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LYN ALDER

I play video games, cry, then write about it

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DIGITAL DOWNLOAD OF “TINY MIRRORS”

Featured ~ Lyn A.

“Tiny Mirrors” is a poetry chapbook/zine I published in 2018. It was only
available in limited, physical copy. I came across a digital version I made that
I had forgotten about. So I’m putting up here for free.

Download .pdf here

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I LET MY STUDENTS DIE IN “FIRE EMBLEM: THREE HOUSES”

September 16, 2021 ~ Lyn A.

Let me explain.

I had been grinding out the last mission in the Blue Lion’s path for what felt
like ages. The last few missions are a pretty steep difficulty spike, so I was
struggling a bit. My squad was certainly not optimal, either – I had taken
awhile to decide how I wanted to train my students, so some weapon skills were
under-leveled. No worries, a bit of strategy and persistence would get me
through the first two stages of the last chapter with minimal restarts. The last
segment, in the throne room, is what took me the longest.

The Fire Emblem series has always done a good job of endearing me to its
characters, but Three Houses does it particularly well. The mind-boggling number
of support conversations, the depth and method of unit customization, and the
slow pace of the game’s first half all drew me in deep. Throw in a bleak
mid-game time jump, and a second half redemption story arc for Blue Lion leader
Dimitri, and I’m seriously hooked. By this point in the last segment of the last
chapter, I have fully bought in to these characters, and to a lesser extent, the
greater context of the story itself.

This last segment of the last chapter is long. I take over an hour per attempt.
Finally, on the sixth or seventh attempt I’m doing quite well. I’ve made some
poor decisions, but the built-in undo button (Divine Pulse) fixes that right up.
I have a shot at Edelgard – leader of rival faction the Black Eagles, and the
final boss of this story path.

Edelgard van Hresvelg

Turns out, Edgelgard has four HP pools and hits like a truck. I figure the
nigh-unhittable Ashe is a good selection to deliver the first hit. I was
incorrect. He gets hammered by Edelgard’s counter attacks and it left hanging on
by a thread. I’m now in a bad spot. If I don’t take her out this turn, or
prevent her from attacking, Ashe is dead. I panic. I just start throwing units
at her. Whoever is nearby. I’m not being strategic at all. Ingrid, a tank
herself in my play through. Annette, Ashe’s fiance. Dorothea, my fiance.One by
one, I watch my units, my students, fall. They’re doing damage though. I’ve
significantly lowered her health, but at what cost?

This is no problem. I’ve lost units in Fire Emblem before. It’s common practice
to restart on character death. I figure this run will be no different. Equipped
with my manual save file from before the battle, I press on just to experience
the ending.

Edelgard, broken and defeated, has transformed back to her human self. Dimitri,
having personally known redemption from the brink, offers a hand to her. But
Edelgard, too far down her path of darkness, does not – cannot- accept. She
plunges her dagger, once a gift between them- an acknowledgement of a spark that
could never be pursued- into his shoulder. He takes it. Then ends her. It’s a
gut-wrenching acceptance on Dimitri’s part. An acceptance that, even though he
hoped things would end differently, this is where his life has led him. Bloody
but standing. Scarred but hopeful. What is one more scar, one more personal
tragedy, in this war that nearly took everything from him?

After this scene, there is no cut scene in which my character proposed to
Dorothea. In the procession of characters before the staff credits, many are
greyed out – they did not get the chance to live in post-war Fódlan. Because I
panicked, they died. My character… I have to live with that. Yes, these are
fictional characters, but fictional stories carry weight, they have an impact.
And in a game about war, it’s costs and justifications, both personal and
political, the way this play through ended left a crater in my mind. I could
have replayed the chapter right away. But I felt the need to accept the
consequences of what had happened. This is what the war had cost my character,
and by extension, me.

Months later I would go back and finish the final chapter deathless. When I
first booted up the game and heard Ashe’s voice line, all cheery and hopeful, I
cried. I was happy to see him alive. It now felt right to complete the mission
deathless, and let my student’s lives carry out as I had originally intended.
But the way my first play through had ended is something I will never forget. A
convergence of game systems, story, and intentional player (in)action that gave
me one of the most memorable and impactful gaming moments I had ever
experienced.

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I AM NOT SAMUS ARAN (EXCEPT WHEN I AM)

February 27, 2021 ~ Lyn A.

> Samus Aran receives a distress signal. She arrives at its source, a derelict
> space station orbiting remote planet Tallon IV. Exiting her ship with an
> acrobatic flair she prepares for the dangerous journey ahead. The camera spins
> around her, pushes into the back of her helmet, the music swells, and then… I
> am Samus Aran.

I was having issues with my capture settings. This video is choppier than the
actual game.

The transition to 3-D has already paid off. To so instantly and satisfyingly put
the player into the perspective of this character who, even without the
reputation of Super Metroid just looks badass, is a trick Metroid Prime pulls
off flawlessly. But more than one trick is being played. I am not Samus Aran,
except when the game wants me to feel that way. In Metroid Prime the line
between Samus’ and the player’s emotional experience gets blurry.

Bug guts coat your visor, along with other environmental effects.

At first glance Metroid Prime appears to use Samus as a silent protagonist,
meant to be a 1:1 avatar for the player. Often silent protagonists are vessels
to be filled by the player’s own emotional reactions to narrative events. But
peppered throughout Prime are reminders that Samus and I are not one in the
same. While she is literally silent, as in without dialogue, the game creates
both tension and empathy between her and the player in different ways. Samus
does have feelings about her accidental visit to a dying planet with immense
personal significance; it’s just that the game doesn’t explicitly show me. By
leaving it somewhat opaque I am invited to wonder, investigate, and empathize.
There are clues, answers scattered throughout the text like Energy Tanks. They
are not straight forward. All together, they build one of the strongest
empathetic connections I’ve ever felt while playing a video game.

> You’ve explored the surface long enough to start building a sense of
> familiarity, but now you’ve found yourself in yet another type of biome. The
> door from the lift opens into a dark, icy hallway. You hear nothing but the
> faint howling of wind and the soft thrum of the lift machinery. Winding your
> way through the hall you barely have time to register the spike in radiation
> before it’s here: a throbbing orb of ice-blue plasma. Three roaming, yellow
> pustules rotate across its surface and point at you. The thing seems fixated
> on you, drawn to you like a magnet. Your scanner tells you it’s the energy of
> the suit. Once it’s right on top of you static fills your HUD. The pustules
> rotate to its underside and start discharging blobs of unstable energy that
> explode on contact. The light from the blast is blinding. Your beam weapon
> bounces off, ineffective. You give up a fight and turn to run. The shine from
> another explosion partially reflects in your visor. You see… her face. Samus’
> blue eyes, determined expression. She seems lonely. Or maybe just… alone.
>
> That feels familiar.

The first area the player explores on Talon IV are ruins. The Chozo Ruins are
beautiful, but also haunting. The pervading sense of loneliness is almost
oppressive. All together it is captivatingly eerie, akin to the sections of
Resident Evil or Silent Hill without explicit horror stuff. So when I catch a
glimpse of Samus’ face reflected in the visor I am exhilarated. The illusion
that I am Samus is broken, but here is another person. It is her and I together.
Maybe the next time it happens I read into her expression. She looks lonely,
too! I feel like Samus without being her. We were made to feel the same about
what was happening in the world of the game.

> Deep within the Chozo Ruins you find a moment’s peace in a long, rectangular
> room on your way to the Elder Hall. A violent and circuitous route has led you
> here. You’ve fought monstrously mutated forms of the planet’s endemic life,
> and navigated harsh and treacherous environments. You’ve learned this planet
> was a home to the race that raised you, but they are long gone- wiped out by a
> corrupting poison. What else can you learn about what’s happening here?
> Hopefully there are answers deep in the Ruins. Inscribed in shimmering stone
> on the walls here are fragments of history left by the Chozo. This is how you
> learned they were here in the first place. But the more you find, the more
> unsettling they become. This history, left by the only ancestor you can claim,
> is increasingly untethered from reality. On Tallon IV they achieved some sort
> of spiritual transcendence, but when the poison came it turned into madness.
> To your horror these new fragments of lore reference you.

> “The power of our temple has been enough to halt the spread of the poison on
> Tallon IV, but that which remains thrives and grows more concentrated, gnawing
> on itself in the dark passages beneath the planet’s surface. Whether it can
> ever be truly destroyed is not for our eyes to see. But there is something
> else. We Chozo are drifting, tumbling through space and time as the Great
> Poison eats away at our sanity. We wake in dreams. As the veil of lunacy
> descends, as past and future blend and shuffle, one image appears and flickers
> through the landscape, wraithlike. It is the Hatchling, the Newborn, walking
> the path of corruption, a lone figure shining in the toxic shadows. She comes
> dressed for war, and her wrath is terrible. Do our eyes look backward, seeing
> the Hatchling as she once was? Or does she approach even now, arriving in our
> race’s last hour, a savior clothed in machines crafted long ago by Chozo
> hands? Poisonous clouds drift across our vision.”

Chozo and Pirate Lore, text logs the player finds throughout Metroid Prime (from
the perspective of the Chozo and Space Pirates respectively) are where the bulk
of the narrative get told. Much of these lore entries are simple exposition
dumps. They give optional narrative context to the setting and gameplay. Within
that context is an interesting wrinkle to the player/player character dynamic.
In the lore quoted above, the Chozo, in their madness, foretell Samus’ arrival
on Tallon IV. But they do not know the full story. In asking, the game is
inviting me to ask that question of Samus myself. Again this forces the player’s
perspective figuratively out of first-person. Again I become aware Samus and I
are separate. This lore, and some others, set the frame of the narrative as
existential. Samus is on an existential journey. She is exploring her past while
navigating her future. Can she save the Chozo? Is that even an option? What will
she learn about herself while here? Will what she learns be good, or bad?

Through the rest of the game Samus fights off an army of Space Pirates, who’ve
set-up various extraction and research facilities to exploit the resources of
what is essentially her foster parents’ graves. She has to exterminate the
ghosts of said foster parents, a horrific act of mercy only she is capable of
performing. She discovers how to save the planet from total corruption, but in
the process learns it is much too late to save the Chozo. She learns the Pirates
have revived her most powerful enemy, Ridely, who stalks her on Tallon IV until
a yet another nearly fatal confrontation between the two. To beat the game is to
rid the planet of the corrupting poison, hopefully preventing its spread to
other planets. In the final fight, Samus is nearly fully corrupted herself, and
Dark Samus is born. Samus survives, but split in two. The toll of her
existential crisis is made manifest in both gameplay and explicit narrative. In
the end, Samus and I achieve victory, but Samus has paid a price. She and I grew
close over our journey on Tallon IV, and even though I am not her, I feel for
her as if I am.

Samus escapes Tallon IV in one piece, removes her helmet, and takes a long look
at the planet her ancestors once called home. She learned about her past,
confronted her own existence, made the universe a little safer, and discovered
something more of herself in the process. I think about my own personal trials,
reflecting on what they cost me and how lonely I felt through them. But also
feel the elation of my own type of victory, my survival, what I learned, how I
grew. It matters. I see my scars in a new light. She has survived, and so have
I.

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I DON’T WANT TO CHANGE THE WORLD

February 19, 2021 ~ Lyn A.

I’ve been playing Final Fantasy Tactics for the last two weeks. While the
semi-opaque wall of numbers that makes the core of Tactic’s gameplay is
captivating, I find the story my main motivation in continuing.

Spoilers for Final Fantasy Tactics below…

Tactics story is dense and does little to hold your hand in the opening scenes.
So many names, power dynamics, and fantasy-medieval political structures are
thrown around, it’s frankly pretty confusing. When I played this game for the
first time as a teenager I skipped through the dialogue and wished I could skip
the cut scenes. I’ve grown into a slightly more patient gal. Poking around a
little, I quickly found much needed context-giving exposition dumps in the form
of talkative bartenders. Thanks for the history lesson, friend!

My reward for my only-slightly improved perseverance is a complex and ethically
nuanced tale of political intrigue, class divide, justice, and power. There are
many moving parts to the story and I will not recount them here. Basically what
you need to understand is: The King of medieval-fantasy continent Ivalice has
died. Many individuals, noble houses, and other groups now maneuver to either
sit on the throne or have influence over the person that does. Meanwhile there
is a race to find and unlock the secrets of 12 supernatural “holy stones,” said
to hold immense power. This is Final Fantasy, after all. The main character,
Ramza, is a coming-of-age noble. He is expected to carry out his older brother’s
wishes without question. Over the course of the first chapter, it becomes
increasingly clear to Ramza that hey, maybe his brother’s aren’t making very
moral decisions. In fact, maybe nobels in general all participate in an unjust
system. He is unable/unwilling to see how he is being manipulated, so he
continues on until an innocent woman is dead.

Chapter One summary.

The events of Chapter One are formative for Ramza. This death sets him on a path
towards justice. What I find fascinating, however, is that the narrative is not
that simple. Ramza is not a one-dimensional ideologue. That role is left for
other characters. Later on in Chapter Two, Ramza has this to say when crossing
swords with someone who participated directly in the woman’s death:

> It’s fate that let Teta die? No, that’s wrong! We killed her out of
> convenience… Yes us! I’ve run from the truth long enough… I killed her…

This is a nuanced take on justice. It took Ramza some soul-searching, but he
ultimately arrives at accountability for his role in Teta’s death, even though
he did everything he could possibly do to prevent it at the time. He recognizes
that he has power within the system as it is, as a noble, and is thus culpable
no matter his intentions or what he did/did not know. This statement takes both
an understanding that it is the system that is wrong, but also oneself. So far
the game thankfully hasn’t played much into the “tortured hero” trope from this
point, which I am thankful for. As is, this dialogue, though simple, is profound
in its implications for the character of Ramza and the story as a whole.

At the end of Chapter Two, we get another conversation that illustrates Ramza’s
evolved point of view. A powerful religious authority figure betrays Ramza.
Before they fight, the Cardinal extends something of an olive branch:

> Draclau (that’s the Cardinal): Why don’t you join us? You want to get the best
> of your brothers sails, right? We care about the world, too. How about it?
>
> Ramza: I don’t want to change the world! I just can’t allow people to suffer
> and die because of some elitist’s ideas. Change the world? You think anyone
> really can? I’m not that reckless!!

This exchange blows me away. Sometimes I dream of it, changing the world. I
think it’s important to exercise that part of my imagination. But when it comes
down to it, it’s important to acknowledge that it’s not up to me. Changing the
world is beyond my power. In fact, it’s reckless to act otherwise; my power-trip
could end up hurting people. Does this mean I can make some tea, kick my feet
up, and spend the rest of my days sitting idly by? Not at all. My responsibility
is simply to do the right thing. Like Ramza, I can’t just sit here and watch
people die. I can’t change the world, no one person can. But I can take action.
I can do the right thing, when I see it.

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IS MARIO A COP?

January 4, 2021January 4, 2021 ~ Lyn A.

Mario Mario, commonly referred to as “Mario,” is a fearless plumber willing to
put his life on the line to save his home, his love, and his Kingdom. That’s how
he’s portrayed in the mainline Mario games, but on close examination, this story
doesn’t hold up. Each of these games is from the perspective of the Mushroom
Kingdom, and should be examined as such. Look closely, and Mario becomes an
elevated and protected arm of the state, tasked with maintaining the status quo.
Basically, Mario is a cop.

The Mushroom Kingdom is a monarchy presided over by Princess
Peach and is consistently threatened by an external power, King Bowser. The
exact nature of this threat is unclear, because the player is only presented
with perspectives from inside the Mushroom Kingdom. The first three entries are
explicitly this. Super Mario Bros. depicts the story of Mario saving a kidnapped
Princess Peach from the clutches of Bowser. Super Mario Bros. 2 depicts a dream
Mario has in which he relives his adventure. Super Mario Bros. 3 shows the
player a play, produced in the Mushroom Kingdom and starring Mario himself,
which again depicts the events of the first game. While each of the stories
contains bias to the benefit of the Mushroom Kingdom, SMB3 is straight up
propaganda. Foreign monarchs, absent in the original adventure, are depicted in
this play as co-victims of Bowser, and thankful for Mario’s intervention.
Propaganda is most effective when it has a specific purpose, a target. I believe
Mario, in his quest to eliminate Bowser, unleashed so much violence that this
re-telling became necessary damage control.

“King” Bowser is usually an undefined threat in Mario games. His
villainy is made apparent, but his motivations are unclear. He lives in a
castle, is seemingly obsessed with Princess Peach, and has an army of sorts at
his command. In Super Mario 64, he steals the Power Stars and seals Princess
Peach away in her own multi-dimensional castle. Interestingly, Bowser uses the
Stars to distribute power among his troops. Defeat his final battle with less
than 120 Stars collected and Bowser laments, “Argghh! I can see peace returning
to the world! I can’t stand it!” In dialogue, he never declares himself King;
only Mario calls him that, quipping “So long King Bowser!” as he tosses the
Koopa into an exploding spike. Instead figuring Bowser for a warmongering
villain like the Mushroom Kingdom would like us to believe, I think these small
details give us some insight into who Bowser is and what he wants.

via GIPHY

That Bowser continues to capture Peach, rather than dispose of
her entirely, shows us that he is perhaps more concerned with the power she has
access to rather than the Princess herself. Even in Mario Odyssey, in which
Bowser is perusing marriage with the Princess, it is likely due to the access of
power a royal marriage would grant him, not a forced romance. When Bowser does
possess the power of the monarch of Mushroom Kingdom, the Power Stars, he
distributes them in equal fashion (eight in each Kingdom) to his “troops.” If
this supposed “army” of Bowser’s is as such, then it is a loosely organized one.
Super Mario 64 depicts Mario’s enemies as simply enjoying their respective
extra-dimensional worlds quite happily, until Mario shows up. If Bowser is truly
an “evil king,” he certainly doesn’t act like one. The Mushroom Kingdom has an
interest in portraying even their mortal enemy as a monarch. By doing so, they
set-up a false dichotomy: there are good and bad monarchs; luckily we have a
good one. I believe Bowser is a populist figure outside the Mushroom Kingdom, a
revolutionary committed to toppling the inequitable and violent monarchy of his
land. Mario’s categorizing of him as “King” is the propaganda at work. He leads
his “army” of the oppressed, star-poor civilians to the castle, and in victory
distributes the wealth of the Stars among them. This is what “war” means to him,
and why he is angry at peace returning. Perhaps he is an ideologue and
ego-maniac. Perhaps his revolution would turn into a dictatorship if given the
chance. Mario gives him the boot in every game, so we may never know.

Sorry Im Sorry GIF from Sorry GIFs

Mario’s portrayal through-out the games as “hero” is akin to the
heroification of police officers in the United States. Supposedly a working
class man, we never see Mario do any actual plumbing. Instead he holds an
elevated role in the strict hierarchy of the Kingdom, subservient to the ruling
monarchy, but nonetheless one of privilege. He is tasked with upholding order in
the Mushroom Kingdom, and he is indiscriminate in his quest to do so. Violence
is his main tactic. He makes a warpath through the land in his quest to locate
his enemy, killing, looting, and destroying all in his way. Not even death can
stop him. Through his access to the mystical, super-natural power hoarded by the
state, he is able to turn wealth into literal immortality.

Collect 100 coins in most Mario games to gain a 1-up.

In real life, police officers are the violent arm of the state used to protect
the status quo, the property, livelihood, and well-being of the ownership-class.
They are depicted as working class, but in action and evidence they serve only
the interests of the ownership class. Mario’s violent sprees are
Peach-sanctioned. Only he and his associates are permitted to use such violence.
Anyone else who tries to do so gets labeled a “Bowser,” and cast as a villain.
The status-quo he protects is the monarchy of Princess Peach. This structure of
Mushroom Kingdom society allows Peach and her friends to hoard wealth and Power
Stars.

Examining the world building of the Mario games with a critical eye reveals a
dramatically different setting than the on-the-cover tone suggests, and perhaps
one that mirrors our own in real life. An unjust and inhumane societal structure
keeps wealth and a mystical, divine-like power source in the hands of a small
handful of people. An outsider organizes to disrupt that power structure. A
specific job is created to put down any challenger by any means necessary. And
this familiar story is retold to us by the victors, over and over again. I
realize this piece is looking way too hard at a series of games that barely have
a story, but honestly I find seeing my reality reflected in the things I love
unavoidable.

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VIDEO GAMES USE NARRATION WELL, ACTUALLY

July 9, 2020 ~ Lyn A.

Voice-over narration is a useful and engaging story-telling tool… in video
games. Film critics, at least the ones publishing screenwriting books, advise
strongly against it much in the same way literature publishers and editors
advocate the eradication of semicolons and adverbs from prose. But what about
video games? Video games use voice-over a lot. So I’m going to take a look at a
couple of examples, one I’ve played recently and an old favorite. Each
demonstrates the usefulness of voice-over narration as a storytelling device,
particularly in video games, and mostly avoids what makes it a controversial
tool for filmmakers.

FINAL FANTASY CRYSTAL CHRONICLES

> They say that wicked creatures prowl the road along this beautiful riverbank,
> but nobody has ever seen one. I once asked a man why. He simply replied,
> “Because anybody who happens upon one is promptly eaten!”
>
> But it is long since anyone has met such a fate. For nowadays, people take
> another route, far away from the spooky old road. Only we walk the old way
> now… travellers in crystal caravans.
> -Diary Entry, River Belle Path, Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles
>
> Introduction to River Belle Path, Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles

Released in North America in 2004, Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles was a
GameCube exclusive and completely odd. I have a deep affection for this game.
While I was a teenager, the “console war” propaganda really got to me, and my
side was Nintendo. I was ecstatic that Square was bringing Final Fantasy back
“home.” After an exposé in Nintendo Power I tracked down the Japanese OST and
fell in love with the game before it even came out. After release, my personal
hype train lost some steam. Crystal Chronicles was decidedly not like other
entries in the franchise. However the heart of a fangirl is stubborn and I
persevered through my initial disappointment. I was privileged to have many
friends with Gameboy Advances and Link Cables, which are required for
multiplayer. My friends and I were between 9th and 10th grade, so it wasn’t hard
to set aside a weekend to play. What I discovered as this strange game unfolded
was a rich world, full of history and character, that the player had to piece
together for themself. Much of this information, the content and tone, was
communicated to the player through voice-over narration.

Credit to Long Play Archive

I quoted the diary entry for the first level of Crystal Chronicles, River Belle
Path, above because it demonstrates FFCC’s storytelling style. These diary
entries play in voice-over along with a short cinematic overview of the area the
first time you play through it. These are the only times diary entries are
voiced, but diary entries serve to communicate the details of the story
throughout the game. A new one is added after every level and cut scene. The
diary entries for the cut scenes provide essential context and perspective to
the often otherwise weird and inexplicable interludes between stages. It is in
this way that the story of FFCC is told.

I say “story” because FFCC doesn’t really have a plot, per se. It’s possible to
beat the game without understanding exactly what’s going on beyond “recharge
crystal so town can live.” I really only picked up on the wider context of the
events of the game after multiple playthroughs. This isn’t to say that the game
is narratively challenging or convoluted. While it is intentionally vague in
parts, I just hadn’t experienced a game like this before, one in which the story
was there but I had to go looking. FFCC is definitely that type of game, and is
particularly successful at it.

The use of diary entries adds depth and weight to the world and story. They
accomplish this by taking an in-world perspective. This is not some unrelated
narrator giving an exposition dump, it is in fact you, the player. Or more
accurately, the player character. Being privy to your character’s private
thoughts and feelings on the day to day events, and the world in general, adds a
compelling richness and context to the overall game. Take the introduction to
the second stage, Mushroom Forest, for example. In contrast to River Belle Path,
which gives a sort of folk history of the area, your character instead relates a
childhood memory that shapes how they feel that they are exploring the place in
person.

It was these narrations that often kept me playing. I was engaged and wanted to
know more. This is by design. The mystery surrounding why the world is covered
in deadly magic serves as the core of the story. The player and the player
character become invested in these questions and are invited to find out the
answers; the latter because of practical concerns, like the safety of their
family and friends, and the former because of pathos, but also because
uncovering mysteries is fun.

Voice-over narration in FFCC serves to tell us a story about a world that feels
lived in, with a history and folklore that feel alive. It helps the game marry
the goals of the player to the goals of the player character. While I certainly
have criticisms of the gameplay, the story, and how it’s told, are fantastic
examples of why voice-over can work so well in video games.

BASTION

“That’s Cinderbrick Fort, where the Marshals used to watch over the City.
There’s only one way into Cinderbrick Fort. The hard way.”
-Ruckus, Bastion

The end of the world is where the story of Bastion starts. It features near
constant voice-over narration from ingame character Ruckus, one of the only
survivors of a capital C “Calamity” that destroyed the world. Like Crystal
Chronicles, Bastion uses narration to introduce new areas, give context to the
world, and keep the player engaged on a narrative level. But unlike FFCC,
Bastion’s story is laid out for the player, and for the most part unavoidable.
Ruckus is always with you in voice-over, and could be considered the main
character depending on your reading of the text. Like a narrator in a novel, he
takes us through the story from his perspective. It’s up to the player to
determine if they can rely on that perspective. Taken all together, Bastion
presents itself as a game about storytelling. What are the stories we tell, and
why? And how do stories change?

Ruckus narrates most of the actions of The Kid, inhabited by the player. The
constant interaction between the narrator and the player’s actions is something
only possible in a video game. It elevates the role of the narrator as another
element of the world the player can interact with and manipulate. Having a voice
like Sam Elliot and a script full of cowboy-like sayings, Ruckus’ voice-over
narration often made me feel badass. I’d come upon a group of intimidating
enemies and Ruckus would say “The Gasfellas didn’t take kindly to The Kid
trespassing their fort.” Once I defeated the enemies, in fact just barely
scraping by, Ruckus would again chime in, “But that didn’t stop The Kid. Nothin’
stopped him once he knew where he was going’.” In certain situations he will
make fun of the player, like when I accidently rolled off a ledge to my death:
“It could get slippery up on The Wall.” These kinds of interactions create a
relationship between the player and Ruckus, one that is more involved than a
traditional NPC. Rucku is the player’s perspective into the world.

Late in the game, Bastion uses this relationship for dramatic effect. While
progressing through the story, certain items at the hub world are unlocked that
send The Kid into a dream state. Seperate from the games regular levels, these
dreams have The Kid fight off waves of enemies while Ruckus tells the backstory
of a character. The marriage between narration and player action continues in
these sections. Ruckus will trail off if The Kid dies, forgetting the rest of
the story. These are the first sections in the game that make Ruck’s bias clear.
He passes judgement on the other characters and states it as fact. He has a
penchant for dramatizing, perhaps exaggerating, the particulars of the history
of The Kid, Zia, and Zulf.

Credit to ObedGaming.

These elements come to a head in the final stages of the game. The Kid, guided
by Ruckus, has nearly completed The Bastion. Your goal for the entire game, as
stated by Ruckus, has been to reassemble The Bastion in order to reverse The
Calamity. But a secondary function is revealed late, one that turns The Bastion
into an airship and evacuates the city. Ruckus clearly wants to undo The
Calamity. He does not hide this fact in his narration. To Ruckus, The Bastion is
a time machine. Once the final level is complete, however, the player, and The
Kid, get to choose: go back in time to pre-Calamity, or forge ahead into the
unknown of the future? I chose forging ahead. Ruckus expressed clear
disappointment, but understood why The Kid would make that choice. This moment
is the pinnacle of that marriage between player action and voice-over narration.
The game has a clear, in-world point of view, and then gives the player an
opportunity to disagree, to make an “unexpected” decision. Ruckus stops telling
his story. It’s over. The Kid, and the player, reject restarting the cycle in
order to forge ahead, and ultimately change the story.

* * *

Both Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles and Bastion used the tool to create
powerful emotional moments, but also to give their worlds character and depth.
The narration in each of these games helps pull the narrative along, but never
at the expense of boring the player. In fact, the narration serves to entice the
player and keep them engaged. My first playthrough of Bastion reminded me a lot
of FFCC, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it until I narrowed in on their
shared narrative tool. Each has a story to tell, and decided to put voice-over
narration as its center.

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MY JOURNEY TO ISLAM

May 28, 2020May 11, 2020 ~ Lyn A.

On April 28th 2019 I went to bed high as a kite, and on the morning of April
29th, I woke up and knew God is real, that I must become Muslim, and that I
should strive to stay sober. What happened? It feels ridiculous to say out loud.
I’ve only spoken about this a handful of times, and always felt awkward about
it. I feel like some fraud, or worse, some false prophet crazy person with a god
complex. Simply put, that night I had a dream. It was the first dream I had in
years. In this dream I was content, joyful, among family, sober, and Muslim. The
dream itself was rather uneventful. I was in a yellow hijab playing a board game
with people I considered family. Those feelings of security and joy surrounded
me. I had never in my waking life experienced those emotions to that degree. In
the dream I had a place I belonged. Obviously, this dream has stuck with me. It
is the starting point of a monumental change in my life. Where has my journey
taken me?

This is far and away the most personal I’ve ever gotten on this blog. Before I
continue, I want to set some expectations. This post is about my personal
experiences centered around my journey into Islam as a religion, concept, and
way of life. These personal experiences while spiritual and religious in nature,
are not meant to supersede anyone else’s perception and ideas of the world. God
guides us as He will. Or, to put it another way, let my truth be mine, and your
truth be yours. There is value in sharing and communicating our perceptions on
the nature of things; this is mine as it relates to my life, and hopefully in
some way, your life too.

“BECOMING” MUSLIM

Going from an agnostic to an apparent monotheist literally overnight was quite a
shock. I had virtually no personal experience with Islam. I had a vague memory
of some lessons in middle school as part of my 8th grade World History class.
Islam: one of the largest religions in the world. Originated in the Middle East.
One main holy text, The Quran, with other revered texts alongside it. The
prophet Muhammed is the main figure of the religion, but not to be depicted. The
9/11 terrorists were Muslim. There are two sects in Islam, Shi’ite and Sunni.
These sects relation to one another are responsible for much of the violence in
the Middle East, and are making the United State’s operations in Iraq and
Afghanistan difficult, perhaps due to a lack of US understanding.

My view of Islam was typical of a white American: racist, bigoted, and
Western-centric. I awoke from my dream with a strong conviction that being
Muslim was my path, and so I tried to start learning (and unlearning) as much as
I could.

“Hey Google, how do I become Muslim?” Many hours were spent researching that
question, and other similar ones, though “research” is a generous term. I didn’t
much know or care about the sources I was reading, I was simply hungry for
information. I had my “burning bush” moment show me the way, but I felt I needed
answers to know specifically what to do now. Unfortunately, a lot of what I
found that first day, and the following weeks, made me uncomfortable, felt
wrong, or directly conflicted with other sources I read.

However, for my first question I did find consistent results. Conversion to
Islam seemed simple: say, and believe, a short statement as a testimony of faith
in God. I feel that my spiritual experience, the “burning bush,” left me with no
choice. The simplicity of my conversion rocked me. My world simultaneously
expanded infinitely and became narrow. I knew in my heart this was true, I am
now a Muslim. It honestly reminds me of the day I learned the word
“transgender.” I suddenly understood myself on a level I didn’t before, and I
had a path to walk into my future. My experience with the dream had directly led
to a belief that there is one God, and I had a desire to submit and serve God.
In this way, my soul was made wide. But my mind reeled, closing in on the
thought that I couldn’t be Muslim, I still didn’t know how.

LEARNING MY RELIGION

Now that I was a Muslim, I sought to learn as much as I could about the faith,
it’s history, and practices. My first source was blogs by self-identified
Muslims, usually “orthodox” and/or very convervative. Each source I found on any
question I had seemed to contradict the last one I found. The method of prayer,
performing ablution, eating habits, diet, facial hair, manner of dress, and so
much more. I felt overwhelmed, and put off starting contact prayers for many
weeks out of fear I would do it wrong and disappoint or anger God.

One solution I had to combat my ignorance, resistance, and fear was to start
reading The Quran. I downloaded a prayer reminder app that also came with a
digital version of the Muslim holy text in multiple translations. This brought
me great relief, as well as a whole new source of uncertainty. Different
translations seemed wildly varied and in important ways. How was I to know which
to read, as a person who only speaks English? I couldn’t answer this question.
My faith was being tested, almost right away! I felt it was pretty unfair, but I
kept reading. Afterall, I figured this is what faith is all about. I settled on
Saheed International simply because three American women wrote the translation.
Despite not understanding much, I was rewarded with passages that struck a chord
deep inside me, like this one describing in detail the life of bees, and
instructing us to notice and be grateful:

> وَأَوۡحَىٰ رَبُّكَ إِلَى ٱلنَّحۡلِ أَنِ ٱتَّخِذِي مِنَ ٱلۡجِبَالِ بُيُوتٗا
> وَمِنَ ٱلشَّجَرِ وَمِمَّا يَعۡرِشُونَ 16:68
> And your Lord inspired to the bee, “Take for yourself among the mountains,
> houses, and among the trees and [in] that which they construct.
>
> -Saheeh International, https://quranonline.net/16#68

> ثُمَّ كُلِي مِن كُلِّ ٱلثَّمَرَٰتِ فَٱسۡلُكِي سُبُلَ رَبِّكِ ذُلُلٗاۚ يَخۡرُجُ
> مِنۢ بُطُونِهَا شَرَابٞ مُّخۡتَلِفٌ أَلۡوَٰنُهُۥ فِيهِ شِفَآءٞ لِّلنَّاسِۚ
> إِنَّ فِي ذَٰلِكَ لَأٓيَةٗ لِّقَوۡمٖ يَتَفَكَّرُونَ 16:69
> Then eat from all the fruits and follow the ways of your Lord laid down [for
> you].” There emerges from their bellies a drink, varying in colors, in which
> there is healing for people. Indeed in that is a sign for a people who give
> thought.
>
> Saheeh International, https://quranonline.net/16#69

There were also passages that made me deeply uncomfortable. I questioned often
whether I could practice a faith that apparently had such language present in
it’s Holy text:

> ٱلرِّجَالُ قَوَّـٰمُونَ عَلَى ٱلنِّسَآءِ بِمَا فَضَّلَ ٱللَّهُ بَعۡضَهُمۡ
> عَلَىٰ بَعۡضٖ وَبِمَآ أَنفَقُواْ مِنۡ أَمۡوَٰلِهِمۡۚ فَٱلصَّـٰلِحَٰتُ
> قَٰنِتَٰتٌ حَٰفِظَٰتٞ لِّلۡغَيۡبِ بِمَا حَفِظَ ٱللَّهُۚ وَٱلَّـٰتِي تَخَافُونَ
> نُشُوزَهُنَّ فَعِظُوهُنَّ وَٱهۡجُرُوهُنَّ فِي ٱلۡمَضَاجِعِ وَٱضۡرِبُوهُنَّۖ
> فَإِنۡ أَطَعۡنَكُمۡ فَلَا تَبۡغُواْ عَلَيۡهِنَّ سَبِيلًاۗ إِنَّ ٱللَّهَ كَانَ
> عَلِيّٗا كَبِيرٗا 4:34
> Men are in charge of women by [right of] what Allah has given one over the
> other and what they spend [for maintenance] from their wealth. So righteous
> women are devoutly obedient, guarding in [the husband’s] absence what Allah
> would have them guard. But those [wives] from whom you fear arrogance –
> [first] advise them; [then if they persist], forsake them in bed; and
> [finally], strike them. But if they obey you [once more], seek no means
> against them. Indeed, Allah is ever Exalted and Grand.
>
> Saheeh International, https://quranonline.net/4#34

But the rationale of The Quran is well structured. As much as went over my head
or made my skin crawl, there was more that spoke to me in some way. I was
encouraged by this text to keep an open mind, use rational thought, and fight
oppression. I settled into the idea that learning my religion would be a
lifelong pursuit.

CONTINUALLY ARRIVING

A little over one year ago I woke up from a dream a Muslim. My journey is just
beginning. Today, I’ve come across progressive, even reformist interpretations
and practices of Islam. Masjid al-Rabia, Muslims for Progressive Values, Quran:
A Reformist Translation. These sources encouraged me to do my own learning,
research, and rational inquiry into all I came across that used the label
“Muslim” or “Islam.” I know this will take my entire lifetime. I do not speak
modern Arabic, let alone the Arabic that was spoken and written centuries ago
during the time of revelation. In many ways I am at the mercy of Quranic
scholars and interpreters. But I do have a faculty of reason, and I strive to
not take anything on blind faith. This requires me, according to my own
standards, to have an open mind and a willingness to keep learning and changing.
This is how I practice Islam today. I’ve changed the way I pray, eat, sleep, and
interact with others because I’ve absorbed sources that interpret and translate
the Quran in a new way. In that spirit I will continue to examine new sources,
new information, and new practices regarding Islam. I hope to be continually
refining my religious practice and never get stuck in dogmatism. I am slowly
developing a standard on which to make religious determinations for myself. I am
learning, and probably far from perfect. But as a new friend reminded me
recently, perfection does not belong to us humans. Perfection belongs to God.

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CHARACTER BACKSTORY: THISBY THORNWELL

May 21, 2020May 6, 2020 ~ Lyn A.

“Mom,” Thisby says all hands waving and frustration, “I told you before, the
experiment must happen on the third of this coming tenday. The humidity will be
just right. You see, my experiment requires a very high pungency density, which
requires a certain amount of–“

Her Mother, Elena, cuts her off. “But Thisby, my princess, the smell.”

“Aren’t bathrooms supposed to smell?”

Her Mother forces a short laugh then smiles condescendingly. Thisby sighs,
defeated. No winning this one– Mom thinks she’s being nice. Honestly, she saw
this coming. As soon as the school forced her to move her experiment out of the
arcane laboratory, she had an inkling her Mom’s initial enthusiasm wouldn’t last
long. Elena loved being the accommodating, “cool” parent, until Thisby’s
pursuits interfered with their contemplation of Nature and the Universe or
whatever. Deep breaths, Thisby reminds herself. Let. This. Go.

She tries. She really does try.

“I thought you were meant to embrace in earthly sensations like smell. All the
gifts Mother Nature has to offer or whatever.” Thisby’s tone is flowery and
flippant.

“Yes honey, but must it be all at once?”

That hurt. “It won’t take that long, I promise. If you didn’t have to have it
clear literally all day…” Thisby trails off, anticipates her Mother cutting in.

“Thisby Thornwell, you know how important Root Festival is. The rituals we go
through are a deep meditation in order to bond with the very land we live on. It
is our sacred duty, for we must–”

It’s Thisby’s turn to interrupt, “–commune with the Divine Mother in order to
best protect Her. Yes, I understand.”

Elena smiles like a First School instructor. Thisby hates it. Clearly, her
Mother isn’t getting it. Thisby feels her full explanation yesterday must not
have been satisfactory. It’s time to change tactics. “Very well, Mother. I will
scrap the experiment. It’ll take me awhile to disassemble the materials, so it
will likely stay quite pungent.”

Elena is delighted, “Wonderful, darling!”

Having gotten what she wanted, she turns away from her daughter. Thisby waits
until Elena won’t see, thumbs her long, slender nose up towards Mom then turns
toward her room. Each step she takes gets heavier as her internal tirade becomes
more vicious. It isn’t the lack of understanding that sends her blood boiling.
Ignorance, Thisby feels, is fixable, and so should not be so scorned. Arcane
magic is extremely complex, after all, especially compared to her Mother’s
divine magic. It’s the lack of acceptance that really tears at her. If she could
just gather enough proof, execute a demonstration, maybe then she would be taken
seriously. Thisby’s pace quickened as she winds through the small, dim hallway
to her bedroom. She flings the door open excitedly and has to catch herself,
stopping before knocking over any delicate instruments. The room is warm– Thisby
has multiple low flames going on account of the experiment– and a rush of air
sweeps past Thisby into the hallway. The air carries the smell. Oh, the smell!

For Thisby it smells beautiful. The cataclysm of scents and stenches both
literally and figuratively represent months of careful research, planning, and
materials. She is taking a risk, this she knows. Thisby is attempting to use her
unique methods to attempt to cast a slightly more advanced spell. She’s jumping
ahead in a way. “But is it really a gamble,” Thisby thinks, “if my methodology
is sound? Besides, a cantrip wouldn’t cut it. To show the true potential of
scents to interact with The Weave, I need to do better.”

Thisby quietly shuts her bedroom door. She is now contained entirely within the
cacophony of smells: bitter salt, sweet putrice of rotten fat, earthy lows of
fowl excrement, the blank canvas of neutral sand. All these scents swirl and
clash about, energetic but discordant. The 16 year old gnome gazes out at her
room and starts calculating the work to be done. Obviously, she’ll need to
reduce the scale of the whole procedure. How will she pull this off? Thisby
stands at the head of a long, wooden table covered in glass apparatuses. Thick
metal rods, crudely bent with what look like garden tools, precariously suspend
some of these glass instruments over small alchemical fires. Varied substances
fill the beakers, jars, and tubes, and different liquids too. Lamb rennet and
trimmings, now rotten, Thisby had to petition her half-Druid school to allow.
Sea salt and seaweed she’d dehydrated herself after paying two months allowance
to an adventurer to retrieve some for her. Not all of the substances are so
exotic. Thisby collected the bird droppings from local crows without much
incident. Transparent rubber tubing leads to and from the glass instruments, all
intertwined. On either side of the table were two other identical tables,
Thisby’s school supplies scattered atop each. There is just enough space between
each for a small gnome teenager to pass through unimpeded.

The young girl sighs and cocks a hip to one side, resting a hand there while her
other snaps compulsively. Yes, it’s true: Thisby’s instruments are rudimentary.
She theorizes that better, more specialized equipment would prevent so much
leakage. “If I can just get this to work, I’ll get a good advisor in college
who’ll pull all the right strings…” her snapping gets excited now, “I’ll finally
be taken seriously!”

Thisby believes that under the right circumstances, the phenomenon of scents has
tremendous arcane potential. Her work thus far has proven that it is
theoretically possible to cast a spell using olfactory elements as components.
But in reality? That’s what the experiment is for. Manipulating The Weave,
however, is always unpredictable. Even the most seasoned wizard will have a
basic spell fizzle out with no explanation. All her work thus far has led her to
create the complex apparatus before her, and now she has to find a way to make
it smaller, more covert, perhaps even portable. This will be a challenge. Thisby
doesn’t know what to expect. This excites her. She starts humming to herself as
she goes about rearranging the equipment.

***

The day of the Root Festival has arrived. Elena could not be more excited. She
greets her guests, bringing her fellow druids into the foyer as they arrive.
Thisby can hear her put on tea, make small talk. Elena is awkwardly trying to
bide her time before taking her guests down the “smelly” hallway. Thisby feels
like an embarrassment, but this only makes her more determined. She has to
complete the experiment. It must work. The guests are coming down the hall now.
Thisby hears her mother’s nervous laughter.

“Ugh,” Thisby mutters, getting more frantic by the second, “I can just see them.
Mom making excuses for why I’m not out there, that I’m just being a moody
teenager.”

That last word, teenager, drips with disdain. Thisby doesn’t like being grouped
with her peers, she finds most of her classmates superfluous.

“Ugh.” She repeats. It is true, afterall. She is just a teenager. But maybe…
maybe if she could get the experiment to work she’ll for once be looked upon
with respect.

Thisby attaches the last rubber tube in its place. She double checks her burners
and connections, making adjustments as she goes. Elena begins quickly ushering
her guests to the end of the hall where one of their minor sacred meeting places
is located. “Why can’t Mom understand this is important?” Thisby thinks as she
surveys the table in front of her.

Everything appears ready. She waits a moment before starting. She is out to
prove something, and this is only the beginning. She turns a knob that releases
a hot air stream. The process of evoking the spell has begun. The air travels
through tubing, from jar to jar, picking up scents along the way. A hissing of
rushing air fills the room. Thisby’s eyes follow the action as best they can,
but her mind wanders to her mother. Thisby’s drive to prove the validity of
Olfactory Arcana is strong, but right now, she just wants to make her Mother
proud.

The hiss of the hot air drones on for an impossible moment. The hair on the back
of Thisby’s neck stands straight up. This feeling is unmistakable: arcane magic
is being performed. “Oh my gods, it’s–” Suddenly, Thisby can’t talk.

For an instant, Thisby feels as if she is underwater. She is not, she observes,
actually underwater, but in her room feet on the floor, arms at her side. “It’s
so strange,” she thinks, “feeling weightless but staying grounded.”

After a moment of contemplation, she realizes she’s holding her breath. Finally
she exhales. The underwater weightlessness goes away. Taking hardly a second to
gather herself, Thisby excitedly ducks beneath the table to examine the basin.
Empty. Puzzled, she stands and inspects her instruments. Thisby can find nothing
wrong. “But how?” she thinks, “I triple checked everything!”

Her mind starts racing, almost lost in the problem, when she hears the screams
from the end of the hall. Thisby gasps. Sprinting out of her room, she runs to
the thick woven cloth of the Meeting Place. She feels the sensation of water
beneath her feet as soon as she steps in the room. Thisby looks down. Yep, this
water is actually here. The Meeting Place is a circular room, the walls lined
with torches and intricate living tapestries woven from plants growing from the
dirt floor. The floor is soaked. All the torches are out. Some of the
bioluminescent plants are keeping the room dimly lit while some of the druids
begin producing magical light. Most of Elena’s Circle is in the mud. Elena
herself has just stood up and is getting her bearings.

“Mom!” Thisby shrieks excitedly.

Elena reers back in surprise. “What? Wha–”

Thisby runs, almost slipping along the way, to Elena and gives her Mother a hug.
“It worked! I cast a spell with smell! Isn’t it incredible? I didn’t mean to
cast it here here, but it really actually worked! And–” Thisby sniffs deepy,
“that’s seawater, right? Is this what the ocean smells like, Mom?”

Elena nods slowly; she is still putting it all together.

“Amazing,” Thisby continues, “just one unique effect of Olfactory Arcana.”

Thisby is beaming. Elena can’t help but feel proud. She pulls her daughter in
for a hug. “That’s fantastic, angel. Now how about you put on some hot tea for
our guests while I clean up?”

“Oh.” Thisby remembers the guests. “Yeah, of course,” she nods sheepishly.

Turning to leave, Thisby stops herself. “And Mom?

“Yes dear?”

“There’s totally a reverse spell, if you’re interested.”

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PRAYER

May 14, 2020May 6, 2020 ~ Lyn A.

sometimes i pray when i fuck/ in conversation with humid air compressed
springs the flies trapped between window and screen my hands and yours
any swarming thing/ for these to me are God/ this moment
within and without divinity newborn and rotting dead always
always always returning with each gasp/ I take inevitable/ I face myself
outward the opposite of disassociation/ I die a little/ this death
a blessing/ a gift from God/ like every earthly pleasure that takes us further
from Him/
and closer

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CHARACTER BACKSTORY: AMRAE FARID

May 7, 2020May 6, 2020 ~ Lyn A.

A half-elf woman with cracked, tanned skin sat shivering in her tent. The desert
winds blew cold that night. The oil lamp provided light enough to write, but not
nearly enough for warmth. As she carefully inked the dried and stretched camel
hide in front of her, her mind couldn’t help but wander to when she’d light her
own tent’s hearth, crawl into her bedding, and finally warm her old bones. The
men standing over her shoulder couldn’t care less about such creature comforts.
They were too focused on the document Armae Farid was writing.

The men are young, dutifully focused on the honor of providing for their
respective tribes. There had been a disagreement between them. The Aakeli tribe,
responsible for trade with the settlements on the south-western border of the
desert, had been able to open a new market, and needed more product to meet
demand. The Marid tribe, one of the many of the Bedine tribes who harvested the
salt and spice of their trade, felt the Aakeli demanded too much without
distributing traded goods in return. Tensions had escalated in the past weeks,
and after a small skirmish with a few deaths, Armae was finally called in to
negotiate between them. The agreement was relatively easy; these days it wasn’t
an issue of having enough to survive, but of each side looking to honor their
tribe. Armae regretted that people had to die before she was summoned, but she
reminded herself to keep perspective. It had only been two generations that
these young men’s fathers had led their tribes in a war that killed dozens, and
that was merely over the spoils of a particularly successful raid. Back then
Armae, a much younger woman, was able to broker not only an end to that
conflict, but any conflict among Bedine tribes of that scale. That was a much
more difficult negotiation.

She was able to organize such a relative peace by virtue of her ability to
empathize with these Bedine humans, no matter to which tribe they belonged. She
understood the hardships they faced trying to survive in the desert. She related
to their stories that taught one to have honor and pride for oneself and one’s
tribe in the face of historic oppression. She respected how their tribes were
organized: each individual fit a specific role that helped the whole survive,
but no one would be pushed beyond their means. Every member of every tribe was
cared for as a matter of honor. Maybe, she thought as an idealistic young woman,
she could help them start to think of themselves as one big tribe. It was how
she had wished her own “tribe” lived.

Her people, a band of elves that lived in the western reaches of the Border
Forest, considered themselves wise and full of light. But Armae knew better. Her
childhood was peaceful, idyllic even. When she reached adolescence, and started
aging at a human rate, the elders in her village began to take notice. Parentage
in her village wasn’t traditional, by human standards. Babies were born, then
cared for by everyone. Armae knew who birthed her, but it didn’t make for a
family unit per se. They existed as one people, one village, and provided
accordingly. Until it became obvious she was part human, Amrae was part of this
whole. The elders, who made a majority of her village, held a severe bias
against humans. Years ago, an evil human empire, The Netheril, held an iron fist
over the region, enslaved elves, and hoarded riches. Their capitol city flew by
magic over the vast desert to the east of the forest of Armae’s elven ancestors.
So it is there that she was exiled. Two elder warriors took her in magical
shackles into the desert when she was only 16 years old and left to die. She
survived only by the mercy of the sand, wind, and sun. She learned to listen to
the desert, and the desert guided her not to safety, but to survival.

Armae survived much like a small desert creature for months. She got accustomed
to the searing hot days and the brutally cold nights. The desert told her about
small pools of water under rocks, and the fruits of cacti. One night, she
followed magical druidic signs to a hidden oasis. There, she was able to commune
with nature more deeply, and finally find safety. In adulthood, she stopped
avoiding the human tribes who roamed the region, killing anyone who dared to
cross the desert for meager supplies. The desert had taught her that there could
be a balance of life and death in this desert. It was up to her to show the
Bedine the way.

It had been over 60 years and the process wasn’t finished. Skirmishes like this
one still cropped up with enough frequency that Armae was kept busy. She
traveled from camp to camp settling disputes and renegotiating agreements. At
times she got a break from this diplomatic work. She’d spend that time alone,
communing with the desert and exploring it’s mysteries.

The new contract finished, each sheik took the quill and gave their mark that
served as signature. The men then embraced to formalize the agreement. The Marid
would increase harvest of salt and spice to help meet the new demand in exchange
for the Aakeli’s help in moving camp in two weeks once the harvest was complete,
as well as a few wool blankets the Marid would use to keep their sick and
elderly warm. Today, everyone would be taken care of.

Now that the work was done Armae, the sheiks, and their familie’s shared
hibiscus tea and a light meal in the central communal tent of the Marid camp.
The hot tea warmed Armae to her soul, and she couldn’t get enough. The night was
clear, and the wind was oddly high for that time of year. Armae tried to focus
on the positives of the night, but couldn’t help but feel nature’s ill omen. It
was distant, but distinct. Patience, she knew, would serve her well here. Nature
always did things in Her own time, and if she did not rush but kept her heart
open, the answer would come. For now, she went for another cup of tea.

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