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 Posted: Thu Dec 28, 2006 11:44 pm
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Posted: Thu Dec 28, 2006 11:50 pm
 1.0 Introduction
2.0 Beowulf
3.0 About Sigeric
4.0 About Raife
5.0 Background
6.0 The Quest
7.0 Arts
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Posted: Thu Dec 28, 2006 11:52 pm
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Posted: Thu Dec 28, 2006 11:56 pm
 The following is my treatment of Beowulf from Grendel's point of view. If you're interested in the way the Danes say the story went down, Wikipedia and Sparknotes are wonderful resources for a surface treatment, and if you want to read the actual text, there are many places you can find it on the web. Even in, unfortunately, the original Old English.Grendel Once, very long ago, just outside the Danish kingdom -and occassionally, in a bath of blood and violence, inside it- all was well. The successor to a long and powerful heritage begot by his mother and once set forth by Cain, the ancestor and father-pimp to most demons, lived satisfied in a majestic and befittingly dark cavern. Grendel's infamy was self-won, both born and abandoned on the edge of a bank by his merwoman mother, a shiftless sort who only paid her motherly attention on holidays and when she needed a loan of virgin blood. That was generally fine with the young heir as he was a generally solitary sort, preferring those who lived in darkness to those who shunned it. He built his kingdom on his own strength and it stretched as far as the darkness touched unbroken by light and he was happy with it.
Until one night. That blasted night that started everything.
It started, inoccuously enough, with a bard. Goddamn blast those moody eyed poets to hell, but at least they sang one at a time with some sembance of order. Ignorable. Pests, at most. But then those knights, with their filthy, hypocritical ideals of honor and chivalry, preaching abstinence to the people while they banged scullery maids and their wives sat home waiting....those KNIGHTS. They came in, in their clanking metallic outer skins and started up a rousing round of drinking sounds. Grendel had a migraine. Each clank of metal tankard felt like a blow upon his own skull.
It wasn't like that sort of behavior was anything new really. The Danes were horrible neighbors. They stayed up partying at all hours of the night, they befouled the waters with their waste and regularly hunted in his very own forests without so much as a by-your-leave. He'd been silent thus far. But now? With each passing hour and each new verse of "Thyse Olde Wenche Doth Droppe Maye Skirt Waye Lowwe" he could feel his temper snapping.
The Danes had to go.
It was with little contemplation that Grendel decided to visit the Hall of Hrothgar, Heorot at the witching hour. If they'd seen fit to disturb him at all hours of his rest, then surely, surely nobody would begrudge him such a tiny revenge. He didn't think to knock -neighborly spirit and all- but had the forethought to creep into the hall without a sound. He had to duck a little -humans were so small. Even the grandest of their doorways seemed not imagined for him. Inconsiderate.
The hall was dead as he stepped inside. Not even a scurrying servant to greet him. He, whose kingdom spanned the entire marshland, wherever darkness touched, was greeted by a bunch of snoring Danes in various states of drunken undress. A busty woman was spread across a tabletop like she herself was a buffet, her skirt flung indecently over her midrift. In his sleep, the King, Hrothgar himself, was still humming that same incessant tune. Grendel gritted his teeth and growled under his breath, but mindful of his manners, did nothing to wake them up. He'd leave a note instead, for them to find in the morning.
He patted down his sides for a pen before remembering, that as always, he was naked as a jaybird and dammed preferred it that way. He considered taking a sword off one of the sleeping warriors and carving a message into the solid stone bricks that made up the hall, but it seemed disrespectful and downright meanspirited to do something so permanent. He almost left without a note, to go back to his cave and sleep when he had an absolute stroke of genius! He'd use the blood of the Danes to write his message! Humans bred like rabbits anyway and were always dying in wars and battles between themselves. Surely killing a few of them would be like swatting a bug against the wall. Absolutely insignificant.
He chose thirty of the juciest warriors, careful to pick those that were most full of blood. No sense wasting a few of the cretins that were scrawny and yellow-blooded. Gently removing a choice limb or two from each, he scrawled in his flowing, royal handwriting, his message onto the walls of Heorot.
Translated From Old English For Your Reading Pleasure "To those whom it may concern (Mainly King Hrothgar, my longtime neighbor), I have found myself increasingly bothered by your nighttime observances of celebration at your castle Heorot. If you could please keep the noise down, I would be much obliged. If you continue to persist in this raucous merry making, however, I will be forced to call the proper authorities, and also notify the Association of the horses you're keeping on your front lawn. I'm pretty sure that hitching post isn't up to code. I hope we can settle this in a peaceful and mutually satisfying manner. Sincerely, Grendel.
Punctuating with a flourish at the end of his name, Grendel pursed his lips, studying the message in front of him. Satisfied, he cleaned up the scattered limbs, taking them back home to his cavern for disposal. No sense leaving a mess around the hall.
---
The next morning, Grendel woke up to a deafening set of screams coming from Heorot.
Dammit. What now?
The screaming continued all day long, even into the next day. It continued when night fell, when the sun rose, when it fell again, and Grendel found himself sleepless and becoming very very cranky.
Had they read his note? Were they mocking him? Were those tiny, useless, weak bags of flesh mocking him?
And then it occurred to him.
Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? They were likely illiterate. He'd heard of the rampant illiteracy in humans. Perhaps they couldn't write or read and had thought he was mocking their stupidity? And did he even remember to write in English? Granted, he might have if he'd thought of it. Well, he'd have to go over and sort things out with them, face to face. He'd head out at nightfall again to Hrothgar's hall to clear everything up.
Satisfied that he'd solved the problem, he headed about his business until the witching hour again, at which time he headed over back to the hall.
This time, they were waiting for him.
He didn't have time to be baffled at their choice of greeting before he was assaulted with swords and spears and whatever other sort of pathetic human weaponry they'd come up with. He tried to explain himself but they'd have none of it! The screaming and the wailing, everything was deafening! He swatted a few of them aside gently -it wasn't his fault that humans were weak!- to get to the King to explain himself, but more and more of them just kept getting in his way! They seemed determined to keep him from speaking to the King.
Well, fine. Fine. If they wanted to be rude, he'd have to come back another time when they were calmer and right in their heads. He left the hall, leaving the useless, idiotic uncultured meatbags to repropagate themselves, or whatever they did in their free time and mourned that he could have ever come from their kind.
The feud between Grendel and the Danes continued for twelve years. Every couple of months, Grendel would come over and try to state his case and every year, the Danes would refuse to listen to reason, and Hrothgar would refuse to give him an audience. After addressing the proper authorities, filling in the proper paperwork, Grendel even tried to have the Danes evicted, but they wouldn't go. Even as he added the hall to his kingdom, they stayed like squatters, as annoying as roaches. Always underfoot.
But they'd been a tolerable nuisance, and they no longer celebrated at night.
Well. Until they got that attourney.
At least, when he arrived, diminuative and straight in the saddle at the court to greet Grendel, that's what he'd assumed the man was. Broad shouldered with a straight foward look to him. Grendel'd been a little late to arrive back to the hall for his monthly visit. He'd been arranging a visit to his mother and arrived a bit late. The Danes had seemed overjoyed by the arrival of this pedestrian, small man with an uncomfortably direct stare. He wasn't sure what they'd accomplish. He had papers! He belonged there in that Hall! He'd let the bastards give it a shot though.
Naturally, they didn't understand each other. First there was that tiresome business with the sword. But Grendel had taken to understanding that that seemed to be how the men said hello. He'd watched them joust and play fight even in the worst of times. So when the man had extended his arm, Grendel assumed a shake. They'd bonded, after all! He'd never had anyone bother to ask him to shake before, and was quite touched by the gesture.
Oh, and quite a firm handshake he had! The little man was stronger than he looked! Felt like he was going to pull an arm right off! Oh, well there, a little rough. Hey?! That's a little much!
Grendel tried to pull his arm away, to get away from the man, suddenly getting a quite clear message that he wasn't any kind of attourney at all. They'd hired some sort of hero. One of those brainless thugs with a sword and too little sense, all hack and slash and very little forethought. Grendel wasn't the smartest tack in the box himself, with no formal education, but he was brilliant compared to...HOLYMOTHEROF
The little beast ripped his arm off! Grendel recoiled in fear, clutching at his empty socket, now bleeding profusely all over the halls of Heorot. He swiped at the man, but he was already growing weak. Someone call a doctor! A physician! A healer! Anything....he was growing so weak! But all the useless heathens did was stand around and cheer and chant.
"Beowulf! Beowulf! Beowulf!" It was the last thing he heard as he slipped from the hall into the comforting darkness.
He lay faint across the pile of bones and furs that made up his bed, tending to his wound the best he could. Alas, with a certain lack of hygiene, he knew his fate. Blood trickled down around his feet, warm and sticky. As a dripping wet shadow fell over the front of his cave, he breathed his last, dying words.
"Ma? Ma, I'm dying. Get that sonofabitch lawyer for me, will you?"
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Posted: Thu Dec 28, 2006 11:59 pm
  Name: Sigeric - the word sige in old english means victory. Ric means power. Gender: Male Appearance: Ric's hair and skin are an almost totally consistant muddy brown. It could have been actual mud once, with the way he keeps himself, it's hard to tell. But it's seeped into him somehow and become part of him. He's very tall for his age and built for speed and power - a warrior born. Everything about him is filthy. He smells like dirt, mud, grime and anything else absolutely filthy. The first word that comes to mind when near him is dank. Kind of a wet asphalt smell. His nails on both his hands and feet are clawed and sharpened to points. He never wears shoes, or, really anything that obscures his body parts, except...maybe underwear on a good day. Well, except his hair, which covers about 2/3rds of his face at any given moment. It's ragged, as he seems to prefer cutting tearing it with his claws when it gets in the way. His skin is rough. As it functions as a primary layer of armor, it doesn't have the smoothness or give of normal skin, rather, imagine leather. He has a big white scar around his right arm.
Personality: Relentlessly aggressive, mean. A lot stupid. He'd sooner punch you in the face than say hello, and have absolutely no reason for it. A bit child-like in his demeanor, he does not respond to reason. You might as well argue with a rock for all that's up in his head. Never gives up when he has his mind on something or is in a fight. He speaks like a child as well, overly demonstrating his emotions, with a lot of yelling. It doesn't help that rage or synonyms thereof comprise about 80% of his emotional range. Never. EVER. Thinks before he opens his mouth. Sometimes strings of jibberish might just come out. He could give two shits about society's conventions, and is likely to pee on a house plant if given the chance and a full bladder. He's had very little exposure to any sort of social setting, and is given to sulking if he doesn't get his way. Well, that is, until something else comes his way that he wants. He also thinks he likes being alone unless someone can prove useful to him in a fight and he can be around them for five minutes without attacking them first, but really, he needs someone to fight with. That doesn't mean he'll be sociable. Likes: Blood, meat, fighting, fighting, cool, dark places, hurting other people, watching people get hurt, fighting, battle cries, CS:S (when he can't fight real people.)
Dislikes: Fruits and other sweet things, inanimate or otherwise. Weakness. Powers: Immunity to blades - No blades can pierce his hide. It's also rather difficult with other types of weapons, but ultimately, he can be shot with a gun, etc. The original figure of Grendel shared this immunity. Berserker Rage - An uncontrollable state in which Sige loses all reasoning in exchange for immensely increased speed and power. He cannot purposely activate this power. It happens in the heat of battle only. This state of being leaves Sige mindless for its duration, with only the singular thought to destroy whatever enemy triggered it in the first place. Communication with Earth-Bound Demons/Monsters - Sige, child of Cain that he is, can communicate with the countless lessers that share his bloodline. Earth-bound monsters only, this does not carry over to true demons, underworld demons, etc. Speed, Stamina and Strength: Ric has a warrior's speed and strength. That is, a measure above a normal person's. He's especially speedy and rather agile as well, only honed further by his time spent hunting forest creatures. That said, he's nowhere near invincible. The original Grendel, after all, is best known for being bested in combat. Weaknesses: Light - His strength is weaker during the light of day. Extremely bright lights and sunlight make him extremely uncomfortable. He won't die under the sun's rays, but if you ever get into a battle with him, it'd be a good idea to drag it out til the sun rises. Indoor and artificial lighting schemes are less effective, but can still provide some discomfort. Shadows provide some relief, as he isn't restricted from the day entirely, just the light that comes with it. He has no direct weakness to fire -heat doesn't bother him- but the light from it will prove uncomfortable. Strategy - He's just not a strategist by any means. Unless he's got his mind set on something, he can be easily tricked. (Does not apply during Berserker Rage). Hygiene - He's permanently covered in mud and he never showers. Occasionally, he bathes in the river, but frogs pee in there.
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Posted: Fri Dec 29, 2006 12:01 am
 Name: Kafka Larsen Gender: Male Age: 22
Personality: Relaxed and easy going most of the time. He isn't particularly used to handling kids, as he's never had one of his own, nor does he have any nieces or nephews, but he has a firm hand and a lot of patience. He'd have to, to deal with Sige. When he's writing, however, he's a little singleminded. He gets grouchy when bothered, and becomes a socially unacceptable sort of hibernating creature until the flow breaks down. Although he deals okay with people, he's a loner by nature. He enjoys a good woman now and then, but generally keeps to himself. History: As a child born to two free spirited Danish immigrants in London, Kafka had a relatively happy, if unusual childhood. His parents never stayed in one spot for long, moving from burrough to burrough while his parents continued to celebrate the 70's long after they were over. Although a people person, he grew up with a strong love of books, instilled in him by his very art minded parents that wanted him to have the kinds of opportunities of expression and exposure to art that they didn't have in the backwater farms of Denmark. He therefore spent equal time between reading and socializing throughout his childhood. Both traits would eventually lead to his aspiration of becoming a writer, which he developed in his early teens. He loved to watch people's behavior, analyze it, and write about it. The older he got, the less frequent he began to see his parents. Their nature took them away from home often, and he didn't really share their wanderlust, so he stayed in an apartment they rented for him in the Camden Market area of London. Eventually, by the time he was 17, he stopped seeing them or receiving money from them all together. Always the more stable and dependable one in the family, he didn't really understand their wanderlust, but neither did he begrudge them it. Content to be alone after their departure, and unconsciously unwilling to create more ties that could so easily be broken, he moved to the house his father grew up in, in Denmark, to spend his time writing so he wouldn't have to worry as much about supporting himself. He continues to reside there today, while writing a semi-successful series of books on modern mythology.
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Posted: Fri Dec 29, 2006 12:02 am
 SECTION ONE: LOST CHILDREN CONTEST BACKGROUND AND HISTORYA TIMELINE OF REACTIONS BETWEEN SIGE AND KAFKA 4 YEARS AGO - Kafka moves to Denmark and starts work on his first book. It's a local interest piece about the mythology surrounding the area. He starts doing a lot of research in the surrounding marshland near his home, over across the length of what is largely considered the main battlefields of the Beowulf story. 3 YEARS AGO - Kafka, continuing his book, finds a very large cave where he thinks Grendel, if he had been alive, could have lived, not very far from the manor he resides in. He becomes fascinated with the cave and the surrounding area although it gives off an uncomfortable feeling, and it's hard to stay around it for long. He starts to recreate his book around the theory of this cave. As his obsession grows, he starts to sleepwalk to the area. In his sleep, he paints the Old English words "SIGE" and "RIC" over the cave with mud and clay he finds on the ground, over and over again. All of the "SIGE"s are slashed through with his own blood. When he wakes up, in the center of the cave, and sees his handiwork, he makes a promise to himself never to go back to the cave again. Sigeric is created by his blood and the residual energy of the cave, and appears on a mudbank only a few feet from the cave. Although newly born, he is nearly indestructable. A wolf drags him from the cave by a leg, into the forest. He learns to live from the animals, his first year of life. 2.5 YEARS AGO - Kafka nearly decides not to publish his book. Ends up downplaying the cave, and going back to his original idea. The book sells well for a first book, but he's disenchanted with it after the incident. He decides to write something else. Sigeric continues to live in the forest, growing more rapidly than a normal baby. He progresses more like an animal than a human. By the time he has the physical build of a four year old he still has the mind of a creature. Stories start to surface by surrounding farmers about a creature that kills their livestock in a different way than any normal marshland creature. Sigeric takes down his first deer. He also has his first sighting of a human outside one of the farms. Used to the marshland, he's a little frightened and does not come close. 2 YEARS AGO - Kafka's first book is picked up as a college textbook by a mythology class. He is invited to speak publicly about the book, at the college, and also publishing as a young man. A few students ask about the connection and the cave, and why the section of the book seems unfinished, not knowing the information he removed from the book. Kafka grows troubled. He starts thinking about the cave again. The marshland creature becomes a local legend. One of the local farmers tell Kafka about the creature. He dismisses it at first, but becomes frightened when they say where they saw it, near the cave. Sigeric finally makes it back to the cave, for the first time. He feels instinctively drawn to the cave, and makes it home. He is physically eight or nine years old. 1 YEAR, 8 MONTHS AGO - Following an incident in which some of his meager crops go missing, Kafka paranoidly blames it on the marshland creature. He starts to believe in the existence of it, and starts to do research on mythical beasts. He starts his second book in the mythology series, about modern mythological creatures. Birds are responsible for his missing crops. 1 YEAR, 3 MONTHS - Word of Sigeric starts to draw a cult following of myth hunters. The cave, however, is off the beaten path, and on Kafka's property, so nobody manages to find it, or Sige. Kafka starts to give tours to hunters, when he isn't writing. He still won't go near the cave however. Sigeric becomes bolder about stealing livestock, seeing it as an easy way to get food. He therefore spends more time around farms, and sees more humans. He sees them as more like himself, and sees the way they treat animals. He starts to distance himself from the animals and see himself as a sort of king of the marsh. 1 YEAR AGO - Kafka looks for more evidence of Sige in the marsh. He starts to feel pulled back to the cave. But still refuses to go. He finishes his book on modern mythology, and immediately starts a new one, again concentrating on Beowulf. He starts to believe that the creature might be a descendant from Grendel's bloodline and takes that bent in the new book. People are coming in droves to see this creature in the marshland. Sige has a few close calls where he may or may not have been spotted, but managed to escape. He starts to hear more and more human speech. With accompaning gestures and careful observation of humans, he starts to understand a very few simple words, even trying to make sounds and words himself. At this point, he looks around twelve or thirteen years old, but is still mentally undeveloped. 6 MONTHS AGO - Kafka accidentally stumbles upon the cave, not meaning to, in a walk around the marshland. It looks the same, except with evidence now of being lived in. He is still frightened, yet curious at the same time. He takes pictures and writes notes, but automatically flees when he hears something coming. Given the connection between the cave and the creature now arising, he starts to refer to the marsh creature as Sigeric. Afterward, he again refuses to go back to the cave for some time. Sigeric sees Kafka leaving the cave. He feels outraged that someone has invaded his territory and becomes equally obsessed with Kafka as Kafka is with him. He starts to follow and watch Kafka when he is around the marshland, and near Kafka's house. 3 MONTHS AGO - Kafka sleepwalks to the cave again. He wakes up right in front of it, face to face with Sigeric. They both flee, startled. Kafka goes home. Later, around Kafka's house, he sees Sige watching from the bushes. He feigns not seeing him. Sigeric starts to show up more often. Kafka starts taking notes on him and occassionally buying him meat from the butcher's. Neither makes any direct contact. They continue this dance for the final few months. ---  South Jutland has a variety of different types of landscapes, but it seems to be the largest section of marshland in Denmark. It has a large German population, (as it's the part of Denmark that is closest to the country) and an interesting mix of market towns and countryside. Although it has some larger cities, it remains sparsely populated. The larger towns seem to average around 30-40,000 at most. Fauna and flora are fairly typical for the ecosystem (a marine marshland, i.e. salt-water based, not fresh water) including many birds and fish, and a little more inland, creatures such as rabbits, deer and beavers. (image stolen immorally from Lonely Planet)
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Posted: Fri Dec 29, 2006 12:05 am
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Posted: Fri Dec 29, 2006 12:06 am
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Posted: Fri Dec 29, 2006 12:44 am
Imma reserve this post. Cause I can. XD
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Posted: Fri Dec 29, 2006 10:58 am
HAHA I HAVE TO BOMBARD YOU WITH MORE WORK BEFORE STAMP, SRY. =( Guidelines and all that that they actually expect me to follow.
First off -- again, do you have any plans for Sige as a Lost Child, or are you expecting to get him as a second gen? (IGNORE THIS, THIS IS A STUPID QUESTION)
It seems like you have an outline for a Lost Child life of some sort in your "Background" post, but -- who's Sige's guardian, if he'd been reborn as a Fa'e at that point? The Fa'e need guardians in order to materialize into the world in the first place, of course, and it could be that Sige's old guardian just got hit by a bus and he's fading and all that and Raife magically steps in but -- oh crap wait I just invalidated my own point
OK anyway, there's still several ways you could go about this: the way I said above, with his guardian being some kind of swamp-beast or animal (capable of rational thought, of course. Sige obviously needs someone smarter than him as a 'parent' if he's actually going to survive to teen stage at all.) that dies just a few days before Raife finds him. Else, the guardian COULD survive, and when Conrad comes to take Sige back to the Fa'e HQ to get in touch with HIZ PEEPLZ, his guardian comes with him and they strike some kind of deal to stay at Raife's house and Raife becomes a surrogate guardian/parent/whatever.
In order to have all the info needed for stamping, you'll probably also want some info on the world Sige lives in before coming to Gaia. It doesn't have to be Earth, but if it's another world altogether, it'll need more info, of course. Even if it is Earth, I'd be interested in what kind of culture (or lack of one) Sige grew up with.
OK I THINK I'M DONE TALKING YOUR EAR OFF. verdammte 8D
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Posted: Sun Dec 31, 2006 8:36 pm
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Posted: Thu Oct 29, 2009 3:34 pm
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