Aiden's Random Drabble Thread

[Kyte]

Older.

@Kyte: What, you think their relationship went bad automatically from first meeting?

Well when I read this it felt like a "start and end" piece, not "start of prologue and end of prologue" thing.

Plus I don't think Arc was ever much of a person until Shiki happened.

[Aiden]

Well when I read this it felt like a "start and end" piece, not "start of prologue and end of prologue" thing.

Plus I don't think Arc was ever much of a person until Shiki happened.

It's not meant to continue; it's a one shot.

And because mind wipes and hibernation, right.

[Kyte]

I meant "end of prologue" as in "it's the prologue to Tsuki".

Bah, I'm totally failing at the explanation thing.

I thought one was long before Tsuki and the other long after Tsuki (which had already established the bad relationship), when they're both before Tsuki.

[Aiden]

I meant "end of prologue" as in "it's the prologue to Tsuki".

Bah, I'm totally failing at the explanation thing.

I thought one was long before Tsuki and the other long after Tsuki (which had already established the bad relationship), when they're both before Tsuki.

Okay, that's my bad; they were both pre-Tsuki.

Older sister meets younger sister. True Ancestors mind-wipe younger sister as they are wont to do. Cue everything else we know about the timeline.

[Olive]

I just felt myself die inside a little bit.

[RadiantBeam]

I just felt myself die inside a little bit.

That's how you know it's working.

[Riven]

It's tragic...I think?

Dunno. Not really getting a particular emotion on this one. Might be the length.

[Aiden]

Seems the consensus is 'hit or miss'.

[Raven2785]

Seems the consensus is 'hit or miss'.

I liked it, but I also thought it could've been longer simply to prolong Althrouge's suffering, maybe add another scene, another slice of life moment. Whatever, I'm not the writer anyways.

Good job Aiden.

[Fafnir]

Seems the consensus is 'hit or miss'.

It's both for me. This is how Schroedinger's cat must have felt.

[Aiden]

Cyclical

======================================

The 'end' is not really the end, as long as the planet lives. But there must be an ending to something if that is to remain the case, and the ending must be on the part of humanity. Whether it be something they unleash on themselves, or even the Beast of Gaia slipping its leash to make progress toward its purpose, something must give if Earth is to survive the depredations of their expansionist civilizations.

This is not a place for the specifics of that end to be discussed, save for the important fact that the bulk of this race neither anticipated or desired the cataclysm that exterminated their bulk and left fallow the almost exhausted world whose will they defied. Instead, this is a place to speculate about the lives and circumstances of this stubborn species after the few survivors rode out the tribulation and were left to rebuild with much lesser means and ambitions than they started with.

--------------------------------------------

Some of the survivors linger in the overgrown ruins of their predecessors' cities, nesting within and around crumbling edifices of concrete and steel that reach to the stars and provide habitats for tenacious animals that make adequate supplements to their diets. Others live in pre-industrial settlements constructed with the disassembled remnants of smaller locales, or about the few homes that were built against the designs of planned obsolescence that had overtaken the species centuries ago. And of course, a few have to make due with wood, brick, or whatever other substance was available.

Simple industries, handcrafted goods, and relics of old infrastructure dominate what civilization has risen from the ashes. These suffice, mostly, to sustain the millions that were left. Millions that had once been billions. A few isolated locales maintain their higher standard of living through an uncanny abundance of such artifacts and a limited ability to reproduce them: rifles passed down through family lines and occasionally constructed by hand for use in hunting, or a few scant wind or water-powered luxuries: electric heaters carefully maintained and rebuilt from templates by those without true understanding of the principles behind them, flashlights powered by hand-cranks... they are but a few of the examples of lingering glories that keep the species from sliding back to even darker times.

Faith, even, has undergone a revival as desperate lay-folk grasped for purpose in the wake of their shattered lives, as their descendants seek meaning in a much less learned world than the one their parents and grandparents had been born into. Old gods and old creeds fell, are rediscovered, are transformed and mutilated and stitched back together in forms unforeseen by their original worshipers and originators. Blasphemy, perhaps, in their particulars, but these beliefs perform their prime labors well in providing social unity and personal comfort.

The old knowledge has become worthy of veneration as well, for not nearly all of it could be passed down perfectly. Literacy could only be taken so far with so few with such limited skill-sets, and so the texts of high scholarship remain beyond the comprehension of all but a few. The educated are their own sort of elite, with their hereditary priesthoods of lore preserved from the ivory towers of old. Even still they maintain their altars of specialized knowledge that sustain the eclectic enclaves of Homo Sapiens.

But in an age after an end, with so few who had so little, personal strength ultimately rules. With a smaller, much less capable human race and a slowly healing Gaia it was an inevitability that new and strange gifts of the soul and the blood would arise. Psychic and fiendish lineages sustain their dominance through inherent superiority. Magecraft could flourish without a need for secrecy as old Arts that had been long forgotten and defunct became viable once more.

Nocturnal lords and ladies command their fiefs like ravenous demon-gods with strength and speed, spell and slave, wreathed in the glory of ages past with their broad educations and machine crafted finery... or so is the case for those who have survived the population purges that had been undertaken against the clans. This was an ecological necessity they would gladly submit their own kind to, lest the mindless young or the most unworthy and gluttonous among their elders devour the last traces of humanity whole in their ferocity or decadence. As one of the dominant forces in a broken world, their numbers not directly touched by the cataclysm, it simply would not have done for them to starve from a position of strength.

Cooperation, perhaps, might have brought together the human survivors in greater numbers had the means been present. The old knowledge might have been free, the standard of living might have risen again, but it was not to be. Communication was and still remains the greatest problem in any effort at reunion. Languages have drifted in isolation, blended into incomprehensible creoles in more cosmopolitan enclaves, and most lack viable translators that might bridge the gaps between civilizations. The technology of the cell phone, the internet, and other wonders are but stories told to children by bitter elders who grew up in years where even then such things had begun to decay and cease to function.

And so this remains a time of gods who were once men and women, of the return of the old to compete and cooperate and copulate with the new, and of oligarchy enforced by a true disparity of capability between rulers and subjects.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Still, there is hope for humanity in this world. Not all look back to the past and scavenge the old machines and techniques; some children of the new era look forward, discovering for themselves with new eyes what the ancients had long since regarded as 'the basics'. Plus, in an age where so few exist, where so little is all it takes to make a true difference, how could there not be heroes?

Think about it.

Would not a girl abandoned by the beast who consumed her, whose mind so miraculously survived the soul-warping touch of dead blood seek her own path, and perhaps save her crimson thirst for the enemies of her tribe and a portion of the beasts whose meat sustains her friends and allies? She would be their greatest warrior with claw and fang, and even in time grow into her role as their patron of the hunt. Her wrath could preserve them as much as it could blight their foes. For certainly not all of the new and bloody gods must be as terrible in their hearts as they are in their powers and deeds!

Is it not plausible that a boy might take up the ancestral rifle of his forefathers and become like the grand and terrible warlords of old? The tribes of an entire valley might unite and be driven forth through the old ruins, promising food and riches to the dispossessed, conquering those who would not be bought and slapping them into chains. Riding at their head is that man who was once a boy, with his crack shot and his motorized relic cycle sustained at great expense from the ancient stockpiles of fossil fuels.

What of the most extreme or ambitious of the religious, and their historic predilection toward monasticism and the extortion of their flocks for sustenance and labor, with their secret rites and practices? They would need methods through which to exert their will, and the old ways are, perhaps, the best ways in lawless lands. A swift and silent knife can serve the gods (or their own vanity) with such versatility and precision in ways crusades never have; they have no need of names to carve their legend into the nightmares of the unbeliever.

In an old tower whose clock ticks no longer, there might be a sanctum hidden away from the world where even still the order of Gaia is freely, locally violated for the curiosity of those who would think themselves wise. She could stand before a circle at the center, and both the manifest terminals of the world and the once-departed wraiths of her ancestors would come forth at her calling with an ease the world has not known since the mythic days that preceded the wonders of Hero of Alexandria and his coin-activated dispensers of holy water. The secrets of those who came before, and those whose thoughts were never meant for man might all be yielded to her in time. Who knows when such lore could merit use and legends?

Certainly, this is not the place to doubt such things. Instead, it would be best to speculate about the possibilities. After all, even in a devastated future there is more than enough room for a species to carve out its own significance anew. The questions are how, why, and when.

You are that species. Go forth and create answers to those questions yourselves.

====================================

A piece I originally wrote after an inspiring bit of conversation with Radiantbeam, then expanded on greatly throughout the night. It is meant to stand alone, and perhaps inspire discussion.

[IhaxlikeNoob]

I like it.

The first paragraphs reminded me of how the Imperium of Man views technology. However the feeling died down as I continued reading. Basically the AoG has returned and Humanity is living through it again in a different way.

[YeOfLittleFaith]

It's thought-provoking. Eh, I liked it. It was interesting.

[nununu]

And suddenly, Nasuverse x Needless.

[RadiantBeam]

Huh, very interesting. I liked the mood of it. You managed to get a nice little note of hope at the end.

[Santo]

Humm...

Not sure how to react. =,=

It is a tad confusing, but interesting. And maybe a plausible way in which Heroic Spirits could rise once again.

Its a cool idea.

[Aiden]

Confusing how?

I'm open to criticism, as always. XD

[Santo]

Confusing how?

I'm open to criticism, as always. XD

Well that's the thing. Its not bad. Its actually good.

Its superbly well written, interesting, and keeps ya hooked from the start to the end.

It's just...well...I fail to find a point in it I think? xD

I'm confused because the entire narrative basically just states that everything went to hell. The relatively few that remain are rowing up shit creek without a paddle. And their re-awakened faith due to the crap conditions of their lives might, just might, lead to the creation of Heroic Spirits and Gods once more.

So...

I don't know.

Is it a thought experiment? A preview to a new story? The foundation to a future work? Something that will be built upon? Something written to pass time and will no longer be expanded on?

I just...I don't know. Call me narrow minded but I fail to find a purpose in it. >,<

[Aiden]

I say in the final line it's meant to stand alone, so that's your fault for not reading that part. :P

- - - Updated - - -

Besides, it needs a purpose?

I just threw it up on here because I'd written it already for fun, so why not?

[Santo]

I say in the final line it's meant to stand alone, so that's your fault for not reading that part. :P

Well I read it.

Don't stop the same questions from arising xD

And I still don't find a purpose in it. >,<

As to the update:

Touche mein fevarish.

Touche.