Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → The Way of Moderation has ended (page 566)
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SO I'm having a bit of trouble moving past this chapter, but hey, I've done most of the images now, so once I clear the bottleneck, it'll be plain sailing until the final scene!
WE LAST LEFT THE SCENE with Leon just having been declared MVP of the tournament. Naturally the crowd assumes he'll be made moderator. But why is Strop hesitating?
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A New Era
Strop had gone to the trouble of chasing down the now-elusive finalists, preoccupied as they were with rebuilding (or not rebuilding) their livelihoods, to figure out their, and therefore in a way, his plans.
"Yeah the tournament was pretty fun and all," Chill had commented, while blowing another sheet of ice onto the beginnings of some monolith as esoteric as it was transient. "It was really challenging, and I learnt a lot." He then paused to turn away and blow some more ice on his foundation, and when he looked back at Strop:
"Well no not really," he laughed. "But I did meet a few cool people."
It was a similar story with Frank, who had been patching a somewhat less esoteric airship in the Construction Zone. His stubble growing longer than usual left him with a weary-looking seven-o-clock shadow that matched his bleary eyes.
"Home is where the heart is," Frank said. "That's what I realised. And mine lies in adventure. And the people I have them with. Mainly the people." With that, he banged a few more nails into the hull of the cabin.
"Of course I miss the old AG," remarked Crimson, from the remains of his keep. "But times are changing, so I'll go where my friends go and see what happens I guess. Did you know we're starting a new crew?"
"I thought I'd go back and see my family again," Manta mused between stacking (as many) bricks (as he could possibly handle at once). "It's been a pretty crazy last few weeks and, I dunno, I guess I should see how they're doing after it all." Then he flashed a cocky grin. "Fun tournament, though."
"...so it's time to spread my wings and fly again, I suppose. What with my house flattened and all," Pixie said with a rueful smile. "There's nothing left for me here." Indeed it was a sentiment shared by many in the wake of such devastation.
Strop had left those conversations with a certain resignation and yet a certain desperation. But in a way he had anticipated all of these responses, for what else was there to conclude, everything being said and done in abundance in the endless iterations of post-mortem analyses. Yet, characteristically, none of his exit interviews shook him so much, as his interview with Leon, in the usual secluded corner of the song and dance of the Tavern.
The Way of Moderation: Interview 2: Live by the Leon
written by Xzeno
Strop pushed open the doors of the tavern. Hooves falling heavily on the hard wood floor, Strop looked around the dingy tavern, acutely aware of the eyes on him. They stared at him, unflinching as the tavern doors creaked behind him, swinging freely. The room came with him as he crossed the floor, not even looking up as one of the doors fell off its hinges in his wake. Strop winced. He hadn't particularly felt like a ninja much this week, and the tension in the room made him feel less so. Even his target, he noted with some surprise, stared him down intently.
Leon sat in a corner, head bowed, glass of amber liquid held delicately in his claw. His eyes reflected yellow from under the shadow of his hood. He was alone, the only one at the bar with a table all to himself.
âYou certainly look mysterious.â Strop noted as he took a seat.
âEvening.â Leon snorted, swishing his liquor around in the glass. Even in the dingy, dark corner, he noticed that Leon's cape was tattered and his armor impossibly shiny. It must have been a sight, Strop thought, to see the gnoll of all people strolling down the ruined street in shining silver armor while Strop himself still carried the weight of the battle with dark-eyed weariness. He decided, then, to start with the obvious.â
âYour armor looks good as new.â he observed.
âI had it repaired after the battle.â Leon shrugged.
âAnd yet you can't be bothered to patch up your classic green number.â Strop pressed.
âCall me sentimental.â Leon exclaimed, drawing his head up, amber eyes twinkling at Strop from under his hood. Strop blinked. Leon stared at him expectantly. Strop cocked his head to the side. Leon squinted, then looked away.
âAnyway...â the gnoll continued, âwhat brings you to this fine establishment? Don't you have work to do?â Strop rubbed his eyes.
âMore than you know, Leon. And tying up loose ends is part of that.â Strop replied.
âWell that shouldn't be too hard!â Leon barked. âIn fact, I think I saw a couple loose ends pass through here not too long ago.â Strop smiled mirthlessly. Lean sunk back in his chair and took a long drink.
âSo what's up?â he asked seriously. Strop looked him in the eye.
âGuess it's over, huh?â Strop mused.
âI guess.â Leon agreed. âI haven't really been paying attention recently.â
âHard to blame you,â Strop sighed âbut I figured you'd be used to the chaos.â
âWell, the ability to follow along and the will to do so are two discrete entities!â Leon clarified, raising a finger.
âYou know, Leon, I never did quite figure out where your loyalties lay.â Strop confessed. âIt seems you're with me one minute and against me the next.â Leon raised an eyebrow.
âWhy do you think that is?â the gnoll mused.
âI don't know.â Strop sighed âYou seem very anti-authoritarian.â
âI'm not.â Leon said with a chipper smile. âNot the way you're thinking, anyway. I mean I am. It's complicated.â
âWell, I just mean to say that-â
âHere, let me tell you a story.â Leon cut in. âYou know I'm a hunter and a jeweler. And a warrior. But I am also an herbalist and a keeper of lore. I'll explain the role of archers in gnoll tribal culture sometime.â Strop blinked as Leon smiled expectantly. He cleared his throat.
âWell it would be interesting to learn about where yo-â Strop began.
âRight, the story. Do you remember that elf you were trying to pick up during the ninth round?â Leon asked.
âI wasn't trying to pick her up!â Strop protested.
âThat's a shame. You'd be right to go for it: those elves are quite kind to their horses.â Leon cackled. âAnyway, where was I... Once upon a time a young elf met a human. This human was of such radiant beauty, such sharp intellect and such magnetic charm that the elf was awestruck. Although it was their first meeting, she knew at that moment she desired nothing more than have that human's hand.
âTheir love, you must understand, was a fairy-tale. As though foretold by the stars and as deep as any love could be. To this day, when young lovers make vows, they compare themselves to a love such as this, and know in their hearts that their love pales.
âThe human and the elf married without delay, because it was actually a pretty progressive culture back then. I mean, if you think about it, a cultural distaste for human/elf hookups makes a lot of sense, because one's pretty clearly gonna kick the bucket first. I mean, come on, heartbreak is inevitable. Like this one time, Edward and I were talking to this elf dude, and he had this giant riding crab, and when I say 'riding' I mean-â
âIs this story really essential to my understanding of your role in recent events?â Strop groaned. Leon adjusted his hood.
âI was going to spare you the gory details. And believe me, they're gory. Back to the story: They lived in peace for many years, desiring nothing more than one another. However, not all was to be at peace. On the elf's 50th birthday, she was summoned by an order of elfish priests. She was chosen, as it turned out, as their messiah. It was, in their dogma, her destiny to transcend the mortality of flesh and become one with nature.
âEvery day, she walked to the temple and meditated, following the priests' guidance as she opened her mind to the power they offered. And that's what ruins most love stories, isn't it, Strop? Power. Starcrossed lovers fall to the petty power struggles of men. But this was no petty power the elf was promised. Although she had only opened half of the mental gates the priests spoke of, the mightiest wizards turned their eyes for fear as she passed. She had the power to raze mountains, to boil seas, to calm storms, never knowing death nor age â" to heal or to kill, to to save the world or crush it.â Leon panted, gesticulating wildly. Strop raised an eyebrow. âWhen the time came for her apotheosis,â Leon continued âshe faced the hardest challenge of all. All that was left for her to do was transcend the bounds of her mortal life. To achieve unity with nature, she had to detach herself from material concern and all that tied her to the world.â Leon paused. âWould you be able to turn it down, Strop? All that power... even gods would fear you. The ability, the destiny to bring about a new world order shaped by your ideals. Would you trade that for true love? Could you?â Strop was silent. Leon stared at him intently.
âI don't... think so.â the horse replied at length.
âYou're **** right you wouldn't!â Leon roared, pounding a gauntlet on the table. âOh, but she could. She ran from the temple and never returned. She laid down the life of a god to live out the remainder of her years in bliss, with her love. To this day, when couples (or more, I don't judge) speak of love, they speak of the courage and purity of the elf's love and to this day there are monuments and festivals in her honor.â Leon finished, trying to snap his fingers with a cheery clang.
âSo what was the point of that, exactly?â Strop asked.
âThe point is that she chose wrong.â Leon growled suddenly, eyes dipping below his hood. âShe chose love over power. She had no right. What she did was not courage. It was selfish and petty. To live chose her own happiness when she was meant to save the world? Her name should be a curse! A lament to all the suffering we endure!â Strop sat stunned at Leon's furious outburst.
âIt wasn't her way. Love was not her path. It was her way to detach herself from all reality and become The Voice of Nature!â Leon exclaimed, illustrating each point by jamming a claw into the table. âAnd she blew it. She defied what was her path for the petty joys of love. Which would be a-okay if she was a lover. But she just wasn't. It wasn't her path. She was meant for that power. It was meant for her. That's the lesson of this story, Strop. A lot of people think it's 'choose love over power' or 'choose the world over your own happiness' but it's not. The point is that she made the wrong choice. The point is that she lost her way to preserve her love.â
âSo your way is anti-authoritarian, but you hold no grudges against authority?â Strop asked.
âIt is somewhat contradictory, I know,â Leon confessed, swishing his drink around âto simultaneously hold that your authority, your order, your very way of thinking is vile, dangerous, fit only for destruction and that it is necessary and good. But it makes sense, doesn't it? Conflicting beliefs are good. I wish to destroy authority, yes, but to ever do so is pointless, just as it is equally pointless for authority to destroy me. Different people think different things and that's just the way the cookie crumbles. The fact that we all fight for different things in a chaotic mess of pointless bloodshed is what makes us strong. Think about the trolls, huh? Was any of that worth fighting or dying for? What disagreement fueled it? It was pointless death and destruction.â Leon sat back in his chair. âAnd it's beautiful, isn't it? This disharmony. It what makes us what we are. I may hate your actions, loathe your thoughts and despise you for them, but I will never blame you. Not as long as you stay on your path. Ideals don't matter. Results don't matter. The path matters.â
Strop and Leon sat in silence as the minutes ticked by, each lost in their own thoughts.
âI think I'm gonna bounce.â Leon said.
âYeah, I know.â Strop answered. Another minute passed in silence. âMe too.â Another minute. âForever, I mean.â the pony continued. âI'm leaving the land of Armor Games and I'm not coming back.â Leon sipped his drink in glassy-eyed silence.
âYeah, I know.â
We're rushing along the home stretch now. Expect updates nearly every day until the end unless I say otherwise!
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A New Era (continued)
Strop jerked back to the present, the rhythmic roaring around him reforming into the chant, "LEON! LEON! LEON!" Sure enough, to his right, Leon stood, both expectantly grinning at him, yet with the posture of one who was expecting nothing at all. "Go on, then," he goaded.
A wordless glare was all Strop could and needed to shoot at Leon. With no other recourse left to him, he raised the 'fone, and blurted: "Ladies and gentlemen, the truth is, none of the candidates from this tournament will be made moderator."
Strop counted two seconds of stunned silence before the confused whispers turned into catcalls, shouted queries and finally a full blown outburst of indignation. Whatever happened to the taxpayer's money? Was this all a waste of time? Wasn't this supposed to be about the crowning of a new moderator? What about all the illegal betting on the outcome? After all, it seemed that some people had put good money on Manta being the dark horse (this comment made no sense at all to Manta, being a fish man). In a matter of moments, the arena threatened to break out into yet another riot.
"Beautiful, isn't it," Leon smirked, once again copping a glare from Strop, which might as well have reflected straight off his polished breastplate. Everybody else on stage, still weary from the prior conflicts, started slowly stepping back cautiously. And once again, Strop didn't really know what to do, only this time, he lacked the willpower and the confidence in his own authority to really try anyway. Silently he found himself wishing that somebody would turn up in a fanfare of trumpets and solve his problem for him.
As if on cue, a fanfare of trumpets erupted, piercing the angry noise of the arena. Attentions were grabbed and mouths silenced as an ornate carriage bearing the royal crest of Armor Games, flanked by an honour guard of unicorn cavalry rolled through the archway of the Amphitheatre, towing a strange, tall contraption hidden entirely by a velvet black curtain. Strop stared, dumbfounded, and stayed that way until before he knew it, Administrator Cormyn was divesting him of the 'fone.
"Hi everyone," he said, completely destroying the ceremonial tone that Strop had taken great pains to maintain up to this point. "We had some talks with Dan and agreed that the lack of active moderators was one of the most pressing issues we had to address as quickly as possible. We worked hard on a solution, and so now we are pleased to present to you, the repaired Wheel of Moderation!"
Strop finally noticed that His Highness, Daniel McNeely, had emerged from the carriage, and the honour guard, with their helmets off, were actually the entire development team. With half on each side of the covered cart, they whipped the velvet curtain off, revealing the Wheel of Moderation, just as it had been, except with a great deal many more names on it.
As much as it was to take in for one moment, Strop found himself applauding the timing and impact of this move, for it had completely captured the audience at the height of their frenzy. In the tranquility of the now, which had seen Strop completely removed from the locus of control, was he now able to appreciate the beauty that Leon had spoken of. But then again perhaps that was only because he wasn't about to get lynched by about ten thousand angry AGers.
Meanwhile, Cormyn continued. "I understand that previously, the selection of a moderator was the subject of folklore and secretive tradition. But this is a changing community, and we have agreed that increased transparency is instrumental to our viability moving forward."
Strop noticed, at this very juncture, that every other moderator from older generations were curiously, or perhaps not surprisingly absent. Nemo, too, was also absent, and it was he who had most strongly promoted the so-called folklore and mystique. But as Cormyn said, the times were moving on.
"Therefore, we shall not delay any further. We shall spin the wheel now, and declare your new moderator henceforth!"
And just as they said, Dan walked up to the giant Wheel of Moderation, and gave it a kingly heave.
The silence was impressive, for the only sound in that full arena, was the whirring of the wheel, which slowed to a ticking, which eventually became an interminable "link plink plink", until it finally stopped.
Everybody, even those right at the back of the arena, leaned forward to get a better look, but naturally, the text on the wheel being so darn small, it took a supadoopahawesometasticmegamegamagnifying glass for even Dan to be able to read the name that came up. But sure enough the Wheel had chosen.
"Our newest moderator in Armor Games is... Gantic!"
The silence went from electric to stunned, as everybody started looking around in confusion. Gantic? Who was this great being on whom the honour had suddenly been bestowed? It was a good half a minute before anybody bothered to look down, to discover that the great being happened to be a two-foot tall white rabbit who used Alligator Mouthwash, who was presently hopping his way down the aisle to the stage. Everybody stared as the diminutive new mod as he cleared the staircase in a single leap, and turned to them, adjusting his monocle as Cormyn handed the 'fone to him.
"Such is life." Gantic said.
The crowd blinked. In the background the lone maniacal laugh of a hyena could be heard. After a suitable pause, the rabbit turned to Cormyn. "Grant me a celery patch, and I'll patch this city up with celerity."
At first, there was a confused mumbling as the people tried to decipher the Gantique. Then they collectively decided to pretend that they understood it and roared with approval.
"Just so you know," Gantic said, just loud enough for only Strop to hear, while fixing him with what Strop could only feel was a disapproving look. "You will find that I am no lapine dog to your horseplay. Oh dear, what is the time, I'm late for my meeting!"
Hurriedly pocketing his wristwatch, he hopped off the stage and bolted towards the exit. As one, the entire audience rose and started piling down the stairs after the rabbit. As the crowd flooded the entryway, carrying their new hero on their collective shoulders, Strop was left, standing on the stage, completely alone, wondering about everything. Especially whether he really would give up true love for unlimited power, or his destiny, whatever that might be. And whatever true love might be, too, for that matter.
The arena looked so much larger when it was empty, but the perspective was warped by the presence of the thirty foot behemoth of a Wheel of Moderation, that had been abandoned in the wake of the last two minutes. Strop slowly walked up to it, running his hand over the restored woodgrain, and gazing at the almost indecipherable scrawl of names. He pushed at the lip of the bottom of the wheel, marvelling at how smooth the action of the turn was, and reflecting upon the mechanism the wheel concealed, which Devoidless had managed to overwhelm so long ago. For a minute, he stood there, fighting a rising urge in his chest, and took a hold of the wheel, firm enough to spin it...
...if he wanted to...
...or if he couldn't hold himself back.
* historical note: Gantic was actually modded by Carlie, and, as far as I can remember, prior to the commencement of Cormyn.
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I really am serious about this daily update thing until the end. Here's your next one!
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In Memoriam
"We are gathered today not to mourn, but to celebrate..."
Huddled together in their Sunday best, the heart of the community had united, at the crack of dawn, on the grassy hill behind Armor Hospital. What remained of the moderators, and those who wished to remember what they had gone through together, stood, gazing at the humble stone that had been laid to rest, as testament to those who had been lost in the heights of battle, and that which had been found in the depths of despair.
"Today and always, we shall honour the courage of those who gave their lives to defend our home. May we always be thankful, and strive to work together in harmony..."
As the speaker droned on, the moderators shifted on their feet, staring at the grass, still wet with the morning dew. Surreptitiously, Nemo nudged Devoidless.
"You don't really think Ubertuna's gone is he?"
Devoidless didn't answer, but Dank had overhead, and snorted. "You don't really think anybody would come back from being eaten by a shark, do you?"
"I know, I know," Nemo sighed. "It's just hard to believe that he'd just, you know. Go like that."
In the background, the speaker was going strong: "...age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn..."
"I know what you mean, yes," Dank finally acquiesced. "Sometimes I find myself thinking he's probably skulking around a sewer somewhere, like always."
You just got Trolololed
"...Thus, let us never forget the noble sacrifice of the one called Thoad the Toad, whose resourcefulness under pressure created the most vital of defenses during the battle. But let us also never forget the contributions he made, as a much loved veteran of the community, and leader of the Zombie Survival Club..."
One of Thoad's ZSC officers proceeded to the memorial, and laid down the only piece of Thoad anybody had found after the battle, his helmet.
"I don't buy it." A grey-suited Cen muttered.
"Me neither," Strop muttered back. "It's just too neat. And too cliche."
"It doesn't matter what everybody else thinks," Cen agreed. "He'll come back. He always does."
At the other end of the mod line, the girls were similarly gossiping. "I heard the devs found Flipski's left arm," Dragonmistress whispered.
"And parts of his neural circuitry!" Asherlee confirmed. "Admin said they'd have a shot at rebuilding the big guy."
A loud squee rang out, followed by a whinney as Strop startled. The speaker presiding over the service was forced to pause, and he fixed the moderators with a tired stare. Strop clapped a hand over his mouth and looked away, only to notice that Zophia was doing the same. Needless to say, the rest of the service proceeded without further incident.
"Really though," Zophia bubbled at the group as they started to disperse from the hill. "Do you really think he'll be the same?"
"There are a lot of contingencies," Moe noted. "After all, you are asking a question about what identity is, and how much of it relates to physiology."
Voidy could not help himself. "That's funny, coming from a brain. In a jar." And then he added. "Talking about a robot."
"That's precisely the point," Moe said, unfazed. "I am no dualist."
Remarkably, out of the mods, only Zophia didn't quite understand. "...duellist?"
"Which means the option to believe is open to me. Can not reconstruction be the same as construction? Either way, I choose to leave the question open."
Moe paused, perhaps to reflect. "Because Flipski and I were... are friends. I am fond of him, so it would be undisciplined of me to say yes. But I am fond of him, so it would be sorrowful to say no."
And with that, the crowd trickled out in all directions, until all that remained was the stone, and the faint impression of hopes and memories.
---
The update after the update after this one may take a little longer.
But we're not there yet, so have this one!
---
Sunsets
The Wall Scene
Strop leaned against the short wall of the much bigger wall surrounding the city. It was a nice evening, a bit of a breeze picking up which was a welcome break from the dry heat that had picked up shortly after the rainstorm had ended. Behind him, down in the city, people were still doing a bit of work, trying to use the last bit of proper light, before they would go home. This was not really of interest now, however, nor was the forest that laid in front of him, looking golden in the light of the setting sun, and much more peaceful than it actually was. No, he was there for a whole other reason. Cen was standing a few steps to the right of him, looking down at the workers while holding a cup of what Strop assumed with tea.
Strop was disappoint. He just thought Cen had become a manly man, but instead of embracing this change, and start growing some hair on his chest and a full beard, Cen was moping about in a t-shirt that wasn't fitting him well, and now drinking something as boring as strawberry tea.
Strop snapped out of the obvious sidetrack. This was not important right now, since it was getting too late for a brisk run over rooftops anyway. And he was kinda tired after a whole day's supervision of the workers and pretending he was being productive, when he really had been reading the latest chapters of One Piece and possibly dreaming about going on an adventure with Luffy, though if someone had asked, he would deny ever having any affiliation with pirates.
At that he turned to Cen. "So, I herd u liek mudkips?"
...actually no, that's not how it went.
At that he turned to Cen. "You might wonder why I called you here."
Cen looked at him with a somewhat bored expression of slight confusion. "Uh, you didn't. I was enjoying the peace up here, then you went to scale the wall after yelling at people to 'Look at this', and then you did three somersaults and kinda zoned out for a bit."
"Oh." Strop mumbled.
Strop poked his fingers together a few times, trying to look innocently guilty and adorable at the same time, before noticing that Cen had taken to ignoring him. Rude.
"ANYWAY," he huffed, pulling out an envelope from only God knows where, and wishes he didn't, and poked it at Cen to get his attention. "I've got this for you. You can thank me later." 
Cen took it after having poked in the face a few times, much more to get the poking to stop than actually wanting to see what it was. It was a brownish regular looking envelope with 'Strop' written on it, except someone had tried their best to disguise this by striking it out several times and then misspelling 'Cenere' underneath. On the back, the new seal of AG was placed to hold the envelope closed, and that was probably the only part of the whole thing that looked remotely professional.
Cen looked sceptically at Strop, who was shaking with badly hidden excitement.
"Open eeet!"
Cen squinted at him tiredly, before unceremoniously ripping the envelope open and taking out the letter, on which his name had also been misspelled, however differently from on the envelope.
Ignoring the squeeing sound Strop made, he read the letter.
And read it again.
And once more.
Strop watched all the colour disappear from Cen's face in a way that, had he been working at the hospital, would have merited an instant transfusion and colonoscopy, but right now was entirely ignored.
Then Cen looked up at him with wide eyes and a general expression of terror.
"CONGRATS" Strop whinnied. He spun around on a hoof and took of laughing, just as Cen pitched into a fit not quite understandable due to rage and Danish, the language of pastries.
---
dude, two things:
1) YOU gave me one job. I have other jobs.
2) I lost your email LOL my bad
You're here now, so it's all good.
Now, this update is on time, but the next one may take a little longer.
---
And So They Became Mods
Standing in front of the smoking pit in the ground, all that could be seen was the glow from the pit. Everything else was shrouded in complete darkness. The fires of the secret admin forge burned before Cenere, but it was not the heat that had him sweating.
Gone were the days of wild partying and parody rituals, and for this Cen was at least glad. All the other moderators could do all the song and dance they wanted, but this did not strike him as the occasion for abandonment and celebration. Armor Games was moving onto a new era. It was an era that he was being swept into, along with a two-foot tall rabbit. He turned to the rabbit to steal a glance, but Gantic appeared completely unperturbed. In fact, Gantic was presently nibbling on a carrot.
"If you please," intoned a voice, which Cenere thought might belong to Daniel McNeely, but he could still think of a thousand other candidates. "Reach into the forge and grasp your ban weapons."
Without so much as a chitter, Gantic did so, except his forelimbs were too short to actually reach, so a shadowy figure assisted him by holding him over the pit. Cenere, on the other hand, hesitated. This was something that Strop, that stupid laugh-whinneying jack-*** had set him up for. He didn't want anything to do with this. At least, that's what he had said, but somehow he still found himself standing here, which means that he had gotten up this morning and not jumped out of his apartment window in protest, nor had he run away screaming when the Royal Carriage flanked by the knightly developers had arrived to escort him to his new destiny. So he didn't want to be here, but part of him, well, at least part of him had not not wanted him to be here. "It's character building!", an annoying, tinny horsey soundbyte echoed in his ear.
"Oh what the hell," he found himself saying, and plunged his hands into the smoke.
---
Strop was not amused
And then Cenere and Gantic were set to work, and became pretty much the only active moderators for quite a while...
Pardon my image fail. I used the wrong link.
And then Cenere and Gantic were set to work, and became pretty much the only active moderators for quite a while...