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Post by Gandigan on Sept 3, 2023 7:00:25 GMT -5
Deep within the Whistling Cave system sat Gandigan, the Namekian. The Mazoku. He was alone in an unnamed cavern; his body seized by a meditative state. He couldn’t say when he had first arrived, but he knew that the time to leave was approaching. Everyday for the past month Gandigan had made the trip to this same cave to think on things to come, yet as his burdens grew he found himself staying for longer and longer, until he was devoting nearly all of his free time attempting to corral his thoughts.
At first he came here just to try and find his memories, which he achieved through the help of a Mazoku warlock, but after that things became more complicated. Everyday he found himself asking questions that no one, certainly not him, knew the answer to. Every plan he attempted to put together fell to pieces in his hands, and every path he stared down answered back with smoke and mirrors. But looking back was even worse; to look back was to admit defeat.
The Gandigan of old had been weak and cowardly. He could not control his people, and so he sought the assistance of a Demon to win his battles for him. That Demon was called Amon, who took control of Gandigan at the first opportunity. Once he was inside the Namekian, Gandigan was powerless to resist the terrible things Amon asked of him… or so he thought. Was he powerless? Or did he simply choose to give up and roll over? Another question without a good answer.
When Usumidori asked for his aid in her attack he offered it willingly and readily. Why? Because his own well being had been more important to him than the safety of Namek. When Amon took control of him and fought against his friends Gandigan found himself released, but not through any victory of his own. The parasite choose to let go in the search of a more powerful host, and once again the Mazoku owed his life to those around him; was he more thankful or ashamed?
Then when Nero and the others had healed him, Gandigan choose to again run away to Konats, where he believed the Kashvar could free him of his nightmares. Despite the pleas and threats from his friends he left, yet something changed in him while on Konats. The voices of Nero, Mollusc and especially Marimba ran over and over again in his head, until finally he snapped. He couldn’t take it anymore; he didn’t want to run away from his fears any more. He choose to keep his memories, and maybe learn from them too.
But to what end? To live the life of a simple farmer back home on Namek? If only. No, Gandigan couldn’t settle for that. It wasn’t out of pride that he demanded more however; it was out of responsibility. His power was something to be feared through the galaxy, and it would have been cowardly to hide from duty, when so many others weaker than him were ready and willing to step up. But he’d be the first admit that things got off on the wrong foot.
Gandigan returned home; returned to the Outer Plait, the place of his birth. He had always had a mixed affinity to the Mazoku. Despite being quite recognizably one of them, he didn’t have a strong connection to their kind. No tribe seemed to want to claim him, leaving him feeling like just as much an outsider as he had while on the other side of the planet. He choose to answer this rejection in kind, believing that it was the Mazoku were in the wrong.
He formed a plan with others to try and force the Mazoku into adapting. He was going to drag them kicking and screaming if need be, yet he found himself creating even more resentment. Treses believed in his plan, and he owed a lot to the Mazoku tribesman for having faith in him, yet he soon came to learn that most were not in agreement with Treses’s philosophy. Most of the Mazoku looked at him with disgust, and those few clans who agreed with his idea were only doing so out of necessity.
The Ubric and the Tapete were small and often preyed upon by those around them. They agreed to move into Gandigan’s city for protection; not because they believed in him or his ideals. He found that out himself when mingling among the tribes, soon learning that many where planning terrible things to the Dragon and Warrior clansmen that Gandigan wanted to settle beside them. Treses had proved that a high level of integration was possible, and could even thrive. But on the scale that Gandigan was thinking of? He couldn’t guarantee the safety of all.
Speaking with Marimba furthered enlightened Gandigan on the grave error of his ways. Over time he came to realize that the reason why he had felt like so much of an outsider among the Mazoku was actually incredibly obvious: he was an outsider – plain and simple. He had never lived among them; had never tried to engage with them in any meaningful way, or attempt to learn their culture or their history. They had no reason to accept him, as he had made no attempts to be one of them.
And here he was demanding that they tear down their past selves and accept a new way of life… for what? Who was he helping? When Amon had taken him over, it had been the Mazoku who suffered the brunt of his wraith. To help them was his penance, but there was something deeper there: he wanted to belong. He wanted a home, and people he could call brothers. Who would call him brother after he stormed their walls and forced them to adapt to a way of life they never asked for? No one. He’d be the most hated Namekian within all of the Outer Plait.
It was he who needed to adapt. He needed to learn how the Mazoku lived their lives, and only then could he ever hope to uplift them. Only then could he ever hope to be accepted. Marimba had been his first guide on this new journey. Without his guidance Gandigan would probably still be stuck on the path of folly. It had been he who taught Gandigan of the Mazoku King; a title which had been vacant for as long as anyone knew of. No one in that time had held the power required to bring the Mazoku together, leaving them fractured and weak.
Each Mazoku tribe was like a fleeting arrow, easily deflected by any old piece of armor. But to unite them all would be like a storm of arrows thick enough to color the sky black, and dense enough to drown a man no matter his steel. He had wanted to rid the Mazoku of their identity, when it was that very thing that made them strong. Saying it out loud made it seem so obvious, yet to a man blind and deaf nothing is clear. Marimba had opened his mind and shown him the way forward; now all he had to do was take the first step.
The Warriors and the Dragons had accepted the leadership of Guru and had thrived under him. Although nominally holding leadership of the Mazoku as well, not every Guru had been able to successfully earn the respect of the Outer Plait. Nero had tried in his own way, and Gandigan believed that although he wasn’t a Namekian himself he may have been more successful than some who came before him. But for others it wasn’t enough; there were Mazoku who would never accept him as their leader. The Mazoku were ruled by Kings with the power to earn their crowns and the determination to reach out and take it.
Nero could try harder he supposed, but that might only make things worse. Some would accept him, others would not, and that would lead to more infighting. The Mazoku needed someone that all, or at the very least the majority could accept. In his mind, a King who worked alongside Guru for all of Namek was better than one man trying to rule over those who would never accept him… if such a thing was even possible. The first time in history Marimba had said, if he could actually achieve unity with Guru. As if the weight on his shoulders wasn’t great enough.
Marimba knew so much about this that Gandigan insisted he should pursue the role instead, but it was Gandigan who had the strength. And it wasn’t just for show: in the time that Gandigan wasn’t meditating he was training, making sure he could best any potential challengers. Although he was the one making a claim to the throne he knew that others would contest him. Strength came first; that was the Mazoku way. If he wanted the support of the elders than he would need to prove himself capable of defending himself as his people.
But it went further than that. Marimba had made mention of a common cause to unite the clans, citing Arcose, Hera and even the Tuffles as threats. But had he really meant threats, or targets? The strength of a united Mazoku was something to be feared, and maybe even tested… what would happen if the will of the people required war? Expansion? He was doing this to help them; would that goal take him off world? Would he be the Mazoku King who led his people into off-world triumph? Or would those excursions end in failure?
He wasn’t just fighting for himself any more; he was fighting for the future of a people forever teetering on the edge of destruction. On Plant he had discovered the terrible power that Super Saiyans possessed. He found out personally what it felt like to be defeated by one thanks to Lottus, who despite attempting to kill Gandigan had ended up teaching him a lot. With his new found form the Namekian had let the power get to his head, but the Saiyan had smacked some of the pride out of him. He realized just how much more growing he had to do if he wanted to protect anyone from anything.
Others would be coming. Even after cutting the deal with Lottus he felt like there was just as good a chance the Saiyan would be painting his target on Namek’s back rather than defending them. A destroyer he had called himself; what sort of man was that? Someone who lived for nothing but death? How could Gandigan rightfully align himself with Lottus, knowing what sort of damage he would destined to do?
Because he had no choice. He had to do everything in his power to protect Namek, which in this circumstance included allying with a mad-man. His first act as King would be to declare war on another planet. How would his people respond to that? With jubilance? With fear? Marimba and Apexle would stand behind him; of that much he was sure. Cabasa would be up for the fight as well, and perhaps Jango if the money was right. But Nero? Mollusc? They wouldn’t approve. He would have to oversee that endeavour without them.
Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. He had not even been crowned King, yet he was already making plans for his future. The time for that would come later, whether it be as King or not. For now Gandigan’s meditation would come to an end. The Namekian rose to his feet, turning and exiting the cave leading back out into the Maima Fields. There were several different places he could have chosen to make his claim, and the first that came to mind was the great obsidian disc in the First Scar. It seemed fitting, but he knew there was another location that better suited him.
Gandigan took the air, heading in the direction of the old castle. It was where he had been born in a sense, as Amon first took his body in the castle. What happened before that was still patchy for Gandigan, but who he was as a person started there. He felt it best that the next step in his life should start there too. Passing through the Outer Plait he could feel the Mazoku below, and wondered how much they knew of what was to come. Gandigan’s plans were public knowledge now, so most would have an idea of what was to come.
The sight of the castle itself evoked strong memories in Gandigan, though there was a mixture of good and bad. He recalled of course his take over at the hands of Amon, but there was also his assault with the android Rho, as well as his baptism at the hands of Marimba. Plenty of good and bad had happened here over the years, and Gandigan had played a part in a lot of it. But now he had a new vision in mind for castle; one which had changed many times over since first returning to Namek, and may end up changing again in the future.
Initially Gandigan had planned to construct a new city build around the castle, with the structure serving as some sort of town hall. In his brazenness he even went so far as to say that it should be even larger than Dend, and should be populated with tribesmen from the Dragon, Warrior and Mazoku clans who would be stripped of those denominations. It seemed an idealistic dream, and that’s exactly what it was: fantasy. Over time he had come to see just how foolish he was, and had made many alterations to the initial design.
Now he had settled on something he might end up being happy with: Kyotei Fortress. The castle would be redesigned, turning it into something more akin to a fortress than a castle. Black stone walls, twice as thick as what it had before, with watch towers on every corner. The castle needed to exude strength, as well as provide himself with ample protection from outsider attacks. As well as being the seat of his monarchy, the surrounding area would be fortified as well, and would act as a trading and information hub for those passing through.
Situated in the heart of the Outer Plait, Kyotei would serve as a stop for Mazoku traveling from one village to another, which he hoped would increase after the construction of new roads. Mazoku elders and chieftains who had disputes with each other would be summoned to Kyotei, which would act as neutral territory. Here they could openly discuss and finally settle their issues, with Gandigan there to step in if needed. Powerful warriors of each tribe would be recruited to settle there and act as a permanent garrison.
The idea to build a grand city was scrapped when Gandigan realized the weaknesses it suffered from, being an easy target to anyone who wanted to cripple the Mazoku people. With dozens and dozens of villages spread out all across the Outer Plait, an enemy would have to attack all to achieve any sort of victory. Even if Kyotei was to fall, Gandigan would pack up shop and move somewhere else. He didn’t know if his plan was perfect, but he was sure it was better than any that had come before, and that it aligned with the natives better.
As Gandigan approached the castle entrance he knelt, and offered a small prayer to Porunga. “Great Dragon Porunga, can you hear me? I’ve not always been a frequent visitor to your shrine in recent times, but that is only because of the many direction I have been pulled in recently. I won’t recite my plans to you, as I’m sure you already know everything I have to say. You’ve seen me through my darkest times, yet my most difficult battles still lay ahead of me. I hope that you will continue to watch over me, as I will continue to serve your will.”
Gandigan returned to his feet, turning away from the castle and staring into the Outer Plait. There was nothing left to do other than to start this. Using his telepathy, he reached out to all of those necessary to continue. “To my friends, and to the Elders of the Mazoku: here me now. I am Gandigan, of the Mazoku. I call upon you to do what you have not done in centuries: crown a new King. My power is worthy, and I accept any challenges to my claim. If you wish to test me, or if you wish to best me then come to me at the old castle and I will prove myself to you all.”
At first he came here just to try and find his memories, which he achieved through the help of a Mazoku warlock, but after that things became more complicated. Everyday he found himself asking questions that no one, certainly not him, knew the answer to. Every plan he attempted to put together fell to pieces in his hands, and every path he stared down answered back with smoke and mirrors. But looking back was even worse; to look back was to admit defeat.
The Gandigan of old had been weak and cowardly. He could not control his people, and so he sought the assistance of a Demon to win his battles for him. That Demon was called Amon, who took control of Gandigan at the first opportunity. Once he was inside the Namekian, Gandigan was powerless to resist the terrible things Amon asked of him… or so he thought. Was he powerless? Or did he simply choose to give up and roll over? Another question without a good answer.
When Usumidori asked for his aid in her attack he offered it willingly and readily. Why? Because his own well being had been more important to him than the safety of Namek. When Amon took control of him and fought against his friends Gandigan found himself released, but not through any victory of his own. The parasite choose to let go in the search of a more powerful host, and once again the Mazoku owed his life to those around him; was he more thankful or ashamed?
Then when Nero and the others had healed him, Gandigan choose to again run away to Konats, where he believed the Kashvar could free him of his nightmares. Despite the pleas and threats from his friends he left, yet something changed in him while on Konats. The voices of Nero, Mollusc and especially Marimba ran over and over again in his head, until finally he snapped. He couldn’t take it anymore; he didn’t want to run away from his fears any more. He choose to keep his memories, and maybe learn from them too.
But to what end? To live the life of a simple farmer back home on Namek? If only. No, Gandigan couldn’t settle for that. It wasn’t out of pride that he demanded more however; it was out of responsibility. His power was something to be feared through the galaxy, and it would have been cowardly to hide from duty, when so many others weaker than him were ready and willing to step up. But he’d be the first admit that things got off on the wrong foot.
Gandigan returned home; returned to the Outer Plait, the place of his birth. He had always had a mixed affinity to the Mazoku. Despite being quite recognizably one of them, he didn’t have a strong connection to their kind. No tribe seemed to want to claim him, leaving him feeling like just as much an outsider as he had while on the other side of the planet. He choose to answer this rejection in kind, believing that it was the Mazoku were in the wrong.
He formed a plan with others to try and force the Mazoku into adapting. He was going to drag them kicking and screaming if need be, yet he found himself creating even more resentment. Treses believed in his plan, and he owed a lot to the Mazoku tribesman for having faith in him, yet he soon came to learn that most were not in agreement with Treses’s philosophy. Most of the Mazoku looked at him with disgust, and those few clans who agreed with his idea were only doing so out of necessity.
The Ubric and the Tapete were small and often preyed upon by those around them. They agreed to move into Gandigan’s city for protection; not because they believed in him or his ideals. He found that out himself when mingling among the tribes, soon learning that many where planning terrible things to the Dragon and Warrior clansmen that Gandigan wanted to settle beside them. Treses had proved that a high level of integration was possible, and could even thrive. But on the scale that Gandigan was thinking of? He couldn’t guarantee the safety of all.
Speaking with Marimba furthered enlightened Gandigan on the grave error of his ways. Over time he came to realize that the reason why he had felt like so much of an outsider among the Mazoku was actually incredibly obvious: he was an outsider – plain and simple. He had never lived among them; had never tried to engage with them in any meaningful way, or attempt to learn their culture or their history. They had no reason to accept him, as he had made no attempts to be one of them.
And here he was demanding that they tear down their past selves and accept a new way of life… for what? Who was he helping? When Amon had taken him over, it had been the Mazoku who suffered the brunt of his wraith. To help them was his penance, but there was something deeper there: he wanted to belong. He wanted a home, and people he could call brothers. Who would call him brother after he stormed their walls and forced them to adapt to a way of life they never asked for? No one. He’d be the most hated Namekian within all of the Outer Plait.
It was he who needed to adapt. He needed to learn how the Mazoku lived their lives, and only then could he ever hope to uplift them. Only then could he ever hope to be accepted. Marimba had been his first guide on this new journey. Without his guidance Gandigan would probably still be stuck on the path of folly. It had been he who taught Gandigan of the Mazoku King; a title which had been vacant for as long as anyone knew of. No one in that time had held the power required to bring the Mazoku together, leaving them fractured and weak.
Each Mazoku tribe was like a fleeting arrow, easily deflected by any old piece of armor. But to unite them all would be like a storm of arrows thick enough to color the sky black, and dense enough to drown a man no matter his steel. He had wanted to rid the Mazoku of their identity, when it was that very thing that made them strong. Saying it out loud made it seem so obvious, yet to a man blind and deaf nothing is clear. Marimba had opened his mind and shown him the way forward; now all he had to do was take the first step.
The Warriors and the Dragons had accepted the leadership of Guru and had thrived under him. Although nominally holding leadership of the Mazoku as well, not every Guru had been able to successfully earn the respect of the Outer Plait. Nero had tried in his own way, and Gandigan believed that although he wasn’t a Namekian himself he may have been more successful than some who came before him. But for others it wasn’t enough; there were Mazoku who would never accept him as their leader. The Mazoku were ruled by Kings with the power to earn their crowns and the determination to reach out and take it.
Nero could try harder he supposed, but that might only make things worse. Some would accept him, others would not, and that would lead to more infighting. The Mazoku needed someone that all, or at the very least the majority could accept. In his mind, a King who worked alongside Guru for all of Namek was better than one man trying to rule over those who would never accept him… if such a thing was even possible. The first time in history Marimba had said, if he could actually achieve unity with Guru. As if the weight on his shoulders wasn’t great enough.
Marimba knew so much about this that Gandigan insisted he should pursue the role instead, but it was Gandigan who had the strength. And it wasn’t just for show: in the time that Gandigan wasn’t meditating he was training, making sure he could best any potential challengers. Although he was the one making a claim to the throne he knew that others would contest him. Strength came first; that was the Mazoku way. If he wanted the support of the elders than he would need to prove himself capable of defending himself as his people.
But it went further than that. Marimba had made mention of a common cause to unite the clans, citing Arcose, Hera and even the Tuffles as threats. But had he really meant threats, or targets? The strength of a united Mazoku was something to be feared, and maybe even tested… what would happen if the will of the people required war? Expansion? He was doing this to help them; would that goal take him off world? Would he be the Mazoku King who led his people into off-world triumph? Or would those excursions end in failure?
He wasn’t just fighting for himself any more; he was fighting for the future of a people forever teetering on the edge of destruction. On Plant he had discovered the terrible power that Super Saiyans possessed. He found out personally what it felt like to be defeated by one thanks to Lottus, who despite attempting to kill Gandigan had ended up teaching him a lot. With his new found form the Namekian had let the power get to his head, but the Saiyan had smacked some of the pride out of him. He realized just how much more growing he had to do if he wanted to protect anyone from anything.
Others would be coming. Even after cutting the deal with Lottus he felt like there was just as good a chance the Saiyan would be painting his target on Namek’s back rather than defending them. A destroyer he had called himself; what sort of man was that? Someone who lived for nothing but death? How could Gandigan rightfully align himself with Lottus, knowing what sort of damage he would destined to do?
Because he had no choice. He had to do everything in his power to protect Namek, which in this circumstance included allying with a mad-man. His first act as King would be to declare war on another planet. How would his people respond to that? With jubilance? With fear? Marimba and Apexle would stand behind him; of that much he was sure. Cabasa would be up for the fight as well, and perhaps Jango if the money was right. But Nero? Mollusc? They wouldn’t approve. He would have to oversee that endeavour without them.
Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. He had not even been crowned King, yet he was already making plans for his future. The time for that would come later, whether it be as King or not. For now Gandigan’s meditation would come to an end. The Namekian rose to his feet, turning and exiting the cave leading back out into the Maima Fields. There were several different places he could have chosen to make his claim, and the first that came to mind was the great obsidian disc in the First Scar. It seemed fitting, but he knew there was another location that better suited him.
Gandigan took the air, heading in the direction of the old castle. It was where he had been born in a sense, as Amon first took his body in the castle. What happened before that was still patchy for Gandigan, but who he was as a person started there. He felt it best that the next step in his life should start there too. Passing through the Outer Plait he could feel the Mazoku below, and wondered how much they knew of what was to come. Gandigan’s plans were public knowledge now, so most would have an idea of what was to come.
The sight of the castle itself evoked strong memories in Gandigan, though there was a mixture of good and bad. He recalled of course his take over at the hands of Amon, but there was also his assault with the android Rho, as well as his baptism at the hands of Marimba. Plenty of good and bad had happened here over the years, and Gandigan had played a part in a lot of it. But now he had a new vision in mind for castle; one which had changed many times over since first returning to Namek, and may end up changing again in the future.
Initially Gandigan had planned to construct a new city build around the castle, with the structure serving as some sort of town hall. In his brazenness he even went so far as to say that it should be even larger than Dend, and should be populated with tribesmen from the Dragon, Warrior and Mazoku clans who would be stripped of those denominations. It seemed an idealistic dream, and that’s exactly what it was: fantasy. Over time he had come to see just how foolish he was, and had made many alterations to the initial design.
Now he had settled on something he might end up being happy with: Kyotei Fortress. The castle would be redesigned, turning it into something more akin to a fortress than a castle. Black stone walls, twice as thick as what it had before, with watch towers on every corner. The castle needed to exude strength, as well as provide himself with ample protection from outsider attacks. As well as being the seat of his monarchy, the surrounding area would be fortified as well, and would act as a trading and information hub for those passing through.
Situated in the heart of the Outer Plait, Kyotei would serve as a stop for Mazoku traveling from one village to another, which he hoped would increase after the construction of new roads. Mazoku elders and chieftains who had disputes with each other would be summoned to Kyotei, which would act as neutral territory. Here they could openly discuss and finally settle their issues, with Gandigan there to step in if needed. Powerful warriors of each tribe would be recruited to settle there and act as a permanent garrison.
The idea to build a grand city was scrapped when Gandigan realized the weaknesses it suffered from, being an easy target to anyone who wanted to cripple the Mazoku people. With dozens and dozens of villages spread out all across the Outer Plait, an enemy would have to attack all to achieve any sort of victory. Even if Kyotei was to fall, Gandigan would pack up shop and move somewhere else. He didn’t know if his plan was perfect, but he was sure it was better than any that had come before, and that it aligned with the natives better.
As Gandigan approached the castle entrance he knelt, and offered a small prayer to Porunga. “Great Dragon Porunga, can you hear me? I’ve not always been a frequent visitor to your shrine in recent times, but that is only because of the many direction I have been pulled in recently. I won’t recite my plans to you, as I’m sure you already know everything I have to say. You’ve seen me through my darkest times, yet my most difficult battles still lay ahead of me. I hope that you will continue to watch over me, as I will continue to serve your will.”
Gandigan returned to his feet, turning away from the castle and staring into the Outer Plait. There was nothing left to do other than to start this. Using his telepathy, he reached out to all of those necessary to continue. “To my friends, and to the Elders of the Mazoku: here me now. I am Gandigan, of the Mazoku. I call upon you to do what you have not done in centuries: crown a new King. My power is worthy, and I accept any challenges to my claim. If you wish to test me, or if you wish to best me then come to me at the old castle and I will prove myself to you all.”
PL: 135,000
Telepathy - This Message is targeted towards all of those who are in the Northern Scar, as well as the specific players of Nero , Marimba , Apexle , @cabasa , Gira , Mollusc , @jango , Treses, The Million Year Scar
KP: 6/6 - MP: 0/6 - HP: 000/250
Resources: Regeneration, Improved Constitution, Vampiric
WC: 2831
TWC: 2831
Telepathy - This Message is targeted towards all of those who are in the Northern Scar, as well as the specific players of Nero , Marimba , Apexle , @cabasa , Gira , Mollusc , @jango , Treses, The Million Year Scar
KP: 6/6 - MP: 0/6 - HP: 000/250
Resources: Regeneration, Improved Constitution, Vampiric
WC: 2831
TWC: 2831
