Gr33dy Makes a diseased cat to worship Raskariim.

[Gr33d]

BYOND Key: Gr33dy

Character Names: Za'Akiax'Rug Zo'ra, Mend Bloodshed in the Inky Cosmos.

Species you are applying to play: Tajaran

What color do you plan on making your first alien character: The color of a cat with Dornskhy, so likely a very pale pink flesh color.

Have you read our lore section's page on this species?: Yes

Why do you wish to play this specific race: The Tajaran race has religion lore that I absolutely love! Plus they have all their neat games and charms, I think its finally time to bite the bullet and go for the Tajaran WL. Also, with all their lore revolving around one planet, it makes for a very refined and condensed race. Also their culture is just beautiful at times with the lovely artwork the community makes showing it off in full force. 

Identify what makes role-playing this species different than role-playing a Human: Humans do not have this depth of world building, at least the world building I enjoy, while Tajaran have their single, once again detailed and intricate planet to take inspiration from. Personally the thing I always found cool was, once again, the religion lore, something ive tried with humans, but there's just not enough there to work with. This is something I intend to use very strongly with this character as it is the big drawing in point for me.

Character Name: Geall'adh Mor

   Please provide a short backstory for this character: in 2440CE, A gross hairless being, no older than one years old, was dropped off in the cold snow on the side of a road in a raggedy grey blanket. For a good half hour, they laid there, crying and in pain, before they were found by a young Mistling and ran with haste to their chapel. The scrawny, near dead looking baby cries out with hushed, ever quieter screams as they are placed on the table for the sun sisters to look over. All watching expect the child to be dead soon, and some try to tend to it, warming up this scraggly creature with extra robes and blankets, along with trying to find food for the critter until medical personnel could arrive. 

  Once taken to the nearest clinic the young boy, now around eight years old, removes their bandages from their arm. The doctor looks them over and finds their skin is cracking much less than normal. "The treatment is working just fine." The doctor says, looking over the boy once more checking their breathing. "The breathing is better too! You are free to walk home now, just be quick! We don't want another burn like last time." The doctor jokes, applying fresh bandages to their skin. The boy hops off the table and walks into the lobby to find the sun sister that often accompanies them to their appointments. She pulls up his hood on his jacket and give him a warm smile, before taking his hand and leaving out the door.

  They arrive home, and the boy walks to their room, closing and locking the door. It is the boys eleventh birthday today, yet they arrive home to no fanfare or cake, the revolution has left the temple with no money for things like that, and even less time. They were hardly able to afford the skin treatment this year, and they get the feeling they won't be able to in the future. The war only just started, and already they were hardly able to afford the care they needed. The boy pouts in their dim room, they lay on their bare bed, and wait for the day to end. 

  They awake to a wheezing noise, and a pain in their lungs. The peel themselves out of bed and go to the bathroom to cough up what they can only assume is whatever mucus has built up in their lungs last night. Them and their friends were out, celebrating his 16th birthday. Whatever they did is now a fog of drinking, yelling, and excitement. In their enjoyment, they must have forgotten to take their medication. They wobble back to their bedroom take their tray of medicine, change their bandages, and walk to their window to shut their blinds so the sun wont burn them as they sleep. Crawling back into bed, they lay there for what feels like hours, before falling asleep, into a deep slumber.

  A knocking at their door wakes them back up and forces them to remember, its their eighteenth birthday, meaning that they are very likely wanted at their own sapling ceremony. They try to sit up, causing their skin to rip. They feel a slight wet, warm feeling on their back as they get ready to slide out of bed. They sigh, clearly annoyed, and let the person knocking know that it will be a moment before they can come out. She leaves with a nod as Mor goes to the bathroom to stop the bleeding and apply clean bandages. They have not been able to afford treatment in quite some time due to the war, and work is hard for them because of that. Never the less, they got ready, and walked out of their room. 

  It is the first day in months he is well enough to leave the house. His friend, who Mor has been told by the temple is "Getting far closer than two males should be." came by a good few weeks ago with medical supplies and ointments of quality he has not been able to afford in years. "think of it like... a birthday present, ok?" They said, handing Mor two boxes. One said, "19" on it, and contained all the medicines and a card, the other, was the one he was holding right now walking out the door feeling great. "Deliver this gift for him if you can, its a big ask he knows, but its how he was able to afford the medicine, deliver this when you get back on your feet, the person there will give you even more medicines" Mor was right, weeks later, not only did he feel good enough to get up and deliver the gift, but now, he wanted to! With a kick in his step, he walked out the front door to deliver this gift. 
 

  With that "gift" delivered, it was done. Mor and his "friend" would soon have enough money to get a little shoebox of an apartment of their own instead of living with the temple, who grew more and more curious about where he was going after being bed ridden for so long. For a while now Mor would deliver "gifts." not always in boxes, or with pretty bows, but "gifts" none the less. Often trying to justify his actions through a mix of needing to survive, and knowing if he was not doing it, someone else would. He needed the treatment, or surely, he would die. As time went on, he learned of the reason he received treatment for his deliveries. He had been roped into a Raskariim scheme. One he, did not actually want out of. He would do "easy" jobs at night, when it was easy to go outside without the pain of the sun and receive what was NEEDED because of it. First treatment, then freedom from the temple. Freedom to live with who he wanted to, and love, who he loved. 

 

  As the second revolution ended, so did their particular line of "gift" giving. As other, less stable parts of their circle of maggots fell and authorities found out about it, Mor's friend was also found to be involved in these dealings. However, refused to let Mor take any blame, taking the full brunt of the twos fall. Mor swore to them that they would find a better life for the two of them, and started looking for more stable jobs. Doing so was not without difficulty, even after the war at this time treatment for his condition was still scarce and more expensive. The cost of living, now alone, in their apartment would catch up to them. So they did what they could do. They used their appearance as a hairless tajaran, along with the many rituals they learned to "sell" people that they were gifted in psychic ways. Working as a psychic for years, for people often at the end of their rope and desperate at the end of the war until their friend got back from jail, using what money they had saved up, as well as contacts they made, they left their life behind, moving to the ODIN to find work before they ran out of money and make there own home where they would be accepted and practice their beliefs safer. 

 

What do you like about this character: I think having a highly diseased cultist, all bandaged up, weak and high maintenance is a really fun idea with potential for some good medical RP.

How would you rate your role-playing ability: 6-7, I try to be a good player and hopefully everyone feels that way too.

Notes: There's a good amount in the backstory that is obviously taboo for tajaran to be/do, however, that is kind of the point. They are an outcast. Not everything about them is public knowledge for instance and is still kept under raps for their own safety. 

Edited January 2, 2022 by Gr33d

[whitewolftamer]

Gotta say, I've thouroughly enjoyed my interactions with Gr33, am I a lil biased? Yes. Do I think they are a good RPer? Also yes. Simple as, I have no doubt that they will do well
PHAT ol +1 from me

[Bear]

Raskariim characters can be quite challenging to pull off. While they subvert the norm It's often difficult to find the right balance of social divergence and the whitelist expectations. Does your character struggle having been brought up in the church and likely half bran washed by the Parivara's ideas. It seems there was a quick drop on the pill of medication to forget the origins. Was there a transition time for your char to accept the raskariim plot? Did they have no parental figures or sources of influence in the church?

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On 01/01/2022 at 19:00, Gr33d said:

"Getting far closer than two males should be."

Homosexuality is a controversial topic in Tajara lore. Are you prepared for the chastising and social isolation that may occur if you are discovered? This is a hard reality of the state of Adhomai and Tajaran culture. Something that can be hard to handle both icly and oocly. If they were noted by the church for being "too close" have they been suspected before and forced to see Tajaran medical practitioners? 

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My biggest concern personally is the complete lack of mentioning place origin, faction, and political beliefs. If they did have a side they believed in, did their lack of being able to participate bother them?  

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How did your character leave Adhomai? If their partner was discovered by authorities, how were they able to take the full blame of the law and exonerate Mor? How did Mor pay for his partner's exit from Adhomai? What position did they take with I assume NanoTrasen?

[Gr33d]

1 hour ago, Bear said:

Raskariim characters can be quite challenging to pull off. While they subvert the norm It's often difficult to find the right balance of social divergence and the whitelist expectations. Does your character struggle having been brought up in the church and likely half bran washed by the Parivara's ideas. It seems there was a quick drop on the pill of medication to forget the origins. Was there a transition time for your char to accept the raskariim plot? Did they have no parental figures or sources of influence in the church?

To answer this question, of course there was time for them to accept the raskariim plot. What I tried to imply in the backstory was a slow disenchantment of the world around them as the revolution started. The world around them, was at the time the temple and a friends within it. Early on, as they lose access to good treatment and they grow up, they become more homebound and less active. They became pretty much trapped in the temple and slowly watched as a mix of getting older and more bedridden lead to them getting ignored by most of the people within the church. This caused them to become a little bit bitter to the people in the temple. Because once stuff got bad, they stopped caring about Mor because they simply could not afford to care about them. It was not a sudden shedding of the faith, but a slow burn that started became resentment as their body and lungs got worse and people came around less to see them, to a sad indifference. Their gods were seemingly not helping them. It was only after they learned they were able to get medicines and "work" for the first time in their life through Raskariims rituals that they started seeing the other side. They did not instantly drop their old faith of course, but they were able to see a few things when weighing the pros and cons of each religion. For one, the "suns" were not assisting in his plight no matter how many people prayed, and later down the line shunned his sexuality. Meanwhile Raskariim would welcome them with open arms, giving them treatment and money, a reason to get out there and live his own life, and did not care about his sexuality. There would be inner conflict for a while that was looked over in the original story, but it would be very odd for Mor to chose to stay with the temple and likely die alone then get out and live a life he assumed would be better. As for the parental figures/sources of influence, yes! The sunsister/mistling that I spoke about in the first two parts of the backstory would be a prominent member in his life, likely being a mother figure to them. I would have included this but the backstory was already getting long by that point and I did not want to make it way longer by trying to find places to put her in the story. She would however, be very important to them for most of their life, even they however stopped tending to them over the years, being busy with their own life instead of tending to a dying tajaran.

To touch on the concerns of a Rakariim character, that is totally valid! I can only hope to do my best to represent this subclass of character in the best way I can as I personally really like them and would hate to represent them oocly in a bad light. 
 

 

2 hours ago, Bear said:

Homosexuality is a controversial topic in Tajara lore. Are you prepared for the chastising and social isolation that may occur if you are discovered? This is a hard reality of the state of Adhomai and Tajaran culture. Something that can be hard to handle both icly and oocly. If they were noted by the church for being "too close" have they been suspected before and forced to see Tajaran medical practitioners? 

This is something that I am aware of, while it is a sad reality on Adhomai, it is one I am ready to handle. I personally think it will be interesting to dance around the subject among people. As for the line of them being too close, this was more to imply what was going on, I imagine a higher up mentioned it to them crossly, as a warning, right before they would be forced to see practitioners. Kind of like a "Don't make us take this further" type of thing. Its likely after this event they would have to act much more distant. Their friend would likely only be able to visit them a few times a month instead of almost everyday. This would cause more spite towards the temple I would imagine, as they literally rip one of the only visitors they care to see away from them. 

 

2 hours ago, Bear said:

My biggest concern personally is the complete lack of mentioning place origin, faction, and political beliefs. If they did have a side they believed in, did their lack of being able to participate bother them?  

 

Of course! This is more of a case of not knowing where to fit it into the backstory. They would have originated around the outskirts of Shastar City. I chose this location as its warmer, meaning that while it would be easier without fur to live in, and their for, they did not die. It also would cause the heat to get to their skin more. It also lines up with their faction of the DPRA. The fact they were not able to participate until later, would bother them yes. As they felt they were just wasting away in bed all day, achieving nothing.

 

2 hours ago, Bear said:

How did your character leave Adhomai? If their partner was discovered by authorities, how were they able to take the full blame of the law and exonerate Mor? How did Mor pay for his partner's exit from Adhomai? What position did they take with I assume NanoTrasen?

1) So, at this time before leaving Mor would have been healthy enough to get a low labor job, such as a fortune teller. Their theme was that they were this ugly, hairless creature, cursed with knowledge. It was a low labor way to make use of his disability and make some money while they were healthy enough to make money to stay healthy and keep their literal one room apartment in the slums. They would then try to get a plan going before their friend got out of jail: Live off of cheap food, save every penny, when their friend gets out they will try to take the money and migrate away to a safer place. 
2) The way I see it, is they would go down the chain of people that chain of the raskariim plot, starting where they could and going down from there. When it got to the two of them, I imagine their friend tried to take the fall for Mor before Mor could even have a say in the matter. Would likely make excuses that they could not go outside or that their condition is far worse than it actually is and they could not have done the crimes because of that, insisting that HE was the one who did it, not Mor.
3) Mor would have been saving every penny for the two of them to leave, as was the plan. They would have a good few years to plan it out and get the money needed. 
4) They would take up a job as librarian. 

[Alberyk]

One of the biggest issue with the character backstory is the use of Dornskhy. The backstory implies that it got better over time, which won't. The wiki explains that people suffering from this condition " must remain under constant medical care." It is not something really feasible to work on the station or surviving the transport to Tau Ceti while being smuggled.

The other one is that fact it does not explores the civil war and the factions at all. We don't know what the character thinks about or how the events changed his life. It is a big part of the lore and it must be explored in the applications.

Please rewrite the backstory taking in consideration these two points.

[Gr33d]

I would of course be more than happy to rewrite the backstory with these two points in mind, however I do want to note that the backstory only shows the condition getting worse over time, till they are bedridden, only able to move again because of the treatment they were able to be given and even then, it would still be painful to do anything with his skin having bandages on 24/7, likely with oils and other internal meds, and likely even with treatment they will be dead in maybe a decade I would imagine. 
As for the civil war, I did only hint at it a bit as it is a reason why he was unable to get treatment, but I will expand far more on the war and factions when I rewrite the backstory.

Before I do however, I would like to ask, is Dornskhy truly not something we would be able to see on station? Playing as a slow, sickly tajaran, who would seek medical treatment on station, is a major appeal to me personally and caused me to want to get the WL in the first place. They would of course, not have a high mobility job, likely working as a curator/librarian in order to get the medical care they would need to be safe.

I of course need to ask before I work on a backstory as that is, very important to it. 

Edited January 8, 2022 by Gr33d

[Alberyk]

2 hours ago, Gr33d said:

I of course need to ask before I work on a backstory as that is, very important to it. 

I will see what my deputies think.

[Alberyk]

On 08/01/2022 at 20:49, Gr33d said:

Before I do however, I would like to ask, is Dornskhy truly not something we would be able to see on station? Playing as a slow, sickly tajaran, who would seek medical treatment on station, is a major appeal to me personally and caused me to want to get the WL in the first place. They would of course, not have a high mobility job, likely working as a curator/librarian in order to get the medical care they would need to be safe.

 

We decided we will allow it. However, anyone with this condition would not be allowed to be in a job that required any kind of manual labor. We are also going to add some guidelines and likely some code support for it. Please rewrite some parts of the story to accomodate the feedback I gave.

[Gr33d]

17 hours ago, Alberyk said:

We decided we will allow it. However, anyone with this condition would not be allowed to be in a job that required any kind of manual labor. We are also going to add some guidelines and likely some code support for it. Please rewrite some parts of the story to accomodate the feedback I gave.

 

 In 2440CE, A gross hairless being, no older than one years old, was dropped off in the cold snow on the side of a road on the outskirts of Shastar City in a raggedy grey blanket. For a good half hour, they laid there, crying in pain, before they were found by a young Mistling and ran with haste to their chapel. The scrawny, near dead looking baby cries out with hushed, ever quieter screams as they are placed on the table for the sun sisters to look over. All watching expect the child to be dead soon, and some try to tend to it, warming up this scraggly creature with extra robes and blankets, along with trying to find food for the critter until medical personnel could arrive. 

At this point it was found that the child, named Geall'adh Mor by the Mistling that found them had a case of dornskhy. His body lacking any fur and being sensitive to the sun and cold both, the Mistling, named Tan'ja Mor would try their best to keep them alive as long as they could. Expecting that to only be a few years or so, based on the poor treatment they seemingly received before they were found. This was not a selfless act however, Tan'ja Mor expected to only be burdened by the creature for only a few years, and while she planned to care for Geall'adh like a son for those years, she selfishly hoped that soon, she could move on from him. 

  Once taken to the nearest clinic the young boy, now around eight years old, removes their bandages from their arm. The doctor looks them over and finds their skin is cracking much less than normal. "The treatment is working just fine." The doctor says, looking over the boy once more checking their breathing. "The breathing is better too! You are free to walk home now, just be quick! We don't want another burn like last time." The doctor jokes, applying fresh bandages to their skin. The boy hops off the table and walks into the lobby to find Tan'ja, now a Sun Sister that accompanies them to their appointments. She pulls up his hood on his jacket and give him a warm smile, before taking his hand and leaving out the door.

While the condition was better than it was in the past, due to the constant treatment after the year of near neglect they had as an infant, this was about as good as it was going to get. Dornskhy was not known for getting better with age, and needed constant treatment to be in any way manageable. Soon after the revolution however, the treatment would slowly get more and more rare, cheaper, and sometimes skipped, although, never for too long.

  They arrive home, and the boy walks to their room, closing and locking the door. It is the boys eleventh birthday today, yet they arrive home to no fanfare or cake, the revolution has left the temple with no money for things like that, and even less time. They were hardly able to afford the skin treatment this year, and they get the feeling they won't be able to in the future. The war only just started, and already they were hardly able to afford the care they needed. The boy pouts in their dim room, they lay on their bare bed, and wait for the day to end. They lay, nightmares swim around the young boys mind, like fish, gnawing at his every thought. The temple had far more responsibilities in this new, revolting world. New orphans, less donations, less doctors close by, and the hospitals and clinics were full. The boy lay, consumed with the thoughts that they only burdened the temple, and they would be far better off without him. 

The dornskhy was treated with the same quality one would need to allow for a reasonable quality of life for about a year after the second revolution had started, however, as more mouths to feed showed up, and less money was being donated, the treatment became a more stale, type of treatment. One that allowed the patient to live, but deteriorate over time, getting worse, and worse. 

  They awake to a wheezing noise, and a pain in their lungs. The peel themselves out of bed and go to the bathroom to cough up what they can only assume is whatever mucus has built up in their lungs last night. Them and their friends were out, celebrating his 16th birthday. Whatever they did is now a fog of drinking, yelling, and excitement. In their enjoyment, they must have forgotten to take their medication. They wobble back to their bedroom take their tray of medicine, change their bandages, and walk to their window to shut their blinds so the sun wont burn them as they sleep. Crawling back into bed, they lay there for what feels like hours, before falling asleep, into a deep slumber. His dreams are filled with memories of his friends, he really only had three, but they meant the world to him. They would often wheel him out to hang out with them at night, when the sun would not dare kiss his skin. Often, the rabble rousers would be simply talking, or getting some food during times where it was safe to, but they always looked out for their ugly little friend. Maybe they pity them, maybe they just enjoyed their conversations, but regardless, he did not feel like a burden around his friends, who, at least, always seemed happy to see them, and visited often.

They are 17 now, and air raid sirens begin to wail out their sinister scream. Its a bombing run. The temple is in a frenzy, making sure everyone is evacuating to the bunker. Geall'adh wakes up to the panic, and manages to stick his head up to see Tan'ja rush in to grab him, the only person who remembered he even existed. She runs to him, trying to pull Geall'adh out of bed by his arm, frantically, without thinking, she yanks his hand, causing the skin to rip violently. Both of them, screaming, in pain and fear. Tan'ja, runs out of the room, thinking Geall'adh, is a lost cause. Should he survive this bombing, she would be done with him. Tired of the discussing creature, she hoped the bombing would put him out of his misery. She snapped, just like the skin, and would soon be transferred to get away from the rodent.

The bombing, however, had yet to begin. Geall'adh got into his wheelchair, and tried to bandage his arm, the tear looked worse than it was, being surface level, as usual. Geall'adh tried to wheel out the door and get to a bunker, but it was to late, the bombs had started dropping. They sounded far away, but how long would they stay that far? Paralyzed with fear Geall'adh took shelter in the bathroom, shaking and crying. Tan'ja left him behind, while not surprising given she had been distant for a few years now, he had hoped her coming in to save him would be a turning point for them, a return to a time when they were more like family. It was never that simple however. An hour later, and the bombs sounded as if they were getting closer. Geall'adh waited, unable to move, or do anything but sit there, and hope they do not die. Suddenly the door burst opened, his friend Katatrovistski, quickly ran to them in tears, giving them a quick hug, and wheeling them quickly to the nearest bunker. 

They would reach the bunker, Katatrovistski would get an absolute ear full, being yelled at for running out to grab this "Walking dead Tajaran." Katatrovistski however, could not care less as both tajaran sat in the bunker, relieved to see each other once more. Tears running down both of their faces, overjoyed. 

From this point on, Geall'adh and Katatrovistski were almost inseparable. Spending as much time together as they could, until Geall'adh was told, "You and Katatrovistski are getting, a little two close he thinks... do not make him take this warning further." Katatrovistski would have to visit far less, going from everyday, to maybe once a week if they were lucky. The temple had taken the little bit of joy in his life, and dashed it. It felt as though, he had eaten hot coals. To make things worse, the areas around him, were being ravaged by the PRA even more than before. Near constant gunfire at times caused sleepless nights. Nights he laid thinking about how, if he was able bodied, he would run out there and do what he could to help his fellow Tajaran defend from the PRA. Who in his eyes, only wished for power to rule over the weak and nonconforming, twisting those they see as unworthy until they are "normal." His dreams would sometimes be consumed by nightmares of a world where they won, one where he could never be happy with his Katatrovistsk, and one that had no place for him, and his weakness.

  It is the first day in months he is well enough to leave the house. Katatrovistski, came by a good few weeks ago with medical supplies and ointments of quality he has not been able to afford in years. "think of it like... a birthday present, ok?" They said, handing Mor two boxes. One said, "19" on it, and contained all the medicines and a card, the other, was the one he was holding right now, sitting in his lap. "Deliver this gift for him if you can, its a big ask he knows, but its how he was able to afford the medicine, deliver this when you get back on your feet, the person there will give you even more medicines" Mor was right, weeks later, not only did he feel good enough to get up and deliver the gift, but now, he wanted to!

  With that "gift" delivered, it was done. Mor and Katatrovistski would soon have enough money to get a little shoebox of an apartment of their own instead of living with the temple, who grew more and more curious about where he was going after being bed ridden for so long. For a while now Mor would deliver "gifts." not always in boxes, or with pretty bows, but "gifts" none the less. Often trying to justify his actions through a mix of needing to survive, and knowing if he was not doing it, someone else would. He needed the treatment, or surely, he would die. As time went on, he learned of the reason he received treatment for his deliveries. He had been roped into a Raskariim scheme. One he, did not actually want out of. Truthfully, he felt good, being able to work for his own treatments for once, helping the DPRA obtain their supplies. Finally, he could be a worker, not a leech, and help fight for what he could believe in. He would do "easy" jobs at night, such as wheeling himself out to a location near a robbery, and blowing up some fireworks to help cover the noise of breaking glass, or bringing a box with information, inconspicuously to an office to assist the DPRA, after all, who would suspect a poor hairless creature in a wheelchair.  They could do so at night, when it was easy to go outside without the pain of the sun and receive what was needed because of it. First treatment, then freedom from the temple. Freedom to live with who he wanted to, and love, who he loved. 

  As the second revolution ended, so did their particular line of "gift" giving. As other, less stable parts of their circle of maggots fell and authorities found out about it, Katatrovistski was also found to be involved in these dealings. However, refused to let Mor take any blame, taking the full brunt of the twos fall. Katatrovistski, begged, and insisted that Mor could not be a part of the dealings, they were too weak, and would die in jail. The investigators either bought it or knew that Mor would in fact, die in prison, so went easy on them. Mor swore to them that they would find a better life for the two of them, and started looking for more stable jobs. Doing so was not without difficulty, even after the war at this time treatment for his condition was still scarce and more expensive. The cost of living, now alone, in their apartment would catch up to them. They sold their shoebox apartment, and bought a small electric carriage with the money.  They used their appearance as a victim of dornskhy, along with the many rituals they learned to "sell" people that they were gifted in psychic ways. Working as a psychic for years in their carriage, for people often at the end of their rope and desperate at the end of the war until their Katatrovistski would get back from jail, using what money they had saved up, as well as contacts they made, sold the carrage, and got two tickets for a shuttle to ODIN, left their life behind, moving to the ODIN to find work before they run out of money and make there own home where they would be accepted and practice their beliefs safer. Hopefully, one day they can return, perhaps when things are more safe and stable. Although, Mor fears he will not live to see that day.
 

 

My hope with this new, expanded backstory, is that I have explained how the dornskhy has gotten worse, Mor is now assisted by a wheelchair due to muscle atrophy from being bedridden. Ive added names to the important people in his life for readability. Added new paragraphs or blurbs to old ones to assist with conveying emotions better. I removed a paragraph that I feel did not fit as much in the new story. 
I did try to incorporate some more consequences of the war, such as the area around him being bombed and specified exactly how the temple was effected by the war, such as more kids to feed, less donations, ETC. Gave more reasons for why they would leave their old faith behind, along with their parental figure. Lastly I also hope I gave enough reason as for them being in their faction and how even they could help in the revolution, giving their life a little purpose.

[Alberyk]

Application accepted.