Yautja Whitelist Application
Personal InformationByond ID: Blaxxon Blonz
Discord ID mesnomer
Marine Name Lance 'Apex' Gore
Character InformationName of the Yautja Character you wish to play Go'rrel Skal'di
Name and history of your Yautja’s clan: Clan: Skal'di
The Skal'di are a black sheep among the clans, seen as anything ranging from narcissistic blowhards to lofty intellectuals to effete particularists. And it's all based on one little thing that makes the Skal'di stand apart from their contemporaries:
Skal'di trophies are stories, not physical objects.
There may be a physical component to them, sure, and Skal'di do sometimes take momentos from hunts. By and large, though, their triumphs won't be found on trophy racks, but in the throats of every Skal'di -- for they collect stories and honor their deeds in song.
The Skal'di oracular tradition dates back millennia, and like any good story, they've changed over time. The Skal'di way was a necessary innovation; a survival measure enacted in dark times when the future of the Skal'di was teetering on the brink thanks to a particularly awful trend of one-upmanship gone awry. It was a terrifying prospect: being snuffed out and forgotten not by Cetanu, but by their own hubris, as eventually the only seemingly worthy prey were the terrifying abominations that came from the center of the Gorge -- a dense jungle centered around a seemingly bottomless trench, with an endless strata of canopies extending into the unknown dark below.
To save their honor (and their population), the elders made a simple change: Instead of requiring a physical trophy, the Skal'di deemed it acceptable to recount their exploits.
Of course, the hot-headed Skal'di found a new outlet for their competition. As the practice continued, the tales got more ornate -- but not false. No, never. After all, it'd be dishonorable to fake the most important story of your life.
So began the great storytelling tradition of the Skal'di, who would sing of the deeds of their ancestors, beloved and, once blooded, themselves. Generations and generations of stories were passed along, filtered, reinterpreted and retold purely through recitation, making each Skal'di warrior a walking testament to their rich history.
For the Skal'di, their greatest fear is being forgotten -- the Cetanu of insignificance swallowing up their history and culture.
Cultural terms:
The Telling: A term for the narrative web of the Skal'di tradition. Basically, their living canon.
The Weave: A sort of fragmented associative network of Sagas, Chants and other information maintained by the Quills. It's at once a historical reference, a means of communication and a source of inspiration for all those that use it. And most Skal'di do -- after all, with such a long history, some Sagas aren't used as commonly as others.
Sagas: Established stories within The Telling. Having a Saga recognized and accepted into The Great Telling is required for blooding.
Songs: A Song is a novel, cyclical telling of an event -- a patchwork of Chants stitched together with improvised personal touches. A Song is reflective and iterative, looping back on itself to layer in more and more until completed. Basically a recursive haka performed by a swole lizardman.
Chants: An element taken from Sagas that embodies its spirit, used as a component part of Songs. It's recognized form to begin a Song with an established Chant as a base, then layering new elements and other chants as the Song repeats.
There are two primary traditions within the Skal'di:
Throats
Throats are the Skal'di most would imagine: passionate seekers of personal glory whose hunts are just as dangerous and trying as any other clan. They keep the Telling moving and changing, trumpeting their Sagas as they weave through battle; as hard to pin down in a fight as they are in conversation.
Throats value novel experiences with classical roots; the rebirth or embodiment of the old writ large through action. Their personal Sagas are testaments of Skal'di traditions -- Chants -- mingled with stories of their own prowess. Each is unique, dynamic and, to some, belaboring the point.
Quills
Quills interpret the Skal'di mission a bit differently, for they see the records they maintain in the Weave as the definitive, authoritative source of the Telling. But they're more than keepers of the Weave; Quills thrive on discourse and analysis, comparing the changing traditions of the Saga and finding meaning within the discrepancies and overlaps. New interpretations and novel tellings do justice to a story, so debate isn't generally focused on authenticity of contemporary Songs, but on how they inform and enrich the Sagas. They're academics.
Part of this duty comes with documenting novel information and events to enrich their discourse and, by extension, the Telling itself. The Quills take this seriously -- in addition to passive data gathering through eavesdropping and surveillance, Quills have little problem with hacking into secure networks or simply executing snatch-and-grabs. They see it more as securing data, since the Weave is (in their eyes) a far more secure repository than whatever solution other clans and species have.
Quills are a fairly new movement, but the Quills and Throats aren't quite factions as much as disciplines. Both value one another highly, and it's rare that they don't dabble in one another's pursuits or cross between the two. You won't see much sectarian violence -- more often than not, it comes from fellow Quills or fellow Throats, as these pursuits are highly competitive.
Blooding: Skal'di are only considered blooded when they achieve a recognized Saga. There's an interesting distinction here: Unlike most clans, it's the story, not the deed, that matters most. Are there blooded Skal'di with falsified Sagas? Perhaps. Embellished? Absolutely. But if the Saga earns a place among the Telling of the Skal'di and is used in Chants, it deserves recognition.
Yautja Character StorySnippet - full story here:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1...it?usp=sharing
One claimed by a Tartarus vine, dragged screaming, crunching, squelching into a crack in the rockface.
One claimed by a thick miasma, too accustomed to the comforts of her mask.
One maimed by an old springspike trap -- no doubt a relic of a past hunt. Getting back would be a struggle, but he could make it on his own, he'd said through a gurgle of blood. Doubtful.
And so, battered, exhausted but alive, Go'rrel and another young hunter, Ktisc, found themselves finally at the cusp of the Gorge's central jungle. Though the ground seemed level ahead, Go'rrel knew it wasn't earth, but one of topmost layers of canopy formed by the Gorge's massive, ancient central trees that dominated the central area. They seemed more landscape than trees at such a colossal scale, like tubular mountains reaching far beyond the canopy hundreds of feet above.
It seemed as if the fauna knew this, too, as the jungle's din grew eerily silent at their approach.
"Hunter." Ktisc gestured toward the canopy. "Our Sagas lie ahead." Go'rrel nodded and went to move forward, but Ktisc held him up.
"What?"
"I must admit," Ktisc clicked, "that I did not expect you to be standing here with me in this moment." He looked Go'rrel up and down, sizing up the smaller Yautja. "The others were far more formidable than you."
Go'rrel shrugged. "Got lucky, I guess." Ktisc canted his head, pensively stroking his mandibles.
"No. It's not that. We both know you're far more versed in the obscurities of the Telling than I, or any of our fellow hunters this day." Ktisc paused. "So you knew what was coming." Go'rrel smiled and recited:
Darkened fissure, spilling vines;
A timeless pair now entwined.
"That rhythm -- P'trusk, right?" Ktisc asked, to which Go'rrel nodded. "Hah, of course. Who else would think a Tartarus vine romantic? But yes, you've proven my point. I'll admit that I underestimated --"
A keening shriek pierced the jungle's silence, jolting the two hunters from their conversation as it bounced from tree to tree, seeming to come at them from all sides. Ktisc fell into a low crouch; Go'rrel scanned the trees warily.
"Good luck on your hunt, Go'rrel -- may we both be worthy of song today." And he was gone.
Go'rrel thumbed the bola at his waist -- Tik-ka had wordlessly pressed it into his hands when he'd come to say goodbye, a queer look in her eye as she sent him off. It was an odd weapon, but one that had brought her great renown at her own blooding. Maybe it'd serve him just as well.
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