Sir's Dumping Ground - Printable Version

+- alonimi (https://alonimi.net)
+-- Forum: Out of Character (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=68)
+--- Forum: The Repository (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=76)
+--- Thread: Sir's Dumping Ground (/showthread.php?tid=570)

---

Sir's Dumping Ground - sir - 11-27-2014

DISCLAIMER: This is just a quick copy-paste job. I'll edit it later (probably).

The Chiroselach (Kero-sell-ock)
BIOLOGY
• Dorsal surface is covered with keratinous, slightly flexible plates. Young individuals have thinner, less brittle plating, older individuals have thicker and more rigid plates. The surface of these plates is iridescent, with the coloration being dependent chiefly on the chemical environment of the individual’s birth.
o Chiroselach often ornament their plating with designs in their own language using a bioluminescent compound native to their home world, which is masticated to form the pigment.
• Centipede-like movement with numerous short, single-jointed limbs, each ending in a bloom of five short flexible claws arranged radially, and an inner bloom of five opposed claws (essentially five very small, one-fingered hands in a circle).
o These claws are composed of keratinous material, initially flexible, but gradually hardening over time- the most-used manipulators remain flexible longest, but eventually any chiroselach must amputate and regrow their fingers.
o The anterior limbs tend to be longer than the posterior.
• Chiroseli are most attuned to the use of their numerous electroreceptors and chemoreceptive mouth tendrils, but possess a single large eye; their visual spectrum is concentrated on the near ultraviolet.
o Other creatures on the Chiroselach worlds have evolved to discard visual sense organs entirely, so the Chiroselach eye is widely believed to be vestigial (or would be in a state of nature).
• Mouth tendrils are olfactory and taste organs, but not used for actually consuming food, this being accomplished by a rasp inside the mandibles. Mouth tendrils grow continually; the ends eventually become numb, the nerves inside dying, and these dead tendril tips are then consumed.
o Chiroselach can process or harmlessly excrete the majority of toxins, and their sense of taste and cuisine includes the flavor of numerous chemicals other species could consider industrial.
o Chiroseli are also capable of recognizing individuals and familial relationships by taste- individuals often greet each other by eating each other’s mouth tendrils for precisely this reason.
• Chiroselach are hermaphroditic, with dual means of reproduction.
o By default, offspring are produced via parthenogenesis, grow within a special womb segment on the parent’s underbelly, and eventually bud off. These offspring are genetic clones of their parent.
o Chiroselach may also choose to have their womb segment implanted with another individual’s ovum; the host/parent converts one of their own ovum into a spermatozoon and fertilizes the donated egg. Pregnancy then continues as normal, resulting in a single offspring with traits of both donator and gestating parents.
o The womb segment is detached by the birth, and remains alive for a few months, gradually converting nearly all its mass into nutrition for the offspring.
o Chiroseli offspring are reared by an extended family grouping until they reach maturity (roughly 30 Sol years, or 5 Chirseli years).
• Chiroselach breathe via spiracles distributed in rows on the dorsal surface.
o Chiroseli are capable of breathing an oxygen atmosphere without harm, but consider an atmosphere with high proportions of greenhouses gasses to be more pleasant.
• Chiroseli vocalization is achieved first by expelling air through a series of pipes and orifices located in a hump just behind the head; and second by vibrating comb-like structures which close off those orifices. The resultant sound is capable of approximating speech, but the Chiroseli language more closely resembles a pipe organ filled with summer crickets.
• Chiroselach operate well in high-pressure atmospheres. However, low pressure or vacuum quickly causes severe injury, as their respiratory system is unable to equalize pressure and may burst violently.
HOME WORLD AND COLONIES
• The Chiroseli home world of Iloiuch (eye-loy-ooch) is comparatively warm and extremely humid over most climactic zones. It contains the species’ capital of Nachall, and numerous specialized cities which can best be described as performance-museums. The land area is 20% of the planet’s total surface and is primarily distributed across three major volcanic archipelagos.
• The majority of species on Iloyuch are marine arthropods, often of very great size, with significant populations of colonial siphonophores. Terrestrial life is almost exclusively composed of arthropods, with the remainder motile plants or sessile fungi. The Chiroselach are the only sapient species on Iloyuch.
• The Chiroseli maintain trade and cultural exchange outposts on numerous other worlds with similar conditions, and embassies on many more, but have established no formal colonies.
CULTURE
• Chiroseli culture is communal and based around family units of between 20 and 30 individuals, who are generally not genetically related. Mating pairs and similar bonds tend to shift continually within this group, but seldom outside it. However, offspring of a family group above what is necessary to maintain population most often seek out another grouping to join.
• A central element of Chiroseli culture is Iuchlam, best described as improvised poetic and musical praise. In the usual format, individuals will (usually over a large meal) seek to outdo one another by heaping compliments upon either an individual- a friend, relative, or cultural hero- or a concept, such as temperance or zest for life. The intention is to espouse the virtue and possibly superiority of the person or concept in question (which is never the singer eirself). These performances are not recorded, but may be repeated from memory repeatedly if they achieve significant notice or are considered great examples of the form. This is the purpose of the Chiroseli performance-museums.
o Chiroseli linguistic conventions in general are formalized and poetic, making musical expression very natural to the species.
• Chiroseli also enjoy frequent communal meals, either between a clutch of five to ten, or the whole family unit. Cuisine is considered almost an artistic medium, with some ingredients being added for flavor, others solely for scent (and not to be eaten) and still others intended to individualize the recipe- these last often being the mouth-tendrils of the chef.
• In relations both within and outside the species, Chiroseli generally recognize a single axis of moral judgment, usually translated as sanity vs. insanity. Sane behaviors are generally those which benefit the individual without harm to others, while insane behaviors are self-destructive, violently, or contradictory. Sane individuals are regarded as inherently more useful and productive, but not automatically as superior in general. Insane individuals cannot escape their insanity, but may still be worthwhile and of great interest.

---

RE: Sir's Dumping Ground - sir - 12-19-2019

OKAY SO wrt BRAINSTORMIN' about SOME NERD
In Terms of Abilities: they are EXTREMELY MAGICAL but they're not like...AN WIZARD. They do not as such do the spells but they have an INTERNAL MAGICAL REFERENCE that allows them to know all kinds of mad convenient SIGILS and GLYPHS and arguably, RUNES, which are largely not necessary but can be helpful. In terms of their inherent magic, they have an ability to (normally only consensually) share memory and sensation with others via touch. They can sense magic very precisely and acutely but not at a great distance (like a magical jeweler's loupe, not a magical radar) and they can freely re-shape their body's material (which is pretty similar to rocks) aside from the joints and their face-guard chin-thingy-cage which is/are metal. In point of fact they're GOLD, which is important because essentially parts of their body are made out of precious metals which POWERS THE MAGICKS. These metals have not degraded because they are extra good at being subtle re: magic, which actually ties into the SIGILS and GLYPHS (they are tools to focus mentally in order to more precisely manipulate magical energies). Because they have inherent magical powers and because of their ability to sense magicks they have a large degree of insight about other entities that also do, like DRAGYNS and DEMONDS and FAEAENANARIES. They could probably have KNIFE HANDS if they wanted or just turn their fingers into claws but that's gross. They're about as durable as very durable rocks/metal and about as strong as a pretty strong human being but PUNCHES ARE NOT FOR NERDS.

In Terms of Appearance: Okay you can see the face up there, that's clear enough, except for reference that's not actually hair it is MAGICALLY SUSPENDED MISTS like their head is a dang ol' Penseive? They do it FOR THE DRAMA. Because of the aforementioned ability to sculpt they can have whatever kind of head/face they want with the only consistent feature being the metal jawline. Are you into hugs? Good because we got SIX ARMS 2 HOLD U. The limbs are ball jointed because obviously this is a weird magical sex doll some extremely ethically suspect wizard made and the overlap with the BJD community is larger than you might suspect. Their hands (and head, and potentially dick(s)) are detachable so you can high-five from ANY DISTANCE, also sex stuff. They are extremely into BROCADES and SILKS but since they don't have anything to cover up unless they want to they don't usually wear stuff that's like, a shirt, or pants. It's all decorative. For a while they were into bells, nowadays it's veils? Someday maybe a goth phase. CAPES FEATURE HEAVILY. The outer surface of their 'skin' is very slightly patterned with whorls, like a fingerprint. They are cool to the touch and smell like perfume or incense, but that's not inherent, they just made a hole in their chest and put a big pomander in it. When they choose to have a head it usually has a LARGE NUMBER OF EYES, which are black, metallic, and KINDA SPOOKY but also A LITTLE HOT. They're topping seven foot, most doors are not designed for a being of this nature. Overall they (usually) look like a REALLY GOOD STATUE. Like, Michelangelo level of artistry and honestly pretty close, in terms of appearance? Like by default there's sculpted lithe abs and shit. Sometimes he extrudes a tiny fig leaf because it's hilarious.

In Terms of History and Personality: Since they can literally see into people's memories and also display authenticity by explicitly sharing emotional states, they are actually kind of a THERAPIST but they also do consult on MAGICAL STUFF. They have a reputation for difficult cases, largely because like, Aeris is sort of a fantasy-ish place, mental health treatment is maybe not there yet, so most people consider this stuff a physical ailment or moral failing. They have a really warm mannerism, almost avuncular, but if they sense dumb bullshit for jerks they will be extremely pissed without any real change in tone or body language, which is PRETTY DISCONCERTING. They are 100% capable of hella lies but have not publicized this fact and it is a common misconception that constructs can't lie. One of their chief pleasures is making people they dislike explain their bad jokes, slowly. They are a big believer in personal agency, which makes sense as a liberated created PYGMALION-STYLE BEING. They value direct and explicit communication and think nuance is, on occasion, for squares. They're DTF but have no inherent physical drive to do so. If you are wondering do the mind powers happen while fucking OF COURSE THEY DO. YOU FOOL. They can't eat so like, one big avenue of hedonism is closed to them, but they really value sensations like smells, textures, etc., it's kind of implied that their senses are kind of aura-based? Like they extend out from their body. OMNI-SNIFFS.

Small addendum- the reason they have memory-sharing powers is because they were probably initially intended to be a library. Not a librarian, a library. They don't necessarily know this, though. Also they can't experience emotions, only physical sensations, but since that includes a lot of how people recognize emotions it's pretty close?

---

RE: Sir's Dumping Ground - sir - 12-29-2019


“And it’s not going to hurt him?”
The boy is twenty-six and would call himself a man. He is afraid- his heart is lolling like a horse on its side- but there is no violence in the fear. He is a stone-carver and his eyes roam me looking for the marks of a chisel. If he thought me well-made, would he call it beauty or craft?

“I’m not a bloodletter. Nothing I do can hurt him- I will put nothing in and take nothing out.”
I am lying. I place my hand on his shoulder and let it be heavy; let it anchor him.
“You can watch if you wish to. It’s going to be alright.”

Today I have let gold come to the surface, a hundred veins of it, because he is cowed by privilege and wealth. I look like a beautiful vase and am amused by this. His bravery would tell him to do things himself, because he is a boy. I am veiled and my eyes are many and black, to frighten him, and I am gold, to impress him. My patient looks at me but does not see me, so I have made no changes for him. The house is dirt and fieldstone and sod, and the scent of moss is thick.
My fingers clatter in their sockets, and with two hands in the soil of the floor, I draw Keeping, so that his heart will not betray him. It is a treble circle and the letter inside is Known to me. With two hands in the air before him, I draw Calling, so that he will know that everything in him should bubble up. There will be no depths he can hide, and there will be terror in that. There is a number that shimmers briefly, like oil or a bubble of sweet soap, and it is Known to me. My last hands are on his brow and on his belly, and the cool of my fingers soothes him. My veil blows aside, and my mists are there.

I am Taus. He is:
He is a soldier and the thing that he felt is this: the fiber of linen inside of his skin. He is saying, within, that he was grateful for linen. It had seemed so fine and white. He is speaking the words of a song, on the inside of his eyes. It is a war song, for the old king. The fiber of linen is soaked and stiff and sticking, and it is inside him, under skin and yellow fat, because he has been cut. Sometimes he hears the song again, in the Now, because it is a skipping rhyme.

How many up at the top of the hill?
How many down in the river, in the rill?
How many fall when we nock and loose?
How many marched, and every one, fool!

It hardly rhymes but the men who taught him the song were not singers or poets. They bellowed.
It was supposed to be the enemy who was foolish. On the inside of his eyes he is repeating that they were not- they had bows like long white moon-arcs of ancient yew and shafts a yard and two hands length. He had nocked and loosed and missed and now his tunic is inside, where it ought not be, and he will not admit that he is cut.

“He’s breathing hard; are you sure…?”

I nod. I cannot speak. I am holding in two hands Keeping, in four hands Keeping and Calling, in Six Hands an old man. He has grown older and the callus on his thumbs has softened. His arms are still cord and meat, from kneading loaves each day and every day until he stopped. His son is of the same mold, but weaker. He needs stone to hold him up.

He needs me.

He does not know what I am any more than he knows what has eaten his father’s last years. Nonetheless he knew enough to find me, and to offer me a bolt of cloth from his sister’s shop- they are prosperous, and it is a blue like sapphire and night. I would have done it for free, but he doesn’t need to know that. It’s not as if I don’t deserve it.

I am Taus, and the old man is:

The old man is a spiral, without end.

I am pulling him, and this hurts him, a little, but now he is hearing the song in the voice of his niece. She is so small he questioned, when she began to grow (but not so much) whether they were sure she was of the line? But there was a laugh in his voice that I Call and I Keep.

His son hums behind him and kicks his feet against the stool as the old man kneads and splits and folds. The son is eight years and grows like a tree.

His daughter dances with him at her wedding; there is a tinkle of glass and they are all singing- it is a song about an old woman who wanted to fuck. Everyone likes that song, except those for whom it is too close to their daily experience. His wife was older than he and she wanted him until quite close to the end, and he never minded.

In the Now my hand is crouched on his skull like a spider and the letter of Keeping is burning softly into the earth. I am Calling all his songs into him, and I am taking what he will pay me- all his songs, written into me.

“See if he feels better now. If he does, I may call on your sister, and you can thank me. If not I will try again, if you wish it.”

The boy is twenty-six and beautiful, in the way that a horse can be beautiful- because there is not quite enough skin for the muscle he wrought beneath it. He is too young yet to desire me, so he is uncomplicated when I embrace him. Likely he does not know why he is comforted- it is weight and coolness and everything he knows, everything his broad hands touch. I am no product of his labors but I can grasp his shoulders and he feels the work of craft in me.

“When he wakes, try singing the bread song.”

---