NebulaFlare

It's baycode news. Before we left Aurora Code, we had legitimate news articles that was in-line with our lore. Just gotta be patient while coders reconstruct stuff. In the meantime, that news isn't legit.

I dunno...I just get the impression that a lot of our community members are really going through tough times. Too many mention in it in a subnote, a passing word that something...something is distressing them, let it be depression or some other real life trauma plaguing their day to day lives. Trust me......I've been there. It wasn't fun. It seemed hopeless, pointless, and I was too damn proud to seek help. If it wasn't for the support of my loving family and friends, I'd still be trapped in its vicious cycle. I wanna reach out to you guys and tell you....you can do it. You're not alone. You can kick this in the arse and build yourself back up again. There are people out there who do care, and will lend a hand to help you along the way. Because you are strong, and you are giants. It's not the end, and when it's over, what comes out will be a wondrous, glorious, you. Whatever your beliefs are, whatever happens in life, just remember: you are not alone in this fight. This is the hugbox. Everybody hug.

As a Taj, ever went, "Gosh. I really wish these things existed mechanically." I know I did. They could replace as a second-language, much like Gutter, Tradeband, and Sign. The limitation is that they are only available to Tajara characters, and these languages would overwrite traditional second languages. For Siik’tajr, any Tajara that does not know the language, could have it come up as a sentence represented by the typical Siik'maas mrowl. Non-Tajara would hear Siik’tajr and Siik'maas to look the same regardless. It would take a darker font text to seperate it from Siik'maas. For Nal'rassan, it could be mechanically like sign language. Tajara that know it would get the full sentence, while those that didn't would get: [So-and-so twitches their ears. ]

+1 with the exception for Tajara. Tajara can see in the dark.

+Support

Something I would like to see amended: Tajaran culture doesn't play off major gender-roles (men are bread winners and women stay at home) like Unathi and Humans. There is a stigma of man=manly and women=womanly. But among the Tajarans...there's little to no mention of this stereotype and separation of duty. The real separation stems from their caste system, of noble and serf. This is partly why I didn't understand the anti-homosexuality portrayed within their culture and people nowadays. Before I go further, lemme just say I got nothing against people and their sexual orientation. I am looking at this purely at the light of our made-up galaxy. Why would Tajarans care about masculinity and femininity, and thus, be sent to work camps? Unless this is considered a humanized masculinity and femininity, straying away from established Tajara masculinity and femininity? If so, where is the line drawn? Tajara ladies can be just as robust as their male counterparts, so I'm theorizing proper ladylike behavior is acting like a mature, professional and respectable individual. Would this mean that a Tajara gentleman can be acceptable as meek and docile, and to humanity this just appears feminine, when he's just being a gentleman? Should partnership should be strictly gender-based male to female, making it biologically unnatural to seek mates in the opposite gender in the Tajaran world? I get the OOC reason - to stamp out people who play the Tajara in a way that deteriorates the lore. I haven't played my character Tavaku Mo'Taki in awhile (Karima's older brother). On the surface, he could be pegged as a likely candidate for labor camps. He's a 'stay at home' nerd, doing the cooking and cleaning since his little sibling is pulling all-night shifts to bring a big fat paycheck to send back home to their family. But he does all this as a protective big brother, looking out for his little sister. He drives a gravbike, and works as a chef cooking 'exotic' Tajaran dishes for human customers, and has an addictive smoking habit. He's not gay, but he's romancing Romeo and a guy who gets his heart broken...a lot. So he pulls out a cigarette to smoke his cares away and gets chased off to the roof of the apartment complex because Karima hates the smell of smoke in her lab. Obviously, Tavaku would get picked on pretty badly by Unathi - what is a male like him doing the cooking and cleaning? But he's Tajara, not Unathi. And he's not being feminine - he's a rugged biker that smokes and likes to cook. He just does what's got to be done for his family. So, where would that fall on the Tajaran lore? Is Tavaku a wierdo, or a stellar model?

To be honest, I think this is an issue we should handle ICly. Researchers are expected to be responsible: I play my own researcher, Karima, too terrified to do anything out of line, in fear of getting shipped back to Adohmai. We need some IC reason to keep scientists from validhunting and metagaming, while still keeping legitimate reasons open for taking weapons out of the lab. Besides, not every round will have the available head of staff. My suggestion is in two paths: 1) If weapons are taken out of research, make it a high-severity infraction (red level) and immediate grounds of termination. If it keeps happening, write incident reports to get the person kicked out of research. 2) Have weapons explode on the person, the moment they try to use it outside of research. Or, better yet, make a single area a 'weapon savezone' for testing them on station, and only that is explosion free. This can only be prevented by first unlocking the weapon with a Head of Staff ID. If unlocked, then the weapon can be carried anywhere. That way, if the situation is dire enough, validhunting scientists will need the assistance of the crew to use the weapon, and the crew will be available to stop him/her.

Hmm...I really never considered that. I would say it's highly unlikely, but not impossible. They had trains and automobiles, but any flying contraptions would be kept strictly to the nobility, and (maybe) used by their loyal M'Sai warriors during the revolution. However, looking at their technological growth, most of their industrialization was catered toward noble leisure. Planes would probably be used strictly as a form of entertainment, or maybe equipped with cartography equipment for exploration. If that's the case, some could be refitted for warfare. However, I'd assume they'd be extremely rare if they existed at all, and probably not worthy of combat, seeing that rebels had fancy modern weapons. Addition: On a separate note, there seems to be no differentiation made between male and female roles. Tajara have a very stable equality among gender, and the true dividing line was their caste system of serf to noble. Anyone capable of picking up a weapon and fighting, could do it. If planes did exist, there certainly would be female pilots available.

Type: Animal Founding/Settlement Date (if applicable): N/A Region of Space: Adohmai Controlled by (if not a faction):N/A Other Snapshot information: Nicknamed Mountain Stalkers in Basic, the Barrat'Ko is a carnivorous animal mostly located within the mountainous regions of Adohmai. It is a fierce predator, and is known to cause havoc for ranchers and rural residence. Their pelts are extremely valuable, and the meat is considered a very rare delicacy. Long Description: The Barrat'Ko are described as a large, quadrupedal creature, looking like a cross between a bear and a wolf. They have a short tail, and twisted horns protruding from their head. Their fur is shaggy, and some variations can have grey or brown spots in their coat to assist with better camouflage while hunting. Due to their aggressive nature, they are considered very difficult to hunt, and the pelts, meat, and ivory from their horns are highly valued. Measured from their shoulder height, they can easily tower above a fully grown Tajara male, ranging from 168cm - 230cm. Their diet mostly consists of large prey animals, but they have been known to eat just about anything they can catch. There have been reports of Barrat'Ko coming down from the mountains to steal livestock from farmers and ranchers. It is extremely rare for Barrat'Ko to attack Tajarans directly, but they are still known to pose a threat to hunting parties, especially if they feel that their territory is threatened. Despite their fearsome appearance, they are relatively easy to avoid. They mark their territory by leaving carcasses of their prey, and this allows hunters to avoid traversing into their turf - it also allows them to take the remains of the carcass for themselves. They also have extremely sensitive senses of hearing and smell, and it is not uncommon for hunters and trappers to bring deterrents - like noise makers and putrid-smelling balms - for these large beasts. They generally live solitary lives, mating once every two to four years. With their low chance of producing offspring, and high chance of extermination, (outlying towns will often take it upon themselves to trap and kill Barrat'ko that wander too close to their homes) they are generally considered an endangered species. Urbanization, coupled with the ongoing civil war, has also decreased the population of these mighty beasts, and there are reports of finding a Barrat'Ko that wandered into a landmine, or be shot by soldiers to provide meat, ivory, and fur to sell. The Barrat'Ko play an important part of the natural ecosystem, controlling the overpopulation of other wildlife creatures. A few concerned citizens have voiced opinion to open a sanctuary to preserve the beasts, but most of their requests fall to deaf ears, as they are often seen as something more of a threat and nuisance, than something worth preserving.

You hit it right on the nail, Mofo. And now, I really, REALLY want Laikov to come to your character and say what has been on her mind all her life. Also, Rafee did a terrifyingly good job. Buuut...well, you see...Laikov broke him.

Chapter 1 We are a people of strong resolve, Never back down, retreat or fall, My brothers and sisters, To Arms, To Arms! March on through the mountain snow, For the high peak’s our fortress, And the Twin Suns cast their holy glow! My brothers and sisters, To Arms, To Arms! The chilling winds will pierce our foes, Will drain the strength of all that oppose! But we embrace this forbidden plight, And so, To Arms! We march and fight! To Arms, my brothers and sisters! To Arms, To Arms! For the high peak’s our fortress, And even as the cold winds blow, We sing our song with pride and joy, The M’Sai of the Northward Sky! To Arms, To Arms! We lift our voices high! To Arms, To Arms! The M’Sai of the Northward sky! The Tajaran children sang with high spirits, their M’Sai fur blending in with the bitterly snowy mountains that they called home. It was beginning to wane into the evening hours, and as the Twin Suns set, their parents called for them to return to their homes. It was nearing the end of the year 2433, nearing the end of the vicious, violent war that upheaved this planet and tore it apart. But the wars had barely touched the lands up north, where small alcoves of noble families managed to retain their power, thanks to undying love and loyalty of their supporters. This town was one such example – a town built of proud, pure-blooded M’Sai warriors, swearing undying allegiance to their equally proud N’jarir Nobles. One child in particular was ever so eager to grow up and join her parents, to carry a rifle and shoot down the evil enemies encroaching on their sovereign territory. But this young one’s dreams were still dreams, and as a child, her fantasies were not blemished by the realities of war. All that was going to change overnight. === “You are my little shadow, my sweet child,” her mother nuzzled the little girl as she tucked her in to sleep. Their house had no beds, but enveloped in the comfort of luxurious furs, they did not need one. The child hugged her mother in return. “When is daddy coming home?” she asked. “Tonight,” her mother replied. “But you will be asleep.” “Mom, tell me the story of our people again?” The child asked sleepily. The mother smiled, her arms wrapped around the little child. “Again? Alright.” She nodded. “Long ago, several generations before you, The Noble Family of Jak’rravi ruled the lands far south of where we are today,” she nodded to the cartography map hanging on the wall. There were several green, red and blue pins pressed into it, but the child didn’t know what any of those pins meant. “This was back when there were many Lords and Ladies of N’jarir, and the Jak’rravi were one of many. They were very wealthy, but they were also very feeble, and very foolish.” “North of them, were the lands of the Nik’yata. The Jak’rravi were very jealous of the Nik’yata. Their lands had valuable mines and beautiful forests. Their workers and warriors were very strong and proud. The Nik’yata were also highly intelligent, many of their princes and princesses becoming scholars, artists, and engineers. They would share their gifts with their people, for those they deemed worthy. The Jak’rravi had nothing to be proud of, and they squandered what little they did have, so they were indeed, very jealous. The little girl nodded. While she knew how the story would go, she loved hearing it time and time again. “One day, the Jak’rravi gathered all their people, warriors and peasants alike, arming them with weapons and marching into the Nik’yata’s land. They launched a vicious attack. Taken completely by surprise, many non-fighters of Nik’yata’s people, the Hharar and Zhan, were slain. Armies of the Nik’yata had no time to respond to the outlying towns and villages, and they were scattered about in the mountains. They did not suspect such treachery of the Jak’rravi.” “I’m sure the peasants tried to fight back?” the little girl asked. “I’m sure they did,” the mother replied. “But these were peaceful folk. They relied on the M’Sai to protect them.” “As the Jak’rravi marched their armies onward, they sieged the castle of the Nik’yata. By now, they had picked off the small pockets of M’Sai warriors who were unfortunate to cross their large armies, and slain them one by one. In the end, there was not enough soldiers to defend the Nik’yata, and the Nik’yata themselves were peaceful scholars, not fighters.” “Then what?” the child asked. “Then, after many, many days, they broke through the castle’s defenses and flooded through the gates. The Nik’yata nobles stood little chance against the massive army, and only one of them managed to escape.” “I’krola Nik’yata,” the child said. “Yes, I’krola Nik’yata was but a teen at that time: he was not even old enough to be considered an adult,” the mother said. “So he fled and escaped, taking a secret route into the mountains.” The child smiled, twitching her tail. The next part of the story was the part she loved. “He was cold, lost, and his silken clothes were hardly suited for the brutal wilderness,” the mother said. “And as the twin suns set, he knew he could not survive the night. He lifted his voice to the sky, and cried out a desperate plea.” “He said, ‘Messa and S’raandar, my enemies have pillaged my home, slain my people, and murdered my family. I am I’krola, a prince of Nik’yata! By bloodright, this is my land. I beg you, beseech you, by your dying light, Messa, have mercy on me. Give me an army to avenge my family, and retake what is rightfully mine!” The child was wide awake now. “Then what?” she asked, grinning. “Well,” the mother said, “You know how the story goes. The Goddesses heard his plea. S’raandar had granted I’krola the right of rule, and Messa had provided him the right to keep that rule. As the last of Messa’s light waned over the horizon, the blanket of night settled across the mountains. The stars high above lit up the night sky, like jewels in the sea of black. And sixteen of those stars…fell to Adohmai.” “The stars fell around the prince, and where each one landed, stood a fierce M’Sai warrior. Eight men, eight women. They were the gifts of Twin Goddesses. The M’Sai of the Northward Sky.” The mother smiled, hugging her daughter. “Your ancestors.” The child grinned as the mother continued. “Sixteen warriors against a hundred soldiers, but it was enough. I’krola dropped to his knees, promising if they win this battle, he would forever honor these men and women warriors, and the descendants that would come. All sixteen swore allegiances to him, and together, they marched back to the castle, and retake it from the Jak’rravi nobles.” “And next?” the child asked eagerly. “And next you go to sleep,” the mother replied, tucking her daughter in. The child pouted. “Mom!” “You know how the story goes,” the mother said. “You’ve heard it a hundred times. They marched back in, and drove the Jak’rravi out. From there, they rebuilt the kingdom of the Nik’yata. I’krola was the ruler, and your ancestors stood by his side, and the land prospered for many generations. You know that.” “Yeah, but it doesn’t sound as epic when you make it so short,” the child grumbled. The mother laughed. “You need to sleep,” she said. “It is late. And even the descendant of a falling star needs to sleep.” She hugged her daughter, singing a sweet lullaby. “Born by the Twin’s Holy Light, the shadows of the starlit night,” she smiled. “You know your name means Shadow, right?” “I know mom,” She said, snuggling in to her mother’s embrace, as her mother continued talking. “Little Shadow, as white as the snow. You can hide in plain sight, like a shadow’s hidden glow. For you are the jeweled light, of the starlit night,” her mother hummed the familiar lullaby, rocking her daughter to sleep. === It was several hours later, when a loud blast shook the foundations of the house, rocking the child awake. She stirred, catching the scent of burning smoke and ash. “…Mom?” she called out. Twitching her tail, she climbed out of the furs and peered out the door. What greeted here was a terrifying sight. The houses were burning, with terrifying silhouettes cast by the flames. A clatter in the back, making the child jump. She turned around, spying her father. “Oku?!” he called out, using the Tajaran word for his family. He was disheveled, his hunter’s garb shredded in a few places. He swung a rifle on his back, and the smell of blood – fresh blood on his boots. He spotted his daughter, eyes wide and confused. He reached down and scooped her up. “We must get out-” He barely finished his sentence as another blast shook the house. The child screamed, terrified, watching the roof behind her and her father come crashing down, barely missing them. Her father immediately raced out the front door, stumbling down the porch and running through the street. “RETREAT!!” he screamed, neighbors pulling back from makeshift barricades. “Retreat and scatter into the forest!!” “Don’t look back,” he whispered to his child, yanking a grenade from his belt and flinging it behind them, down the path. He raced off, into the pitch black of night. There was a bang, the grenade bursting and spraying shrapnel at the advancing intruders. === They fled for a long time, the father carrying his daughter in his arms. Once he put enough distance between themselves and the town, he slowed his pace to catch his breath, which came as misty puffs in the freezing night air. His ears perked straight up. He adjusted his gear with one hand, still carrying his daughter in the other. “We’re being followed,” he said. “…How can you be sure?” the daughter asked. She had been silent this whole time, too terrified to speak. The father pointed to a nearby incline. There was a glow being cast somewhere further down the mountain, reflecting back on the snow. “flashlights,” he said, climbing up the incline. “Why are they after us?” The child asked, scared. “Because we are the last line of defense for the Noble family,” her father replied, setting his child down and peering over the edge of the cliff. Sure enough, down below were three figures carrying flashlights, swaying the beam about to cut through the thick dark of night. “If we fall,” he said, “they fall.” He studied the figures down below. “Come,” he said. There was urgency in his voice. He took his daughter’s hand and led her to the edge of the forest, settling her in the soft snow. “Bury yourself in the snow,” he ordered her, “And hide. Do not make a sound.” “But-” “I will come back for you,” he whispered. “I promise.” Her father took his rifle in hand, trudging back down the path they had come. The daughter quickly dug out a small pit, scooping snow over herself, hiding. Just like the many games she would play with her friends, hiding in the snow in a game of ‘seek and find’. But now, she was hiding for her life. It was frigid and cold, and even with her thick protective fur, the snow would bite into her skin. She shut her eyes tight, desperately praying to the twin gods. A shot rang out in the darkness. She stiffened underneath the cold blanket. Another shot was swiftly fired, then another, and another, before ending in silence. The child remained as still and silent as possible, not daring to move. For what was only mere minutes, felt like an eternity to her. Her terrified breath came in rapid succession, quick and silent. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Underneath the snow, she picked up the smell of a strange…stench. It was putrid, almost like sweat, mixed in with the acrid smoke. A crunch of snow sounded to her left. She shifted her head, just slightly, freezing at the sight of a black boot, inches from her face. It was not her father’s boot. Whoever it was, the smell was coming from them. “Kah Peest!” he bellowed out. It was some strange language that the child had never heard before. “Camaut ov ahd-eeng!” The child shut her eyes tight, terrified. She struggled to not make a sound, nor move a muscle. She wanted to scream in terror, but she remained silent, not even daring to breathe. I’m a Shadow, a Shadow of the starlit night. I can hide in plain sight. There was another crunch of snow, and a startled cry split the silence. The boot fell back, away from her vision. There was a muted struggle, followed a sickening snap. The child picked up a new, fresh scent. Strange and foreign, yet still recognizable. Blood. There was silence. “Shadow?” It was her father’s voice. The little girl pushed herself up, shaking off her cover of snow. Her eyes were wide and anxious. “Daddy?!” He knelt close by, relieved. Sweat matted his brow, and he was huffing in the frigid night. He was still alert, with his ears cocked back, listening for sounds. He looked down at the unmoving body by his knees – the strange…individual, that was not a Tajara. The daughter shook off the rest of the snow from her clothes, staring at her father’s slain victim. “…What is that?” she asked. The figure was dressed in unfamiliar clothes – not fur or cloth, and made of some kind of strange, slippery material. On the arm of the jacket was a strip of blue, with an odd, unfamiliar symbol. It was silver, with two vertical strips, crossed by a diagonal line. Although she did not recognize it at the time, it was the letter N. The individual’s face was pale, naked without fur. His nose and lips were pink, oddly disproportionate. The hair was black and greasy, short and unkempt. Its blank, brown eyes stared unfocused at the stars above. “That’s a human,” her father said, shifting his weight to stand. He seized up and yelped, grabbing his leg. “Father!” the daughter scrambled to his side, confused. Her father gasped, pulling his hand away, silently staring at the splotch of blood seeping in from underneath his clothes. “You’re hurt,” the daughter said, worry in her voice. but the father shook his head. “We can’t stay here,” he said, struggling to stand. “More will come. We must reach the castle.” Despite her protest, the father picked up his daughter and continued down the path. There was no time to waste. === With his injury, the M’Sai warrior could not keep up with the same quickened pace he had started with. Regardless, he trudged on, straining through the bitter cold, and only stopping for a few minutes at a time to rest. The chilling winds slashed through their protective clothes, threatening to freeze them with frostbites and burns. At times, the soft snow was so deep the father would sink to knees, so he carried his daughter on his shoulders for the majority of the trip. They weaved through the forests and cliffs, using nothing but their keen memory on the passages through the deadly teeth of cliffs. Despite her young age, the daughter was trained and disciplined enough to keep her young eyes to the surrounding area, piercing the shroud of night and searching for any of the dangers of the unforgiving mountains – predators, traps, sheer drops, and now…alien men with guns. She’d tug her father’s ear if she spotted something, and he would turn his head toward the direction of her signal, training his own senses to determine if it was a true threat or not. If he was convinced there was nothing dangerous, he would trudge on. They continued on like this for many hours, never speaking a word. They could not risk breaking the silence of the night, and alerting their enemies of their presence. After all, mountains like these could carry one’s voice a very great distance. Despite all their efforts, it was in vain. As they broke through the last line of trees, they stood high above another sharp peak. The twin suns were beginning to rise, casting their chilling glow over the barren and frigid landscape. They illuminated a dreadful sight. Smoke and ash was billowing up, carried away by the merciless winds. The proud towers of the Nik’yata’s castle, protected by the surrounding snow-capped peaks, were drenched in a plume of haze. Specks of red tinder were carried off through the blue-gray air, chilling on contact and disappearing into dust. There was nothing but endless silence. Father and daughter stood at the cliffs, unmoving, for a very long time.

The story of a young M'Sai warrior, and her journey from Adohmai, and through the stars. Chapter 1 ((To set the mood, I suggest listening to this while reading: )) I will be posting this in chapters. It's a pretty long segment, and I am still working on writing it. Please enjoy! If you like it, please, drop a post! Also, constructive criticism is always, always appreciated. ((I love posting stories, but I never know if people like or dislike em. Do tell me if you enjoyed it or not. ))

BYOND Key:Nebulaflare Character name:Aji'Rah Laikov Item name: Jeweled Broach Why is your character carrying said item to work?I've expanded on Laikov's story, making her a descendant of proud M'Sai warriors who swore undying allegiance to a now-eliminated Noble family, the Nik’yata. The M'Sai of their army would often wear these broaches, which were considered to be valued gifts, much like medals of valor. They were the highest esteemed warriors of these Nobles, basically their elite soldiers, and Laikov believes that her opportunity to follow in her family's footsteps was ripped away from her during the first revolution. Laikov is connected to the ways of old, and is finally feeling secured enough to come out of her shell. Item function(s): It works in the same way as a holobadge, minus the ID scanning. -It can be adjusted to show and hide the broach -It can be attached to a uniform/jumpsuit -Clicking it in hand will state, "You display the Jeweled Broach. It glitters in many colors. -Clicking on a person while it is in hand will state, You thrust the jeweled broach in [person's name here]'s face! Item description: A jeweled broach, inlaid with semi-precious gems. The clasp appears to have been replaced. Item appearance: Remove the white around. I made it in paint. It can also be resized if it's too big. How will you use this to better interact with crew and/or stimulate RP? Aji'Rah is a very conserved person and keeps to herself, for good reasons. But she is very proud of her heritage, and takes her sworn duty seriously. This broach will serve as a testament of it. It'll also be a very, VERY good arpee item, because it'll open up a can of worms that she is still a loyalist to the Noble line. You know how well that's going to be taken. Additional comments:

Poor, poor Chauncey.

Story-wise, it would be on the back of his head, and continue down his back/torso. But knowing how thin the IPC sprite is, there's no room for two little stripes. So just placing it on the back of his head is good enough. Anywhere else where the stripes would exist, but have no room for the actual pixelated stripes, I'll compensate with flavor text.

Am I the only one who uses qwag to display fidgetiness?

All these replies make me feel better. Honestly. Clarity is what was necessary. And well actually, I give credit to Jackboot for being lore master. He's put up some pretty fun lore and stuff, and I've seen him shift over time to a little more serious side. I don't know what kind of shenanigans happened that made hive burnt out enough to post this, and I'd prooobably rather remain blissfully unaware. BUT! What was needed to be heard was what has been said. Where the line of good/bad characters are, who's actually doing fine, and what more could be done.

If Karima was there, she would borg you. And just FYI: To Karima, borgification is a punishment worse than death.

'Ride' off. Ahem. :3

Hey, she only did it once. Or twice...maybe three times...I dunno. I lost count. But she only got caught for it once!

Soooooo... The blunt of the problem is that we're not communicating. Well then.

Alright, I'm going to do it. No one is going to come out and say it so I'm going to take the bullet. First off, I am very, highly certain most of the Tajaran community get the idea that they are aliens with fur, not furries. I don't have anything against furries, their quirks are their quirks. I don't judge, and honestly, I don't care. And in my time of playing, I've seen only one or two Tajara who was overly sexual. Just two at max. And I haven't seen those characters since forever. You're degrading the race itself by consistently pairing it with furries. Maybe I'm blind to the furry community but I myself don't see any furry behavior. At all. I'm either blind or it's not there. Whitelist players get it - they're aliens. There's likely more furry strife coming from humans than from Tajarans. It's not because we're coming up with our own fluff and going 'screw lore I'll play what I want'. No. It's because the Tajaran species has been stuffed into a teeny-tiny, strained little box of rules and regulations with no room for our characters to grow or interact. Lore is supposed to be expanded on, built up, not downsized and marginalized. Not only that, but a lot of Tajaran characters were developed much earlier before current Lore, and those characters are based off that early lore. Lore is literally being forced upon these already-constructed characters. It's being shoved down our throats in a, 'do it or else' threat. These characters are being stifled and slowly killed. I will not name names, but there are people literally afraid to play Tajara because they don't want to see their whitelist stripped. I disagree. Again, what the heck do you got against furries? Let me tell you what I see. I see an Alien Race that is torn from their homeland and trying to find a niche in this strange human-controlled universe. A race who's had every opportunity of prosperity cruelly ripped away from them, be it by their own people or the human supremacy. Their history is embarrassingly tarnished, but yet, they've grown from that and become a resilient people. I see a race that has no other choice but to stand together through the thick and thin, brothers and sisters, kin, and become tight-knitted for the sake of survival. I see a race that must scour whatever meager culture they have left. I see a race that was taken advantage of, time and time again, glowered and mocked by other races, and must make a desperate stand for acceptance. Is...is that right? Isn't that what the Tajara is all about? A race of resiliant people who have been trashed through mud and must find a place in this unforgiving galaxy? Because that is what I see the Tajaran as. Every antic, every action, every thought and word - my skeptical rose-tinted glasses perceive that when I interact with the players Again with the furries...my gosh. Lay off. I must be very blind, because I don't see any human cat furries. You know what? This is Karima. This is Kyyir'ry'avii 'Karima' Ille'nagri Al'Ghul-Mo'Taki. Minus the pun making and the 'okies'...this is her. One of my prized characters. One of my oldest, most developed characters. My character who matured and grew over the many years and achieved her goal of becoming a well-respected researcher. Someone who went from a timid, terrified lab assistant to a proud, assertive scientist. Someone who's interacted with various crewmembers, made close alliances, and given the gracious opportunity to expand in their stories as well. Someone who tends to twitch her ears a lot because _that's tajaran body language_. She's fucking hyper. She's not being a furry, she's being Tajaran. She's twitching her tail when she gets excited at making a new discovery. She gets happy when she meets friends. She's folding her ears back when she's peeved because she struggles with the Tau Ceti Basic. Let her wag her tail because she's got a bubbly personality. And she gets caught singing on the comms because she likes to sing in her lab with her Tajaran cultural love for music which accidentally leaks over into comms. And on another note. Tajarans are self-centered rebels because they've been built up that way from their history. They have to make their own stand. They're gonna sneer, they're gonna spit, and they're gonna get defensive. Tell me, what other logical actions would they be doing? They went through a war, and now they're going through another. They're not pushovers. I'm not defending criminal behavior - I'm pointing out the flaw in this logic. Unless every single last one is supposed to go, 'Oooooooh sorrrrrry...ourrrr bad, we won't speak up forrr ourrrselves. We'll just submit and be goooood serrrrvants to the nice humans..." I'm...pretty sure they won't do that. A human tells a Taj to 'know their place' and there will be a backlash. Claws? No, doesn't need to come to claws. I will give that much. That's assault with a deadly weapon. Spew fighting words? Demand respect? Well...yes? Unless that's supposedly all wrong. Third point: most of our characters were built up from old lore - can't expect everyone to sweep that all under the rug and start fresh. that's just not possible. Like I said, lore is meant to be expanded on, not shrunken down. Some points: -Tajarans don't support homosexuality. Maybe this is something tied to furries..............again.............but I explicitly remember that in the past, Tajarans didn't give a shit if someone was gay or not. Just shrug it off and say, 'whatever'. And now there's this 180 degree turn of no it's all bad. People don't change overnight. My only explanation is that the republic wants to stamp this out for whatever reason, or needs an excuse for cheap labor in their rehab camps. -Racism. Tajarans used to be so excepting of the three big races - Hharar, M'Sai, and Zhan. Hharar were the common majority, with some alcoves of intelligent people, M'Sai were the resilient warriors, and Zhan were the strong backbones of society. And t hey all loved each other and worked together as kin to overthrow the evil N'jarir. So everyone hates those self-centered noble bitches who CLEARLY deserve their place above in society. But now the tables are flipped again and they're supposed to start being racist to each and every other race, starting with the Zhan. After being such a support group for each other. Yeaaaaah...unless this is more communism propaganda, it...doesn't quite fit. And they're not supposed to be racist against humans. Okay. Makes perfect sense. And lastly...get off your high horse. Yes, you're loremaster, but please...the way you project yourself, it's annoying. I don't want to sound condescending or mean, and with utmost sincerity....please. We respect the fact you put time, dedication, and effort in the Tajaran Lore, but do you really have to go about holding the whitelists hostage just because a Tajara sneezed? I'm serious. That's basically what's going on right now. I really love the Tajaran race. I like their steampunk-esqe modern culture, how it clashes with sci-fi space, their unique history, their four races, and their drive to be respected. But they've been broken up so much, I just don't know.

BYOND Key: NebulaFlare Character name: Ricochet Item name: Racing Stripes Why is your character carrying said item to work? Rico was designed as a pit stop mechanic for race cars, and his model line was catered to the wealthy elite. However during shipment, he was looted by pirates and sold into the black market. Over the years, the paint chipped off, leaving him as he is today - all dinged up and without paint. He's gotten over a major hurdle in his young existence, and being identified as a Ricochet is a major thing for him. For anyone that knows Rico, they know he's walking around without a paint job. It's not that he doesn't want it - he simply has other debts to pay and duties to recognize, before he takes on something so personal. Now that Rico is out of the black market and legalized, he wants to return to his original functions - and part of that would be getting repainted. Originally, he had a black paint job, with two dark yellow racing stripes down his head and back. Getting repainted is something he's wanted for a long time. It's his robotic pride as a Ricochet model. Item function(s): Since the request is technically a unique sprite design, and not an actual item, I'm not sure how this could be coded in. If it must be coded in as an item due to reasons, then it could be a small object wearable on the ear, much like scarves. Otherwise, it's an alternate sprite overlay that just appears on the back of his head. Item description: A pair of fancy racing stripes. Item appearance: It's a simple two lines, colored dark yellow, running down the back of his head.They may only need to be one or two pixels in width. How will you use this to better interact with crew and/or stimulate RP? When he finally does gets repainted, (as stated, this is something he wants so he can be identified as a Ricochet) at the least it'll certainly be a conversation starter. Rico's got a deep backstory, and he talks about it to anyone that asks - or anyone he thinks needs their eyes opened. He was designed for high society, and the racing stripes are a symbol of that. All of that was stripped away from him. Right now, he just acts like a scrapheap pulled out of the gutter, because that is essentially what he is. He's going to be relying on the people around him to rediscover his place in society. I want Rico's character to grow. I want to see him mature and change. Keeping him as a scrapbot will only go so far before he becomes old and stale.

Don't think I'm not onto you, fucker. /me whistles innocently.

Jeez, leave qwag alone...I like it. I only do it on one Tajara, and it's Karima. She gets the qwag because she's overly fidgety. Qwag suits her perfectly.