Ororon

Born with an "incomplete" soul, Ororon is a member of the Nightwind Augurs and bears the ancient name of "Bidii." He lives a humble life outside the tribal grounds, tending his vegetables and phlogistonbees. Not even the most patient of patients is as stubborn as he is. Once he has an idea, it's impossible to change his mind. However, I don't have to worry about him, as he has his own way of thinking. I believe he knows how to survive well in this chaotic world. ~ Ifá says while writing a medical report. On a hot afternoon, a young man closes the door of his house and says goodbye to the vegetable sprouts in his garden:

"Have a nice afternoon. I have to go out for a bit, but I hope you'll be even greener when I get back. Cheer up."

Eventually, he returns with a friend and, as he passes by the large tree at the entrance to his house, he kindly warns him:

"Be careful not to trip. Piñonzote's roots have been growing like crazy lately."

Natlan is a mysterious land, and the good doctor Ifá, who has always lived here, no longer finds the things Ororon does strange. Ifá remembers that, once, a pack alpaca named "Piñoncita" crashed into this tree, which is perhaps why Ororon called it "Piñonzote."

"But it's not even a pine tree..." Ifá thought, but he didn't get around to asking Ororon.

As a mysterious land, Natlan welcomes both those who have had an unobstructed path and those who have had a more complicated one. Everything has a cause, consequences, and, ultimately, a purpose. Therefore, the imperfect, the cunning, the stubborn... all of them will burn, and their flames will converge with the splendid fire of souls.

Ororon has pale skin, dark blue hair, and heterochromatic eyes, respectively colored pink and cyan. Ororon is dressed in ripped gray jeans, large flared boots, a black shirt, and a jacket matching the color of his jeans. He has black tattoos on both arms resembling the shape of stylized orbs and a blue tattoo below his cyan eye. A veil in dark blue and black covers part of his hair, and a pair of gloves on both of his hands. Ororon has black wings behind him and animal ears on his head, similar to those of a bat. He has fangs.

Ororon is a young man in the Nightwind Augurs. Similar to his mentor Citlalí, Ororon is a unique outlier in that he is considered eccentric; not only did he pick up some of Citlalí's traits, but he also prefers to live alone, away from tribal lands.

In his youth, Ororon was abandoned by his biological parents for unknown reasons, though it was later revealed that he has a unique constitution of his own: he has a "damaged" soul, which in the tribe is considered to bring bad vibes and misfortune. As such, Ororon was ostrated despite being raised by the tribe, leaving him questioning his life's purpose. The tribe originally intended to sacrifice him to bring lost souls to the Night Kingdom, but the ritual failed, leaving him with the desire to sacrifice his life to help others. This resulted in him agreeing to Capitano's plan.

When the soul of Khaenri'ah resident Godofredo attempted to fight him for control of his body in order to serve Capitano, Ororon realized that his life held more meaning than he had originally thought and resolved to make a more significant impact. This resulted in the Wayob of his tribe being recognized and acknowledging that his initial support of Capitano's plan was flawed.

The Nightwind Augurs' territory lies in the heart of Natlan, west of the Sacredfire Arena. Viewed from a distance, it appears to be a cloud of purple mist flashing through the valleys. Members of the Nightwind Augurs also tend to give a similar impression: distant, mysterious, and cryptic. They are rarely seen outside the tribe, unless on a medical or divination mission.

Ororon is an exception, though that doesn't mean he enjoys blending in with the crowd. He simply finds great satisfaction in exploring the wildest lands, delving into the depths of deserted places very few humans have ever reached. Not even ten Tatankasaurs would be able to drag him back.

That very few humans have ever reached such heights goes beyond even the most literal sense. This is because all those who have exchanged a few words with him soon realize that following his inferences is no easy task, but a true test of talent and effort.

However, nothing could be further from Ororon's intention. In reality, the reason he does or says many things is quite simple and not at all indecipherable.

An example of this would be the following: Once, a kind-hearted passerby came across his dwelling in the wild and asked him with a worried expression: “Are you here alone because you’ve had a disagreement with your tribe members? Do you need help?”

"Of course not".

Ororon, who was doing some gardening work, paused for a moment, stood up, and pointed at the surrounding phlogistonbees, as he replied seriously, “It’s just that these little ones like it here, and I’m more than happy to accompany them.”

Due to the existence of ancient names, the people of Natlan place great importance on the matter of names in general. Ororon has also been influenced by the environment in which he grew up, so he finds satisfaction in naming all kinds of things, whether they breathe or not. Some names stay with their owners for a lifetime: flowers eventually wither, vases shatter... and their names keep them company for a short or long life. Even if it only lasted a minute, it would still hold great value.

However, other names mutate midstream, not because Ororon changes his mind, but because the name's owner might have undergone certain changes and, naturally, would need a new name to reflect them. For example, if a dinosaur became more plump as it grew, it couldn't still be called "Papelín," right?

Although Ororon doesn't care too much about the implicit meaning of names either, because, for starters, the names he chooses are usually very straightforward and can be understood after just one look. Furthermore, Ororon gives names so that such objects can be more easily referred to. They have no other intention, nor are they specifically designed to carry any sentimentality. A name is something valuable, neutral, that provides equality and facilitates communication.

Ororon even sees his own name this way. The only difference is that he doesn't know its meaning.

Ororon's name was written on the inside of the cloth he was wrapped in when he was found. He researched and read certain ancient tomes, and even asked several elders, but no one knew the name, much less its meaning.

Could it have been that Grandma was already old and had misread the blurred letters on the fabric?

Ororon could only mull over that question in silence, because he knew that if he asked his grandmother, he would get a good slap on the head.

The inhabitants of the Nightwind Augurs have a predilection for recording history, stories, and legends on cloth scrolls. Unlike written historical records, using cloth and embroidered patterns loses many details, so the abstract and conceptual take on greater importance, accompanied by the interpretation and emotions of the individual artist. In other words, the level of creativity required to complete such a task is very high. The embroiderer must consider the main theme, the context, what to emphasize, and what to simplify.

The reason for such characteristics does not seem too complex, but, for Ororon, it was a source of confusion.

For starters, he didn't like the idea of ​​having to differentiate between what was primary and what was secondary. Characters and background, buildings and nature—for him, they were all equally important, so they should require a proportional distribution of the embroidery material. Even though he had to depict a lizard's leg growing from the ground, Ororon liked to show dew on its leaves. The same was true of the wrinkles on the faces of the tribe's grandfathers and grandmothers, which gave life to the image.

This led to a second problem: his patience had limits when it came to making cloth scrolls. To be fair, he was forced to depict the large tree by the door and the silhouettes beneath its canopy with the same number of layers and strokes. As a result, he ended up simplifying everything he embroidered on the cloth to such an extent that the final result couldn't be considered a cloth scroll, but rather a simple towel with various patterns.

Certain skills are very difficult to teach, especially those that require considerable artistic talent. Considering that the boy already far surpassed the others' abilities in other fields, such as spirit perception and ley line understanding, the tribe's teachers stopped insisting that Ororon refine the art and began treating it as an extracurricular class, letting the boy do a bit of his own thing.

Ororon took full advantage of this, ultimately opting not to use even cloth and thread, but instead opted for paper and a brush. After all, if certain things only required a few strokes, why go to so much trouble and pain to embroider them? Furthermore, graffiti was also a talent of the Nightwind Augurs, so when people saw Ororon painting, they would often think it was some ancient mystical glyph imbued with mysterious blessings, and their faces would show great reverence.

But in reality, Ororon barely drew anything of particular use. Of all his works, the one that held the most meaning and the one he put the most care into was the sign for the Ifá clinic. His lines were fluid and the colors vivid, and what's more...

"I feel so sorry when a dinosaur injures its wing and has to be bandaged, so I put a lot more effort into painting it. Even though it takes up a small part of the image, I used the same amount of ink as when I painted you."

“Okay.” Ifá observed Ororon’s resolute gaze and the calm he radiated. “I’ve never seen myself portrayed so vividly. Thank you very much, dear friend.”

Those who show kindness will eventually receive it in return. Precisely because Ororon loved all living beings in the natural world, the people and animals of the place also returned the same treatment. Funny, did you buy that? That wasn't really the reason. Humans treated Ororon mostly friendly, but the reason had little to do with his love of the natural world.

One of the reasons was compassion: he had been an abandoned baby rescued from the mountain, without any family, and would have been impossible to survive on his own. Offering him help, giving him something to eat or a piece of clothing wasn't a problem, and the satisfaction that a healthy growing child could bring far outweighed any inconvenience, so why not do it?

Another reason was the favorable opinion people had of him: Ororon was obedient (most of the time), (usually) honest, quiet, intelligent, made an effort to learn, and never showed any interest in mischief like climbing on rooftops and removing tiles. Even without a teacher, he taught himself how to grow crops and raise phlogistonbees, after which he became completely self-sufficient. The fact that such a young boy's character (usually) didn't cause problems for others endeared him to those around him.

The last reason, though also the least prevalent, was guilt. Because he was born with a fragmented soul, the tribe had just welcomed him into their midst, and they attempted to take advantage of this unique characteristic to test a method for saving Natlan's ley lines. Fortunately or unfortunately, the sacrifice didn't work, avoiding an unresolvable ethical dilemma, but some elders were marked by an intense sense of guilt.

When Ororon grew up, he naturally found out about this matter. Hiding it would have been pointless; in fact, it would have brought with it a multitude of problems. Ororon never harbored any resentment toward such an act; one might even say he was quite pleased to discover it, for, however harsh the reality, it was preferable to living a lie.

He was always very clear about the reasons why people cared for him. Whether it was compassion, affection, guilt, or a combination of all of these, he was willing to accept it unconditionally.

According to Ifá, social relationships between humans were extremely complicated, and it wasn't worth wasting energy guessing about their intentions; instead, it was better to focus solely on their conclusions and actions. Such a strategy was much less stressful. Although everyone took good care of him, Ororon also showed them the same kindness in return. Yes, things can be that simple.

“Thank goodness I'm a veterinarian,” Ifá said, gesturing. “Imagine if I were a doctor and had to deal with patients... Things would be much more complicated...”

Apparently, Ifá continued listing strange cases he might encounter with the patients, but Ororon's mind began to wander. Could the strangest case possibly compare to his situation?

Speaking of which... looking at things from a certain angle, I'm also a patient, and one who can't be treated, Ororon thought. Besides, since my ears aren't like other people's, maybe that means I'm a sick animal. Hmm... Come to think of it, are humans animals?

Reaching this point in his thoughts, Ororon decided to interrupt the endless Ifá discourse and asked: “If I were sick, should I go see a veterinarian?”

Ifá stopped talking and stared at him for a long time.

“...You haven't heard anything I've been saying, have you?”

“Don't try to avoid questions you don't want to answer by putting me in an awkward situation. That won't help you.”

If you have the time and patience to go through the ancient tomes and scrolls of the Nightwind Augurs, you'll be amazed at the vast range of topics they cover. For example, who would want to read an Inazuma light novel series that ended up being discontinued centuries ago?

There's also that record of applied predictions and analysis of 3,600 forms of burnt paper ash... Who would bother with something like that?

The origin of such things doesn't matter, but the sad thing is that, to this day, it is Ororon who is in charge of reading and caring for them.

At first, he only intended to investigate whether there was any reference in historical records to the appearance of someone with a fragmented soul, but then words like ley lines, the Lady of the Night, and spirits began to appear in droves. Soon, volumes of literature and fantasy novels followed, until the endless documents piled up like peanuts, which he could never finish. Ororon then became a sort of unpaid librarian, completely immersed in an ocean of knowledge that had no relevance to him.

"Actually, I'm not that curious either," Ororon thought, exhausted. But, on second thought, he didn't have anything else to do either. Besides, this long dedication to reading was bearing fruit.

So far, the most appropriate explanation seemed to come unexpectedly from a well-worn, collected volume of tales about mystical creatures. In it, he read that during the ancient Archon War, some deities, seeking victory, attempted to combine the blood of beasts with humans to create warriors beyond the capabilities of ordinary humans. The experiments were terminated after multiple failures, but a few defective specimens have managed to survive even to the present day.

“It sounds plausible, but it’s just a collection of stories,” thought Ororon.

“...And yet, being only a collection of stories, it seems plausible”... he thought again.

From a pragmatic standpoint, he could only rely on a twenty-something mind to think, and he wouldn't be able to uncover the truth no matter how much he thought about it. Sometimes, people just had to admit and accept that they were incapable of doing something or didn't know enough, although there was also the option of making up a story just for the hell of it.

In the end, since Ororon didn't want to read any further, he spent a few minutes thinking of a concise and simple excuse.

It was like a puzzle: when you tried to put together two pieces that didn't fit together, there would be some distortion, a collision, and even some damage. And one fine day, twenty-something years ago, he had been that damaged piece that had had the misfortune of falling onto a cold stone.

One night when the weather was mild, Ororon sat in the Fatui camp, listening silently to their stories. Actually, he was the only one who remained silent. Well, he and Capitano, who joined them later. The warriors didn't hold back and spoke freely about any topic, since they knew he was an ally of their commander, and even though they were just chatting about trivial matters and laughing, they weren't inhibited by his presence. After asking him his age, one of them even handed him a clear drink called ognev.

He tasted it with the curiosity of an explorer and then finished it in one gulp, as the soldiers had done, and afterward he received a resounding ovation. Somehow, he felt much better.

The warriors chatted beside him about trivial matters concerning those close to them, and sometimes they broke into familiar songs. Ororon didn't speak; he simply sat there, watching the fire or gazing up at the heavens. The sky was so far from Earth that the tiny stars looked like white seeds. The mist was also made of seeds... "Starmist" was a good name, Ororon thought for no reason.

He later learned that not everyone among the Fatui belonged to a team like that. He had met the elite team led by the first of the Eleven, and they were all veterans of a certain age and experience. Furthermore, their behavior and ethics were impeccable. However, aside from that squad, many other members of the Fatui were actually even younger than him, and hearing about the things they did, he couldn't help but frown.

But on that windless night when the stars could be clearly seen, he hadn't yet been troubled by that knowledge. He had simply allowed himself to forget his worries for a moment, indulging in good company and a glass of a strange-tasting liquor. A night like that would never happen again. He had that feeling even then, like when he wanted another drink and Capitano insisted he not. Even though he didn't feel any different after the first glass and seemed to tolerate alcohol very well, it was better not to dwell on certain things.

Although, Ororon was evidently not an obedient person. Later, he secretly sought out the soldier who had given him the liquor and asked him how to distill ognev. If he could make the liquor that reflected the night sky himself, he would name the first bottle "Starmist."

”. Snack box They weren't snacks for people, but for wild animals. He arranged and classified the different types of snacks in boxes with compartments according to each animal's tastes. Most animals were quite intelligent, and according to Ororon's observations, the difference between humans and animals wasn't as great as many people believed. Humans could live peacefully precisely because they had inherited the wisdom of their ancestors, but those animals that found a way to survive in hostile environments seemed even more incredible to him.

Furthermore, after living with humans, many animals had learned to take the shortcut of asking them for help. Sometimes, Ororon would find himself walking distracted when one would suddenly land on his back. If he reacted slowly, his cloak would end up with a couple of new scratches from some flying sciurid.

Ororon firmly believed that, among animals, there was also a fixed communication network. Animal messengers were perhaps even more incredible than humans, for not only did they have to travel the heavens and the earth, but they also needed to know the languages ​​of the different animals... Ororon couldn't help but smile as he imagined that in every animal language in Natlan there would be the phrase: "Ororon carries delicious food in his pockets!"

So, although he knew plenty of ways to drive away uninvited intruders, Ororon never used them. Wherever he went, the animals always considered him one of them, and not all of them enjoyed such honor.

Of course, each animal had its own character, so their way of saying thank you could be very different.

For example, Ahau, Kinich's dragon, behaved very strangely. He always displayed a superior attitude, but in reality, he couldn't seem to separate himself from the humans. Ororon would often ignore his words and shake the food in front of him while watching Ahau's eyes follow it behind his sunglasses (Those points of light are his eyes, right?). If Ahau didn't say something kind at the right time, Kinich would deprive him of his freedom to speak before he could obtain the food.

On the contrary, Cacucu had the gift of winning people over with his words. Although he didn't know many human expressions, what he said was always filled with emotion: "You're the best, buddy!"

. Vision The first night he dreamed of a freezing cave. He turned and saw that behind him was the entrance to the cavern, through which the moonlight streamed like a shaft of white sand. Not a single speck of light penetrated beyond the depths of the cave, from which came a kind of murmur, as if a jet-black mist dwelled within. Drops of water fell from the ceiling onto his outstretched hands, and they seemed somewhat sticky.

He could feel the moisture, and with it, the nutrients in the air. He nodded to himself, as if telling himself that life could grow there.

At that moment, he woke up. It hadn't seemed like a good dream, but it wasn't a nightmare either. He'd felt cold, perhaps because the temperature had dropped during the night? He told himself he'd cover himself with a thick duvet the next day.

As a result, on the second night he dreamed of a hot wind.

All he could see were columns of pale stone and scarlet-edged clouds. Since there were clouds, he must be high above. But he saw no sun, nor any fire, and yet the air was surprisingly stifling, as if it would char his very soul.

I didn't know where her body was, but somehow I knew this was the end. I just had to take one more step, just one more step...

He woke up unexpectedly. People usually liked warmth, and he liked Natlan's llamas, but the temperature of that dream had filled him with terror. It hadn't been a good decision, he thought, shaking his head, not quite sure whether he was denying the dream or reality. It turned out that covering himself with a pack alpaca wool blanket during that season was a bit of an exaggeration.

Finally, on the third night, he dreamed of a pitch-black universe and a labyrinth of mirrors. On that surface, which unfolded and completely surrounded him, he found himself face to face with multiple Ororones.

Then he heard an imaginary voice say, “When your shadow is reflected enough times, maybe you can form a complete self!” The tone didn’t sound overly friendly, but it wasn’t hostile either. Just the mockery of an observer with nothing at stake.

But how could a reflection create something that didn't exist in the first place? Besides, what was moving through the mirrors in that space of darkness?

Somewhat irritated, an emotion not very common for him, Ororon shouted: “In order to recompose a shadow, there must be light first!”

Apparently, people can hear sounds in their dreams, as Ororon eventually woke up from his own impulse. He didn't try again to find the reason for the dream, because he could no longer use the excuse of the temperature or the comforter. Even after he regained complete lucidity, he could still feel a hint of anger and a certain heaviness he wasn't used to.

But what he had on top of him couldn't have been lighter. Pressed against his chest was what many referred to as the gaze of the gods.