A History Lesson
OOC: Since Tag is laid up and can't write angsty journal entries (unless he makes Shin do it, speaking his own language and hoping that Shinnyshinshin manages to spell half of it right), I'm going to mutter about Tag's home planet. Seems to be the entry of choice as of late, anyway.
"Your face fills me with hope that someday God will take pity upon me and gouge out my eyes, so that I may never look upon anything so hideous again!"
"I had thought moonlight beautiful until it touched the putrid excuse for skin that houses your dark dirty soul!"
"A thousand curses upon the house that bears your name! You will rot in your grave before this week is through!"
"If it is a war you want, then it is a war you shall have!!"
And thus began the War of Yorth, which raged for nearly 200 years, fought pistol and rapier across three continents. It occurred during the War of Nigal, the War of Ursil, and the War of Aitome (war of a million nights, the wolf, and the long blood, respectively). The Yorth war was so named as a combination of the houses involved, The Yor'sot and Oth, who began it over the arranged marriage of it's youngest daughter and eldest son, both less than a year apart in age. Both were not exactly beautiful specimens, but they were heirs to thrones and it was hoped that they would produce intelligent and well heeled offspring.
Unfortunately, neither wanted to be married, much less to the other, and for whatever reason had an enormous public row that blossomed into a war that drove a country apart, until, in the end, everyone forgot what they were fighting for, and exhausted by it all, went home.
This is but one example of the sort of mindset that prevails on a planet populated by people too prideful and haughty for their own good. There are laborers, there is aristocracy, and there are merchants, homeless, and those caught somewhere in the middle, but a king would do well to watch his step around even the lowliest peasant, due to a law written in stone on the walls of every castle, indeed one phrase that has never changed meaning. "N'laiszet aucin miste du hom samortis." Let no man misstep to his death.
Kings could be felled by the blade of a shoemaker should they insult him or her, and vice versa. All executions had to be duel fought, all differences settled by the gun or the sword or the fist. Man or woman, it mattered not - so long as the crime, the challenge, and the duel was witnessed, all was free and clear under the law. A woman may be guilty of the most atrocious crimes imaginable, but unless she was defeated in a duel over it, there was nothing the law could do until she did such a thing again. There were no jails on Mo'i'ro, but there were quite a lot of undertakers. Those who managed to make it past the age of 50 were either adept diplomats or extremely capable fighters, usually a bit of both.
They were an insular planet, distrusting of outsiders, because most who COULD grasp their language still couldn't grasp their laws or byzantine system of government, punishment, or culture, where even the kindest words could be a grave insult and sex was a commodity traded just as regularly as money. Those who managed all that still suffered from the same short life span that affected the natives.
All this fighting and sex did do one good thing for them - they were a relaxed people for the most part, as well as obsessed with pleasure and living for the moment. They also were damned hard to kill - healing faster, aging slower, and better conditioned than the average human from off planet. Thousands of years of being by themselves and not breeding with others of their race has tended to produce more than its fair share of insanity (though many would claim the whole planet is off its gourd, but so far only 20 of them have been caught bathing in the blood of their enemies while screaming about demons in the past decade. Sanitariums are unheard of) and recessive traits such as slightly pointed ears, blue eyes, and near albino skin tones have come to the forefront. Despite that they are highly intelligent and fond of technology, blending it with their backwards barbaric culture quite effectively.
The major religion (for on a planet of people who believe with such passion in anything there are thousands of small religions) is a blood based matriarchal web of the Fates, Scissors and Needles and Tapestry being prominent in the imagery and lives of its people. From Chutha, the Child, comes the thread, spun from her enormous wheel. Augist, the Wife, weaves the threads, knitting the Tapestry with her long needles to paint a picture of life. Desnui, the Aged, cuts the thread from the Tapestry and pulls it, lopping the threads back to Chutha to be remade. Over them all is the Jathe, a man with skin as white as bone, who gave them their tools and set them to their task, the Maker and Unmaker. Nearly all religions make use of this imagery - it is a matter of just how it came abut, under what names, and what legends are ascribed to people under them that set them apart. A sword or pistol graced by any of the symbols is prized and well cared for - they are a sign of a blade created by a master, while the bone face of the Jathe is a symbol of a grand master.
Prostitution is widely considered both a necessary good and a high profession. It pays very well, and those who practice it do so within houses well secured and protected. It rivals assassination as the mostly widely used service on the planet, and for the men and women who devote themselves to a life of pleasure there is a special place in the Tapestry next weave. Kings and Queens about to die have often gone to this profession in the end to soothe their souls just before they passed on, to cleanse themselves of sin.
"Rienn'st plu sicro qu'une doosu sel d'rtur." Nothing is more sacred than a whore on their back. Prostitutes are one of those peoples who make it past 50.
Honor is a tricky thing that is mired in something like a Golden Rule. Treating others how you would like to be treated is especially important if you'd not like to be treated to a knife in the throat. The culture is extremely polite and proper, and it is important to be on one's best behaviour and look as good as possible at all times. Not giving others the temptation to insult you, and therefore causing you to have to spark yet another war is a prominent thing on most people's agendas.
Tag is a mixture of this and a spacer's mentality. He swam in it until he was rescued, and spent a pair of years in it again once he came of age, to come to grips with his culture. He is as wrapped in it as he can be while still realizing that he cannot treat everyone like he would a fellow Mo'i'rodian. There are some planets that share many of the same values as his own, but they do not duel as his does. So far as he knows, his planet is the only one so at once somber and pleasure driven and yet so quick to kill each other over putting a salad fork down wrong.
His mother's cruelty is frowned upon, but not, unfortunately, unheard of.
"Your face fills me with hope that someday God will take pity upon me and gouge out my eyes, so that I may never look upon anything so hideous again!"
"I had thought moonlight beautiful until it touched the putrid excuse for skin that houses your dark dirty soul!"
"A thousand curses upon the house that bears your name! You will rot in your grave before this week is through!"
"If it is a war you want, then it is a war you shall have!!"
And thus began the War of Yorth, which raged for nearly 200 years, fought pistol and rapier across three continents. It occurred during the War of Nigal, the War of Ursil, and the War of Aitome (war of a million nights, the wolf, and the long blood, respectively). The Yorth war was so named as a combination of the houses involved, The Yor'sot and Oth, who began it over the arranged marriage of it's youngest daughter and eldest son, both less than a year apart in age. Both were not exactly beautiful specimens, but they were heirs to thrones and it was hoped that they would produce intelligent and well heeled offspring.
Unfortunately, neither wanted to be married, much less to the other, and for whatever reason had an enormous public row that blossomed into a war that drove a country apart, until, in the end, everyone forgot what they were fighting for, and exhausted by it all, went home.
This is but one example of the sort of mindset that prevails on a planet populated by people too prideful and haughty for their own good. There are laborers, there is aristocracy, and there are merchants, homeless, and those caught somewhere in the middle, but a king would do well to watch his step around even the lowliest peasant, due to a law written in stone on the walls of every castle, indeed one phrase that has never changed meaning. "N'laiszet aucin miste du hom samortis." Let no man misstep to his death.
Kings could be felled by the blade of a shoemaker should they insult him or her, and vice versa. All executions had to be duel fought, all differences settled by the gun or the sword or the fist. Man or woman, it mattered not - so long as the crime, the challenge, and the duel was witnessed, all was free and clear under the law. A woman may be guilty of the most atrocious crimes imaginable, but unless she was defeated in a duel over it, there was nothing the law could do until she did such a thing again. There were no jails on Mo'i'ro, but there were quite a lot of undertakers. Those who managed to make it past the age of 50 were either adept diplomats or extremely capable fighters, usually a bit of both.
They were an insular planet, distrusting of outsiders, because most who COULD grasp their language still couldn't grasp their laws or byzantine system of government, punishment, or culture, where even the kindest words could be a grave insult and sex was a commodity traded just as regularly as money. Those who managed all that still suffered from the same short life span that affected the natives.
All this fighting and sex did do one good thing for them - they were a relaxed people for the most part, as well as obsessed with pleasure and living for the moment. They also were damned hard to kill - healing faster, aging slower, and better conditioned than the average human from off planet. Thousands of years of being by themselves and not breeding with others of their race has tended to produce more than its fair share of insanity (though many would claim the whole planet is off its gourd, but so far only 20 of them have been caught bathing in the blood of their enemies while screaming about demons in the past decade. Sanitariums are unheard of) and recessive traits such as slightly pointed ears, blue eyes, and near albino skin tones have come to the forefront. Despite that they are highly intelligent and fond of technology, blending it with their backwards barbaric culture quite effectively.
The major religion (for on a planet of people who believe with such passion in anything there are thousands of small religions) is a blood based matriarchal web of the Fates, Scissors and Needles and Tapestry being prominent in the imagery and lives of its people. From Chutha, the Child, comes the thread, spun from her enormous wheel. Augist, the Wife, weaves the threads, knitting the Tapestry with her long needles to paint a picture of life. Desnui, the Aged, cuts the thread from the Tapestry and pulls it, lopping the threads back to Chutha to be remade. Over them all is the Jathe, a man with skin as white as bone, who gave them their tools and set them to their task, the Maker and Unmaker. Nearly all religions make use of this imagery - it is a matter of just how it came abut, under what names, and what legends are ascribed to people under them that set them apart. A sword or pistol graced by any of the symbols is prized and well cared for - they are a sign of a blade created by a master, while the bone face of the Jathe is a symbol of a grand master.
Prostitution is widely considered both a necessary good and a high profession. It pays very well, and those who practice it do so within houses well secured and protected. It rivals assassination as the mostly widely used service on the planet, and for the men and women who devote themselves to a life of pleasure there is a special place in the Tapestry next weave. Kings and Queens about to die have often gone to this profession in the end to soothe their souls just before they passed on, to cleanse themselves of sin.
"Rienn'st plu sicro qu'une doosu sel d'rtur." Nothing is more sacred than a whore on their back. Prostitutes are one of those peoples who make it past 50.
Honor is a tricky thing that is mired in something like a Golden Rule. Treating others how you would like to be treated is especially important if you'd not like to be treated to a knife in the throat. The culture is extremely polite and proper, and it is important to be on one's best behaviour and look as good as possible at all times. Not giving others the temptation to insult you, and therefore causing you to have to spark yet another war is a prominent thing on most people's agendas.
Tag is a mixture of this and a spacer's mentality. He swam in it until he was rescued, and spent a pair of years in it again once he came of age, to come to grips with his culture. He is as wrapped in it as he can be while still realizing that he cannot treat everyone like he would a fellow Mo'i'rodian. There are some planets that share many of the same values as his own, but they do not duel as his does. So far as he knows, his planet is the only one so at once somber and pleasure driven and yet so quick to kill each other over putting a salad fork down wrong.
His mother's cruelty is frowned upon, but not, unfortunately, unheard of.