DShomshak

Addendum: Turkish Kurdistan also happens to be the water-tower of the Middle East. It holds the headwaters of the Tigris, the Euphrates, and several other rivers. For both irrigation and hydropower, Turkey's central government is extremely reluctant to lose control of this region. Dean Shomshak

Sniped by LL, but I'll finish anyway. Not really an expert, but IIRC the issues between Turkey and the Kurds go back to the abolition of the Ottoman Empire. On the one hand, Kemal Ataturk's crew wanted to create a nation-state: Turkey, as the country of the Turks. Except... the territory included a wide area inhabited by Kurds, who insist they are not Turks on the factually irrefutable grounds that they aren't. They speak a completely different language (though Kurdish has absorbed many loan words from Turkish); they've lived in more or less their current territory since at least 2000 BCE. So when the Turkish government declared that there was no such thing as Kurds, they were "Mountain Turks" and had to learn Turkish, some Kurds got upset enough they turned to violence. As LL mentions, Kurds exist in various other countries as well, creating a fairly sizeable movement that wants to lop off parts of those countries to create their own country of Kurdistan. Leaving aside the justice of Kurdish rebels' cause or methods, Erdogan has shown he cannot abide any sort of pluralistic compromise on, well, anything. A rational person might think, "Hey, if I can make nice with our Kurdish population and make them feel they have a stake in my government, I can use them to give my country influence in other countries with Kurdish minorities." But the mythological basis of nationalism does not permit such a pragmatic course. Nationalism: It's just not been a good thing. Dean Shomshak

The NYTimes podcast "The Daily" offers a brief guide to the "Great Replacement" conspiracy theory used by white supremacist mass shooters... and those who inspire them, such as Tucker Carlson. https://www.nytimes.com/2022/05/16/podcasts/the-daily/buffalo-shooting-replacement-theory.html?action=click&module=audio-series-bar&region=header&pgtype=Article Dean Shomshak

I'm sure she knows it's useless. It was still worth doing. Dean Shomshak Just heard on All Things Considered: Ben Franklin's Handy Home Abortion Guide. Because abortion "isn't deeply rooted in American culture." https://www.npr.org/2022/05/16/1099244635/for-ben-franklin-abortion-was-basic-arithmetic Dean Shomshak

Like new Shimmer, which is both a floor wax AND a dessert topping, Ghostbusters managed to be both wacky comedy AND supernatural horror. A truly incredible achievement. Bairtd Searles, the movie and TV reviewer for Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction when it came out, compared the initial "play the supernatural for laughs" to the frothy fantasies of Thorne Smith, sliding seamlessly to something worthy of H. P. Lovecraft. He was gobsmacked. Dean Shomshak

Well, it was implied by the illustration. The Lovers are not displeased. (I almost included it in the description myself, but it's better for Chroma to ordain it.) Dean Shomshak

“How can you refuse me?” demanded Lissarka of Zyrrhene, by some called the Queen of Pain. “ What can Vanth offer you that I cannot, ten times over? Join me as my consort and you shall have wealth, you shall have power, you shall have me. Am I not beautiful? A thousand men have died seeking my favor, and I offer myself — to you!” Doral shrugged in his chains, setting lean muscle rippling. A pitying smile softened his chiseled face with a dimple. He made rags and steel fetters look good. “I don’t deny you’re pretty, he told the liosalfar Queen of Pain. “In a cheap, needy sort of way. And I’m sure you’re perfectly adequate in bed. But you can’t imagine what I have with Vanth. I loved her the moment I saw her, more than life itself, and I know she feels the same about me. I love the way she sings. I love the way she wears her hat. I love a thousand things about her. I want to raise a family with her, grow old together, see grandchildren. Do you even know what I’m talking about? No, of course not. You can’t. And for that, I pity you.” The smile twisted, turned acid. “But not much.” Lissarka’s golden skin paled in her rage. “So be it. My holy master is right. I might have betrayed him for you — but instead I shall offer Him your life to show Him my love, and make me a vessel for His power!” She took a long, jeweled dagger from the golden plate held by a kneeling slave. “Xarn Tarsus, accept this sacrifice of his heart, and mine! I am yours, Lord, only — Put out that candle!” A hundred guards, nobles, and assorted sycophants turned to goggle at the brownie that scurried along the temple’s baseboards, a small candle in one hand and a cleaning cloth in the other. The candle gave a point of warm yellow light among the shadows cast by pillars in the dim, colorless glow of the zikku-crystals set in the fane’s ceiling. Doral grinned. Right on time, he thought. The brownie goggled back, then bowed deeply. “Wot? Sorry, Your Queeniness, so sorry, it’s just so hard to see back here, an’ I remember there was a bit o’ stain on the floor, some blood musta splashed a long way, of course I’ll put it out…” Too late. The little flame burst up and out in a red-gold blaze, the curls of fire at the edges momentarily looking like a ring of roses. Out leaped four figures: a female faun with a wooden staff and a necklace bearing a pendant of two strips of wood bent around each other, a female ghoul in a black robe with a cozier made of bone, a brilliantly hued dragon that swooped between two pillars to coil in the air, and a giant dwarf in plate-and-chain armor, carrying a massive, long-handled axe. “Ow!” the giant dwarf said as he bonked his head on the underside of the balcony running the chamber’s length. “Impossible!” gasped Queen Lissarka. “Only one can walk the Flame Labyrinth! You can’t take people with you! It’s, it’s, it’s against the rules!” The faun priestess grinned. “Love doesn’t follow rules! Some lovers can bring friends.” “And this fortress-fane is not as hidden as you thought,” said the ghoul in a whisper that somehow echoed to the furthest reaches of the chamber. “The workers you slew after they built it were happy to reveal its secrets. The rebels are on their way. And the laser-cats are with them.” “Enough talk!” growled the giant dwarf as he stooped and squeezed between pillars to enter the temple’s nave. He cradled his axe, struck a chord and bellowed, “Death to false metal!” At the same time, Lissarka screamed “Guards! Guards! Kill them!” And battle was joined. The strings of the giant dwarf’s axe hummed and howled as he swung it, while severed arms and heads bounced off the strings in a counterpoint of doom. The satyr priestess moved among the guards like a dream of dance, laughing with joy as her staff whirling about to trip legs and smash into faces. The ghoul dipped her crozier toward the ground as she whispered a prayer to Mania, pulling ghosts from the darkest bowels of Hekk and sending them to claw and gibber at guards. Troops of archers pounded out onto the balconies, only to find the dragon snapping at them with its jaws and slapping with its tail as its pearl darted about them, strobing in ever-changing hues to blind and distract them. Nor was Doral idle: He kicked a foppish courtier in the groin, used his toes to pull a stiletto from his belt as the elf collapsed, flipped it up to catch it in one hand and began picking the lock of his fetters. The moment he was free, Doral hurled the stiletto at Lissarka. His aim was not true: The blade merely drove into her shoulder. The gleaming golden skin split to release a serpentine creature that hissed, “You shall all pay for thisss!” Several elven courtiers reeled back in shock and revulsion. Unnoticed in the melee, a single advisor scurried back into the shadows. The koutpa that had been Queen Lissarka caught up a rapier from a slain noble, spat on the blade, and drew a circle of blood and venom on the marble pavement. “You win nothing!” she hissed. “I shall return, and— urk!” Doral too had collected a rapier, and driven it through her throat from behind. The Queen of Pain sank, dying, to the floor. The remaining guards broke and ran. The remaining nobles and sycophants threw down their weapons, dropped to their knees, and cried for mercy. The unnoticed advisor slipped out a hidden door. The four heroes gathered around the man they had crossed a world (and two moons, and Hekk) to rescue. All now bore several small wounds, which the faun priestess began bandaging. Vanth asked, “Are you hurt, love?” “A scratch here and there,” Doral replied shakily, and chuckled slightly. “Darling, we really have to stop meeting like this.” It was an old, old joke with them. The ghoul smiled back, then pulled a bottle from her belt, swished her mouth and spat. And then she was in his arms. ---------- With apologies to Mania: What lacks the scurvy, lack-brained Demiurge Who can invent no other doom but must Repeat, as wretched penny-a-liners do, This horror staled by time-long usage? Why, For variation’s sake, if for naught else, Mark not with immortality one man, One rose, one star, one duad of blest lovers?… — Clark Ashton Smith, “Contra Mortem” Mythic Monster or Guardian: The Blessed Lovers. In all the World and its moons, two people have a love story that never ends. They have borne many names. They can grow old, but never die of old age. When one dies before the other, the other finds their new incarnation — and at the moment of that meeting, the partner remembers their former lives and their love. They have been all sapient species, in every combination of geners, whether by reincarnation or by the Flowers of Rebirth — even cats and koutpas; but whatever their form, their souls belong to the Lovers. Or so goes the tale. Some believe the Blessed Lovers are quasi-mortal avatars of their god. Others suggest the Blessed Lovers are a role or a mantle of power the Lovers grant to mortals of exceptional passion and devotion. Only the gods could know for sure, and they do not reveal each other’s core secrets. Time and again, though, pairs of mortals have achieved incredible deeds for love. They have toppled kingdoms, or founded new ones; slain heroes and monsters alike; inspired others with their devotion, or appalled with the taboos they broke. Rarely do they meet raw power with raw power (though they call gods into themselves with uncanny ease); but they have skills acquired through a hundred lifetimes, and seem to succeed no matter how foolhardy the risks. One way or another, people who try to keep the Blessed Lovers apart usually end up regretting it. And people do try to keep them apart. They are magnets for mortals of overweening ambition and power, especially those who would push a single god’s influence out of balance with the rest. Such folk easily become obsessed with the pair, lusting for one and mad with jealousy at the other. Perhaps the Blessed Lovers clash most often with the minions of power-hungry Xarn Tarsus, but they have also brought new order to lands ravaged by brigandage and anarchy — the worst manifestations of Thrum . They have saved lands from famine and plague that would deliver them to Mania, and balked the vengeance of Olandria. But in so doing, they have also many times turned strangers into friends, from individuals to nations. Love may not truly conquer all, but it’s risky to bet against the Blessed Lovers. And perhaps the most dangerous thing about the Blessed Lovers is that you never know who they’ll be this time around. -------------- And with that, I'm done! Dean Shomshak

In a superhero setting, this would have origin potential. Dean Shomshak

You mean, something like this? BOX: The Capulus The Capulus, in Exordium, is one of Thalassene’s oldest and holiest temples. The small, irregular shrine occupies the site where King Talis chose Manakel as the city’s patron. Gouges in the rock show where Manakel’s brother Barakel, god of storms, angrily blasted Talis’ retinue with lightning, while an ancient date palm supposedly grew at the command of the third divine brother, the orchard-god Serakel. The Capulus also holds King Talis’ tomb. Legend says that one band of Marolici pirates managed to invade Talisthanos. They tried to loot the Capulus of the coral and pearls Talis gained from his merfolk allies and took to his grave. Instead, the outraged king rose from his tomb and slaughtered the invaders. When the victorious Plenary general Phrosander heard the legend, he said, “We are not pirates,” and ordered the tomb left inviolate. So it has remained. Dean Shomshak Completely fair, since so much SF is thinly veiled ripoffs from Fantasy! Dean Shomshak

I have no objection, and if it helps other participants I'm all for it. Dean Shomshak

Passion can strike anyone, directed at anyone. This often angers parents who arranged just the right marriage for their son or daughter, who falls madly in love with that completely unsuitable other person. Or it angers the appointed guardians of caste-based societies, when individuals fall in love with people of the wrong caste. Sometimes the consequences are more than personal, as when the wife or husband becomes besotted with someone new and runs off, or the wealthey person squanders it all on a paramour, or a kidnapped wife results in the launching of a thousand ships. Some folk attribute this random insanity of love to the Blind Archer, a child or servant of the Lovers. The Blind Archer shoots arrows that cause their target to fall madly in love -- but no knowledge of where they should strike. They might think the Blind Archer looks something like this: (Spoilered again because some people might find it suggestive, even though I'm quite sure nothing naughty is actually visible.) They're wrong. There is no Blind Archer. The Lovers rouse or cool passion as They will, and nobody knows why they choose as They do. Maybe not even Them. This is not the Mythic Monster or Guardian for the Lovers. I thought at first it might be, before I thought of something I hope is better. But it's such a cool image that I had to share it, as part of the mythology for the god. I hope to get the actual Mythic Monster/Guardian on Saturday, to wrap up my part in this. The flavor text is unfortunately too long to finish tonight. Dean Shomshak

I haven't done my Mythic Monster/Guardian yet, but I hope to post it by day's end. Bonus Domain/Option: Music and Dance. (I expressed interest in this earlier, but wasn't sure if I could take it or if someone else wanted it. No one has claimed it yet, so I do.) For fauns, certainly, music and dance are inextricably linked. Their hooves supply percussion to the music for which they dance, and they dance a lot. The rhythms of sound and motion invite people to join them. The result is unified action without force of compulsion, a bringing together in joy. Dancing is an excellent form of courtship. Hymns connect mortals to their gods. Trance possession is most easily attained in a revel combining both music and dance. And work songs for a gift to Egalitus. The labor shall not weary as much when guided by song, the hands with their tools moving in rhythm to make a form of dance. Though Xarn Tarsus quickly installed drummers in the war-galleys of Xar Tarsun to supply a guiding rhythm for the slaves at their oars. Well, the Lovers are not a god of good and evil. Dean Shomshak

As for the "Opinions of Other Gods" bits that people are doing: The Lovers love you all, each in your own ways. Because They know that each of you loves, in your own ways. Yes, even Xarn Tarsus. "Nonssensse," the Koutpa priest sneered. "Love is a weaknesss. Our mosst holy Massster cares only for Power."Sssuch are the waysss of the ssstrong." The faun smiled slightly. "And if he -- or you -- had no one to be master of? That shows a need for connection." Her grin grew broad. "Not a healthy kind of love, perhaps, but your master still feels its call. Do you imagine he could exist alone?" Her voice softened. "Can you?" And she turned to leave. Dean Shomshak

O mortals, to the loving union of souls there can be no impediment. Bodies matter too, though, and some unions are less feasible than others. For those sufficiently determined in their passion, though, We grant requital. The F;lower of Rebirth can grant thee a new form so they union be consummated with they beloved. Do not confuse it with the roses of Chroma or the piety lily of Xarn Tarsus. The Flower of Rebirth is MUCH BIGGER. Flora: Flowers of Rebirth. Wags sometimes also call them Womb Blooms. A Flower of Rebirth resembles a gigantic lotus. They can grow nearly anywhere except the driest desert, desert, the most barren mountain, or an ice floe (though they are nowhere common). Travelers' tales of dubious veracity even say that Flowers of Rebirth grow under the sea. To use a Flower of Rebirth, climb inside. You will find a narrow but elastic tube descending through the plant's stalk. Squirm down it into a damp, scented sac under the ground. (Only the oldest, largest flowers can accommodate giant dwarves or dragons, but they do grow that big.) As you fall asleep, think upon the form your heart demands. After the passing of a moon (any moon, the sun is no help in telling time, calendars will be a bitch for this world...) You will wake up as the sac heaves and squeezes you back out in your new form. All genders and all sapient species are possible, though it is highly unlikely anyone ever entered a womb bloom in order to become a demon in a bottle. (Spoilered for being a little racier than usual for the Forum, though I don't think any naughty bits are visible.) Many myths are told about the origin of Flowers of Rebirth, but they usually involve doomed lovers. In Bliskeroy, they were two elves from feuding houses, both slain by their own parents for their forbidden love. In Xolten they were a dragon and a ghoul who committed suicide. Every story ends, though, with the Lovers taking pity upon them and merging them into the first Flower of Rebirth. Some people say these flowers grow wherever doomed love ends in mutual death. When asked the priests of Cadel mumble something about 'higher truth,' while priests of the Lovers say they aren't gardeners, ask the priests of Cadel. Dean Shomshak

I do get impatient when earnest people wring their hands about American society being splintered into hostile factions. It's abundantly clear there are only two factions that matter, which hardly constitutes splintering. There's a straight white Fundamentalist Christian minority that seems to be driven by white-hot rage that it's losing its cultural and political privilege. And then there's everybody else, who seems to get along adequately. Buddhists got no beef with Black people. Jews got no beef with Asians. There's just one minority group that can't stand sharing the country with anyone else. Unfortunately, fervor counts in politics. Because I'm me, I've tried to think of a solution even if I have no way to nudge it toward happening. My answer is, in fact, splitting the country -- sort of. Short version is, "Reservations for white people." The Black "homelands" created by Apartheid South Africa could be another model. Designate several areas as semi-autonomous, whose residents can make some of their own laws and exempt from some Constitutional requirements. Residents must prove pure White ancestry back at least three generations. Christianity established as a state religion. (Which version? Work it out yourselves.) Homosexuality a crime. Abortion a crime. Whatever gender role regulations they want, and whatever other cultural bees in bonnets the residents want. But... They lose representation in Congress or to vote for the President. They have no foreign relations. Most importantly, any resident who finds the local social and political order unacceptable must be allowed to leave. This lets the hard-core Republican base live in the tribal purity they seem to crave. The rest of us can get along with our lives and our normal political disputes, which can be resolves since they are about policy rather than identity. This is the first time I've really tried enunciating the notion to anyone else, though, since I'm quite sure there's no way it could be carried out. At the least, there are probably insurmountable legal/constitutional impediments, but I am not expert enough to see them. Dean Shomshak

Lots fauns on Rodne. Of course Olandria has a standing invitation to join their revels. "Drink" mentioned in the description for Ecstatic Revelry, IIRC. That the drinks are intelligent beings gives new meaning to, "My only friend is in this bottle." The Lovers approve. (And a shout ot to Chroma for roses, also pleasing to the Lovers.) Dean Shomshak

Oh hey, a couple more thoughts for G'Brill, if Pariah likes: Geography: Dubious Lands of Fable. The World is large; who but the Gods can know all that it contains? Travelers tell stories of wondrous lands far, far away. The wonders of these countries are certainly not found hereabouts, but far away... Who knows? Secondary Domain: The Horseshoe Nail. How do causes become lost? Sometimes the opposing force is just too great. But sometimes small gaps and failings cascade. Sometimes they cascade for generations, leaving shocked survivors to wonder what might have been, if only someone had done things a little differently... Other gods create giant monsters. The God of the Unknown works great feats of destruction through the tiniest causes, unnoticed until it is far too late. (I first thought of and posted this as a Monster/Guardian, but I am reminded you already defined one.) Dean Shomshak

Much of what the Lovers do involves other gods: possibly their active cooperation, or at least crossing into their domains. But what else would you expect, Their devotees say, of the god of connection and partnership? When the Gods shaped the World, the Lovers chose no special location within it. Love exists wherever lovers do. In partnership with Aportum, however, They made a place outside the World for the use of lovers. It's a door that can potentially lead anywhere, from the depths of Hekk to the outermost moon. But only lovers can pass through, to reach one they love more than life itself. That last is no idle poetic figure of speech. Opening the Door of the Lovers requires stepping into a blazing fire. If your passion is not total, well, you just stepped into a blazing fire. But if your devotion is absolute, you vanish from the fire and appear in a network of fiery filaments. Let your heart guide you through the three-dimensional maze, and in time you will leap out from the flame nearest to your beloved -- and, Their devotees say, there always will be a flame somewhere nearby, though it be no larger than a candle. Or so the story goes. Most who vanish into the fire never come back, and word never reaches the folk they left behind. The World is very large, after all, and if your love has gone far away, so have you. But it is possible that some people in fact never make it out of the maze. It is also claimed that a person who yearns for love can step into the fire and be guided to the perfect mate who will love them, wherever that person may be. But this is even more difficult to confirm. Geography: The Flame Labyrinth. Dean Shomshak

"I'm so totally METAL my name is a power chord!" Duly noted. Dean Shomshak

O mortals, the connection between you and the gods is deep and strong. We love you; and when you love us, that connection can be strong enough that we become one. When you forget yourself in ecstasy, your love for gods can draw gods into the world. Mortal and god become one: We know what it is to be mortal, and mortals know what it is to be divine. For a time, our power joins to your will, for what will one not do for one you love? No god may refuse this union. Interference: Trance Possession. At the height of ecstatic revelry, mortals who love a god with all their heart can draw the god into their body. For a few minutes, the god becomes incarnate in the mortal's body. While the full power of the god is not at the mortal's command, some of it is. It helps, though, to have a priest or friend on hand to remind the possessed mortal of what he, she or it wanted from the god. (Though fauns invite the gods to their revels just for enjoy their company, and vice-versa.) Possession can also happen by identifying a lover as the avatar of a god. Okay, so perhaps not many people would choose Xarn Tarsus as a lover, but the Holy Tyrant can be drawn into mortality, and find himself serving mortal will, as much as any other god. (Granted, a person who loves Xarn Tarsus probably intends to use the god's power for some purpose the god would not find displeasing.) (At a guess, this man has called Olandris into himself, or his lover has done so. The goddess reaches down to claim him, while the faces of the Lovers are visible to either side.) Dean Shomshak

<standing on my dignity> I was thinking of circle dances, hoedowns, and other group dances that celebrate the community. (What happens afterward is no one else's business. Unless it burns something down.) Dean Shomshak

Gift to Civilization: Fire. O mortals, let your love be as fire, consuming you until the self vanishes in ardor for the one beloved; or let it smelt you as ore in the crucible and smithy of Thrum until you emerge as tempered steel or shining gold. For Love, you will forget yourself; for Love, you will become greater than you imagined possible. Fire is the emblem of passion, and the principle means of making fire represent this. Flint and steel strike sparks from their union. The bow drill generates fire as a rod moves in a hole. (Real bit of anthropology, there: Encyclopedia Britannica tells me that many cltures see the bow drill in sexual terms. The fire plow, in which a stick moves back and forth in a groove, is perhaps even more explicit.) Lenses and mirrors don't work to make fire, though, unless another god says they do. As a token of this connection, mortals having sex are for that time fireproof. The flames without defer to the fire of passion within. In fact, the first time anyone has sex, they and their partner catch fire and may set other things ablaze. Couples of great mutual passion can do this at will. If Permitted, Second Gift to Civilization: Dance. Guided by music or the joy of togetherness, mortals move in unison without being compelled. Dance is sacred to the Lovers, and a vital part of Their rites. Whether dirty dancing, formal ballroom, or communal dances, mortals forget themselves in the joy of moving together. Dean Shomshak

I'd like to keep the reference to G'Brill in my fiction bit above. I'm OK with G'Brill as an Enigmatic God who has apparently vanished, or is a rumor even to other gods. If you want, Pariah, I'll even suggest that as a Secondary Domain: The Unknown. G'Brill is the god of things not known even to gods. Dean Shomshak

IIRC Jerry Pournelle's stories use jump points like this, though I haven't read much of them. Bujold's "Vorkosigan" series also uses jump points, and makes them an important source of drama. So I agree, it's an excellent serup for SF adventure. The tech-frying aspect of jump drive is intriguing as well -- if only so advances in real tech don't make your "futuristic" technology seem antiquated 10 years later! It also preserves genuine mystery, in that people can't just consult their super-advanced omni-sensors and have their super-advanced computer analyze the results and tell them everything. EG: There's a vault door set in the surface of the asteroid. What's behind it? Somebody needs to go and look, they can't just analyze the bogon scattering to find out everything. (Or the GM has to invent some handwavium to explain why Bogon Scattering Tomography doesn't work.) Dean Shomshak