rosey embers

C2 and C4 represent the two general categories of how to weave characters into a story.

In C2, the plot was centered around the character’s backstories. The things that happened to them and stuff they cared about to begin with are the plot, and important story beats follow them wherever they go. It’s not that the story is random or unconnected, it’s that the overarching narrative was constructed from what the players gave to Matt. Which creates a story that every player, and therefore every viewer, is super invested in.

In C4, the character backstories are informed by the story that’s going to be told. Brennan knew roughly what the larger plot would be, so he gave all the players ways to connect to that plot in character creation. The plot exists somewhat independent from what the characters do, but because they’re all connected to it and have reasons to care about it, they all naturally interweave into the broader story. And because the players had the freedom to choose in what way they connected to the plot, the plot can be approached from many different angles, which makes it all the more rich.

C3 is the worst both worlds. There was one extremely specific overarching story, but the players were given the total free rein with backstory creation that they had in C2, so most of them made characters that had absolutely no connection to the broader plot. Therefore there was no inherent reason for a lot of the characters/players to care about the plot, and their backstories, the cores of the characters, often felt irrelevant.

I think Matt tried to connect some characters to the plot through their backstory after the game had started, but that’s already too late. Connections that are narratively derived from the character’s backstory, but not derived from what the player actually wrote (like Fearne being Ruidus born) feel kind of meaningless and tacked on. Even a connection like Ashton’s primordial heritage feels kind of haphazard, because it isn’t really building on something that Talesin had already created, it’s inserting something that wasn’t there before. It doesn’t make him care in the same way because it’s not something the character already cared about (side note, if something like Ashton’s primordial heritage WAS part of Matt’s initial plan for the character, it should’ve been brought up/foreshadowed WAY more heavily WAY earlier, or even straight up revealed earlier).

Oh Thjazi, what have you gotten us into?

Somewhere along the line, we decided that any repeated behavior, any source of pleasure, any coping mechanism, any habit that isn’t monk-like and productivity-optimized must be labeled an addiction. You like scrolling art before you create? Addiction. You watch comfort shows after work? Addiction. You check your phone in line at the grocery store? Addiction. You drink coffee with breakfast? Addiction. The word has been stretched so thin it barely means anything anymore, except “a behavior I personally disapprove of.”

Addiction is not “I enjoy stimulation.” It is not “I have habits.” It is not “I seek input before I produce output.” Addiction is a specific, devastating pattern of compulsion, harm, loss of control, and often self-destruction. It dismantles relationships. It corrodes trust. It hijacks the reward system so thoroughly that survival itself becomes secondary. It is not equivalent to liking Pinterest boards or needing music to focus.

When everything becomes addiction, nothing is. The language gets diluted, and with it, the gravity of what actual addiction is. People who have clawed their way out of substance abuse know the difference between compulsion and preference, between destructive dependence and deliberate engagement. Collapsing those distinctions into a trendy moral panic about “dopamine” is not enlightened. It’s sloppy. Unserious, even.

There’s also something deeply puritanical about it. The 2020s seem obsessed with pathologizing pleasure. If something feels good, it must be suspect. If it captures your attention, it must be hijacking your brain. If it isn’t explicitly productive, it must be rot. We’ve replaced older moral frameworks with neuroscience-flavored shame, but the tone is the same: you are wrong for enjoying things.

What bothers me most is how casually the word is thrown around in creative spaces. If you gather inspiration through music, images, movement, conversation, suddenly you’re “stimulus addicted.” If you can’t brute-force a novel in a silent white room with no input, you lack discipline. Never mind that many artists throughout history have relied on immersion, community, environment, and cross-media inspiration. Now it’s framed as weakness, as though the only legitimate art is produced under self-imposed sensory austerity.

This framing flattens nuance. There is a difference between avoidance and incubation. There is a difference between doomscrolling to numb out and deliberately engaging with material that fuels your imagination. There is a difference between compulsively chasing a hit and consciously choosing input that enriches your work. But nuance doesn’t trend. Alarmism does.

There’s also a strange individualizing move happening here. Instead of asking why people are exhausted, overstimulated, underpaid, isolated, or burnt out, we zoom in on their coping mechanisms and label them addictions. Instead of examining structural monotony, economic precarity, and social fragmentation, we scold individuals for having “bad dopamine habits.” It’s easier to diagnose people’s scrolling than to confront the conditions that make endless scrolling appealing.

Calling everything an addiction also erases agency. It suggests that people are perpetually hijacked by their brains, incapable of intentional choice unless they purge all sources of easy stimulation. That’s not empowering. It’s infantilizing. Adults are capable of enjoying things without being enslaved by them. Adults can have rituals, comforts, and creative processes without it being pathology.

When I hear the word “addiction” tossed around to describe normal human behavior, it doesn’t sound like insight. It sounds like moral grandstanding dressed up in pop psychology. And for those of us who have actually lived through the wreckage of substance abuse and fought to reclaim control, it feels like watching something serious get turned into a meme.

The love you bear for each other has defied spirits, wizards, witches. And as much chaos as it has brought into your life, it is the reason you stand knowing the truth, knowing hope, knowing freedom, and above all, knowing each other. I love you guys.

She has yet to assess a battle incorrectly. And she always adapts her strategy to the scenario (sorry to those who characterize her as a loose-cannon forever on the edge of popping off due to poorly interpreting her actions episode 10, because they missed everything.) So let's look at her assessments and responses: ~ Winnable fight. Employs direct, decisive force to end the combat before losing her numbers advantage. ~ Unwinnable fight. Redirects Orima's wrath to minimize civilian casualties. ~ Fight forbidden by arcane oath. Only takes support actions. ~ Winnable fight. Hard call: catches near-death Wizard Sully in AoE to prevent beasts & shapeshifter damage output from eventually overwhelming everyone else still fighting. ~ Winnable fight. Leverages environment to cut off camped reinforcements downriver. ~ Unwinnable fight. Tactical surrender to Keen to minimize harm to Ame & the fox and provide support (Vandal) to Eursulon. ~ Unwinnable fight. Tactical surrender to Citadel forces to secure the objective: A & E's escape with the children.

Suvi is a tactician. If you think she'd lose a fight to the death with Steel, what makes you think Suvi would start that fight at all?