Aniere, welcome to the Black Tower!

[Shadar Alantin]

Agreed that does not sound pleasent.

 

Does taint have a physical manisfestation? Becuase i dont think you could wear it.

[Leyrann]

You know nothing.

[Leyrann]

The Taint is everywhere.

[Leyrann]

Bathe in it.

[Wren of the Brown]

*long, drawn out rude snickering from the back of the classroom which turns into giddy, maniacal hyperventilating laughter*

 

 

Pffft. Taint. *snicker* Heeeh.

 

Taint.

 

*excuses self from thread*

[Panchi]

[Shadar Alantin]

The Taint is everywhere.

That is true but is it physically present or just wrapping the pattern all around us? See not so silly a question.

[Aniere]

I can't believe I'm about to say this, but if you can eat Taint, wouldn't that be a physical manifestation? And, seeing as it comes in pounds, maybe you can wear it. But what does it look like? A faint shimmer?

[Mrs. Cindy Gill]

it's a particle and a wave.

[Wren of the Brown]

In our D20 WoT game, we described accumulated Taint as a shimmering oily slick, similar to the effect you see when it rains in a parking lot and the oil and water don't mix. We developed a ruleset for filtering Taint out of saidar and into physical reality and, with some effort, my channeler was able to lob small Taint grenades. None of this was cannon, of course, but I went and found a garrish house ornament at Hobby Lobby that was green and oil brown in alternating bands and I would sit in game and juggle and twirl it in one hand.

 

In my headcannon, saidar threads are shimmering silver and gossamer, delicate as a spider thread but as complicated and detailed as a mandala. Saidar threads were more like pulsing lines of twine, crackling and buzzing with wild frenetic boyish energy. But, since it is a corrupted power, it is interlaced with dripping globs of blackness that function on their own accord - think Venom's bodysuit.

 

For an easier metaphor, saidin is cashmere or alpaca yarn and saidar is bulky acrylic interlaced with yucky bits of nylon and other unpleasant synthetics. Accumulated Taint would be a poorly-made crochet blanket made of cheap acrylic thread in dark, earthy colors. Soft, warm and comforting, certainly, but unsettling and just "off."

[Wren of the Brown]

And there is my serious contribution for the day. I'm exhausted. *goes back to bed and curls up in his nest of plague blankets*

[Wren of the Brown]

I like to think Compulsion weaves are the metaphysical equivalent of regrettable office Christmas party photos of you in that terrible mohair reindeer and snowflake sweater.

 

The secretary, who is not known for her sympathy, keeps all of these photos in a secured cabinet labeled "employee profiles, performance reviews, old business."

[Mrs. Cindy Gill]

I'd

liken the taint to cat hair and perhaps hair balls and barf on the blankets, if we're talking textiles.

 

but I've always seen the taint as liquid as it's usually described in them books.

 

and

most specifically I think it's described as say Keith Richards might describe a "good sick"

[Wren of the Brown]

And it smells like a wet feral dog who tangled with a skunk in the recent past.

[Mrs. Cindy Gill]

I like to think Compulsion weaves are the metaphysical equivalent of regrettable office Christmas party photos of you in that terrible mohair reindeer and snowflake sweater.

 

The secretary, who is not known for her sympathy, keeps all of these photos in a secured cabinet labeled "employee profiles, performance reviews, old business."

im

just not a sewing person...

 

I see compulsion as what you get with the proper use of reward, punishment, negative and positive reinforcement. but way after the training has burned the line into your brain so you just act as a limb of the

compeller or

something.

 

I think blackmail has too many layers of choice.

 

maybe more like a

marionette say?

[Mrs. Cindy Gill]

And it smells like a wet feral dog who tangled with a skunk in the recent past.

yes, with rotten tomato juice at the periphery.

[Mrs. Cindy Gill]

have you ever cleaned a grease trap?

 

open grave sort of thing.

[Mrs. Cindy Gill]

I believe we

may have assaulted our own

minds.

 

I need some green drink now.

[Wren of the Brown]

Blackmail is too gentle a word, yes. But I am trying to describe the sensation of being required to act in a way that violates agency and yet you or your soul or whatever you want to call that thinking thing inside your bag of flawed mortality - that is both witness and author to the deed and both struggle for dominance. Meanwhile, there is only abject terror, utter degradation and pervasive helplessness. You are aware that you are out of your mind and you know this is a thing done to you for the pleasure of your corruptor.

 

That is the sensation I am trying to describe.

 

Think the ending scene of Being John Malkovich where the guy is trapped forever in someone else's mind.

[Wren of the Brown]

have you ever cleaned a grease trap?

 

open grave sort of thing.

I have cleaned worse. :)

[Mrs. Cindy Gill]

Blackmail is too gentle a word, yes. But I am trying to describe the sensation of being required to act in a way that violates agency and yet you or your soul or whatever you want to call that thinking thing inside your bag of flawed mortality - that is both witness and author to the deed and both struggle for dominance. Meanwhile, there is only abject terror, utter degradation and pervasive helplessness. You are aware that you are out of your mind and you know this is a thing done to you for the pleasure of your corruptor.

 

That is the sensation I am trying to describe.

 

Think the ending scene of Being John Malkovich where the guy is trapped forever in someone else's mind.

that's kind of how i think of work :/

[Mrs. Cindy Gill]

 

have you ever cleaned a grease trap?

 

open grave sort of thing.

I have cleaned worse. :)

then you win... I'd prefer the skunk to the grease trap any day, though being right next to one an just about knock you dead.

 

I won't ask

[Wren of the Brown]

I have a few stories I don't retell.

 

But this particular grease trap was a drain in a machine shop and they dumped hydraulic oil, blade coolant and other industrial by-products. It was also filled with tiny scrap metal shavings that bit and cut even through the elbow length gloves. This drain had clogged and I was more or less ankle deep in low-level toxic slag.

 

And because I was the thinnest and tallest, my arms were perfect sewer snakes.

[Wren of the Brown]

This was, of course, the day I learned how to say Go Fug Yerself.

[Mrs. Cindy Gill]

i think I've seen that on dirty jobs...

 

still, was it worse than rotting flesh?

 

oh dear I think

it's litter box day :(