive to 3 of her exes], “CALL THE POLICE ON SIGHT”[An informal designation from every band merch store in Cape Dartley] D&D Alignment: Chaotic Good Age: 19 at the start of The Mad Elf Birthday: April 10th Race: Phiscaean/Celsioran (not Elvish or Dwarven) Gender: Female Orientation: Bisexual Relationship Status: In an open relationship with mass homicide Family: Ken Matapang (father – presumed dead), Natalie Baumann-Matapang (mother – presumed dead), Phoebe Baumann (aunt) Favorite Weapon: The skull-shaped projectiles she forms with her magic, maybe a staff if she remembers to pack one Fighting style:This. Favorite Food: “The vog you mean, ‘coffee is not a food?!’ Ugghhh, fine. Buffalo wings or summat.” Favorite Music: DEATH METAL Likes: Delivering a brutal comeuppance to those who deserve it, making awful puns, transgressive horror novels, calligraphy, doodling, watching bad movies to make fun of them Dislikes: Wealth & privilege, house rules, bigotry, country music, anything that makes Noah cry, unwanted romantic advances, anyone who tries to steal her mask, the phrase “can’t we all just get along?” Greatest Fear: Losing control of her powers and killing someone she loves “If I were an animal, I’d be…”: “THE VOG YOU MEAN, ‘SKELETON WITH A FLAMETHROWER IS NOT AN ANIMAL?!’ SCREW THIS!”
On a strictly empirical basis, Liv is the edgiest bitch on the planet. She feels right at home when her enemies are screaming and begging for mercy. As a Mystic, she has the ability to create her own spells – and the recurring skull motifs reflect her mischievous attitude toward killing her enemies.
Despite the fact that they’re complete opposites, Noah is her best friend. She went from bullying him in middle school to becoming his fierce protector, and the two of them have been like inseparable siblings ever since.
She doesn’t like to refer to her friends by their real names; rather, she assigns everyone to whom she grows close special nicknames. This is a habit she picked up from her old probation officer, the enigmatic figure known only as “Mr. Sam.”
Ever since she was anointed as a Mystic by an otherworldly spirit called Kuhallen, Liv has struggled with inexplicable urges to cause violence. But contrary to her reputation, she strives to channel these urges into something heroic. Mercenary work, fighting monsters, and killing GU goons — all these things give her brief periods of satisfaction.
But even then, two words keep her up every night, tamped down only by self-loathing and misplaced anger: “What if…?”
Full Name: Friar Noah Wilhelm Tamino Aliases: Minion[Liv-exclusive] D&D Alignment: Neutral Good Age: 18 at the start of The Mad Elf Birthday: February 23rd Race: Celsioran (not Elvish or Dwarven) Gender: Male Orientation: Straight Relationship Status: Engaged to Crown Princess Pamina Family: [DATA EXPUNGED] (father), [DATA EXPUNGED] (mother – missing), Aleister O’Connell (legal guardian) Favorite Weapon: Staff Fighting style: He’s a lover, not a fighter. Favorite Food: Cookies, particularly ones that are shaped like non-cookie things Favorite Music: Ariesian gospel music Likes: Bunnies, Pamina, knock-knock jokes, rainbows, cleaning up his living space, cartoons, Pamina, dessert, weighted blankets, Pamina’s hair, Pamina’s smile, the way Pamina looks intensely into the distance when she’s thinking about something she’s passionate about, Pamina Dislikes: Insults about his weight, loud noises, cruelty, catching something R-rated whilst flipping through channels, lies Greatest Fear: Losing his inner child and turning into a cynical bastard “If I were an animal, I’d be…”: A cocker spaniel with a huge and disgusting skin tag in the shape of a heart.
Some people say that Noah’s the last truly blameless person in Aries. Granted, he’s about as smart as a waffle iron and cries whenever someone talks about butterflies (“B-b-but… their lifespans are so short…”), but he’s got the kind of heart that was once thought to be extinct.
He’s an ardent member of the Church of Aries, but more of a love-thy-neighbor type than a fire-and-brimstone type. Other faiths and nonbelievers don’t bother him — at least, not after a few rounds of tea ‘n’ cookies.
Besides, even if they did bother him, he’s got a much bigger problem around his neck at all times: the Healer’s Code. If he ever willingly lies, smokes, drinks, has sex before marriage, or (insert 32 pages of complicated rules here), the Amethyst Beads around his neck will turn into chains, and the angel Chopiel will descend from Paradisia to lob his head off.
If that sounds barbaric, it’s because it probably is. But such is the price of his ability to tell whether or not people are lying. Besides, if the lie detector lies, then what good is its lie detection?
Full Name: Princess Ofelia Carlotta Niccolo VI Aliases: Feely[Liv-exclusive], [Deadname redacted] D&D Alignment: Lawful Good Age: 18 at the start of The Mad Elf Birthday: September 6th (the same as the Fall of Rosencrace – needless to say, she’s not big on birthdays anymore) Race: Elvish Gender: Female Orientation: Lesbian Relationship Status: Single, but looking to change that Family: Pietro the Blind (father – presumed dead), Julia Tarranti (mother – missing), two brothers and four sisters (dead), Era (half-brother) Favorite Weapon: A gladius and the Great Shield of the North. The latter is an ancestral weapon straight from the Emperor’s armory. Fighting style: Forcefields, church magic, and the occasional Captain America bullshit Favorite Food: Curry – the spicier, the better Favorite Music: Opera Likes: Expensive jewelry, Elvish folk dancing, gentle snowfall, a cozy night in with a good book, serial killer documentaries (guilty pleasure) Dislikes: Her father & his war crimes, sexual immodesty (but only from people she doesn’t find attractive), meals that cost under 200 G, House Koschei Greatest Fear: Not being able to fully atone for her father’s sins “If I were an animal, I’d be…”: A white tiger. (Perhaps it’s lazy to default to family heraldry, but why fix what isn’t broken? Besides, tigers are neat. Rawr.)
Ofelia is the rightful heir to a fallen province-kingdom. Despite her snobbish attitude and overall crankiness, the person whom she treats the harshest is herself. Her father committed genocide against Rosencrace’s Mystics; as the last surviving member of the Niccolo bloodline, the onus falls on her to pay her father’s debt of sin.
Despite being the youngest of seven siblings, Ofelia was trained from birth to be the heir to Emperor Pietro’s throne. Pietro himself didn’t think any of his other children showed as much promise.
She dreams one day of reclaiming the Rosencracian throne, rebuilding everything the Koscheis destroyed – and making the name of House Niccolo synonymous with progress, rather than autocracy.
Full Name: BRAAAAAAANWEEEEEEN HAAAAAMMMEEEEERRSMIIIIIIIIITH Aliases: Cap’n Branwen, Branny[Liv-exclusive], the Terror of Warsaw[Context unknown] D&D Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Age: 19 at the start of The Mad Elf Birthday: …she forgot. Race: Dwarven Gender: Female Orientation: “GIRL HOT” Relationship Status: “It’s complicated” with Noelle Family: Oompus Hammersmith (father), Liza Cloudbreaker-Hammersmith (mother), Meat Hammersmith (brother) Favorite Weapon: Bare hands Fighting style:This. Favorite Food: Hubcaps Favorite Music: The screaming in her ears at all times, sea shanties Likes: Adventure, tits, tit adventures Dislikes: Reality, the French, “Anubis” (the safeword that temporarily stops her hallucinations) Greatest Fear: First, look me in the eye and tell me, truthfully, that you want to hear the answer to this question. “If I were an animal, I’d be…”: Sentient roadkill.
Branwen’s… a bit of an odd duck. Having inherited her father’s berserker genes, she has superhuman strength – at the cost of a need to expend energy at all times. As a result, she doesn’t sleep, despite having wanted to ever since she literally punched her way out of her mother’s womb.
Lifelong sleep deprivation led to lifelong hallucinations. Branwen believes she’s some kind of badass pirate goddess, and any given object in front of her will take the corresponding form that her illusory fantasy-world has assigned it.
The only line of work where she would have fit in was street piracy, and she took to it like a natural. But once she caught sight of “Noelle,” she left piracy to follow her romantic obsession. (The fact that “Noelle” is actually Noah isn’t particularly relevant to her.)
Ahh, Celsior… the military-industrial fustercluck behind 99.5% of whatever’s going wrong with Luminar at the moment.
This cash-doublestuft nightmare of magical air pollution & traffic accidents wasn’t always called Celsior. It took the name “Fulgania” up until about the December of Age of Light 4705 and the following January – in the “After-Dinner Mint Coup.” That’s when the Fulgianian king was forced to abdicate by the devoted fans of Gregor Koschei & his promises of global immortality.
That requires a bit of background, doesn’t it?
House Koschei: once an ancient house of Fulganian magic-peddling mountebanks and alchemists. Ever since the days of their ancestor Ilya the Wise, the Koscheis have been fixated on unlocking the secret to immortality.
In the modern age, eternal life became the Koscheis’ political philosophy. To them, death is the ultimate form of communist tyranny; immortality is the only way to keep the free market safe from non-consensual time limits.
Most of them found ways to cheat death, if only temporarily. Toivo the Great, their long-forgotten progenitor, has been meditating for over 10,000 years. Partial undeath and carefully-annotated contracts with demons have led to some of the younger Koscheis being at least 700 years old. But a human mind only comes with enough gas for 120 years, at most – living any longer will invariably lead to the mental condition known as Lich Syndrome.
In other words, the older the Koschei, the more their personality has degraded into something truly cringeworthy. Milder cases like Raphael Koschei (Aged only a little over five centuries) are merely antisocial and cursed with hideous, plastic-themed fashion standards. Conversely, Aurelia Koschei (A little over 2,000 years old) eats between 20 to 30 live pigeons a week.
Even without this age-imposed madness, all their “cures for death” were fleeting and temporary – until Gregor Koschei, their cartoonist, film director, and media darling, returned from the lost continent of Lemuria with a [REDACTED] that lets you [REDACTED] a nigh-infinite supply of Ambrosia – the elixir of life.
Thus, the “Buyan Lifespan Enlargement Program” was born, and Gregor was an overnight trillionaire. All it took after that was one teensy-weensy false flag attack (the Jauncliffe Bombing) to convince the Fulganian public that Gregor, not King Threggbert I (an after-dinner mint connoisseur who was unironically named that), should be in charge of Fulgania. Gregor renamed the Province-Kingdom Celsior, after the Fulganian hero Sir Titus Celsius.
Needless to say, the collateral damage & bloody espionage left in the Koscheis’ pursuit of immortality is unconscionable at best. But hell if I haven’t had so much fun writing villains since xXNedCaratacusXx’s brief stint with the Digimon corner of Fanfiction.Net. (Gomamon and Tai’s microwave were made for each other, and any statements to the contrary violate the Geneva Convention.)
And now, without further ado, Je te presente… Celsior’s flag.
COLORS: The “magnum opus” as defined by alchemy (Blackening, Whitening, Yellowing, then Reddening the prima materia – Not the words Paracelsus would use, but honestly, anyone named “Theophrastus” is in need of little ego death) EMBLEM: The Koscheis’ insignia, the alchemical symbol for horse dung – though they’ll be quick to say it’s something else.
So, I finally found my old copy of Entry-Level Cartography for Ducks. It was written by a sitting U.S. Senator, but it’s better for his outwardly anti-cartography platform that I leave his name to the imagination. Definitely going to try and include this in Book 3.
Ned Caratacus: Author, Scholar, Duck 