comment: |
  Sid (Wild independent judge), starts trapped

  {{{
  Reach some resolution with Max, doesn't know what Max deserves
  Escape
  Do something about the nature of Siggorts; make the Place to Come a place they fit better?
    Make Siggorts not isn'ts in the real world or the Place to Come?
      Answer some question about the nature of Siggorts?
  }}}

  Theoretically supposed to be Spartacus, but doesn't care?

  http://imago.hitherby.com/2006/04/hitherby-annual-2-maundy-thursday-ii/
  http://imago.hitherby.com/2006/06/the-island-of-the-centipede-the-isnt-ii/

  * Personal plot with Max
  ** Various interactions over the course of game
  ** Get each other's secrets
  * Some plot to make the world/humanity and Siggorts less
    incompatible?
  * Needs more actual stuff to do
  * Looking for other friends?  Could be similar to the
    [[BlueEssentialHunter]]
  ** Excrucians want to recruit
  ** Looking for a new role in life, Dauntless-style, so talking to
     various people about where to go ([[MrsSchiff]], the [[Excrucians]])
  * Wants particular sorts of plays
  ** Plays about dangerous creatures doing positive things

  * Question: "How can you forgive him?"
  * Answer1: "Because he can never deserve it."
  * Answer2: "Because I \emph{should} be locked from the world." (or something angry?)
claimedby: Xavid
name: \mf{Sid}{Syd}
player: Alex Dehnert
gender: m
stuff: |
  [[Wild]], 
  [[SidInnocent]], [[SidKnives]], [[NatureOfTheWorld]],
  [[SidFake]]
contacts: |
  \Max{Your friend, but the one who sealed you away here.}
  \MrsSchiff{Dramaturge with the \Actors{}.  You wonder if \they still
    remembers you.}
  \AirshipDude{Another actor you recognize.  Used to... build props?}
  \BlueEssentialHunter{A fellow judge who seems to really like non-human
    creatures and doens't get hung up about you being a siggort}
  \Saruman{Seems obsessed with non-human creatures in a less healthy way.}
body: |
  \bigquote{There’s a siggort, down a few streets and over.

  It has one hundred hands and the parts of it move like clockwork
  gears. It is in constant orbit around itself and it is subject to a
  chaos of form. Wings spread behind it, metal wings, folding and
  unfolding. They reflect the sunlight so that it seems like the air
  is a riot of feathers. Its central portion is bulbous and smooth,
  roly-poly, round, like Santa’s stomach or God’s eye. Its legs are
  long. It has a wheel of knives. Its hands open and close and a
  singing rises from it like the singing of seraphim. It is
  vivisecting passersby. It is leaving their corpses for investigators
  to discover.}{"Are Siggorts?"}

  It still happens, every morning.  You wake up to the brilliant
  golden glow of the sun.  But you're not looking at it.  You feel
  the presence of \Max{\first{}, however far away \he may be. The
  beauty of a world with \Max{} in it, the joy of \his very
  existence fills you.  You are brimming with it, and you say, "How
  beautiful."}

  And then the memory hits you.  You are trapped here, away from \Max{}.
  If that were the whole of it, that would be okay.  It would be tragic,
  but you could be content, knowing \Max{} was safe and free.  But that's
  hardly the whole of it.  You are trapped here, not by chance or arrogance,
  but due to the betrayal of your one true friend.  The one you waited
  countless millennia for.  \Max{}.

  To most, it might seem you've been in the Place Without Recourse a
  long time, but such people know nothing of eternity.  You first
  awoke to consciousness before the dawning of the world.  You were
  vast, you were there, you were lonely. Your wheel of knives would
  cut anyone who tried to touch you or talk to you.  Nor did you
  feel at ease with others of your kind, the other siggorts, with
  their mindless innocent vivisections and their complete ignorance
  of sports.  But you knew that one day, things would be different.
  That innumerable ages after, Max would be born, and you would no
  longer be alone.  You would have a friend, a true friend, and life
  would be right and beautiful.  That's what kept you going through
  the waiting and the loneliness.

  You never really figured out what makes you different, what gave you
  this anticipation of Max, why you've never vivisected anyone.  You
  see, it's a siggort's nature.  Siggorts vivisect people, innocently.
  It's not a problem.  It's not like they do it maliciously, or to
  cause pain.  It's just something that happens, like a heart attack.
  But you, you've never vivisected anyone.  You still think it might 
  happen some day.  You'll see someone, and it'll look like they have an
  impossibly beautiful jewel inside of them, and you cut them apart
  and dissect them looking for it, but you'll never find it.  At least,
  that's what you expect it would be like.  But that's never happened.
  Not to you.

  You tend to be self-conscious when the lack of vivisection comes
  up; it makes you feel defective, like you're not a proper siggort.
  Max didn't feel the same way, when you told him about it.  "That's
  sick, what siggorts do," he said.

  At first, you didn't think much would come of it.  Sure, Max was
  more distant for a while.  He didn't call on you as much.  He made
  awkward jokes about it, sometimes.  But you thought things could
  still be as before.

  But they weren't, for Max.  Max couldn't help but blame you for
  your nature, perhaps.  Or perhaps the possibility of you becoming
  someone he cannot love was so horrid that it drove all other
  considerations from his mind, that he was willing to give up
  everything else to prevent it.  Whatever shape he twisted his mind
  into, he did what he did with full intention.

  He conspired with the nature of the world to immure you in a place
  without recourse.

  He trapped you here, and in some fey madness he expected you to be
  glad of it.  "It's all right now," he said.  "You'll never kill
  anybody.  Here we are severed from substance but, Sid, we are safe
  from doing harm or becoming anathema to ourselves."  To him, it
  is the perfect solution, the necessary solution.  To you, it is
  nothing less than naked betrayal.

  All you can say is, "How could you imagine that you could do
  such things and have them be okay?"  And with that question, you
  see darkness cloud his eyes, the energy and liveliness flee from
  him.  Before that point, though Ii Ma had whispered him a question
  already, he had been an Is.  He had been part of the world,
  remaining in this Place of his own volition.  But now, as he
  understands, he is cut off from the world, and he no longer has
  within him a path outwards.  The emptiness envelops him entirely.
  He says, "How beautiful."

  And to you, it is watching a loved one die.

  Your question is the question that keeps Max here.  Well, not
  quite.  Max says it's "How can you enter the land of guilt and the
  distant glebes of suffering and the leeds of the kells of the
  knowledge of your sins, and walk away unscathed?"  But it amounts
  to the same thing.  It is a trap he has carefully laid for
  himself.  At first you laugh.  You can't help it.  It's the most
  painful //and// the funniest thing that's ever happened to you.
  But then you sigh.  You relax, just a bit.  And you say, gently,
  "Walk in like you own the place."

  And with that, Max is gone, is free, and you are here.  He cannot
  summon you from this place.  Or he does not.  And so, you remain.
  Many here constantly test the boundaries of this place, fight
  against the nature of the world.  You see little point.  You know
  there can be no escape for you, not truly, until you answer the
  question Ii Ma whispered to you as Max called you here:

  **"How can you forgive him?"**

  And that.  That is a question you have no answer to.

  But now the wind has changed.  Something external has broken the
  hold of Ii Ma.  The sun is gone.  The woglies have begun to devour
  what integrity remains.

  And Max is back.  Somehow, he is back, with the \Actors{}, to which
  you used to belong.  Was the answer you gave him incomplete?  Or has
  something else conspired to sever him from himself again?  You can't
  tell.  And you don't know how you can even talk to him.  You didn't
  wait eons for Max just to give up easily.  But what he did is beyond
  any consideration of redemption.

  And they're going to be putting on shows again.  Just like old times.
  Except, it really can't be the same, ever again.  Perhaps there is no
  place in this world for siggorts.  You used to look to the shows for
  answers.  Perhaps you can get them to put on shows about the nature
  of siggorts, about how someone with a dangerous nature can function
  in society, that'd help you figure all this out.

  Or maybe, if you break free of this place, you'll be able to to
  find a new place in the world for yourself.  Things will never go
  back to how they used to be.  Perhaps you will find someone who
  will appreciate you as a siggort, not be ashamed of your nature.
  It's not your fault you are who you are.  You're just a \Sid{}.

  But now, the wind has changed.  You're going to have to figure things
  out.  Now that it seems like there may be paths leading outward, after
  all, you need to decide which future is yours.

  == Note ==

  You made yourself a body out of clay, so most of the time you look
  human, without the hundred hands and the metal wings.  Though you do
  have a wheel of knives and a feather in your hair.

  == Goals ==

  * Figure out what to do about \Max.  \Max{\They needs to \emph{understand}
  \their{} crime against you.  \They{} owes you a few good fights.  And
  you're not going to consider anything else until \they admits \they was
  wrong.}
  * Escape the Place Without Recourse by answering your question.
  * Figure out what your place in the world should be, once you get
  back to it.
  * Figure out what you really think of the nature of siggorts.  Encourage
  Shows that will help address this issue.
username:
badgedesc: |-
  <<parent.this />>
  A \mf{Man}{Woman} Followed by a Floating Wheel of Knives
number: <<parent.this />>
castinghint: |
  Your character is \name, a judge in the Place without Recourse. You're
  a Siggort, a creature that sometimes innocently vivisects people,
  though you've never actually vivisected anyone yourself.  Your best
  friend, \Max{\name, exiled you to this place for that reason, but now \they's
  back here again.}  You have a body made of clay and a feather in your
  hair and a wheel of knives.  If you unfolded yourself, you'd be all
  steel and blades and cables.  But you don't tend to do that.

  Costuming:\\
  Aside from the wheel of knives and a feather in your
  hair, you tend to wear fringed cowboy vests or modern casual
  clothing.

  Suggested reading:\\
  http://imago.hitherby.com/2006/04/are-siggorts-ii/\\
  http://imago.hitherby.com/2006/04/hitherby-annual-2-maundy-thursday-ii/
wrapup: <<parent.this />>
CR: <<parent.this />>
password: <<parent.this />>
status: Draft
answers: |
  [[SidAnswer1]], [[SidAnswer2]]
email: adehnert@mit.edu
