The Stormcrow, A Superhero's Tale Options

[SubRosa]

Acadian: I worked a lot on that fight. How to use the location. And how to use wings in combat. The latter is going to become a staple for January moving forward.


Renee: Decrepit would appreciate the decrepitude.

The Raven Mocker is something out of the real world monster manual. It is a creature of Cherokee folklore. I have been trying to use monsters from real mythology and folklore whenever I can, to give the story some grounding in the real world.

I cheated a little. The You Won't Make It Out Of Here Alive pic was from Northville, another closed and abandoned asylum here in the Detroit. So was that pic of the nurse's station. But they both added some nice flavor.








Raven Mockers in Cherokee lore

Cherokee Traditional Dress

Andrew Jackson & the Trail of Tears

Goddesses: Mysteries of the Feminine Divine


Book 6.14 - Eloise

The mocker reeled back, gushing energy into the astral like a sieve. It collapsed to the floor, and tried to crawl away. But it did not get far. January moved in for the kill, prepared to send her wings into a rending fury. She allowed one to hack through the x-ray viewer as she passed by it, and it disintegrated into a cloud of steel and glass.

"Cruel, cruel white woman." The raven mocker's voice was a dry rattle. "Evil woman hurts me, evil woman kills me."

"I am not the monster here," January stood over the raven mocker now, wings ready to tear it asunder.

"Are you not, white woman?" the monster coughed. "Always whites kill those that are different. Always you say you are not the monster."

January heard a different cough and wheeze come from across the building. She stared up through the floor and across the abandoned structure. With her astral senses, she could see old Mr. Henry crawling to his overturned wheelchair, and struggle to right it onto its wheels. Then she stared back down at the raven mocker, who now lay prostrate before her.

Exactly how she had found the raven mocker looming over the old man, just minutes before.

"Blood Raven's on the way," Gadget's voice came in her ear. "I'm looking in the Bestiary, and it says raven mockers are invisible, except to people with the special sight. I guess that's your astral senses. It says they eat the hearts of people who are near death, and they devour the years they had remaining. That sounds backward to me. If you needed to steal the years off someone else's life to add to your own, wouldn't you want to go after someone with a lot of time left, like a kid?"

"Anyway, it says that just being seen by a medicine worker will cause a raven mocker to die in seven days. But Blood Raven's got a little note here, that says take that with a gigantic grain of salt. She says these old legends are just that: legends and folklore. Reality can be very different."

January looked back and forth between the raven mocker and Mr. Henry. The old man was still struggling with righting his wheelchair. Clearly, he did not have many years left. If the folklore was correct, he was definitely the preferred target of the mocker. He had to be her first priority.

She moved to the hole in the ceiling, and kept a careful eye on the raven mocker as she did. But the creature was quiet. It lay there in the astral, aura fading noticeably. It was as if the battle had taken all of its remaining energy, and now it had none remaining.

"I will come back for you," January said to it, "and we will talk, just talk."

January took a chance, and turned her back on the monster. She allowed her wings to fade back into her cape. Then she leaped up into the floor above, and walked through shattered walls. The muscles in her back tensed up, just waiting for the raven mocker's claws to come lancing in at any moment. But the creature did not attack. January could still smell it below, lurking in the darkness. Finally she was back in the room with Mr. Henry.

"Stormcrow, I don't want to be Johnny Killjoy here, but shouldn't you just kill it now, the old-fashioned way?" Gadget ventured. "Everything I see on these creatures says that they're evil, pure and simple."

"That's what everything says about you and me too," January reminded him. "That's why you wanted me to come out in the first place. To show it's not true."

"Yeah, I get where you are going. Just because people say we are evil, doesn't mean we are. Ergo, just because people say someone else is, it doesn't mean they are either." Gadget walked through the line of reasoning that had already taken root in January's mind. "But sometimes they really are evil, like Nazis. That thing was trying to kill that guy and eat his heart after all."

"I know what you are saying," January replied. "And I know I'm going to have this same conversation with Blood Raven in a few minutes. So let's save it for then."

"Not in a few minutes," Blood Raven's voice came over the communications link. "Destroy that creature now. It is altogether evil."

January shut down her comm link rather than reply. She was not going to get into an argument in front of an injured old man. Instead she reached down to help him into the wheelchair. He dusted himself off, then stared up at her with a regarding eye.

"So you're the one making all the stir then?" his voice wavered like a feather in the wind. "The boy who wants to be a girl? Well you tell 'em what for sonny, or girlie, or whatever. Like we told Chairman Mao back in '51!"

"I will sir," January said respectfully.

"You got balls son, I'll say that," he went on. "Well, I guess maybe not. Do you know what's going on here? 'Cause I sure and shite think there was a ghost back there that was trying eat me."

"It wasn't a ghost," January insisted. She knelt down before him, and made sure his legs were tucked firmly away on their footrests, and his arms on the chair's handles. Then she lifted him up, wheelchair and all, and looked down the hole she had punched through half the floors of the building. "It was the undead spirit of a Native American medicine worker..."

"Which I guess is a ghost," she admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

Mr. Henry's eyes started when January lifted him in the air. But she put on what she hoped was a reassuring smile and a wink in return.

"Don't worry, I do this sort of thing all the time," she said. "We're taking the express elevator down."

"Don't let my wife see," he groused. "She'll never let me hear the end of it, getting picked up by another lady..."

"I can keep a secret," January smiled.

January leaped off into space. The wind caressed her as she dropped through floor after floor. Then she hit bottom, and absorbed the shock of the fall with her knees. She made sure they bent to absorb the impact, and that none of it was transferred into the old man. Once down, she briefly considered setting down the wheelchair. Then she thought better of it, and simply bounded down the hall and around the corner with the old man still firmly ensconced in her arms. She did not set him down until they were at the exit, and rolled him out into the welcoming arms of the police and paramedics.

A cheer rose up from the paranormal tourists, who were gathered around a police car sipping coffee and battling with their phones. January allowed herself a genuine smile. But she did not wait around for more. Instead she leaped back into the building. She raced back up to where she had left the raven mocker. She did not create any new holes in the building, but she did make liberal use of those already there.

"Come to finish it then?" the raven mocker said in a creaking, feminine voice. She almost sounded like Katherine Herpburn. "Just like Andrew Jackson?"

"Andrew who?" January wondered aloud? There were a lot of Jacksons, like Janet, but that was not one she could recall.

"He was the great champion of your people," the raven mocker said. "He drove us from our lands, onto the Trail of Tears. In spite of how even your own Supreme Court said that it was wrong. He made me, after a fashion, on that trail. He murdered us all..."

"So you were a person once?" January turned her comm link back on with a tap of a finger upon Sága's screen. "A Native American?"

"A native what?" the raven mocker crackled. "What nonsense is that? I am Gola. I am a medicine worker of the Keetoowah People. Or at least I was, before I died."

"How did you die Gola?" January probed.

"Slowly," the raven mocker murmured. "One breath at a time, one step at a time, one hunger pang at a time. Until finally I could walk no more, breathe no more, feel no more. Then the ravens came for me..."

"And you became... this?" January asked. Gola's voice felt realer now, like a solid thing that existed in the mundane world, rather than simply a conveyance of thoughts and ideas across the astral. January allowed her awareness to slip from the magical world entirely, and back to the physical. She saw before her an old woman with long gray hair and dark eyes. She wore a wraparound skirt of what looked like deerskin, with an under-fringe of beads and feathers. Moccasins of soft leather were laced up to her knees, and decorated with seed-beads. Her torso was covered by a short-sleeved calico blouse of bright colors, held close by a woven belt and pinned with a carved broach. Multiple layers of necklaces of bone, horn, and shells hung from her neck, and here earlobes were adorned with shell earrings.

"I am me," Gola responded. "When did you become, asegi udanto?"

The old woman, for she looked like nothing more than that now, gestured with a hand at January.

"I always have been," January did not understand the term, but got the distinct impression that Gola was not referring to her armor and cape, but rather to her gender and sexuality. Or maybe she meant both the combination of her womanhood, and the armor and cape. Things that January imagined a woman of the 19th Century would not associate with one another.

"For me it is the same," Gola proclaimed. "I have always been me. When I died, I became more, and less. Like you, I am asegi, just in another way."

"Asegi?" January asked.

"Not like others..." Gola seemed to hunt for words. "Not one or the other... in between... queer."

January stared at the raven mocker. She wondered if the creature could sense that she was transgender or a lesbian. Granted, all she had to do was turn on a phone or TV to know that. Was creature even the right way for her to think of Gola? Wasn't that exactly what so many people were referring to her as right now?

"I can see her on the video now," Gadget voice was back in her ear. "So she can be visible, when she wants to be."

"You kill people," January stated plainly. "You were about to kill that man."

"Everything I read about raven mockers is bad," Gadget noted. "Not just what Blood Raven wrote in the Bestiary. Every mythology and folklore site says the same thing. At best, they kill people to extend their existence. At worst... well it gets a lot worse."

"I do what I must," Gola said. It was almost as if she had heard Gadget's words. "Do you not kill? What did you eat for dinner today? Deer? Cow? Even bread was once a living stalk of wheat, and maize a living being. How much life have you devoured to survive?"

"That's different," January insisted.

"No!" Gola cried, "No different! Only different because you do not wish to admit we are the same!"

"I don't kill people," January declared. "That's a whole lot different from killing an ear of corn."

"Have you asked the maize that?" Gola said. "All life is imbued with sacred energy. All life is divine. But in order for life to continue, it must feed on other life. This is the natural order of things. There is always the sacrifice. It must be made, or nothing can survive."

January of course recognized the words of Joseph Campbell, even if heavily paraphrased. She had read Goddesses: Mysteries of the Feminine Divine after all. She remembered what Campbell had said. "Life lives on life. This is the sense of the symbol of the Ouroboros, the serpent biting its tail. Everything that lives lives on the death of something else. Your own body will be food for something else. Anyone who denies this, anyone who holds back, is out of order. Death is an act of giving."

"That's an awfully convenient ideology for someone who commits murder," Gadget noted dryly.

"Why is it whenever people start talking about 'the natural order of things', it is usually an excuse for their terrible behavior?" January frowned.

"Go ahead, kill me then..." Gola - the old woman - tottered to her feet and stepped forward. She held her chin up, exposing her throat to January. "Sacrifice me for your natural order, just like Jackson."

"I am not just like him," January insisted. "I don't want any of this. But I can't let you just roam around killing people."

"Does she really have to kill people?" Gadget asked. "I mean, in lots of books vampires will feed off animals instead of people."

January noted that Blood Raven was saying nothing over the comm link now. Gadget did not know about her being a vampire of course. That was not a bombshell that January would just casually drop on anyone. Besides, as she had told Mr. Henry, she could keep a secret.

"You mentioned cows and deer before," January said to Gola, "can you take their years instead?

The old woman stared at January, and cocked her head sideways.

"Cows? Deer?" her voice creaked. "What is this nonsense?"

"It's not nonsense," January insisted. "Have you ever tried?"

"Of course not!" Gola argued. "The raven folk must feed on human years."

"Says who?" January retorted. "I have spent my entire life doing what people say I must not. I'd have killed myself otherwise. Have you tried?"

"Nay," Gola said. "All know this is not done. We do not eat rocks, we do not eat wood, we do not eat deer! We take the old, the sick, the dying, those who have lived their lives. We are no different from the wolf or coyote."

"Wolves eat deer," January noted, "and ravens will too. They'll eat pretty much anything."

"Especially eyeballs," Gadget noted.

"Gola, it is time for you to define what you are," January said. "Not what the old legends say you are. Not what your people said you are. Only you can say what you are, because only you can determine your identity. I know that personally. I am a Two-Spirit medicine worker myself."

The old woman looked uncertain. January took a step forward, and extended her hand, palm upward.

"If you will promise not to harm people, then I will help you," January declared. "I will find you something to feed on - deer, or a cow, or a chicken, anything other than a human. Will you come with me?"

"You are a crow," the raven mocker sighed. She reached out and took January's hand in a trembling grip. "I will come with you."

[Acadian]

What a fascinating and unexpected twist!

There is much more to this raven mocker than we might have imagined. Very lucky for Gola to run into Gadget and Stormcrow. Gadget for his insightful comparison that there are vampires who do not murder to survive. And Stormcrow for her readiness to embrace paths less traveled. And her compassion.

[Renee]

gh technically, neither is a Millenial. They are both Gen Z.

That's true about my girl as well. I had her in 2003 which is technically Gen Z I think.

I like the fact that Avery is 100% !!!! I suppose January has just enough older habits in life (or her answers could not be compartmentalized into any of those pre-made responses) that she only scores 50%. How did she answer the car one, for instance? There is no answer for somebody who has a nuclear fusion-powered motorbike.

It is a creature of Cherokee folklore.

Come and think of it, I've probably seen this creature before. Not in Monster Manual but maybe it's in Legends and Lore. I like that you are using pulling from real-life epics & tales. That link is a a good read, too.

Oh no. The Raven is using the race card to try to throw Jan off as she goes in for the pwnage.

Uh oh. She's turning her back on the thing. I bet it'll come back at her. DON'T leave the Raven behind! (yelling at my laptop here)

The raven sounds like Katherine Hepburn. I was thinking Joan Rivers, myself.

Lol .... she's confusing Andrew Jackson with Janet and Michael and LaToya!

Cripes. Don't listen to Gola, Jan. It's a trap. Whatever she was in real-life, now she's a monster who sucks the life from mortals.

And the funny thing is, I agree with Gola. She can't just take the lives of animals. Because I am thinking animals don't have the same life-force more intelligent beings do. Damn. I'm falling into her trap now.

Sigh.

Edit: It's because Gola is preying on some of the weaker members of society! I can't wrap my head around on seeing things her way because of this. Why can't she prey on somebody who does wicked things. Like a child molester?

This post has been edited by Renee: Feb 23 2021, 03:07 AM

[SubRosa]

Acadian: I am trying to keep January on her mission statement. She is here to help people, not beat them up. Certainly not to kill people. I have been watching Supergirl again. She was a major influence in my creation of January. She is the kind of person you hope possesses that great power. Someone kind and compassionate. She often tries to talk villains down, and offers to help them. Usually they violently turn her down. I wanted to take that a step further, and actually de-escalate a situation. Show a villain who is willing to take someone else's help instead of continuing on their reign of terror.

It has been a continuing thread throughout the Crow-verse. Lighthammer, Isaac, and now Gola. All are antagonists, whom January has made an effort to turn into allies, if not friends. All of them will play a direct role in the finale of Season One.


Renee: Your daughter is definitely Gen Z, like January is. Jan falls into the 50% category because of her athletics and writing. She actually does spend a lot of time unplugged from the internet because she is doing other things. She is going to lose her TV set soon, and really, she won't even miss it. Avery OTOH, is a pure tech junkie. He lives and breathes technology, the internet, and all things gadgetry.

I see you have the same opinion about Gola as a certain flame-haired and red-eyed superheroine we will hear from soon. There is good reason to feel that way. But January will always try to act out of compassion, for better or worse.

January probably does not even realize that Andrew Jackson's picture is on the $20 bill. 200 year old presidents are not really her forte. 200 year old myths and legends, sure.

Gola preys upon the old and the sickly for the same reason that real world predators like lions or wolves do. That is their role in the ecosystem. It is also what she was told all of her life what raven-mockers were supposed to do. Like so many people, she's so caught up with tradition and what she has always been told she is supposed to be, that she never stopped to think of what she could be. Of course January is not one to stand on tradition at all. She's more prone to smash it with a hammer.









Deer Overpopulation

The Island Lake Recreational Area is on the Stormcrow Map

Island Lake Pic 01

Island Lake Pic 02

Island Lake Pic 03



Book 6.15 - Eloise

That did not relieve the tension building up within January however. For now she had to find the raven mocker something to eat, and hope it would work. Otherwise she would have to... Well, she did not want to think about what she would have to do. It was easy to incinerate giant spiders with lightning. It was not so easy to look into an old woman's eyes and snuff them out.

"Okay, deer," Gadget said in her ear. She heard plastic keys furiously clacking from his end of the link. "I saw a documentary a few years ago that said that since we killed all the wolves, the deer population has exploded. It's gone from something like 1 million to 30 million. It's out of control. So yeah, deer hunting is not such a bad thing. Sorry Bambi."

While Gadget talked, January led Gola up to the roof. The old woman leaned on her. She felt surprising light, almost like a feather. Or like a bird - hollow bones and all. Still, January was wary of an illusion clouding her senses. She was just as wary of those claws coming out, and darting for her heart.

But they did not come, at least not yet. By the time they stood beneath the open sky, Gadget was back on the link.

"Ok, there are some state parks that allow deer hunting. Presumably there must be deer there," Gadget reasoned. "Brighton and Island Lake are nearby. Looks like about 25 miles northwest, as the crow flies."

"Good," January noted aloud. That came as a relief. She knew that there were deer in the nature trail behind her house. But she did not want to lead Gola to feed there. The thought of her being responsible for one of those deer being butchered... Well, she knew it would forever poison how she looked at the park, and her home.

Hypocrisy, thy name is Stormcrow, she silently breathed.

"Can you fly?" January asked. "We need to go some distance."

"I will fly," the woman croaked. She transformed before January's eyes. One moment she was an old woman in Native dress. Then her form flowed like water, and took another shape. She took upon that monstrous, winged form January had first witnessed. What the smartphones of the paranormal tour had recorded. With raven wings and skull, the rest of her leathery body was humanoid, though with the double-jointed legs of a beast.

January fought down the feeling of revulsion that rose in her gorge. She was not going to allow herself to feel about Gola the way other people viewed her: as a monster. She was better than that. Or at least she wanted to be.

January concentrated on her wings instead, and her arms transformed into the limbs of a mighty crow. Hagfish feathers caught the air, and lifted her skyward. It was fully dark by now, and the sky overhead was an indigo bowl dotted with stars. She glimpsed the moon rising in the east, along with a sliver of blood. She knew what the latter was, for she tasted copper on her tongue now.

January ignored Blood Raven's approach however, and instead winged her way north and west. She made sure that Gola was tucked in beside her, and the pair of corvid hybrids soared their way over the darkened landscape. Rivers of light carved through the blackness under her tummy, revealing streets and homes. January tried to use them to guide herself along. But Gadget's voice in her ear was a far better navigator. Thanks to the GPS built into Sága, he knew exactly where she was at all times.

The miles vanished in no time at all. January was still amazed at how quickly she could travel by air. Not having to stop for traffic lights, or sluggish drivers, was a pure joy. So was being able to ignore the speed limit. Here the only thing slowing her down was the air itself. But it was not her enemy. It was the literal wind beneath her wings.

"Ok, you are on it," Gadget's voice came in her ear quickly enough. "That is the Island Lake Recreational Area below. You're over an old gravel quarry at the south end. It should be safe to land there."

It was all blank darkness below. Which January took as a good sign. It meant no civilization, or park-goers. With a word to Sága, she engaged her night vision once more. Now she could see that there was indeed an expanse of gently rolling hills below her. Small lakes dotted the fields to the left, and a subdivision of industrial buildings glowed beyond a road to the right. Dead ahead was a thick line of trees.

She motioned for Gola to land, and made for the earth. She tilted backward as she neared the ground. She raised the front of her wings, which increased their angle to the ground, and beat them forward strongly. This cancelled out her momentum, and brought her to a stall. She hung there in midair for just a moment. Then her feet touched the grass, and gravity once more enfolded her in its embrace.

All that time she had spent reading and watching videos of birds landing was really paying off.

Gola came down beside her with much more grace and precision. She clearly did not have to concentrate on what she was doing. It appeared to come as natural to her as walking. So plainly, January had a lot more work to do before she was truly at one with the sky.

"There should be deer in here." January faced the tree line to the north, and began slowly walking in that direction. The ground beneath her feet was a mixture of loose sand and stones, interspersed with stubborn patches of grass. "This time of night, no one should see us either."

Just to be sure, she tapped on Sága's screen, and engaged her video camouflage. That would insure that she was not recorded by trail cameras.

They moved through the field and crossed into the forest without saying another word. The trees quickly closed in, and blotted the stars from the sky overhead. Even with her night vision on, it was an effort for January to navigate the wilderness. It was not that she was walking into things, she took her time to make sure that did not happen. Yet there always seemed to be a branch or dried leaf that crackled under her feet. She was painfully aware of how out of her element she was here.

Gola, on the other hand, moved through the brush like the wind, leaving no sound or sign of her passing. January tried to emulate the medicine woman. She called upon the air to inspire her, to make her steps lighter, and her body a ghost between the grasping branches. She let her mana flow into that image, and willed it into reality.

It helped. But again, she clearly had a lot of work to do. She wished Ryo was here doing this. He could make himself a literal ghost in the darkness when he wanted to.

Gola took the lead. She seemed to have a sense for what was around them. January thought of shifting her senses back to the astral. She could probably detect other living things much more easily that way. But she did not want to split her attention from her efforts to remain quiet. She was having a difficult enough time of that already.

They came upon a male whitetail deer. Even January could tell its sex from its relatively small set of antlers, which were still covered in fuzzy velvet. She wondered if he was really young, or if his antlers had not yet grown in for the year. She seemed to recall something about deer's antlers falling off every year, and growing back again. But she had no idea when that happened, or how long it took for them to mature. This one had two wide beams of antlers growing nearly horizontally from its skull, with four evenly-spaced points - really just bulbous knobs - rising straight up from each.

January went completely still. She did not want to spook the deer. To be honest, she did not know what to do at all. She knew that she could not help to kill it. She just could not. In fact, it took every ounce of her willpower to force herself to do nothing while Gola silently glided forward through the leaves and branches toward the defenseless animal.

It picked up its head as the raven mocker drew near, and turned to gaze this way and that. January was sure it looked straight at her. She wanted to scream at it to run away, or to dive forward and stop Gola. But she did nothing. This was all her idea after all. This was the sacrifice she had chosen to make.

Then the raven mocker was upon the deer. January saw those claws gleam in the darkness. They were not so much physical, as ethereal. Even without deliberately sensing in the astral, January could feel the energy they were formed of. Or perhaps it was a lack of energy, for they seemed like vortexes that devoured whatever they came into contact with.

Those terrible claws struck deep into the animal's chest. It struggled briefly, and tried to leap away. But Gola held it down with her other arm. It was a remarkable feat of strength, considering how big and strong the beast was. Then her arm drew forth the whitetail's heart, and the deer collapsed to the earth with a crash of leaves and brush.

January looked away as Gola fed from the heart. She could still hear it however, that terrible slurping and gulping. It froze Januarys' chest, and made her stomach turn. More than that, she could feel the power of the deer being drawn into Gola's being, like a black hole absorbing the energy and matter around it. Even without deliberately sensing in the astral, she felt the raven mocker grow in strength and power.

She looked back when Gola was finished. Her monstrous form was gone now, and she was a woman again. But she no longer seemed a frail wisp, easily blown away by the wind. No, she was more substantial now, filled with the weight of power and life. The essence she had eaten from the deer was now plainly imbued within her, so much that her face was no longer lined and creased with age. Instead she looked like a woman in the prime of her life.

"I can feel the years coming back to me now, all those years that had slowly slipped away as I slept." Gola croaked. Her eyes shone brightly in the darkened wood. "You were right, white woman, you were right. Gola can take the years from an animal. Even now, I feel it within me. The energy is simple, not sweet, or refined like a man's. But it is primal, and powerful, so much closer to the natural world. Men are so... anemic in this age, so divorced from the struggle of life and death. While their years can taste rich, in the end they are hollow and empty, like candy. They do not fill one. But this, this makes Gola want to run, and leap, and feel again."

"Umm, good," January forced herself to reply. "That means you don't have to hunt people anymore."

"I do not," Gola declared. "You have given me a gift Crow Woman. Gola does not forget."

"So now what will you do?" January asked. "You cannot go back to the asylum."

"I will never go back," Gola spat. "It is a dark place, of silence, and misery, and despair. I nearly let it devour me, as it has so many others."

"This is where Gola belongs now, among the life of the world." She turned to gaze deeper into the forest. "Perhaps here, I can find my own life again."

"You can find more forest if you go north," January said. "Up North is where most people go to hunt, especially past the bridge. There's a lot of state land up there, and no people to bother you."

"Then that is where Gola shall go, north, as the raven's fly." She turned back to January. "Then perhaps later, she will return to the land of her birth, in the mountains far away."

"That sounds like a great idea." January said. "I've never been Up North. I'd like to see it myself."

"Then come, we go!" Gola leaped into the air, a cross of a raven and human once more. This time her beastly form looked robust and alive. Her head was no longer a skull denuded of flesh. Rather it was a jet black raven's head, layered with thick feathers. Her skin was no longer dried out and withered, but deeply tanned and healthy. The life had clearly returned to her.

She looked down to the dead whitetail, and the wound that gaped in its chest. January told herself that it was no different from her eating a coney dog, or mac and cheese. But it did not feel that way.

[macole]

I really like the Island Lake Pic 3. Looks so calm and peaceful. A walk in the woods would do me a world of good at this time.

[Acadian]

Though I remain nervously aware of the concerns of both Renee and Blood Raven, it seems that January’s gamble on Gola has gone as she had hoped. I was fascinated by Gola’s assessment of the meal as she compared the deer to modern humans – and how the meal ‘rejuvenated’ her.

Jan has never had to hunt prey animals to sustain herself but I imagine this incident may have given her some insight into the cycle of life. That she is not comfortable killing Bambi is totally consistent with both her nature and the age in which she lives. She should not feel badly though. As you know, even Buffy says a prayer for the spirit of a deer (or any prey animal) when she needs to take one.

’January concentrated on her wings instead, and her arms transformed into the limbs of a mighty crow.’
- - I am very possibly mistaken/confused (and please forgive me if that is the case) but I seem to recall Jan has evolved that her wings actually sprout from her back now rather than her arms changing into wings. What sticks in my head is the time she got some carry out chow and held it in her arms as she flew. Did I miss something?

[Renee]

Renee: Your daughter is definitely Gen Z, like January is. Jan falls into the 50% category because of her athletics and writing. She actually does spend a lot of time unplugged from the internet because she is doing other things.

Awesome. Good for her.

Gola preys upon the old and the sickly for the same reason that real world predators like lions or wolves do. That is their role in the ecosystem.

Yeah I know. I'd have more compassion for her plight (maybe plight is the wrong word...) if she went after some guy who r4pes his kid(s) every night, or something just as awful. Especially since Gola seems invulnerable to physical attacks from most of us on Earth, it shouldn't matter who she drains life from right? Lions and wolves prey on other animals, but they can take damage themselves while attempting to do so. A stag can kick a lion in the mouth for instance, dislocating the lion's jaw forever. It seems Gola doesn't have to worry about such a defensive attack, until somebody like Jan comes along? Or did I get that wrong?

I am not arguing or anything like that, by the way, just thinking out loud. It is what we'd call a Philosophical Discussion back in our table-gaming days. We'd debate about some monster or situation or whatever. I'm sure you had your own discussions.

Interesting how Jan avoids the coming of Blood Raven. Slowly, the protege is taking flight from the mentor. I like how Gadget must guide her via GPS in the dark.

Finally, I would say feeding off a deer is not the same as eating a Coney Dog. That deer at least got to live in its natural environment, not kept in some cage or pen or whatever. So Jan's intuition is right on, I'd say.

[RaderOfTheLostArk]

I've been lurking in this forum topic off and on for a little while even though I haven't commented yet, and while I'm still a bit lost as to the overall story (since I am still relatively late to the party) I think I am piecing some of it together. I'm also trying to be wary of asking dumb questions that I should know the answer to.

It's pretty neat getting a feel for a state that I have never been to but would like to visit. I've been to about 40 of the states (though some have really just been passing through, not really visiting much), but Michigan is not one of them.

Also, it's pretty rad that Stormcrow has lightning-based powers. Whenever I hear the question "What superpower would you want to have?" it is always going to be the ability to manipulate electricity for me. There is so much utility and variety, both mundane and extraordinary, that you could do with it. And I used to watch the cartoon Static Shock when I was a kid, which is part of the inspiration.

Yicch, that description of this Gola massacring the deer.

Gola preys upon the old and the sickly for the same reason

Sounds a bit...Kevorkian-esque? That's not exactly the word I'm looking for (not that that's a real one anyway). And not trying to imply anything about what I think of Kevorkian, but to Renee's point, it does kind of lead to a philosophical discussion. If somebody is in immense physical suffering, would it be better to "put them out of their misery"? Though, taking them off life support or administering medication with a patient's consent is a lot different than consuming their essence. Sounds more like an excuse for her actions. Not to mention that she could be full of it.

This post has been edited by RaderOfTheLostArk: Mar 5 2021, 04:43 AM

[SubRosa]

macole: That deep and lush forest pic is one I found only recently. So I guess it was a good thing I went looking for more


Acadian: I had to spend some time figuring out what the difference would be between adding human years to adding those of an animal. Eventually I settled on the idea that the latter would more more primal, physical, and inextricably linked the world of nature and action.

Jan is like so many of us now, myself included, who are completely cut off from the production of food. We go to the grocery store and buy chicken nuggets, and that is the nearest we get. But when I was a child I remember my grandmother telling us how when they wanted chicken, her mother would go in the backyard and cut one's head off. So naturally Jan is squeamish about seeing the reality of death like that, even though she understands it intellectually. It is not something that is part of her life at all.

Jan can create both forms of wings. Either as part of her arms, or sprouting separately from her back. She does whichever one suits her at the time. Creating them directly from her arms probably gives her more power and control. While from her back leaves her hands free of course. This was something I spent a lot of time agonizing over - which form would they take. Most superheros do the second method, with them being independent of the arms. But a few have them built in. Then I realized that I did not have to accept the false dichotomy of the proposition. She can have both.


Renee: I know what you are saying. It is a common trope, especially with vampires, to prey upon the "bad" people. Because they deserve it (which gets into a whole other discussion about retributive justice). But Gola has never seen those movies or TV shows. She died in 1830-ish, and it never really entered her mind that she should punish the guilty, or anything of the like. To her, suffering is just suffering, no matter who endures it.

For Gola and her motivations, I started with the actual Native American lore. Which is that Raven Mockers prey upon the old and the sickly. People with little time left. When I think about that, it seems kind of backwards. Logically, if you needed to steal the years off someone else's life to extend your own, it would make more sense to prey upon children. That way you get 70+ years a pop. Which is why I put those words in Avery's mouth.

I personally suspect that these myths were simply created to help people rationalize the painful loss of their loved ones, who were old or sick and naturally, died. But I need Raven Mockers to be a real thing in the Stormcrow world, and I did not want to compromise the real world myths about them if I could avoid doing so. So I looked for a way to rationalize the Raven Mocker's targeting of the old and the sick. That is when it occurred to me that it is the same thing all predators do. So that is why I went that route.

However, I also tried to emphasize that all of her life, this is what Gola had been told that Raven Mockers are supposed to do. You will see it in every Google search you do on Raven Mockers. It is just as much a matter of tradition and enforced social values as it is a matter of magical biology. In fact, it is more tradition and societal pressure than anything else, as Gola's ability to feed off a deer showed. Gola was doing what she had been told she was supposed to do, what she never once questioned. If this fiction is about anything, it is about finding your own truth, even when the rest of the world tries to stop you. So I leaned into this being a personal journey of her own, as Gola finally realizes that she is the only one who can define who and what she is.

Jan is putting off Blood Raven because she has other things to do right now. And she knows that Blood Raven is going to say her piece eventually anyhow. This coming episode in fact.

The deer did at least get to live a normal life. As opposed to the existence of animals in factory-farms, ugh.


RaderOfTheLostArk: You should really go back and start from the start. It is a lot of ground, but everything in the story is built upon what came before.

40 states is a lot to visit. I have only been to a few. The biggest reason I chose to set the story in Metro Detroit is that I know this place. If I tried to set it somewhere else, I know I would invariably run into pitfalls created by my own ignorance. You can look at a map of a place, even look at pictures, but they don't tell you the soul of the place. How people act. Where the rich and poor neighborhoods are. What they eat. How they talk. There is so much about living in a place that you just cannot get from reading books and articles. Honestly, I think I would be better off writing in a completely fictional setting than anywhere other than Detroit because of that.

Stormcrow's lightning abilities are basically just a subset of her elementalism. That is her real focus. She manipulates the elements, often in a metaphorical way rather than an actual direct, physical one. I can see her eventually learning to do more with lightning and electricity in the future. But she will never be as good at it as someone who specializes in just electricity. There is a neat DC supervillain called Livewire who can turn herself into electricity, and travel though electrical wiring to get to pretty much anywhere in the blink of an eye. That would be really cool. So too would being able to control electrical devices, computers, phones, cars, anything with a power source.

Gola's motivations are explained above.






Tulle

Oradour sur Glane

Francs-Tireurs





Book 6.16 - Eloise

"You know you are placing a great wager upon her." Blood Raven's voice pierced the darkness.

January closed her eyes for a moment, then turned to face the other heroine. She had been waiting for her to make an appearance, and say her piece. Scarlet eyes shone in the darkness, and Blood Raven stepped forward, fully into view.

"When she kills again, you shall bear a portion of the responsibility," she insisted.

"If she kills again," January noted. "And yes, I know that. But I have to give her a chance."

"Raven mockers are altogether evil." Blood Raven declared.

"Really," January gestured to the other woman, then up into the black sky into which Gola had vanished. "Pot... kettle."

"Do not compare us," Blood Raven growled. "We are nothing alike."

"How many people have you killed?" January probed. "Tell me, who was Der Teufel von Bellac, and what was the Death of the 2nd SS Panzer?"

"Do not dare to sit in judgment of me!" Blood Raven's voice was a threatening rumble of thunder. She absentmindedly lashed out with a fist, and an oak tree cracked in two. It collapsed with a groan of tortured wood and a whoosh of whirling leaves, only to crash to the earth a moment later.

"You were not there. You did not see what they had done in Tulle, or Oradour, or a thousand other places. I lived it, I buried every one of my friends there!"

"I am not judging you," January said coolly. She would not be intimidated by bullies. She would not be intimidated by Blood Raven. "That is the whole point. I am not judging you. I am not judging her. Why does everything with you have to be such a struggle?"

Blood Raven sighed, and sat down upon the trunk of the tree she had just knocked down. January stepped forward, and joined her on the ersatz bench. She said nothing, and for a long while neither did Blood Raven.

"The 2nd SS Panzer had been in the south of France when the landings took place in Normandy," she began. "We all knew that they would be immediately sent north to counter attack. That single division possessed one tenth of all the German armor west of the Rhine. We were bidden to slow their march in any manner possible, to purchase time for the men on the beaches."

"All of the resistance fighters - the Communists, the DeGaullists, we SOE agents, even the SAS, everyone - moved to block them. I was carrying dispatches to groups in the Plateau de Millevaches to the east. By the time I returned the Nazis had already murdered hundreds of innocent civilians in Tulle, and slaughtered far more in Oradour. The latter was too much, even for me. It was not war. It was not even reprisals. It was pure murder. It was the last time I allowed the beast in me free reign."

"I caught up with them outside of Bellac," Blood Raven explained. "They were strung out for miles across different roads. It was their reconnaissance battalion that I encountered first. When they realized what was happening, they began to send their panzer grenadiers after me, and their meta-humans."

"They had metas?" January wondered aloud.

"Of course," Blood Raven said. "Since Grognard and the Red Baron in the Great War, every army has. The Das Reich division was special, so they possessed three. I ripped the blood from their bodies and used it as missiles to pierce the half tracks."

"Their panzers did not join the fight until the third day. They had been on trains to the west. But the flatcars had been sabotaged by the cheminots - the rail workers - who had destroyed the axle bearings of the cars. So they detrained and came east for me. I wrought their ruin before night fell. After that, there was nothing but a few stragglers left to hunt down. By then the Francs-Tireurs who had previously taken Tulle and abandoned it had returned. Between us, only a handful of the fascists managed to escape."

"When I was finally myself again - when my fury had abated - I was horrified," Blood Raven stared down at her hands, as if they were still covered in blood. "I left the SOE, simply disappeared, and allowed them to think I was dead with all the others. In the years that followed I became a nurse - a profession I had much previous experience in - and tried to ease suffering rather than be its author. As if that could wipe the stain from my soul. I was still in Belgium when I learned of the Abyssal summonings in Los Angeles, and returned to America to witness the end of your great-grandfather Jack."

"We are all monsters here. We all have things in our past we regret," January said honestly. Though granted, killing fifteen thousand people was a doozy. But it was war, and she just as honestly knew that someone as privileged as she was, had no right to cast aspersions on anyone who had experienced that. Would she do better, were she forced into the same circumstances? January did not know.

"Seeing those neo-Nazis last week must have been a trigger for all that," January noted. "But you never lost control of yourself then, either Saturday or Sunday. That must have taken an effort of will."

"You have no idea," Blood Raven breathed. "Seeing those swastikas... it still makes my blood boil."

"Anger can be a good thing," January said. "When we don't let it control us, it drives us to make real, positive change in the world. It is what shakes us out of our complacency. It's the reason we are not all British citizens right now. Granted, I don't know if we are better or worse off for that..."

"But when we do not control it, when it controls us instead, then it makes us no different from Nazis," Blood Raven frowned. "I was no different from them on the road to Bellac. I was worse. I was the devil. Selene's Heirs must always guard against the beast within us, just as ordinary humans."

"You controlled it last week," January insisted. "You were a better person. I have to believe that we all have the power in us to change, to make ourselves the people we want to be in our hearts. Transitioning taught me that."

"January, once I would have described you as benevolent," Blood Raven turned to look her in the eyes. "But now I see you are ambitious. You are determined to remake the world, one person at a time."

"But even your will cannot change people," Blood Raven's gaze turned to the sky. There above, Gola wheeled among the stars. Red sparks trailed behind her wings, making her easy to pick out within the firmament. "They shall not be what you want them to, no matter how much you wish it."

"I don't want to change people," January insisted. "I only believe that everyone deserves a second chance. I know we all make mistakes. I think we all deserve to make them right again, and remake ourselves into someone better, like I have been trying to do since I transitioned."

"I fear your heart shall be broken, if you continue to fill it with such ideals," Blood Raven said.

"I'm a trans person living in America," January noted. "My heart was broken a long time ago."

"I often think you deserve to wear this cape far more than I do," Blood Raven mused. "Perhaps when all of this business with the Summoner is put to rest, it shall be time for me to move on. I should very much like to go back to nursing once more, or teaching. Both are noble callings."

"What?" January realized that her jaw was dropping to the earth. "You can't give up. You're... you're, you're Blood Raven! You've been our city's only hope for fifty years. You were my inspiration as a child."

"You are the inspiration our city needs," Blood Raven said. "I suspected as much the first time I set eyes upon you. I know it now."

She rose to her feet, prompting January to follow. "Now go, and shepherd Gola to a new life. Give her the opportunity to change who she is. We may speak more of this later, should you so desire."

With that, Blood Raven was a red scar, fading into the night sky.

[Acadian]

Thanks for the clarification on the flexible deployment of Stormcrow’s wings – very handy when she wants to fly out for some take out.

I learned a new word: ‘ersatz’.

A wonderful episode that accomplished many things. Even with Blood Raven’s opening comment, I once again admired your consistent discipline in crafting her speech to suit her perfectly. I’m sure Blood Raven must be great fun and a great challenge as well to write.

January continues to grow – here she stands up to the tree-snapping older heroine to hold her ground without hesitation.

"Raven mockers are altogether evil." Blood Raven declared.
"Really," January gestured to the other woman, then up into the black sky into which Gola had vanished. "Pot... kettle."
- -

"January, once I would have described you as benevolent," Blood Raven turned to look her in the eyes. "But now I see you are ambitious. You are determined to remake the world, one person at a time."
- - Quoted for truth.

As Blood Raven recounted the results of her anger unleashed during WWII, I am reminded of Buffy’s meeting with Azura where the Daedric Lord confesses to wiping out the entire Dwemer Race and to, much later, dropping most of Winterhold into the freezing Sea of Ghosts. As Jan would say, ‘doozies’! And like Azura, thanks to the influence of a young protégé, Blood Raven has grown from her past displays of temper. I quite loved this whole interchange between the two heroines.

And like the first sentence of this episode, the last was crafted with equal care and effect to display the power and mystery that is Blood Raven as she makes a dramatic departure.

[Renee]

Acadian-- I knew the word ersatz, somehow, but I always come across new words in these stories y'all write, too.

Rosa-- See, that's what I mean about philosophical discussion. We're getting deeper into Gola and her motivations, that's for sure.

I apologize if I sound like I am suggesting what Gola "should" be doing, that is not my intention. I would love it if (for once) there is a monster who actually preys upon somebody who really inflicts pain upon innocents. If this is a common trope, I am afraid I've missed those movies, or stories.

Nice. Blood Raven going for some disagreement about the Gola situation as well. And that's almost somebody calling the kettle black (whatever the saying is) since Branwen herself often borders upon what a lot of folks would define as Evil.

When she kills again, you shall bear a portion of the responsibility," she insisted.

I love that part. Raven has actual experience here, while Jan is almost cutesy with her response ... "but she promised not to cause harm to people!" (paraphrased)

Whoa. "Pot ... kettle". I swear I did not read that just til now. As always, I'm commenting as I'm reading (my short-term memory is bad). Jan and I have the same mind, here.

I am not agreeing that what Blood Raven did to those troops is Evil. Or if it is, it's the lesser of two evils, for sure. It was a necessary evil. So in this way, that is an example of somebody punishing somebody else who inflicts pain upon innocents. There we go.

The ending of this sub-chapter does give an odd hint which foreshadows what sounds to be Branwen's departure from the forefront, so I am equally in shock as Jan, here. But I also understand. Blood Raven is not as in-touch with the pulse of Detroit. She does things partially for HER motivations first, whereas I think Jan is definitely more selfless.

[SubRosa]

Acadian: Your question about the wings gave me an opportunity to flesh out the situation directly in today's episode. So I am glad you brought it up.

I think I learned about ersatz from reading the autobiography of a guy (well, a 'chap' since he was English) in WW2, when he talked about making ersatz coffee in his tank in North Africa.

Blood Raven is both great fun, and a huge challenge to write.

I am glad the Pot - Kettle comment is playing. I worked a while before I found that.

Blood Raven's revelation that January is not merely benevolent, but ambitious has been a long time coming. A while ago I was thinking how I might describe her with one word. Benevolence or Compassion were ones that immediately sprang to my mind. But the more I thought about it, the more and more Ambitious rose to the fore. January is not content to simply live in the world, she is committed to making it better.

One thing I like about writing Blood Raven is that she is not morally pure. She's pretty problematic. He mother and father literally owned people, and she grew up thinking that was just normal. She has spent a long time evolving over her unlife, and that gives me a lot of opportunities to sow in hard lessons she has learned. Not to say that she is lacking in compassion or empathy. She holds both in great store. But she has had a long journey of self-realization to get there.



Renee: No worries. The whole tropes of the Vegetarian Vampire and the Vampire Detective are usually founded on the idea of vampires who only prey upon criminals. The movie Innocent Blood uses this. The vampire in it only kills mobsters. Another is Monster Adventurers, and Predator Turned Protector

Blood Raven is always disagreeable! Well, not always. But she is good for interjecting conflict into January's often morally direct compass. Blood Raven herself does indeed fit the tropes above of the monsters who preys upon "evil". Of course the men in the SS whom she killed believed they were doing exactly the same thing when they killed nearly a thousand civilians.

Blood Raven has been doing this for 50 years. That is a very long time for anyone. Now that someone like January has finally risen, the thought that she could be her successor must come as a great relief to Blood Raven.











White Phosphor Night Vision

Retributive Justice

As always Charleviox and Garden Island are on the Stormcrow Map

Yoopers and Pasties

Garden Island

Spirit House pic



Book 6.17 - Eloise

The flight north was a long one. Hundreds of miles swept past under January's wings. If nothing else, it was great practice. She had literally never flown so long or so far before. Even all of her practice sessions put together could not add up to the length of this one flight. January tried to make the most of it. She concentrated on her form. Years of gymnastics helped. It was like performing an iron cross without needing the rings to hold herself up. She fell back on all those years of work to keep her body a slender, aerodynamic missile that darted through the sky.

Then there were her wings, those glorious, glorious crow's wings. They beat up and down, without her needing to consciously direct each sweep. Thanks to Lighthammer, she had built good habits. She understood how to create negative pressure under her wings. She knew how to use air currents, and updrafts, and gravity to her advantage.

January even found that when she created the wings directly from her arms, her speed and agility increased. She imagined that she was more aerodynamic for one thing. But she also suspected that fusing them with her original limbs simply gave them more raw power. On the other hand, it was nice to be able to make them sprout independently from her back when she needed to. Sometimes a girl wanted her hands free for carry-out after all.

So her wings became her passport as she soared through the black Michigan skies. The stars glowed high above, and there was not a cloud in sight. Below her the land stretched out in rolling hills, dense carpets of forest, and wide patches of open farmland. Without the night vision from her winged helmet it all would have been nothing but an inky stain, like black paint tossed across a canvas. She never would have been able to tell where the horizon began, or the earth ended. Once again, she was thankful for Gadget's gadgeteering. She did not know what she would do without him.

The landscape was tinted blue-white by the night vision, lending it an almost surreal look. Islands of light blossomed here and there, revealing cities and towns. Glowing serpents of roadways wound between them. Most notable was Interstate 75, which made its way ever northward, just as they did. Soon other highways passed by underneath as well, but they were smaller, narrower, less illuminated or populated.

The farther north they went, the more and more rare the lights of towns and streets became. The land up here was older, rougher, and wilder. The footprints of humanity's passage were far lighter. Soon January began to feel as if she had passed into another world, far removed from the concrete and steel of Metro-Detroit.

Through it all January was keenly aware of her companion on this night flight. Gola said little on their sojourn, and January did not pry. She literally could not imagine what this might feel like for the raven mocker. January had no idea what being her was like. She was a Cherokee woman from a different era, who had literally died and transformed into... something else.

But January reminded herself that she had also literally transformed into something else as well, even if not in so dramatic a fashion. Likewise, Blood Raven was a person from a different age, who had also gone beyond death and life, into a new realm of being. Being different was not something that bothered January.

But it had not escaped her attention that Gola had literally been about to murder that man in the wheelchair, in order to steal the life he had remaining to him. The medicine-woman turned raven had certainly succeeded in doing so in the past. How many deaths lay at her feet? How many more? January had shown her that she need not prey upon people. But would Gola ever be tempted to go back?

January knew that she would be responsible if Gola did. Yet at the same time, she knew that everyone was capable of killing. She could not arrest everyone just because they could commit evil acts.

But not everyone had tried to rip out a man's heart and eat it either.

January did not need Gadget or Blood Raven to argue with. Clearly, she could do that with herself just as easily. In the end she was faced with the two poles of retribution or forgiveness. She was certainly no fan of retributive justice. Ultimately that was geared toward putting people into prison for any excuses. In the end it created a nation of incarceration. Not to mention that it was rooted in anger and hate. It was about deciding that certain people deserved to suffer. As someone who had faced her own share of suffering, at the hands of those who felt morally justified in meting it out, January was none too keen on passing that along to another.

For that matter, could Gola even be put into a prison? There was the Super Max of course. But could she survive there? It was not like she could eat beans and toast. If she did, would not incarceration simply turn her bachelor's degree in occasional murder into a doctoral in monstrosity? That was the syllabus of prisons, meta-human or not.

January had already said more than once that she was not about putting people into prison. Now her words came back to her. Gola would have a second chance, even though her victims had never gotten the same. January could not go back in time to save them, any more than she could save the countless millions who died in wars and famines over the last century alone. She just had to accept that, and hope that what she was doing now was for the better rather than the worse.

Nearly two hours had passed when the land beneath them abruptly vanished. The bright lights of a city faded away behind her and to the right. Ahead were the dark waters of Lake Michigan. The horizon was a black line from which stars crawled into the sky. She could feel the humidity from the water in the air, and hear the waves gently lapping below.

"That was Charleviox you just passed," Gadget's voice leaped into her ear. "You're over the lake now. Da UP is just ahead, eh?" Like every Michigander, he pronounced it "You-P" of course. January laughed every time someone from out of state called it the "up".

"I'll say hi to da Yoopers eh," January breathed. "Maybe I'll stop off and get some pasties while I am at it."

"Mmmm, hot off the miner's shovel, just the way we like it," Gadget murmured.

"What are these islands up ahead?" January wondered aloud. They were lighter stains against the black sheet of Lake Michigan. A few glowed with tiny spots of illumination. But most were splotches of trees rising above the dark waters.

"That big one ahead with all the lights is Beaver Island," Gadget said. January heard his keyboard clacking away in the background. "Has an airstrip, and even a town in the north-east corner."

"What about the other ones, like those two north of it?" January wondered. While the signs of civilization on Beaver Island were plain to see from above, she saw no lights from the others nearby.

"That is Hog Island and Garden Island to the north," Gadget noted. "Both are abandoned. Same with the little postage stamp islands around them. You thinking this would be a good crib for your new friend?"

"Not many people are likely to bother her here," January said. Or tempt her. But she kept the latter thought to herself.

She turned to Gola and whistled. The raven woman turned to face her. Her head was a raven's, girded in a halo of indigo feathers, with eyes that glowed from an inner fire. January nodded toward the islands, and nosed down toward them. The raven mocker nodded in reply, and followed her down.

January came down upon what Gadget told her was Garden Island. It lay directly north of the populated Beaver Island. Its coast was an irregular patchwork of bays and peninsulas. Trees covered nearly everything, save for a few small lakes that dotted its interior. January found the irony of that amusing. It was an island, in a lake, with smaller lakes nestled within it in turn.

"Looks like there were some Native Americans living here, but they all moved away." Gadget noted. "There was a sawmill, but it closed down about a hundred years ago. It's been abandoned ever since, and is all state land now. It says there is a Native American cemetery that is still in use however."

"I think we found it," January said as she came down to land beside Gola. The other woman had taken the lead, and brought them to earth near the largest lake in the island. Evergreens rose all around. It took all of January's skill and concentration to navigate her way through the trees and safely to the ground. Gola, however, slipped through the trees as if it were literal child's play. January had to remind herself that the raven woman had literally been flying for centuries.

The ground below the trees was sparsely furnished with undergrowth. In some cases leafy bushes sprouted in miniature forests. But most of the floor was simply dirt and pine needles, only occasionally dotted with underbrush.

Scattered all over were tiny buildings, like log cabins built by pixies. Most could not have been much more than a foot tall. But other than that, they looked no different from any wooden home. All had an open doorway at the end, and some even bore shingled roofs. All were weathered with age, and many were overgrown with moss.

"Spirit houses," Gola breathed. "The dead sleep all about us."

January felt an icy shiver run up her spine. She might have been a big, bad superhero. But it was still eerie to stand in a burial ground in the middle of the night, especially one as unusual as this. She could not shake the feeling that she did not belong here. That it was not right for her to stand in this place.

The raven mocker did not seem to be bothered by any of this in the slightest. Instead, she walked among the houses of the dead, and began to sing in a tongue that January could not understand. January followed her, and tried to be respectful of the departed. Finally Gola turned to her with a smile.

"I should like this place very much," Gola declared. "I will abide here."

"Ok, that's good, I guess," January said. She had the urge to rub the back of her neck, the way Gadget did when he was nervous. "Just remember that people still do come here sometimes. You have to watch out for them."

"They will never see me," Gola insisted. "They never saw me at the other place, the dark place. Here the world is alive again. The trees grow, the sky glows, the waters lap and flow. I will sing to the dead, and tell them stories of my people. Perhaps they will tell me stories of their own?"

"Ok, then I suppose my work here is done," January said. "I'll be back to check on you, to make sure you are ok."

January reached into one of her pockets of her utility belt, and fished out a burner phone. She handed it to the raven mocker, who stared at it as if January had plucked it from the moon. January forgot that she probably had no idea what wireless phones were. So she was obliged to show her how to flip it open and use the speed dial. Yes, it was so cheap it was a flip-phone. The only thing it was good for was making calls and sending texts. There was only one number stored on it, her Stormcrow line. So there was little to go wrong with it. At least January hoped.

"If you are ever in any trouble, especially with people, call me," January insisted. "If you ever get the urge to... eat people... call me. I'll come, and we'll sort it out, and no one will get hurt. That includes you Gola. I am here for you now too."

Gola looked down. January could swear that she looked guilty. The raven mocker slid the dirt around under her feet, before she finally spoke again.

"You should know, that you are not the only medicine worker Gola has seen today," she began haltingly. "The one who woke me from my slumber, he worked magic as well. A powerful worker he was, a powerful worker."

"Who," January felt her hackles rise. She had a bad feeling that she knew exactly who it was. "Who woke you? What was his name?"

"He gave no name," Gola explained. "He wanted me to go with him, and serve him. He promised me many hearts, lifetimes of hearts, years without end. All I need do was bend my knee to him, and fight for him. He said he was gathering many slayers to his cause, and that I would enjoy a favored place at his side."

"What did he look like?" January pressed. "What was he wearing?"

"He was a white man, like you," Gola said. "His head was bald, and his girth was wide. But his heart was dark, terrible, filled with poison. It was as if your President Jackson walked the earth again."

"What did you do?" By now January was not surprised at the reference to Andrew Jackson. Gadget had filled her in on the flight north. President Jackson had driven her people out of their lands and out west onto the Trail of Tears. That was something that she did remember. She had even learned it in school, of all places. January imagined that he was the most terrible figure a Cherokee could imagine, a true Dark Lord.

"I would not go with him," Gola shook her head for emphasis. "I knew he was lying to me. I knew he would use me to kill, and then kill me in turn. I will never take lives for a white man's ambition. I only do what I must to survive."

"What did he do then?" January asked.

"He was angry," Gola said, "terribly angry. I think he would have tried to kill me. But we heard noises. Others had ventured within the building. They filled the darkness with their lights and voices. He did not wish to be seen. So he went."

"How did he go?" January asked. "Did he walk? Did he fly?"

"Nay," Gola shook her head again. "He just... vanished. He did something to the world around him. He pulled it close, and wrapped it about him like a blanket. He rode the folds in the cloth, and went from here, to somewhere else."

"He can teleport," Gadget said in her ear. "That is why we can't spot him on any traffic cams or ride share databases. The Summoner is a teleporter."

"Thank you Gola," January reached out and took the raven mocker's bony hands within her own. "This helps us immensely. If there is anything else you can think of, call me. Any time, call me. I will be here."

* * *

Well you heard it here first folks, Michigan's most famous cape is in the news again. This is Gilda Gadfly of Worldwide Network News, with all the super stories fit to print, gab, and gossip about. No, I am not referring to her gigantic splash into politics with the mind-numbing reveal that she is transgender. You can refer to my previous cast that goes in depth into all the fallout from that: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

The world was still reeling from that particular shockwave when a group of paranormal investigators went exploring an old, abandoned asylum in Westland, Michigan. Now what could go wrong with that idea? Well a ghost did. Yes, you heard it, the people on the scene not only said they were attacked by a ghost, two Wayne County Deputy Sheriffs also corroborate it. One even claims that the pugnacious poltergeist cast a sleep spell on him!

Who are you going to call? Well you know who they did call, our favorite corvid from Detroit, that's who. She went into the haunted sanitarium as darkness fell, and did battle with the scary spookster. Korean War veteran James Henry says the ghost was about to eat him, when Stormcrow swept in and went hand to hand with the foul fiend. As you can see from these pics of the aftermath, it was quite a tussle! Mr. Henry sends his thanks to the Crow, and to his wife for making him wear his brown pants that day... The owner of the property and leader of the paranormal tour - Diego Islas - says this has not deterred him from redeveloping the old house of horror. Quite the opposite he says, and he cannot wait to transform it into a new hotel and start booking stays and parties for paranormal adventurers.

Stormcrow appears to have exorcised the angry spirit, for all was quiet afterward. Her fellow Blackbird Blood Raven appeared at the scene later to say that all was well, and that the ghost had been settled. When asked what she felt about Stormcrow's dramatic coming out, well, listen to her own words: "Stormcrow's courage, and her compassion, are an inspiration for me, as they should be for all of us. I am proud to stand with her." There you have it folks, an unequivocal vote of support from Detroit's oldest superhero. It is also an equally eloquent admission that these two Blackbirds are indeed an official team.

As for the elusive Crow herself, well she vanished into the night without a word after the spiritual smackdown was over. So it appears she is picking up a few habits from her corvid ally and possible mentor... However, she was spotted hours later in Charlevoix. For those who don't know Michigan, that is on the other side of the state. She kicked back at a local pizzeria and enjoyed a slice on the sidewalk patio. As ever, the kindly Crow took selfies with fans before flying off into the night. She may be a bird of a different feather, but this reporter is glad she is out there fighting for us.

[macole]

Great description of Andrew Jackson. the history book in grade school clean him up more than just a little, IMO.

This post has been edited by macole: Mar 13 2021, 05:27 AM

[RaderOfTheLostArk]

Great description of Andrew Jackson. the history book in grade school clean him up more than just a little, IMO.

Depends on where it is being taught, but I agree that his history is sanitized somewhat in some cases. And while I generally avoid publicly saying anything that can be misconstrued as partisan, ideological, controversial, etc., I don't think it's controversial to say that Andrew Jackson was a terrible person. He's undeniably one of the more impactful presidents we have ever had, and sometimes the whole dueling thing can make for funny jokes, but his bad qualities far outweigh his good.

Historians sometimes say that Jackson was the first president to truly "establish the power of the executive," in what sounds like they generally think is somewhat in a good way, but I don't exactly agree. He went way over the top in that regard, though he's far from the only president to do that. Jackson clearly had no respect for separation of powers, a key foundation to our system of government, when he defied the Supreme Court and ushered in the Trail of Tears. Even racial issues aside, that's a particularly excessive abuse of power.

Jackson was also a raging nepotist in how he awarded government positions. He was one in an infinitely long list of politicians who called themselves outsiders and common people--and he had the credibility to claim that before becoming president--yet became the very thing they claimed to fight against. This is one of my biggest pet peeves in politics, and there are A LOT of those.

My memory is a bit hazy since I haven't studied Andrew Jackson in a long time, and it's not like he didn't have any positive contributions that he made. But I digress.

[Acadian]

’January even found that when she created the wings directly from her arms, her speed and agility increased. She imagined that she was more aerodynamic for one thing. But she also suspected that fusing them with her original limbs simply gave them more raw power. On the other hand, it was nice to be able to make them sprout independently from her back when she needed to. Sometimes a girl wanted her hands free for carry-out after all.’
- - Great explanation and observations.

Yup, Gadget’s gadgeteering comes in darn handy! Nice to include a vid that shows blue-white NVG lighting instead of the green that I am used to.

’The land up here was older, rougher, and wilder. The footprints of humanity's passage were far lighter.’
- - Very nicely phrased.

As Stormcrow and her wingwoman approached their landing zone we are reminded that, despite the Stormcrow’s still growing skill as an aviatrix, there are still those out there who outclass her in the air. The observation is encouraging since it is clear that Gola could have given her escort the slip anytime she desired. But chose to stay with her new feathered friend.

A valuable revelation from Gola that helps refocus us back to Jan’s search for that elusive summoner.

How appropriate to finish with another broadcast from our gabby gossipcaster – including a most welcome public endorsement of the Stormcrow by Blood Raven.

[Renee]

Thanks for the links. In my roleplay with Lord Haaf-Mersey years ago, Serana (whom LHM traveled with, even though he's supposed to be Lawful Good) was acting sort of like a vegetarian vampire, then.

I'd imagine flying for hours would be tiring, since we as humans aren't made to have our arms splayed out for all that time, keeping us from falling. Actually, it's probably similar to swimming. Constantly using her arms.

And that does happen when we fly at night (in a plane). In rural areas there will be these little orange or blueish-white dots (sulfur or halide lights), especially as we go further west. Those are entire towns!

How high do you estimate she's flying?
I like the way Jan feels awkward about being in that burial ground. I get that.

That's funny. Jan hands the raven mocker a cell phone, but no charger! Doesn't sound like there is any electrical outlets nearby either, not that Gola would know how to use one without shocking herself.

I like the end. So Gola actually sees this Summoner dude. Hmm, blonde hair. I'm wondering now if this is somebody who has already appeared in the story.

Gadfly cracks me up.

This post has been edited by Renee: Mar 18 2021, 01:39 AM

[SubRosa]

macole: Shockingly enough my Junior High School history teacher actually taught us about the Trail of Tears. But I do not remember if he went into detail about how the Supreme Court said it was illegal, and Jackson just ignored them.


RaderOfTheLostArk: The American History Tellers podcast had a series on what they called the Age of Jackson, that was about not only him, but his contemporaries. He was a great example of a Dark Lord.


Acadian: I am used to the fuzzy green night vision as well. So I was pleasantly surprised to find we have this turquoise colored option now, which seems to be much higher in resolution.

I had not really thought that Gola could have easily outflew January if she wanted to and just escaped. But it is a good observation, because it is true. I did absolutely mean to show that Gola was the better aviator. One thing I want to avoid is January seeming to be omnipotent, which is so easy in this genre. So I always try to look for comparisons to other characters who are superior to her at one thing or another.

I often times picture Gilda Gadfly with a stereotypical 20's broadcaster voice.


Renee: I noted a long while back that Serana is only a vampire because the game tells us so. She never has to drink blood, or otherwise do anything vampire-like in the game. She is just a magician with glowing eyes.

It probably would be extremely tiring to fly like that. But January's Endurance score is massive. She is tougher than rawhide.

I have not really thought about how high she flies. Not being a pilot, I do not have any real way to gauge what might be appropriate. Sometimes I wish I had a drone, just so I could see what things around here look like from high up. We do not have mountains in Michigan, or really many tall buildings other than those in a few places like Downtown Detroit, so she would not really need to go very far up. I don't see her as going thousands of feet up like jet airplanes. She probably would not go much higher than the Ren Cen, if even that much. The wiki says it is 750 feet including the antenna. So I imagine around there.

You are right, no charger! Maybe I can address that in a future episode, and have January make a trip up there to give her a Gadgeteered solar-powered phone charger.

The Summoner might be someone we have already seen in the story...








Ravi Prasad is played by Rahul Kohli

Amy Nixon is played by Cynthia Nixon

Detroitium tee

Three Wil Wheaton tee


Book 7.1 - Hammer Down

June 16-25, 2019

"What's pinning the tales on my crows!" a man belted out in a decidedly English accent. January looked at him through their shared ZAAM video-conferencing software. His high cheekbones and soft brown eyes were definitely what Avery would describe as handsome. So too the thick shock of hair that rose atop his head in an inky black wave. His neatly-trimmed beard added a dash of maturity to his otherwise youthful features. But not so much that it made him look truly old.

"Welcome to the Crow Tales Podcast," he continued. "The podcast that picks up the literary feathers left behind by none other than Stormcrow herself, and tries to assemble them all into a fully flying... feathered... thing... I kind of lost the thread there at the end. But that's because I'm Ravi Prasad, programmer by day, and also host of PodGeek by night. Now I'm butchering the introduction to the Crow Tales Cast here in my secret lair, located somewhere in the depths of the London Underground."

"And I am Amy Nixon, arts and culture host and correspondent for NPR in Chicago," came a woman with a husky voice. Her fiery orange locks were barely contained in a ruffled crop that was parted on one side. It reminded January of David Bowie. As did the way she seemed to glow with a roseate light.

"And I am Patricia Fine, feminist writer for Vanity Bazaar here in the Big Apple." Another female voice came out, this one somewhat bland and ordinary compared to the others. It belonged to a woman with long, straight blond hair parted down the center of her scalp, and a somewhat severe look.

"Today we have a special surprise," Ravi said. "Not only is this our first video edition of the podcast, but we also have our very first special guest star making an appearance on the cast. Welcome to none other than the author whose work we are reviewing today - January Ward!"

Ravi then proceeded to make a really bad impression of an air horn sound. That left Amy fighting, and failing, to contain a chuckle. Patricia merely rolled her eyes, and looked like she would rather be somewhere else.

January felt her heart pounding in her chest, like a dinosaur locked in far-too small of a cage. It took a conscious effort not to lick her lips, or run her hand through her hair, or fall into any other nervous tics. Her mouth felt dry as Arrakis, while her palms were so damp that she rubbed them against the sides of her yoga pants. Thankfully that was off the screen.

She stared into the webcam perched atop her computer's screen. She knew that this was no different from standing up in front of a class of martial arts students. Nor was it any different from speaking to a bunch of comic book enthusiasts at the library. In fact, it was probably closer to the latter. She had done those things and survived. She could guest on a podcast.

Besides, didn't everyone want to be on a podcast these days?

January had to admit that part of her was excited. The very fact that this podcast existed, and followed the Crow Tales blog that she put out as Stormcrow was incredibly flattering. When she had put her own novelette - This Spell for Hire - on Crow Tales she had merely hoped for some publicity. She had never expected to be interviewed by anyone. Let along a famous podcaster like Ravi (well famous among gamers, techies, and other nerds at least), and serious journalists such as Amy and Patricia.

The whole thing was a heady experience. She had to force herself to relax, and let part of her elemental mantra flow through her head.

Air give me quickness in body and wit. Let the weights of the world fall from me.

"Hi!" she bubbled in her perky phone voice. She wanted to kick herself. She was supposed to sound serious, reserved, or at least like a grown-up.

"I'm January, which I guess everyone already knows," January babbled. She tried to save herself by throwing the attention elsewhere, and glanced down at the divided screen on her monitor. "What is that you're wearing Ravi?"

"Well I am glad you asked that brilliant and incisive question," the young man practically preened. He stood up, and pulled at the sides of his shirt so the image emblazoned across its surface could be clearly seen. It was a picture of Stormcrow leaping into the sky, with a bolt of lightning cracking down behind her. Just so there was no doubt who it depicted, the name "Stormcrow" was written in huge letters across the top.

"This is my new Stormcrow tee," Ravi beamed.

"Cool!" January stared in amazement. "I didn't know there was such a thing?"

"Couple of blokes I know down the block cracked them out," he explained. "They are the bee's knees."

"I'm surprised that anyone in the UK would even know who Stormcrow is," January mused. "I really thought she was just a Michigan thing."

"Everyone knows who Stormcrow is," Amy interjected. "Seriously, I live here in Chicago, the literal headquarters of the Sentinels. But I see more cosplay, shirts, and art of Stormcrow than of anyone else. She's almost as popular as pizza, almost."

"Well, pizza is pretty popular," January admitted. Before she knew it, the Detroiter in her got the better of her. "Even that stuff you people in Chicago call pizza..."

"Whoa, did I just hear the gauntlet being thrown!" Ravi boomed with delight. "Here it is people, Pizza Deathmatch, Chicago vs. Detroit: Fight!"

"I didn't mean it like that," January begged off. "I really didn't. We have some Chicago-style pizza places here in the D. It's good, even if it's not real pizza."

"Oh, it is so on girl," Amy declared, her head did that sideways shimmy that January had never been able to master. "You come out to Chicago, and we'll go to Labrolla's on Michigan Ave for deep dish, or to the Bungalow for the best thin crust in the world. I guarantee you will eat your words."

"I would love to eat those words," January smiled, "quite literally in fact." She thanked all the goddesses that were holy that Amy had appeared to be taking her words in good cheer, rather than as an insult. "But you have to come out here and try some deep dish from Festival Pizza. It's a little mom and pop place just across the street from me. They have a deep dish round that is just incredible. The crust is just, mmm, magnificent."

"Ahh, pizza battles, the only wars where the only way to lose, is not to play," Ravi mused. "Oh, and I did not get to ask yet, but what is that you are wearing?"

"Oh, this is my Detroitium tee." Now it was January's turn to stand up to show off her attire. It was just a plain white women's tee, that hugged her frame snugly. A square was drawn out in black across the chest, as for an element on the periodic table. The number 313 was written in one corner, and the letters "Dt" displayed prominently in the center. Finally the word "Detroitium" was written in much smaller letters underneath, along with the date 7.24.1701 in decimal format.

"That is brilliant!" Ravi crowed. "What are those numbers for?"

"Well, 313 is the area code of Detroit proper," January explained. "Out here in the 'burbs it is 248 or 516, and a few others. The date is when the city was founded by Antoine Cadillac."

"So you don't actually live in Detroit," Patricia interjected.

"Not technically," January fought back a frown. "I am in Sterling Heights at the moment, though I lived in Warren most of my life."

"So you're not really a Detroiter than are you?" Patricia continued.

Now January did frown, and could not stop from bunching up her eyebrows in consternation.

"How can I explain this to you?" she searched for the words. "If I tell people from out of state that I am from Warren, they look at me and say WTF? If I tell them I am from Detroit, they say 'Oh!' And the fact is that while I may sleep in a suburb, I spend a lot of time in the city. I'll probably be going to school there soon. My fate, economically, socially, politically, is tied to that of the D. There is no escaping it."

"Well yes," Amy agreed. "I live in Stickney, but I am a Chicagoan the same as any other."

"Aye," Ravi chimed in. "My secret lair is in Greater London, but not the City of London proper. Nobody has ever heard of Harrow..."

Patricia said nothing in return, and Amy spoke up to fill the growing silence.

"Getting to your story, and the whole reason you are on the podcast, I would like to say that first off, I was really impressed with the world-building you undertook. The city of Veia really comes alive in your descriptions, as does its multi-cultural inhabitants. At first blush it might seem like your ordinary 'Merry Olde England' Fantasy setting. But as we dig deeper, it is far more Mediterranean in feel, with interjections of African, Native American, Scandinavian, and even Asian cultures, all intermixed in this sprawling cross-roads city."

Now this was an easy question to answer, and January soon lost herself in talking about how she looked for inspiration from many different real world cultures such as the Etruscans, Numidians, Koreans, and many, many others to build her world.

Soon the conversation moved to the story itself, and the characters.

"I really liked that your two main characters are motivated by having to pay off their college loans," Ravi noted. "That was a something that is so easy to relate to."

"While I am not trans, as a lesbian I found myself quite readily relating to Aela, and her BEF - 'Best Elf Friend' - Loria," Amy added. "I think the strongest part of the story was these two characters, the issues they struggle against, their friendship, and the humor and just positive reinforcement they interject into each other's lives. They are two halves of the same person. They really sang from the page to me."

"I had some... thoughts on that," Patricia noted. "I found Aela be a bit too Mary Sue'ish. He seems to be really powerful compared to other characters, even to Loria. He also handles himself all too confidentially and easily. It is like he knows he has plot armor, so is never truly worried anything can hurt him."

"First of all, it's 'she'," January forced herself to speak through gritted teeth. "Second of all, I thought I made it quite plain that one reason Aela and Loria complemented one another so well, was because neither was adept in the other's spheres of magic. Loria could no more heal someone or create a magical shield, any more than she could throw a fireball or enchant a ring. Aela is very good at what she does, but that is only a few things really. It is what happens when you don't have a social life, and spend all of your time practicing your craft instead. Aela's life, and making it truly her own, very much depends on her magic. She knew that from childhood, and so she made that her one focus in everything she ever did."

"If Aela is a Mary Sue, then so am I!" Amy declared. "I would like to think I am a decent writer and talk show host, thanks to making those things my life. But just like Aela, there are an awful lot of things I could never do."

"To be honest, I see the term 'Mary Sue' thrown around a lot," Ravi chimed in. "Usually by males who are terrified by any female character who is not a damsel in distress or a trophy to be won. Yet you never see it applied to much more dramatically overpowered characters who just happen to be male. To be honest, when I hear it now it just tells me that this must be an interesting character, one with a personality and driving force of her own, rather than someone who is defined by her relation to the male characters around her."

"I really liked how Aela is driven by her desire to physically change her body," Amy added. "It gives her a very grounded, intimately personal reason for becoming the best magician she can be. It is so she can be herself. She is not driven by power, or greed, or nationalism, or even just plain old self-aggrandizement. She just wants to be the person on the outside, that she sees on the inside. I cannot think of a more humanist approach to writing a magic-wielding character."

"I found that was a bit too much wish fulfillment," Patricia argued. "A man using magic to change himself into a woman is still a man. Honestly, I found it particularly disturbing."

"Aela is not a man," January practically growled. "She is a trans person yes. She simply did not have the privilege of being born perfect, as you apparently were."

"Men cannot change into women," Patricia stated bluntly. "Worse, encouraging them to think they can is dangerous, even in fiction. Not to mention it is unfair and unsafe to real women to allow men into their spaces."

"What the..." Ravi murmured. January could see he looked genuinely stunned in the little box he resided within in the video conferencing software. Amy looked just as flustered beside him. The red-head's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but she did not seem capable of forming actual words.

"So you're a TERF then right?" January sighed. She was not surprised. There was at least one in every bunch.

"How dare you call me that!" Patricia barked. "I am having a conversation, and you immediately start with misogynist slurs."

"It isn't an attack," January insisted, "It is a descriptive, and a very accurate one at that. Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist - which of those does not apply to you, Radical or Feminist?"

"Let me set you straight on something sister." January plunged on. "No man wants anything to do with women's spaces, or womanhood in general. The worst way to insult a man is to compare him to a woman, or anything feminine. That is what you do to provoke a man into violence. A man would sooner die than change into a woman. The thing the Patriarchy fears most is transpeople. Because we are living proof that a person's worth, their identity, and the things they are capable of, are not determined by the genitals they are born with. We are proof that Patriarchy is a lie. We don't just oppose it, we invalidate its existence. That is why they are so terrified of us. If you really were the feminist you pretend to be, you would be standing beside us. Feminism is not about exclusion, it is about equality, and lifting everyone up together, everyone, including men."

"Sex is real." Patricia insisted. "No matter how much men in dresses try to pretend it's not."

"Because of course biological determinism is only a fallacy when it's used against you." January responded. She had been down this road so many, many times. She knew all the punches and counters by heart.

"This is typical Patriarchal propaganda," Patricia waved a dismissive hand in response. "It is all just a transparent ploy to erase us women."

"My being a woman does not erase you or any other woman from existence." January insisted. She clamped her hands on her hips and thrust her head forward toward the screen. "That is just mind-bogglingly-"

January stopped herself in mid-sentence. What was she doing? She knew full well what a waste of time this was.

"I am not going to debate this," she said. "Debating is pointless. It only proves who can use the most clever rhetorical tricks, or shout the loudest. It is nothing but demagoguery, not rational discourse. Worse, it only creates a sense of false equivalency. The illusion that there are two sides here with equal merit that people should choose from. There is not. There is reality, and there is bigotry. They are not equal, and should never be options to be weighed."

"And as my mother once told me, never wrestle with a pig. I just get dirty, and the pig likes it."

January clicked on the ZAAM screen to close it. Fingers shaking with barely contained rage, she pushed down hard on the power button of her computer. Her knuckles had turned white by the time its lights finally went dark, and fans turned silent. She stood up, literally shaking with rage.

She had been planning on going to the dojo. Even though she no longer worked there, she still went there to keep her skills up. Sundays were open mat day, and that often gave her the chance to spar with fighters from other gyms. But she knew that if she went there now, she would kill someone.

Her fists ached to break something. Her eyes roved across the walls of the house. She would literally knock them down if she let herself go. So she stomped from her room, down the stairs, to what had once been a sitting room on the ground floor. Now it was an ersatz gym that she shared with her mother. A full length mirror stood in one wall, alongside racks of free weights. A bench press was nearby, and half the floor was covered with mats.

Hanging from an Armex steel mount was a long punching bag made of dragon silk. It had been a house-warming gift from her Aunt Branwen. So far as her mother knew it was merely ordinary iron and leather, rather than the super metal and ultra-tech, woven -fiber armor. January slid one hand along the surface of the dragon silk. Blood Raven had told her that it was the same material her base level of armor was made of. Apparently she owned the company that made it, which made it easy for her to come by.

The bottom line was that the bag could take a hit. Not just a hit from Barbara or January Ward, but one from Stormcrow as well.

January put it to the test, snapping out a stiff arm and palm strike to the center of the bag. It rolled back with the blow, but its woven surface merely dimpled under the impact, rather than cracked open. She followed with a front kick as it swung back in her direction, then a power punch, and series of elbows. She let herself go. Something she never did, even in a fight. It was something she only allowed herself to do in a meta-human battle. She hit with everything she had. Again and again, fists, feet, elbows, and head. Her entire body was a weapon, and she put it to use against the punching bag.

Hours slipped by, and she only came to a stop when she was dripping with sweat. She knew that she could go longer. Endurance had always been something she had worked on, along with taking a hit. Public school had certainly taught her the latter. Even now she could still hear the bullies taunting her across the classroom.

"Pretty little thing isn't he!"

"Pervert pretending to be a girl!"

She tried to push the memories from her mind. But they were as persistent as a djieien. She went to the kitchen, and distracted herself by pouring a glass of almond milk. That is when she realized that not only was she covered in sweat, but her clothes were soaked through.

With a sigh she stripped out of her top, and climbed the stairs wearing nothing but her bra and yoga pants. Thankfully her mother was not home from work yet, even though the library closed early on Sunday. So she had the house to herself. She pulled down her yoga pants once she was atop the stairs, and tossed both it and her tee into the hamper once she was in her room. She would have to wash those later.

A blue light blinked on her phone. Someone had left her a message. She did not turn it over to see who it was. She did not want to talk to anyone right now. She was halfway to the shower when she stopped herself. It might not be for her. It might be for Stormcrow. January Ward had the luxury of ignoring a call. Stormcrow did not.

So she went back to her room and flipped over her phone. She clicked a button on its side and waited for its small screen to eventually light up. That was the downside to a $50 phone. Sure it was affordable, but it was affordable because it was slower than molasses on an iceberg. A bar at the top of the screen glowed to life, warning her that she had messages, both voice and text. She swept a finger across the screen and waited. After what felt like an eternity she saw that it was voice mails from both Ravi and Amy, along with texts from the same.

She stopped herself from crushing the phone in her grip. Instead she dropped it on her bed. They were the last people she wanted to talk to. She had not expected to be ambushed on the podcast. She had done her homework on them before appearing. She had never heard a single bigoted word from any of them.

But maybe that was because the subject of trans people had never come up on their show before. After all, that had all been before Stormcrow had come out on Worldwide Network News. She was now living with the aftermath of that revelation. Just as so many people in the world felt the need to insult Stormcrow for being trans, they felt the same need to demean January Ward - the trans author featured on Crow Tales. After all, who could pass up the opportunity to feel better about themselves by bashing someone who was different from them?

January stomped off to the shower. She still wanted to break something. She would prefer something with blond hair that masqueraded as a feminist. But she would be willing to accept a proxy. Yet while her fingers trembled somewhat with pent up adrenaline and rage, she did no lasting harm to any of the bathroom accoutrements.

When she was cleaned up she changed into a pair of leggings and her Three Wil Wheaton tee shirt. The latter was a riff on the famous Three Wolf Moon shirt. Only it depicted three pictures of the science fiction star at varying stages of his life, with a 20-sided die rather than the moon overhead. It always cheered her up.

She went back downstairs to the gym. Now she tried yoga, starting with simple poses, and gradually working her way through to the more difficult ones, like the Eight Angle Pose. She ran her elemental mantra through her head as she worked out, and slowly eased her mana through her body, like a cleansing river.

Finally she bounced back to her feet, feeling a little better. A glance at the clock revealed that she would need to start cooking dinner soon. Her mother would be home in an hour. Since school was out, and she was no longer working at the dojo, January had been making an effort to be more useful around the house. That meant cooking dinner almost every night, as well as doing all of the laundry, cleaning, garbage duties, and cutting the lawn.

January had to admit, she had never felt so independent. For once in her life, no one was doing things for her. She was doing it all for herself now. It was nice. Maybe this was what being an adult felt like?

Given that she was being so mature, she walked back up the stairs and checked her phone again. Fixing her resolve, she turned its screen back on and looked through the text messages from Amy and Ravi. Both were very clear.

We had no idea she was a TERF.

We kicked her off the show. Transphobia is not something we tolerate.

Obviously we won't be posting this. If you are willing to come back, we would like to try again. Please, we did not know that was going to happen.

The voice messages each had left said the same things. Neither had realized that Patricia was a TERF, or that she was going to go off like that. January was not surprised. She had learned long ago that no one knew how ugly their friends could be, until she was around them. Then they revealed their true colors.

January texted Ravi back.

Ok, let's try again tomorrow.

She did not say anything more. She did not want to type anything she would regret. Instead she went back downstairs and concentrated on making chicken parmesan for herself and her mother.

[Renee]

Nice, she's on a podcast with NPR. I bet she'll get a lot of listens from that, as her Fame continues to rise.

I imagine Ravi sounds just like Michael Caine. Combined with the husky-voiced Amy Nixon, and the blonde with the severe hair, this group definitely sound like NPR hosts.

Ha, I was guessing 313 is an area code. I like the way there's now a story within a story, as Jan is now a writer within a story.

"Hi!" she bubbled in her perky phone voice. She wanted to kick herself. She was supposed to sound serious,

Oh my gosh that one NPR host is rather harsh, isn't she? Um... Patricia. Good goddess take a chill, lady.

Oh *snap* yes, she is a TERF. Mmm hmm, you go hon. Never heard that term before, but it's definitely true.

....... Whoa she hangs up on them! Goodness, what an episode.

January Ward had the luxury of ignoring a call. Stormcrow did not.

Ha, very true. What a riveting episode. Even though I disagree with Patricia it made for a polarizing read for sure. That is real. That could actually happen to somebody who is trans, even if she's appearing on a live interview before the masses.

I noted a long while back that Serana is only a vampire because the game tells us so. She never has to drink blood, or otherwise do anything vampire-like in the game. She is just a magician with glowing eyes.

I meant in roleplay terms. Indeed, vampires never actually feed in Skyrim, not that I've ever seen, but I like to imagine they can.


This post has been edited by Renee: Mar 24 2021, 03:29 PM

[Acadian]

Wow, Jan is really branching out. I hope associating herself with Stormcrow does not begin to undermine her secret identity.

I loved hearing about the familiar Aela and her BEF Loria in this very different venue. While the discussion was still civil, that must have been both interesting and challenging to write.

Once things started to go south, Jan really displayed how well she knew the arguments that could be made against her and how to defend herself. At a certain point though, ‘debating’ things does become pointless. Rather than continue, Jan knows when to simply walk away – or power down.

I’m glad she was able to get some of her anger out on her superhero punching bag (in her ersatz gym) before doing or communicating something she might regret.

During the podcast, I got the impression that Ravi and Amy were basically on her side but, unlike Jan, were probably ill-equipped argue the issue. I’m glad they apologized and want to try again.


Nit: "It gives her a very grounded, intimately personal reason for becoming a {‘a’ not needed here} the best magician she can be.”

[Renee]

HAAAA!!! Ha ha ha ha!

Okay, I think I see what's going on here. Very clever, Miss Florens. I won't spoil for the others, just in case they haven't noticed it yet. Looking forward to next chapter, or sub-chapter.