davetendo-deactivated20130802 asked: So, did you ever get to *see* the Motherland?

Well, we ain’t there yet. But we ain’t stopped tryin’ to get there, so I’ll let you know when it happens. 

Sometimes the four of us watch the stars together at night, an’ guess what we might find, when we finally do get there. Green fields, blue seas, bustlin’ cities full ‘a life. We don’t ask for much. Maybe a few voices besides our own, a quiet plot of land for an honest livin’.  

But Mother, I hope the Calamity didn’t reach that far. If the Bastion’s forgiveness, the Motherland is hope, and I don’t think I could take seein’ that kinda heartbreak in everyone else.



Caels don’t do drinkin’ songs. 

Nah, I’m just teasin’. We got all kinds of songs. The kind you get depends on a couple of things: the drink you’re enjoyin’, the company you keep, and the place you’re doin’ the drinkin’.

There’s songs for weddings and parties, sure, but those are for… well, mixed company. Proper company, anyways. Songs like Caelondia, My Home or Micia’s Blessin’ are ones you might hear when there’s little bubbly drinks bein’ served, the kind that takes twenty to get you even a little lightheaded. 

Now, a place like the Sole Regret is a whole different story. For one, there ain’t as much concern about bein’ proper. The people there were always lookin’ for a place to unwind, lose themselves, and losin’ yourself in a song ain’t hard at all. Ol’ Rondy kept his gramophone around for just that reason, turned it on now and then and got the whole room singin’. 

Drinkin’ songs didn’t even need the gramophone, just a few willin’ fellas and a few good drinks. You’d hear songs like Lifewine’s Thicker Than Water or Don’t Take My Leechade Away From Me. Rondy’s personal favorite was Dreadrum Heaven, but the song didn’t always matter so long as people were singin’ and drinkin’. 

Those who defended our fair city had a whole different collection of drinkin’ songs. 

It’s those songs that I don’t care to remember too much any more. There’s songs that sing of fightin’ and killin’ and dyin’ a noble death, but mostly it was songs full of hatred for the Ura—a sort of balm for tired and angry men. I sang ‘em too much in my fightin’ days, and wish I could just forget them now. Diggin’ Your Own Grave, or Mother’s Lookin’ the Other Way—angry and bitter and more than happy to wish a little bad luck on the Ura. 

These days, we don’t sing those songs, but I wish I’d never sung ‘em in the first place.

We write our own songs, now, singin’ them as off-key as we like, or as off-key as Zia will let us. Wishin’ ourselves as much happiness as we can hold, or a bountiful harvest, or safe travels and bright horizons. Zulf’s workin’ on one that invokes as many of the Gods as he can fit in:

Mother guide us, Pyth protect us, 

Yudrig make us brave and bold.

Olak’s fortunes, smile upon us,

Roathus keep our liquor cold.

To this day, I ain’t sure if he’s prayin’ or drinkin’. Maybe a bit of both.


((In which I realize I have no earthly idea what a drinking song sounds like, and probably didn’t do enough research to write my own, but did anyways. Or at least a verse of it. Hm.

I apologize for the lengthy space between answers, lovely followers. D: I’ve been distracted, and it took my brother asking what “that narrator guy’s name from that game you play” was to remind me that yes, I do indeed have something that I should be doing.))


invigoraide asked: What did you think when the Kid brought back Zulf?

Oh, Mother. What didn’t I think? 

The Kid did the right thing. There’s a part of me that knew that, even back then when the Bastion’s wounds were still fresh, when we were still recoverin’ from the backstabbin’ he’d given us. And even if that part of me knew it, all I wanted to do was make sure we’d never be hurt like that again. Couldn’t risk it, after all. Not after what little we’d scraped back together had nearly been scattered back to the winds.

But the Kid…

He was the better man. 

He gave Zulf another chance, despite everythin’ he’d done. 

What I thought when the Kid brought him back half-dead ain’t worth repeatin’. I knew the Kid had the right to make the choice he did—after all, he was the one who’d brought all of us together—but I didn’t see the point of it. 

I’m glad he did, though. 

Zulf ain’t so bad.


rookeerie asked: how exactly did you go about engineering the kid's calamity cannon?

One piece at a time. 

In all honesty, though, the Calamity Cannon ain’t exactly… legal. Not that a lot of what we worked on just before the Calamity was, though I suppose that’s all water under the bridge now. It was meant to be a test for the real thing, somethin’ small enough to go unnoticed but still big enough to put a hole in whatever we were aimin’ it at. All that to say it wasn’t just my work. I was part of the team that designed it, and I fixed it up after findin’ it floatin’ around, but I can’t take all the credit, even if I wanted to.

One thing about the Cannon—it ain’t a pretty weapon. It’s meant for raw destruction, and that’s all it accomplishes; it’s a mixture of explosive force and the Calamity itself. It ain’t merciful like some of the Kid’s weapons. You get hit right with the Cael Hammer, you’re either dead or out like a light—no sufferin’. 

The Cannon tears you apart, sowin’ the seeds of the Calamity inside you. 

You survive that blast, you get torn up by your own personal Calamity, burnin’ through your flesh and settin’ your blood on fire. There’s no survivin’ that, but there’s no mercy in it, either. 


caelondiasfinest-deactivated201 asked: What d'you think happened with the Pyth Orchard core?

Way I see it, just about anythin’ could’ve happened to that core. Gasfellas carried it off, maybe, or the Ura found it and took it back to the Terminals. Might even have been destroyed when the Calamity hit. Those cores might pack a punch, but they ain’t invincible, after all. 

All I know is, whatever happened to the core, it happened right under Pyth’s nose. I ain’t sayin’ He could’ve done much about it, considerin’ what happened to His orchard, but you’d think a big ol’ bull like Him could’ve protected at least those who ran to him for shelter durin’ the Calamity. 



Fixin’ up the Bastion.

There’s no shortage of things that need work, and there’s somethin’ about workin’ with my hands that makes a bad day a little brighter. Buildin’ things suits me, I suppose. 

And if that don’t work, well… I’ve got the entire Distillery at my disposal. 

The Calamity took all manner of things from us. 

Funny how it managed to give us somethin’ we never had before, though.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not sayin’ the Calamity was a good thing. Sure, the idea started with the best of intentions, but that don’t mean it stayed pure. When your plans for peace mean killin’ anyone standin’ in your way of findin’ it, well… that’s when you know you’ve gone awful wrong somewhere along the line.

I’m not defendin’ what we did. We found our peace, and the price weighs heavy on those of us alive to see it—some days more than others. Some days the ash in the air’s so thick you gotta tie a cloth ‘round your mouth and nose just to keep on breathin’. 

Some days, though, the skies’re clear and the sun’s bright, and there’s a peace of mind to be had that you never could find before the Calamity hit, that makes you wonder if the world’s tellin’ you it’s alright, you’re forgiven. 

Mother only knows if that’s true or not, I suppose. I certainly don’t.


((Joining in the Bastion fun! That is the hope, anyways. This is meant to be mostly an askblog but there is already a great ask-Rucks out there: so hopefully I will not step on any toes while doing this! I am open to RP-ing too, but I’m even more new to that, apologies!

ASK ME STUFF. I love writing in Rucks’ voice.))