Do I ever understand how you feel. Luke, when I’m writing him, has a few hard-and-fast rules, but one of the most important ones is that he is, always, on the side of the common people and the downtrodden. It’s, quite literally, what he was made for, and he takes it extremely seriously. So his commitment, however difficult, however inconvenient, is to be kind. Not necessarily nice, or sweet, or pleasant, but always kind. And yes, sometimes to be kind, he has to be cold and harsh and dangerous, but crucially, it’s only sometimes. The most common, effective, and easy way to be kind is often to be warm, respectful, and as open as one can be. Not a doormat, not a yes-man, not a fool, but simply kind and with a willingness to extend the grace of trust to almost anyone he meets. He trusts other people want to be good, to be kind, to have a pleasant interaction with him, and to not be needlessly cruel. He trusts other people on a vital and visceral level, not with his most inner secrets, not with his life, but with faith in their intent and desire to be good. And in acting on it, more often than not, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Another important one is that Luke, always, knows who he is and what he is. If he ever doesn’t, expect it to be a major crisis and not easily swept aside. Luke knows who he is, knows what he is, and in knowing, denies others the power to define him. He doesn’t care if he’s seen as more or less of a man, if he’s seen with respect and deference or scorn and hostility. Heck, he doesn’t even care if he is a “man” at all! He’s a Raqkesh, a Runner, a being made and not born, a purpose made manifest! What does he care if he obliges to some kind of arbitrary idea of gender? It’s not even his own! The Children have such a vastly different concept of gender to us that “manliness” isn’t even something that Luke fully understands. He goes by “he” because that’s what he was taught was his pronoun in Basic, and by now, he’s attached to it and regards it as his own, but it doesn’t mean the same thing to him as it would to you or I. Gender, to him, is what you do. You are the gender you are because of the role you decide to play in society, the functions you choose, and the affinities you have. You are a “woman” if you decide to dedicate to the ways of water and foraging, and a “man” if you dedicate to the ways of the sky and the hunt. Your pronouns aren’t who you are, but what your relationship is to the person you’re currently speaking to. You are “ach/ache” when you are speaking to someone innately more powerful to you, a spirit or other powerful individual. You are “kai/kair” when addressing your Home, your Kamir, and being addressed by them. You are “zar/zara” when being addressed by entities far more powerful than you. Your parents, guardians, or mentors are “sha/shara.” Who you are, who you are said to be, changes with the situation, and pronouns are as static as a person themselves.

Metamorphosis in Sacrifice

When a Raqkesh-to-be undergoes their Keshantana ba Raqkesh, they are not simply initiated into the mystery cult of the Storm. No one knows exactly what occurs during the ritual, but one thing is well-known amongst a select few: the people who subject themselves to it do not survive. Not truly. Instead, they, as far it's understood, make a sacrifice of themselves unto the Storm, reduced to essence, infused with something from the Sacred Storm, and emerge as a new creature out of the chrysalis of the person they once were.

Changed in all aspects down to their molecular chemistry but for their memories, newly made Raqkesh often find themselves struggling at first to learn to fold themselves back down into the shell they emerged from. It is essential that they learn though, for the sake of concealment and blending in. However, as might be expected, new limbs don't often fit ones old form, even if they are understood to be not-quite real, not-quite metaphorical, and many Raqkesh continue to find the practice uncomfortable or distressing.

It is no wonder then, that these newly created Wild creatures so often flee into the Wilderness to unfold into their truest selves, and the sound of liminal wings within a Storm are well-known amongst the Zya!kashna.

It was probably high time I told y'all about the fact that I have a patreon again and attempt to do so in a way that's not completely gauche, SO. Let me tell you about about what it is, does, and after all that, why you should at least look at it even if you would sooner gargle orange juice after brushing your teeth than give me money.

Patreon, as you probably know, or maybe not, is a site that kind of works on the old idea of patronage. AKA, artists get paid money to do what they love so they don't, y'know, starve. Except instead of one rich fuck, it's funded by many far-less-rich people, because fuck capitalism. In practice, you subscribe to an artist, pay them however much a month you want, and the amount determines which tier subscription you have and what rewards you get access to. As you've probably guessed, I have such a system in place.

So *slaps roof of patreon* lemme tell you what this bad boy can fit in it. It can fit LORE for one, like, all of it. This is where I post 4K long essays on the specific kind of fungus that grows only in the driest place on a fictional planet, digests rock in order to get nutrients, and feeds an underground ecosystem through the mycelium that bore through the rock and into the networks of underground rivers that exist there and thus is a keystone species for an entire biome. I also post fictional transcripts of drunk history videos with a delightfully crude historical archivist, that tell stories about how a fictional train network got created by a trainwreck of a human being that involves a contest, a technically legal museum heist, the mob, a trained cat, and a disastrously gay aristocrat. And then another about that guy's mob enforcer sister who once killed a man by putting him in a headlock and flexing her bicep and also her absolutely pathetic wimp of a husband who loves his built-like-a-semi-truck wife very much.

That's not even mentioning the extensive articles on my own conlang, including IPA annotations, detailed character descriptions, redacted reports from amoral scientists who are about to greatly regret everything they ever did, and excerpts from an essay on forbidden magic by a scholar from outside the community.

Mind you, almost all of those are in the lower tiers of the patreon, the tiers that you can get for only a handful of dollars a month, yes, a literal handful. I haven't even gotten to the high-tier stuff. Higher-tier rewards include: ability to vote in polls that make me answer spoiler questions, access to secret lore like how the magic in this world works and what occult elements are at play in the story, and even creating a character together with me if you really decide to be insane with the money you throw at me. I've already done this once and it was great fun to create Sol with someone, an absolute unit of a black lesbian fighter pilot with the soul of a gentle giant.

With all levels though, you also do this: you support my ability to write, and keep writing, as I begin to plan out my own original fiction ideas and further career steps into becoming a published writer. You support my ability to experiment with my writing style, my interests, and help me keep my head above water in a world that's increasingly hostile to artists and writers. You support my ability to live a small, comfortable life that lets me create wonder and magic in a world that desperately needs some of that.

And, as I promised above, even if you don't want to, or simply can't give anything (Gods know that everyone is struggling to get by these days) then it's still worth looking at the public-facing page, because instead of boring-ass tier descriptions, I gave each tier a little blurb of text that is a part of a larger, fragmentary story of Keshiro, Storm Wraith's, last great adventure before he left the Desert. It's a story that currently only exists in said blurbs, but is planned to be written out in full, and when it is, it will, of course, be posted for free on Ao3, no caveats or strings attached. Until then... give it a read. Tell me what you think. I'll see you there.