A Brod-er Worldview: Still a W.I.P.

It's interesting trying to think of how to write this particular blog post. On one hand, I didn't accomplish much outside of my performance project, the beginnings of which I outlined in the previous post. On the other hand, because I invested a majority of my time and focus on this project the past week, the update in regards to its progress is involved.

In fact, so hellbent was I to try and finish it before Monday, I neglected my normal routine, from keeping meticulous records of my schedule to writing this blog post on time. I did go on a few jogs and completed an upper body workout, but that's just a fragment of my usual.

Yesterday evening, however, I conceded defeat. Even if I worked through all of today and finished the story portion of the performance itself, collecting music would be another monster to tackle entirely. I've kept potential candidates in their own playlist, of course, but how they align and complement the narrative will determine whether or not they make the cut, and I haven't found a piece for every occasion quite yet.

That said, I'll be dedicating the rest of this post to a further breakdown of my process, what I've edited, what I've added, and whatever else comes to mind.

Official Intro W.I.P.

Yesterday, the 7th, I spoke to the player who controls Brod to help solidify some ideas and make sure our expectations are on the same page in regards to his comfort level with taking part in the performance with me and what I'll need him to do to make that easier, which I'll cover more in a later section. During that conversation, however, we touched on the topic of the introduction that I had written and sent him during one of the earlier drafts, and he confirmed that Brod would be too nervous to give any sort of pre-performance introduction, so he would not only want but would appreciate Cael doing so in his stead.

Cael: If I may preface with a small introduction. Where I hail, we have a saying, ‘Teyr’loch delter pach.’ This idiom directly translates to, ‘A naked man stands shivering before his audience.’ The real message, however, is a complex and tender metaphor that encapsulates our longing for connection alongside our fear of vulnerability. Thus, the indirect but more accurate translation is, ‘I undress myself to show you who I am and that we are not so different.’

B: Teyr’loch delter pach.

I’ll bow to both Flink and Brod’s father before turning my back to Brod.

[Anything that Brod wants to do before we begin.]

The introduction echoes the same pre-performance "speech" they gave to another group of people, the Lurros Family, during our month of downtime in Shipton, but the one "baring his soul" this time, so to speak, will be Brod instead of Cael. So, while redundant in some ways, it casts a different light than when it acted as a focus for themselves.

Edits: A Side-by-Side Comparison

Most of my editing filters between those moments where I find myself stuck in the mire of how to proceed, so when and how I edit is always changing depending on circumstances, which makes it difficult to record the process itself, but in general, it usually follows a cycle: get stuck → return to the beginning or an earlier section → reread until I reach the point where I got stuck or until I reach a place where I dislike the rhythm/sound/description/etc.. → edit → continue.

This section isn't even including the edits I've made to the portions of the performance I wrote between posts, but it's enough to give an idea of my process and reasoning, I think.

Original	Current	Comments
A band of red Light stretches from one wall, across the ceiling, to the opposite wall behind Flink and Brod’s father, creating a sense of depth. It lingers momentarily.	A band of purple Light stretches from one wall, across the ceiling, to the opposite wall behind Flink and Brod’s father, creating a sense of depth. It shimmers there momentarily before multiple other bands slowly appear, either running parallel or perpendicular to each other: green, blue, yellow, orange, and, finally, red.	Added some description b/c of the flow between the narrative & the 1st piece I chose, which is subject to change Also wanted to emulate the beginning of the campaign w/ all of these different Lights showing up in the sky, the last of which was the Red band to the Plane of Fire, which Rifted & was our 1st combat as a group
A thunderous explosion echoes through the cabin, and the Light tears into a Rift, through which a realistic Fire Mephit lunges for us. We pivot simultaneously once the Mephit flies within reach, and we carve through it with our swords in a cross slash. The Mephit scatters into shadowy dust across the floor and disappears.	An explosion thunders through the cabin, the red Light tearing into a Rift, through which a realistic looking Fire Mephit (Illusory Creature) launches itself at us. We pivot simultaneously, and once the Mephit flies within reach we carve through it in a cross slash. The Mephit scatters into shadowy dust across the floor and vanishes.	Some minor edits, but the main highlight here is the spell I noted Part of the joy & challenge I glean from these performances is using what spells I have at my disposal to augment the narrative; this includes how many times I can cast them as well in a given day
	The three silhouettes walk along the wall, Flink twirling his pistol and swinging his sword cane, Brod swinging his arms and lifting his legs with exaggerated enthusiasm, and Cael taking the rear a few paces behind the other two, their gait reserved and isolated. Eventually, they come upon a gangly thing, small and humanoid, but unnaturally elongated. The silhouette of Flink fires at it, at the choker, but it ducks and leaps, latches onto the silhouette of Cael, who struggles to escape from its grasp, even by stabbing at it. The silhouette of Brod closes the distance and swings his blade, nearly bifurcating Cael as he decapitates the choker. After a moment during which Cael waves Brod away from trying to help them, the three resume walking, the silhouette of Cael rubbing their neck. The trio comes across more creatures of various shapes and sizes from animals like wolves and badgers to aberrant monstrosities like the Web Lurker and Otyugh. Spiders and tentacles skitter and thrash along the walls and ceiling. Working together, our silhouettes eradicate each and every one of them with a shot, a slice, and some magic, all while walking on their mostly merry way. Occasionally, the silhouettes of Brod and Flink engage in shenanigans, like Flink giving Brod a piggyback ride or both of them frolicking along together. The silhouette of Cael walks quietly behind them.	Most of this section of description is new, although I rearranged the bit concerning the Choker to be earlier than its occurrence in the original I wanted to show how gungho and enthusiastic Brod was in the beginning of the campaign & the various creatures we've had to face throughout our travels w/o sharing memories directly Could you imagine being a normal human & suddenly coming face-to-face w/ an Otyugh b/c someone shared their memory of fighting one w/ you?
The remaining shadows breathe with me and touch upon the shadows of everyone in the room, like a gentle hand resting on your shoulder from a friend. After a moment or two, as Brod and I come to a natural pause in our kata, I’ll cast my first memory. - Once the memory ends, Brod and I resume our kata while Brod’s father regains his bearings. Aside from cutting down the Mephit, we haven’t yet directly faced one another. In that moment, Brod and I pivot again, and our blades lock with a resounding clang.	I breathe in rhythm to the kata, and the shadows breathe with me. They touch upon the shadows of everyone else in the room, like the gentle hand of a friend resting on everybody’s shoulders. After a moment or two, as Brod and I come to a natural pause in our kata, I’ll cast my first memory. - Once the memory ends, Brod and I resume our kata while Brod’s father regains his bearings. We then pivot to face one another for the first time, and our blades lock with a resounding clang.	Minor word editing to help w/ flow The striked out portion in the Original is the bit that I moved to earlier in the Current
Brod and I step apart simultaneously. The shadows along the walls elongate so that it looks as though we are standing on the deck of a ship, and there between us, as we’re sailing further and further from land, is the silhouette of Brod’s father walking away.	Brod and I step apart simultaneously and pause in our flow of kata. The shadows along the walls stretch and pull until it looks as though we are standing on the deck of a ship. The sound of waves and seagulls fill the room (Figment), and there between us, as we’re sailing further and further from land, is the silhouette of Brod’s father walking away.	Added some sounds b/c I often put too much emphasis on visuals; don't really have any spells that can fill a room with a particular scent

A Continuation of the Story

This section will encompass the rest of the draft I wrote from this past week, and then the final section after this will include requests from the player and what all I have yet to do before it's ready for the session. It's easy to tell that this is a rough draft because of my tendency to gravitate toward certain words (like pivot) as 'good enough' choices so that I can continue writing without interruption.

We turn our backs to each other, and a swathe of shadow covers the walls.

The tiny motes of flame on each individual candle flicker in the looming darkness.

With a wave of my hand, the shadows part like a curtain. The feminine outline of an Akryna stands opposite Flink and Brod’s father, her hands clasped to her chest. Her form trembles in fear. 

Brod and I stare down at our hands.

B & Me Simultaneously: You have a darkness inside of you.

I’ll pivot, gaze still downcast, and speak over my shoulder to Brod.

Me: My parents were afraid of me.

(Brod removes his eyepatch and turns, his lavender eye visible.)

B: I know what that’s like.

I’ll lock eyes with Brod momentarily, then turn more fully to reach for his hand, the one holding the eyepatch, and give it a squeeze as the curtain of shadow closes once again. Darkness descends upon the cabin, broken only by speckles of candlelight.

You and Brod sit somberly in his room within the Mercenary’s Guild, you on the edge of his desk and he on his bed. You’ve just shared your first memory with him, the echoes of which linger on your mind like the acrid taste of that poison on your tongue. You’re halfway between that state of emptiness and reality when Brod speaks. You nod to his question, your thoughts wandering back to that night four years ago where you became you again. Without hesitation, Brod declares that he’ll help you. You gawk at him, taken aback by how readily he agreed, and it hits you then that Brod may very well be the first real friend you’ve made since becoming Efial.

We resume the kata, this time facing one another. Our timing is asynchrynous. Sometimes Brod shifts through the form faster than I and stumbles as he course corrects, and sometimes I enter a form that I’ve forgotten he hasn’t yet grasped. From the outside looking in, the execution looks a right mess, until one looks down and sees that the ground glitters with negative space that kicks up like sand as we move. The sound of ocean waves ebbs and flows, and one can almost smell the salt on the air.

You watch with wry amusement as Brod challenges your sword instructor, Master Nuqhuth, to a duel in the Zhiltan Bay. Oh, you already know how this is going to end, so you kick back and stretch out your legs as Nuqhuth toys with Brod in much the same way he had you all those months ago. You almost feel sorry for the young human. Swallowing a meal’s worth of sand can’t be easy on the stomach. Yet even though Brod is no match for Nuqhuth’s skill and is quickly worn ragged, his movements and demeanor betray his enthusiasm. By the time he’s knocked unconscious, he’s radiating joy, and it almost reminds you of yourself, once upon a lifetime ago.

We start to find a rhythm as our kata loosens into more casual forms, and fire crackles in the room as a bonfire roars to life on each of the three empty walls. 

For a brief moment, you’re transported back to the Zhiltan Bay, the sweltering heat of a bonfire melting your back whilst you, Flink, and Brod perform this funeral for the dock workers and their loved ones.

Our loose interpretation of the kata devolves further into playful silliness as a visible Mage Hand shimmering and flowing like sunlight under crystal clear waters taps Brod’s shoulder. When Brod turns to look, he finds nothing there. He spins a full 360 to seek out whatever tapped him, his back on full display for all to see Nim clinging to it with a mischievous grin. Spiders crawl in the shadows as Nim dives into Brod’s, whereupon he begins his spider dance, hopping on one foot, then the other, and smacking at his back.

B: Get ‘em off! Get ‘em off! Mast—

I cover Brod’s mouth with my hand and shake my head.

[Need to insert a reply here or cut]

You follow the packed dirt road leaving Zhilta, both eager and nervous for what might lie ahead of you in Ezada. To help expel some of that anxiety, you occasionally fling rocks with your magic and watch them thwump into the ground somewhere in the distance. Yet you can’t help but notice that Brod keeps checking the inside of his bag where he’s stowed his Bottomless Stein. To distract him, you invite both him and Flink to also toss some rocks. They throw simultaneously, and on a whim you loose your magic to shoot Flink’s twice the distance as Brod’s, much to Flink’s consternation. He throws another rock, which this time you slingshot back toward everyone to sail over their heads. Grinning to yourself while Flink quibbles away about his own unnatural strength, you skip ahead of everyone. From behind you, you hear Brod reveling about the strength of Flink’s arm and how it must be a god.

Just as suddenly as it began, the silliness ends.

You see flashes of other memories, brief records of Brod’s evolving faith as his belief of Flink’s ascension to godhood expands to include you. Outside a cave, inside an inn, on the road, introduced to other people… What begins as amusement gradates to mild irritation and distaste to eventual animosity. Every time he calls you Master, you flinch from unremembered echoes. Every time he calls you a god, a part of you writhes and consumes itself like an Ouroboros until it becomes a perpetuating cycle of growing vitriol and loathing toward both Brod and whatever creature has emptied him of all reason and replaced his logic with blind zealotry, but no matter how you argue against his irksome dive into willful ignorance, you can no longer convince him to see you for who you are. Even revealing that his faith is built on a joke doesn’t sway him.

What happened to this person who was becoming your friend? Why is he placing you on a pedestal? Why is Flink enabling this behavior when it’s clear that the joke has run its course and—why hasn’t your illusory turtle disappeared?! No, no, nonono. This can’t be happening. For the last time: You. Are. Not. A. GOD! You didn’t give this…this thing life. You don’t want followers; you just want a friend. Please. If this is karmic punishment for stealing the name of a god for your own purposes, then you’re sorry. You just want your friend back.

The steel song of my sword striking Brod’s whines woefully between us. Brod retaliates with a stylized slowness, retracting his blade to shift my center of gravity and throw me off-balance. We telegraph all of our movements, his swing while I’m recovering and my block to the incoming blow by wheeling my sword above my head. I fall into a crouch to sweep at Brod’s legs. He jumps over them and brings the blade down toward my head. Following my momentum through, I slide to my back and block the strike again, reinforcing my blade with my right hand. I roll back into a somersault and kick Brod’s sword up, opening his guard. I lunge for him, and he parries, then leans in to shoulder check me. I stagger back a step or two before regaining my composure.

You stare up at the Church of Therys towering over you and sigh derisively through your nose. Its grandiosity disgusts you, and you start to second guess why you’re here. Are you trying to prove a point or to seek understanding? Gods, you don’t even know anymore, but you push your way inside regardless.

The shadows once again stretch and pull up into the ceiling to create the illusion of depth until the inside of the cabin looks like the negative of the church’s interior.

You ignore the priest shuffling about with his censer and instead note the larger than life depiction of Therys at the front of the church, the first thing that anyone would see upon entering. Is it gold plated or solid? You’re betting the latter. One pew alone would feed the Shanty Town for years.

The priest approaches with a warm smile, which you mirror coldly, and you enter into a long debate about the wealth disparity and location of the church, how it highlights the hypocrisy of the priest’s beliefs. You suggest ways of helping the Shanty Town, collecting donations or selling some of these extravagant accessories, to which he responds it isn’t his place.

You stare him down. What a convenient excuse.

Brod disengages from our stylized bout first and walks toward the edge of the ring of candles. The shadows shift and draw the front of the church closer to emulate his approach to the statue’s outline of Therys, where he sits to pray.

I turn my back on him.

The debate continues, you combative, the priest, Dayton, patient. He’s more aware of Shitpon’s corruption than he lets on and is aware that his teachings are falling on deaf ears here in the Estates District, but he’s trying. You…relent. Dayton’s not the one to blame for the corrupted wealthy pulling the strings. He’s just an easy nail to hammer, given your recent frustrations with Brod and his new faith.

Dayton apologizes for the tone he’s taken with you throughout the conversation, and you balk. He’s apologizing for his tone? You’re the one who came here with an ulterior motive.

You apologize as well and admit that religion is a sore subject for you currently, but you can tell he’s doing all he can to spread the true teachings of his god in the most selfish part of town while personally visiting and helping those less fortunate in the Shanty Town.

He admits that it is here, in the Church of Therys, where he will be residing during the incursion.

Wait, what? Did you hear that right? He’s staying here where the devils will be rampaging amidst clouds of pesh fumes? He’ll be dead before night’s end.

No, he can’t do that. You can’t allow him to do that, forget his god’s “bigger plans.”

He doesn’t believe his god is asking him to die, but how could he survive? You’ll have enough souls to send off once all this is said and done. You can’t add him to the list.

Oh, how deftly and softly he folds you open to expose the depth and might of your love for people, even those you’ve known for barely an hour. If you would have him go elsewhere, knowing what you do…he would oblige.

Brod stands from his prayer and returns to the center of the room. I catch him extending a hand in my direction from my periphery, but I turn my back to him again, stubborn in my rejection of his faith.

This was what you wanted. You convinced Dayton to leave, so just make him leave. What does it matter that his supposed god apparently directed him to stay? What does it matter that he admitted that this was the first time he felt Therys so strongly in this church? What else matters save his life?! Yet you can’t say the words. You can’t tell him to leave and you can’t accept his desire to stay. Whichever way the hourglass empties, the sand is now directed by your hand.

B: Have faith that I can figure this out.

I look between Brod and his hand. Without a word, I step away from him toward the front of the church. I stare up at the silhouetted statue, then sit with my weapon placed before me.

Agitated and needing time to think, you approach the bowl full of blackened incense sticks jutting out of the white sand. You pluck a new stick from the nearby pile. Light it. Spear it into the sand.

And then you sit cross-legged before the altar of Therys, the statue glittering gold as you take several deep breaths and begin your meditation.

You’re angry. Why?

Because you fear for Dayton’s life. Because he’s making a poor tactical decision. Because you feel helpless. It isn’t your place to steer him from his faith, but this incursion isn’t a time for obstinacy if said faith results in a senseless death. And now, because you believe life is precious, it's in your hands. If he dies, no matter what, that’s your burden to bear.

The arguments tug you in multiple directions, but you continue looking inward until you eventually calm. Only then, do you open your eyes. What little coin you have left, a few handful of gold, silver, and copper, you deposit into the donation box before you return to Dayton, at peace with your decision. Brod made a request of you back in Cullfield, a very simple request on the surface but difficult to achieve wholeheartedly. Recalling it now, you say the words to Dayton.

I grab my weapon and heave myself to my feet. I sheathe the blade, consider the statue again for but a moment. Then, as I turn, it and the rest of the church melt to darkness around us. 

I approach and stop opposite Brod, consider him as well.

The candlelight dances across our features.

Finally, I step in and give Brod my tightest hug, and as the cabin falls into total darkness, the candles extinguished, I say, “I have faith in you.”

You sit in a small clearing far from any semblance of civilization, your chin resting on your knees. Before you, a music box tinks out a familiar melody, one you haven’t heard in a long time, and you lose yourself in your grief.

As the melody begins to slow, you reach toward it through blurry vision and are turning the key again when a shout from behind startles you from reminiscing on happier days. Fumbling, you twist the key the opposite direction, and the melody falls silent as you whip around to see Brod standing closer than you’d expected.

Hurriedly, you wipe at your eyes, demanding to know how he found you despite already knowing the answer. You curse yourself for the oversight. No one was supposed to find you today. It’s why you left Shipton in the first place and ventured half a day’s travel out into the wilderness, but there’s Brod, presenting you with a cake decorated with strawberries and…and are those four flaming sticks protruding from it?

Ah. Candles. Right.

Well, he’s here now. You resign yourself to his company with a dry chuckle and invite him to join you, teasing him for making you cut your own cake.

Eating it pains you, because it reminds you of Valen’s desserts, but it fills you with such happiness that someone made sure you weren’t alone today.

You repay Brod’s kindness by telling him about the music box and why it’s special to you. He responds by slicing his hand open, twice because you heal it the first time, and promises that by this time next year you’ll be reunited with Valen.

You hesitantly ask if Brod would like to see him. Brod’s enthusiasm calms you, and you smile as you weave the shadows around the area to take the shape of a silhouette. The shadow flakes away, and your breath catches as it always does when you lock with those laughing indigo eyes.

You snap back to yourself at Brod’s comment and laugh, wiping away more tears.

Ja, you can’t wait for Brod to meet him either and for Valen to ride Henry. He really would love that turtle.

In the darkness of the cabin, a hooded figure floats along. Whether it’s walking or truly floating, it’s impossible to tell, but it continues, unaware of the cabin’s occupants.

Eventually, it stops. Inclines its head in the direction of Brod’s father, its piercing lavender eye glowing.

“Brodigaaaaaaaaan,” it whispers in an echo. “Come baaaaaaack. Brodigaaaaaaaaaan.”

A single candle lights, and the figure erupts into shrieking laughter, its form dissipating. Difficult to pinpoint though it may be, its presence never seems to fade.

The other candles ignite, one by one in quick succession, illuminating but a single figure, myself, sitting hunchbacked on my knees, my gaze downcast. (Invisibility Rank 2 on Brod)

Me: You promised…

My voice is a distant echo calling out a name, frantic and despairing.

My voice, from a distance: Broood!

You kick off the dusty ground and into the air, soaring above the landscape in your first ever flight. Though it should be exhilarating, panic instead claws at your throat as you follow the tracks down the mountain, casting Message again and again and again and again, calling out to Brod, begging him to answer.

But the only reply is silence, for he is out of range.

So, you push harder and faster, telling yourself just a little further. Just make it a little further and you’ll connect, and everything’ll be okay. Just a little further. A little further. A little—you know, Nim! You know you need to descend, that the spell has nearly run its course, but you’re so close. If you just fly a little—

The spell drops, and you gasp as gravity takes you, your stomach flipping into your throat to tumble around with the panic. You crash into something, hard, and careen down the path a ways with the other person, rocks and pebbles and twigs scraping up your exposed skin into pockmarks of blood, and you lie there weeping for the loss of yet another friend.

Behind me, a signpost pushes out of the shadows. Two outlined slats point in opposite directions. Written inside one is “Shipton,” and in the other, “Ezada.” 

The candles begin to extinguish once again, save for that lone flame, which morphs into an ember-wreathed moth that flutters off the wick and lands on my palm. I lift my hand to look at it more closely. Crawling onto my fingertip it stares at me, its wings drifting open, then close. Open. Then close.

At once, it lifts off and dances through the air, following the path leading to Shipton.

Hoisting myself to my feet, I watch until it vanishes from sight out the cabin’s open window before I myself turn and walk in the direction of Ezada. All falls to darkness.

A bell chimes.

The candles on Flink’s and Brod’s father’s side of the room flicker with firelight. Brod huddles in the center of the room, his shadow cast on the far wall behind long bars of shadow. He is alone.

A scene plays out on the wall to his right of him approaching Shipton and drawing his weapons on the guards. It freezes as Henry sits on Brod to subdue him and remains on that wall as, on the wall to Brod’s left, markings carve into the wood via the shadows: one, two, three… The shadows seem to drip from them.

The moth flits in through a window opposite the one through which it had left and lands on Brod’s shoulder.

A bell chimes just as the door of Brod’s prison swings open. The moth disappears into glittering particles. The silhouette of a figure enters the prison, the shadows flaking off to reveal Aler as he approaches Brod and places a firm hand on the same shoulder the moth had landed.

(If Brod wants to say anything.)

Aler helps Brod to his feet, and the prison and still of Henry sitting on Brod crumble into shadow, though the three marks remain carved into the wall. Aler gives Brod a final few pats on the arm, then also vanishes into particles of shadow.

Brod resumes the kata, alone, but it’s not fluid as it once was. It’s jagged. Sharp. Violent. Abusive. The shadows pulse and writhe in response. Sometimes it appears the shape of a hooded figure floats across the wall, but just as anyone might take notice, it’s gone, except for the faintest sound of distant laughter.

In the middle of his transition between forms, I reappear in tandem with him, my back to his, mirroring his motions with equal snap. Jagged. Sharp. Violent. Abusive.

We say nothing for a time.

Brod is the first to break the silence.

B: I broke my vow.

Me: You did.

Communicating & Collaborating

Yesterday, Brod's player and I met in person to discuss the performance thus far. Of course, I wanted to know what his thoughts were for how everything was unfolding, and so in the beginning, I let him mention his thoughts without interjecting too much (what can I say? I get too excited sometimes).

One of the first requests he made was that, as Cael and Brod are taking their places to give this performance, for Brod to have a chance to tell Cael that he's scared before they begin. He's also hoping I include more of his divine animal companion, his turtle, Henry, in the narrative, either as a shadow or with Henry himself. His final request was that I show more of Brod's sense of justice evolving, since in the beginning he was fine with killing other people but that it was Cael who altered some of his beliefs over time. That's the trickier request to pull off, but I think I can rely on some subtext through certain wardrobe changes along with other hints here and there.

He confirmed that he does want to speak for Brod's actions and whatnot throughout the performance, which will mean further editing of the 'script,' to include him saying, "I do this" instead of me saying, "Brod does this." I'm relying on him to edit what he wants and send me his version, which I'll clean up to fit the eventual flow.

The highlight, however, was a message he sent before our meeting answering a question I'd asked the other day, "What is 'strength' to Brod?" He told me that Brod believes strength is the ability for him to support both himself and others and that he doesn't express pain or hurt with crying or whatever else, because he doesn't want others to worry about him or prevent others from focusing on their own healing.

[Brod] sees strength as a pillar.

The player mentioned how those around Brod supported this view in their own ways. Aler, Brod's father-like figure in the Mercenary's Guild, has never cried around him. Neither Keryth nor Kofoun, Brod's other Guildmates, openly showed their hurt. Even Cael, the player claimed, shaped his view of strength being a pillar, because though Cael has shown vulnerability, they've persevered to help those who needed it most, which led to me asking him in person, "Was it from Cael or Efial that Brod modeled this?" After all, it was only very recently in-game where Cael shed their alter ego, and Efial was far more reserved and unlikely to show their pain than Cael is. The question blew the player's mind, and he conceded that no, it would have been Efial.

What I love most about Brod viewing strength as a pillar though is how perfectly it represents his personality. The challenge was thus finding what strength meant to Cael, because they felt that, to a degree, Brod's logic was somewhat flawed. Not wrong. Just incomplete. After some contemplating, they gave me their answer.

“A pillar cannot give strength. It can only be strong, and even then, the pillar is only as strong as those who built and care for it. A house without its pillar will fall, but a pillar without its house will remain. If only the pillar remains, is it truly so strong?”

“We have within each of us a flame. Some run hot, others cool. They shift in color and size as we change and mature, sometimes growing, sometimes diminishing. Tragedy may weaken it to but an ember, but only when we die is it truly extinguished.”

“To light a candle, even with magic, you must give it a flame.” 

“That candle may light another, then that one another.”

“Until you find yourself surrounded by those touched by your flame.”

“And ja, sure, there will always be those who seek to take those flames from others.”

“That’s why people like us exist. We give people pieces of our flame so that theirs can glow a little brighter. It takes a strong person to offer another a piece of their flame.”

“But sometimes ours needs rekindling, too.” 

"I am strong only because I received many, many pieces of flame when mine was but a flicker.”

"And so my flame became large enough to give."

“To accept a flame when yours has been nearly dowsed? Now that, Brod, that is true strength.”

That moment when unconscious choices coalesce to a singular point of revelation is one of my favorite parts about storytelling. Did I have any inkling when I chose candles for the performance's lighting that Cael would talk about strength being a flame halfway through? No! Not in the least! But now, looking back, the arrival at that conclusion feels inevitable, and I can't wait to have the conversation with Brod for use within the performance.

I believe I'll be able to finish writing the rough draft this week, after which I'll need to edit/cut according to what the other player adds, how it fits with the music, and the overall timing. Thus far, it's on the shorter side of my performances at just under 5,000 words, but even that would take ~40 minutes in-game to perform, and I'm not finished writing yet. I want to still be courteous to our other player, but seeing as how he's a musician and we've collaborated together in the past for my senior composition recital, I'm hopeful that he'll take an interest in this callback of sorts to that time. Cael will likely do the same for his character at some point in the future, too, and then I'll be able to collaborate with him (hopefully) on it, too.

Questions for Contemplation & Discussion:

What excites you most when you're working on a project? Is it resolving a technical issue you were struggling with, like a bug within a line of code? Is it seeing all the threads you've laid out weaving together for a climactic "holy shit" moment that you didn't see coming? What's that little nugget of joy that makes the struggle worth it?

Other Notable Accomplishments:

Fastest jog time in a while for Week 1 of Couch to 5k! My pace for day 3 was 5 minutes, 16 seconds per kilometer. Not my best time for week 1, but it's been a couple years since I performed so well
Regressed to using the orange band for my pull-ups and was surprised by how easy it felt with one leg even though I haven't done my upper body workout for a couple weeks. The blue band is still a struggle, but I can see the definitive progress I have made in that regard.
I think I got e-mail automation set up how I want for my blog posts.

The Struggle Is Real:

Senior animals. I love her to death, but Salad is a 10+-year-old Maine Coon, and from my observations, it seems she's no longer able to fully control her bowels. She'll be on her way to the litter box or nearly in it but will defecate before she's there, which, unfortunately, means a lot of messes to clean on the regular. Sometimes she even seems surprised at her own farts, and boy, are they loud farts. I'm talking, like, "Little Toot-Toot" from Zootopia sounding farts.

(You need only watch the part where he toots a few seconds in.)

Fear No More