I Drew My Cyberpunk 2020 OC, Hawke! They're A Sniper And Their Only Cybernetics In The Game So Far Would

Alright, so for a brief rundown of some of what I *think* the themes of Cradle and The Last Horizon are:

Cradle -- with enough power, you can do almost anything, but not everything. Also, the society mirrors an exaggerated version of capitalism where economic and political power are interchangeable at the highest levels, that power is half-created by being a "big player" who has more leverage to create wealth, and half-taken from those below you; also also, it's a somewhat-meritocracy where talent is rewarded, but only if you're exceptionally lucky -- by running into resources yourself, or getting a sponsor who is willing to commit Big Nepotism. Finally, there will always be problems with big enough systems -- but you can still change them to be better -- and change can cost unimaginable resources and lives. There are more themes than this, but these are the ones I'd remark on.

The Last Horizon -- there are always fires to put out, and you can't go wrong trying to put them out. And people will always get in your way of putting out those fires because they personally benefit from them, and also because they value their autonomy or something.

The Last Horizon is much shorter than Cradle, on account of being ongoing and also just being a more streamlined story, and its setting being less possible to twist into a real-world allegory. But it is also true that I haven't examined either story deeply, and could stand to do some more in-depth analysis.

Anyway. Enjoy the crumbs, fellow Cradle and TLH mutuals.

First tumblr post! Woo! These are some miscellaneous characters I've done for DnD games and whatnot!

I adore the way Stormlight handles war. Everyone believes earnestly that what they do is right. Fervently correct. They would and do die for their beliefs. The Listeners were correct to kill Gavilar, but the Alethi were correct to seek retaliation as well. It captures the experience of conflict better than most media I’ve ever seen.

She got SHOT. In the FACE. And then got MILDLY ANNOYED WHEN IT WAS DIFFICULT TO PULL OUT

SHALLAN WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING WITH YOU THAT’S NOT HOW YOU RESPOND TI BEING SHOT IN THE FACE WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THR FUCK

He looks so distraught,,, Someone should buy him The Wings Everyone Cares About.

saddest sentence ever written

Yes Dalinar. YES. Beat the shit out of your nephew!!!! Yes yes yes and then tell him you’re fucking his mom!!!! I love him so much you guys.

Stormlight Spoilers

Hmmm…. Okay so I have a weird theory stuck in my head. It’s- bad and doesn’t make sense, especially because Renarin has already demonstrated a traditional Surge, but: While reading, I keep getting the vibe that Renarin’s spren bond is wrong. I don’t fully understand why, but I keep thinking he’s perhaps bonded to a renegade void spren.

The numbers in Words of Radiance were ABSOLUTELY done by Renarin. I don’t doubt it for a second. I’m so confident about this. But… well we know the two surges of the Truthwatchers, and future prediction was NOT one of them. Beyond that, when Shallan is fighting the Unmade in Urithiru, it mentions trying to take Pattern’s place, which all but STATES non-Radiant spren can form bonds with humans… ergo, it’s feasible for Renarin to have bonded one of the Void Spren, which would facilitate the future stuff!

Anywho, that’s that! I think it’s likely I’m wrong, but could be interesting!

I see…. Not being able to do or interact with any of the magic in a fantasy setting is a little bit of a hard sell, lol. I have a pretty fun idea for a worldsinger Amian, which could be a fun character to have interacting with nobility…

hey. you're interested in the stormlight au rp server i'm making where you get to do stuff in the sunmaker's empire that spans from azir all the way to eastern roshar because he bothered to choose an heir. i wish there was a more concise way to describe it but it sounds so fun doesn't it you get to experience worldbuilding and do roled play with ocs quick let me know if you would want an inviiiiite............. fades away like a force ghost

My Poor Friend Ichabod

The party was excellent. I was so, so charmed by all that I saw that day. The guests - each and every one - was as dashing as any other in great Virginia... Save poor Ichabod. He arrived to the event looking like a man haunted. The poor sod had the manner of a mule who'd been working the mill for days without rest, but I *knew* he got the rest of any other man, and hardly lifted an arm to help the young men around town with physical labor. But still, a man didn't look that way with no reason. In those days, I'd considered him a friend. Our repour was a charming one. We played with each other in those days like young men do, pranks and soft jabs. He was perhaps my most favored man in the whole town. It was on that assumption that I approached him, teeth gleaming to perhaps shine some light on his dark demeanor.

He was always a grim man, so I thought to perhaps cheer him up with a tall tale. Some of the worker boys told me about some ghost or other earlier that day, so I related the story to him. He kept glancing around the party as I spoke, then suddenly, he began to walk off. It was with shock that I took his curt dismissal of my kindness. He stormed by with little more than a word, marching through the hall directly towards my Katrina. I wasn't so dense as to not know he held affection for my lady, but... Well I thought he'd known we'd been engaged since before he arrived in town. Perhaps I should have told him.

He proposed. She declined. He ran. The night was dark, but worse, I knew the weather was growing harsh. I couldn't allow him to simply ride through the woods of rural Virginia in the height of wolf season with a storm brewing, so I quickly got to my own steed and followed him. We raced through town like shades of the night, he was shouting curses and his manner was frantic. The poor man was delirious and so stricken with grief over his lost love.

Then we approached the great bridge. The rain began to fall and his horse galloped unto the paving stones. This I remember clearly: A shine of orange in the midst of the bridge. There was a pumpkin, obviously fallen from a nearby cart, in the middle of the highpoint of the stone arch. When Ichabod's equine steed's foot crunched into the plump vegetable, the crack sounded much like that of lightning. It reared to it's feet and it's rider - my dearest friend Ichabod - was flung from it's back! I could hardly believe my eyes. The horror of it all was so stunning. He flew through the rain, illuminated by the slivers of the moonlight, in suspended motion. I believe for an instant we saw each other's faces. He was so scared, terrified.

I could do little but scream as he sunk into the river, goaded by storm waters, and was swept away. For the remainer of that night and into the next week, I rode down that dreadful river... But I could never find my poor friend Ichabod.