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INTRODUCTION

Hiyah, mortals! I'm Jacob, 16-year-old artist and storyteller of sorts who REALLY wants to work in the animation industry one day. The site you see before you is every odd, awesome and in-between thing in my imagination, and I want to share it with you. Go ahead! Grab the snack food of your choosing, sit down and dive into the JC-Verse! Here's hoping you like it.

Thursday, May 12, 2016

#248: Bennorin and Mallarin: The Universal Forces

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     Alrighty. I've finally made it over the proverbial mountain of hardcore year-end testing. I've seen Civil War and had my spirits rejuvenated by Spidey's awesomeness. I am officially ready to get back into the groove of regular blogging. I would've gotten this post done earlier, but I had to wait on acquiring some paint to properly bespatter these characters into existence. Presenting Bennorin and Mallarin! The creation of the universe is a pretty open-ended deal. Witnesses are kinda MIA so far, and the closest we can come by are those dinosaur fellows. You can try getting something out of them, but they don't seem like the type to chat as of late. This is the same way with the JC-Verse's conception, and while there have been many proposed answers throughout the history of JC-Earth (my nifty new term for the JC-Verse's version of planet Earth, just so you know), the native folks of the Chauwá Starsystem have come up with a pretty eliquent genesis tale of their own. Here's an English translation. *ahem*
    There was a being by the name of Bennorin. He is known to the living as Good. Bennorin was simply a cloud amongst the stars of space: he was large, and jovial, and above all, passionate about creating. He had nothing but time on his hands, and tons of space, so naturally, as an artist, he used both as his mediums. Time and space. He also created something called matter, which he spawned into being in the forms of all sorts of things, including all shapes and sizes of creatures. Bennorin was happy, and with no other force more powerful than him to set boundaries upon him, he had total creative control. Until Mallarin showed up. Another large cloud, rigid, clawed, yet prideful in the way he glided through space. They spoke.

Who are you? said Bennorin.
Your ignorance humors me, scoffed Mallarin. I am Mallarin. But I am known to them as Evil.
You are known to the creatures?
I was created by the creatures, silly being, Mallarin said. I grew in their hearts like algae and, as time went on, consumed many of them. Their birth may be yours, Bennorin, but their lives are mine.
Bennorin said nothing.
Enough of that. I am here to fight you. To challenge you. I am strong, and healthy now from feeding on your weakened ones. I am ready for complete control!
Bennorin continued to hover in silence. He nodded.
Okay then. We may fight. But not with physical blows. With souls. Let us fight for the souls of the creatures. They are my young, but now you say they are yours. Let us see who is right.

. . . And with that, they began. They fought, and fought, and fought, an endless dual for the living and their souls. Why has such a determined Mallarin not won to this day? This is because Mallarin thinks he can win; his goal is to do just this. He is prideful, and hungry for control. Bennorin already has control, and has since the beginning. It is barely anything to him. He doesn't even wish to win. He wishes to protect. To keep his creatures safe from darkness. He loves his creations, and this is why he fights Mallarin, and will for as long as time goes on.

Phew. I can't speak on how accurate this popular little extraterrestrial fable is to how the JC-Verse really got its start, but it's definitely my personal favorite explanation so far. PS, special thanks to my all-knowing, planet-hopping compadre, ol' #100 himself Doug for lending me a short English rendition of the tale from his personal inventory of intergalactic tchotchkes. In case anyone was wondering, he's doing dandy these days. Taking up an anti-gravity tai chi class, doing Sunday bowling with his buddies from the 4th Dimension, etc. Over a century old and still in fine fettle, gotta love the guy.

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