#Short Xiphos

[ripstefano]

The Ancient Greeks: Armies of Classical Greece, 5th and 4th Centuries BC

The ancient Greek hoplite armor was a formidable ensemble designed for protection and mobility in battle. At its core was the linothorax, a cuirass made of layers of linen or leather, often reinforced with bronze scales or plates, providing a balance between flexibility and defense. Hoplites wore a bronze korinthian helmet, characterized by its full-face coverage with slits for the eyes and mouth, adorned with a crest for intimidation. Greaves and additional bronze armor protected the legs and shins, while a large, round shield called an aspis or hoplon was essential for the phalanx formation, both as a defensive tool and a weapon. The hoplite carried a long spear (doru) and a short sword (xiphos) for close combat, making them highly effective heavy infantry. The combination of materials, craftsmanship, and design reflected the Greek emphasis on unity, discipline, and the martial prowess of their city-states.

From "The Ancient Greeks: Armies of Classical Greece, 5th and 4th Centuries BC"

[thepleasuregoblin]

Its insane how in old d&d they kind of designed it to be playable from bronze age to late medieval so the weapon and armor options cover the whole swath, right? So the naming got a bit weird in places, such as using "short sword" as a catch-all for stuff like the gladius, the xiphos, and even the cinqueda. Perhaps the most damage done by this is the "longsword," which is a term that doesn't have a specific definition in most eras, and after the Iron Age was typically used to refer to a two-hander. The "viking longsword" was a longer but still mostly one-handed sword in the iron age, and the "longsword" in d&d was meant to represent both this and the arming sword or knightly sword which saw wide use in the medieval era.

So anyway because this funny new type of wargame consolidated some terminology and ended up become a massive cultural phenomenon, entire generations use the word "longsword" completely incorrectly in like every piece of media

[zelphin124]

Beyond the Bound Pages: Homer

Chapter 6: So You Smell?

I was going to change her name, but this interaction implanted in my head as canon, so here we are. We finally get to meet Odysseus crew, wooooo~ Masterpost Chapter 5 <--> Chapter 7

Chilling whispers spun upon the air as it tickled Saga's neck, provoking a shiver she couldn't suppress. It was a strange experience—her fresh-cut short hair gave no quarter against the biting cold, something with which she had yet to adapt. Her teeth set hard, her hand falling away with reluctance from the shattered points of her cut. All the decisions over recent days appeared to be war, every one laden with the magnitude of things yet to unfold.

Her fingers briefly lingered on the leather grip of her xiphos before securing it at her belt. The blade's weight was comforting, a cord to purpose in this strange place. Around her, the improvised campsite spoke of its need—scattered coals, the acrid scent of burned wood blending with the saltiness of the sea air, and the damp scratch of the chalyms she pulled from the ground.

Inside the tent, she found the book, its weathered cover a sensory recollection of her previous life. This has to guide me, surely. Holding it fast under her chalyms, Saga's gaze landed on the bow beside the corner. Having tested its draw power ahead of time, she'd deemed it less than perfect, but with practice, it would serve. The quiver on her shoulder felt strange—another hindrance that she hoped would bring its payoff.

Her mind was snagged on the shield she'd had to leave behind, its heaviness measuring cost against feasibility. Without it, she was vulnerable, but she knew her limits. The pieces of bronze armor she'd retrieved spoke in the same language of compromise. The abbreviated chest plate and guards slowed her down; every step was slower and more laborious than the last. But, she reasoned, they were better than bare exposure. This was war, not some getaway gang task in the backstreets of Italy. Her fingers brushed against the curved brim of a bronze helmet, its elaborate embossing tempting her with beauty. Saga growled, muttering, "Not a chance," and threw it away. She had her pride.

The sea's siren call grew stronger, calling to her westward. Her boots crunched gravel and sand, each step measured, each breath more strained in the growing cold. The wave slap was more even now, a rhythm that fell in line with her growing determination. Questions flew through her brain, filling up her mind with unwanted visitors. Was this the right ocean? Could she ever navigate these waters? But the moment her eyes fell on the strip of coastline where a vessel had once been, her dreads receded. The answers she sought seemed to reveal themselves in the absence of that vessel, the loss of which was a whispered path she had to follow.

She didn't need to follow when her eyes found him—a lone man standing at the water's edge, his back to her, commanding attention easily. His chestnut hair curled and blew in the rough wind, every lock catching the sunlight like burnished bronze. It framed shoulders wide and unyielding, chiseled with strength that appeared to transcend the boundaries of mortality.

At the very first look, he was a tall and dramatic figure—a man who overshadowed the men who had bled and perished before him. There was a ferocious strength to his shape, the way his furled chest swelled with each deep breath, the slow tremble of his arms as he stood rigid. His legs, planted far into the sand, stood firm under the body of a warrior who carried not just weapons but the weight of fate itself.

Unlike the limp bodies of the dead army, he possessed an energy that set him apart from any Greek soldier Saga had ever encountered. His body told a story for itself—one of victories claimed, gods defied, and a legacy that breathed fear into the hearts of his foes before they even ventured to cross paths with him. His armor was much nicer than the rest, in better quality and shape, signifying his importance. It shone as if it was made by Hephaestus himself. 

Saga's boots betrayed her advance, the sand grinding against them loud enough to be picked up by the wind. The warrior shifted, tilting his head in a manner that caused him to appear as though he'd heard her hours before the noise reached him. When he moved, his gaze landed on her like a physical impact—a cross of seriousness and savagery that caught her off-beat.

His golden-sun-lit face was as if hewn from marble but animated with life. Forceful eyebrows framed eyes that had the weight of countless wars etched in their invisible lines below the surface. His lips, finely chiseled but taut, possessed a secret control, as if once words poured from them like fire but now smoldered silently.

His complexion was as white as a dawn that had been kissed by the sun, but it had a strength that was at odds with vulnerability. There was joy there too—a quasi-incongruous glow in his face, the smile of a man who had experienced greatness and had endured it well. But it was fleeting, overcast by a shadow that descended on his face like a cloud. Anger, hot and unyielding, serpentine with animosity coiled beneath the surface—a betrayal so intimate it left an unhealed rift in his heart.

Saga could not but be awed and afraid of his presence. He was no man; he was a living legend, and to stand before him was to stand at the edge of a storm. Saga recognized at once who he was. She didn't need an introduction after the books that she had read. So he hasn't left the waterside after talking with his mother… The book presented you as marvelous, but they clearly have fallen short of your might. "Captain Achilles," Saga began, clearing her throat before she bowed to him in deference. "I—"

"Go, soldier." The warrior stood with his back turned, rage burning in his heart as he looked out across the sea. "My heart is darkened and my patience is worn. I have no desire for words nor for the company of wandering spirits."

Saga paused before standing up straight again. Despite the logical speeches she'd read and seen, his tone caught her off guard by how casually he spoke. She scratched at her neck. At least this disguise works. How do I…? "Excuse me for going on, captain. I am confused—perplexed, so to speak. I cannot locate where my commander has left nor where his camp is."

Achilles’ gaze bore into her, sharp and probing as if peeling back layers of her very soul. He took deliberate steps toward her. “Which god claims your loyalty, soldier?” he asked again, his voice was low and unwavering. His fingers shifted subtly on the hilt of his great iron sword, a gesture both deliberate and threatening, as though daring her to give the wrong answer.

Saga hesitated, the weight of his question settling on her like a boulder against her breasts. She could not afford to make a mistake here—not with him. Her eyes flashed to the sand beneath her feet, and her mind wrestled to remember Hermes' domains. What was he the god of? Guiding the dead? Is it even wise to claim him as someone I serve? "Hermes," she stated, her voice steady but soft. "God of… guiding the deceased to the underworld." It was a guess, but the only one she could make. 

Achilles tilted his head, his mask of a face, though the storm in his eyes grew darker. "A convenient decision," he said, his voice dripping with skepticism. "Travelers carry news—and secrets. Tell me, are you with the kings of Troy?"

Saga's breath caught; her fists clenched on either side of her. Her heart pounded, and she shook her head anxiously. "No, Captain Achilles," she answered quickly, trying to cover the tension with a cloak of determination. "I owe allegiance elsewhere. I am simply seeking to find my commander's camp." Her words were a balance of truth and falsity, but she felt the force of his gaze. Please believe me, I don’t wish you any harm; I just need directions. 

He regarded her silently, his fingers clenching infinitesimally tighter on the sword. There was no misunderstanding the tension in his posture, the clench of his jaw as though wrestling with words unsaid. She had read about his rage and his pride; she knew of his strength and his authority, but the man before her was more nuanced than anything put to paper could express. He exuded danger, yes, but beneath the cold metal of his attitude was something else—a spark of curiosity, of warmth, buried deep. A moment of silence was shared as she gazed at the legend. 

"Your armor," Achilles finally spoke, nodding slightly toward her worn-out protection. "Not one of the servants of Odysseus would wear. He is cunning, indeed, but his soldiers are not so… tattered."

Saga straightened her spine, heat rising to her cheeks. She opened her mouth to respond, but he continued, stepping closer, his imposing frame blocking out the sea’s horizon. “You’re not like them,” he said quietly, his voice dipping into something softer. “Or is it merely a disguise?” His lips curved faintly, not quite a smile but something just as unsettling. “I’ve seen enough betrayal to know it often wears an innocent face.”

The term betrayal created a new spark in his eyes—anger that boiled in them like a seething fire that could not be extinguished. Saga swallowed. "I don't wish to lie to you," she spoke hesitantly, tilting her chin up so that their eyes could meet. "I am lost, as I've told you. I am seeking Odysseus' camp. That's all."

Achilles stood gazing at her for another moment, his face impassive. Then, with a faintly perceptible sigh, he turned back to the sea. "Be swift in finding your commander," he said, his voice cold once more. "And pray your path does not cross mine again." He raised his hand and pointed toward the enclosed camp toward the left before turning away from her once more. 

Saga couldn’t deem Achilles as a cold figure who disliked her; there was enough interaction to deem otherwise. However, remembering the recent matter at hand, the soldier seemed to have not taken lightly that his favorite plaything was stripped from him. It made her blood boil at the thought, but there was nothing she could do. It would be one thing to ask him to guide her and another to ask him to fight again. She couldn’t, she reasoned. She did not know the man well enough to try and tell him to lift his sword for the victory of his comrades. As far as she knew, he just asked the gods to make the Greeks lose the war. She chose the smart action, bowed, and left him, reasoning that there would be another time to converse with him when he was in a calmer state of mind.

Arriving at the camp was a far more disorienting experience than Saga had imagined. It teemed with movement, noise, and raw power. Men's groans pierced the circle of metal on metal, a din of battle preparation. Soldiers sharpened blades, the rhythm of metal on stone merging into the far-off chorus of voices yelling commands.

The cries of the animals pierced through the din, shrill and persistent—a murmured shout of goats and oxen bound near the tents, to be slain or consumed. The fire roared fiercely on pyre torches, their dancing flames casting lurid shadows across the expanses of piled-up canvas tents. The smell of smoke and perspiration and cooked meat clung heavy and close, blended with the earthy odor of trampled ground under the innumerable feet that paced and waited.

Saga walked among them, her footsteps deliberate and cautious. Is this… state they are in normal? Do men live like this in all wars? It’s disgusting. She wrinkled her nose at the horrible smells and interesting sights. The air seemed to get hotter and thicker as she did so. She couldn't help but feel she was intruding; she was, but the warriors barely registered her presence. Their focus was consumed by tasks—some lounging outside their tents with nut bowls and fruit, enjoying fleeting moments of peaceful relaxation, while others sprinted back and forth between racks of weapons, shouting orders as if the foe already stood on their threshold.

There was a rhythm to the anarchy, a warped harmony amid the chaos. Shields were stacked in tidy piles, spears stood upright like a thorny forest, and provision carts creaked under the weight. Saga noticed smaller groups of men playing dice games, laughter cutting through the tension like a soothing balm to raw nerves. At least they still find ways to enjoy themselves, I suppose. 

The camp was a sprawling spiral, with the outer edges lined by small, worn tents that appeared hastily pitched. As Saga moved inward, the tents grew larger and sturdier, leading toward a grand tent at the center, reserved for captains of the various kingdoms. Around this hub, the soldiers were grouped by their commanders, their sections marked by distinct armor styles, weaponry, and traces of unique cultures. It was a surprise Saga could get across the outer ditch so easily without being questioned, but assuming the best, the Greek clothes she stole were helping her stay unnoticed. 

While this outward display of preparedness, she felt the tension beneath. Speech was muttered when not yelled, and glances were cast out toward the horizon, where Troy's city lay hidden behind the ridges. Saga swallowed thickly, folding her chalyms tighter around her. Every step through the camp made her more sensitive—sensitive to danger, to being seen, to wanting to remain invisible.

As Saga progressed deeper into the camp, its magnitude overwhelmed her. The dense spiral of tents and movement was difficult to distinguish from where she had to proceed next. She chewed her lip, peering between groups of soldiers, some marching briskly, others in subdued chat. She stepped aside for a couple of tall warriors to pass by, their laughter accompanying them, but her attempt to be unobtrusive accidentally placed her in the path of another man.

The soldier carrying wooden crates suddenly shifted, his footing wavering before he had it stabilized. "Woah, watch where you're going, lad!" He laughed, chuckling softly. "Could've knocked me over with that one."

Saga’s heart lurched in embarrassment. She raised her hand in a hurried gesture of apology, her voice fumbling as she spoke. “Sorry! I’m awfully lost…”

The man turned to face her, revealing a cheerful disposition rare among the hardened warriors she had seen. His curly brown hair fell in spirals across his forehead, brushing against a reddish-pink band tied snugly around his head. His tunic was plain, its fabric slightly frayed but immaculate, draped over his chest and down his legs and baring his shoulders. Plain as his attire was, there was a real warmth emanating from him that tightened Saga's nerves at once. Her mind reeled as she tried to assess whether he would see beyond her disguise, but his warm smile showed no sign of mistrust. 

"Lost, are you?" The man said, setting the boxes down effortlessly. His tone was easygoing, but there was something in what he was saying that seemed to be asking for conversation. "What are you looking for?"

Saga hesitated for a moment, his gaze drinking in the smiling face of the man and his aura of tension-scented camp. He didn't bear the set faces of warriors gearing up for combat, and for a moment she couldn't help but wonder if this was a person she could trust. But she kept quiet, dreading speaking too much. "I seek…" she began, her eyes darting towards the center tent of the camp. She stiffened slightly, attempting to keep her voice even. "My commander's camp. I don't know where to go."

The man rested his head, his eyes furrowing slightly as if considering her words. "Your commander, eh?" he mused, stroking his chin with his finger. "Not a very good soldier if you can't even locate your own camp, are you?" He laughed, the jab softened by his friendly tone. 

Saga bit the inside of her cheek, unsure whether to laugh or feel defensive. “I’ve only just arrived,” she replied quickly, trying to sound convincing. “I’ve been disoriented, and I’m very tired...” Her pulse quickened, her nerves buzzing as she waited for the man—a soldier with a rare smile—to respond.

“You’re carrying your armor around; of course, you’d be tired,” he replied effortlessly, his smile remaining as steady as his footing. His eyes scanned her from head to toe, not in judgment but with a curious glint. Then, with an easy grace, he placed a hand on his chest and bowed slightly, the gesture was respectful but lighthearted. “Perhaps I can guide you. Just be sure to remember the way next time. What’s your name, soldier?”

Saga opened her mouth but stumbled. “Od—” she started, only to falter as she realized he meant her name, not her captain’s. Panic flared in her chest. I can’t say Odysseus, but what do I even call myself? It’s too late to go back now… Her thoughts raced before she blurted, “…ious. Odious. That is my name.”

The soldier’s grin widened, his brown eyes gleaming with amusement. “Odious, like the odor. So you smell?” His voice dipped into a teasing lilt, the words accompanied by a chuckle that bubbled up freely.

Saga’s face flushed red, her embarrassment was immediate and tangible. “What? No! I don’t smell—” she spluttered, the indignation in her voice matching the crimson creeping across her cheeks. She crossed her arms defensively, unsure whether to argue or shrink away from his infectious humor.

Polites shook his head slightly, his laughter softening but still lingering in the air like a melody. “Relax, lad. I’m only jesting. You newcomers are always wound tighter than a bowstring.” He gestured toward her armor and gear before hoisting the wooden boxes back into his arms with practiced ease. The effort seemed second nature; his movements were fluid and unbothered. “Come, tell me where you need to be—I promise I won’t get you lost.” His words carried an unexpected warmth, a rarity amid the tense preparations for war. “Who is your captain?” 

Saga hesitated before following him, her steps small and unsure as she scratched her neck nervously. The camp seemed even more alive now that she was walking alongside him. Men shouted orders to one another, carts creaked as they rolled over uneven ground, and fires burned steadily in raised pits, their smoke curling into the air. Saga kept her eyes low, careful not to draw unwanted attention. “I’m looking for Captain Odysseus,” she finally admitted, her voice soft, as though the name itself might betray her.

“That’s my captain.” The soldier replied without hesitation, his smile widening into something impossibly bright. He paused for a moment, recollecting his thoughts. “But… I haven’t seen you around before. Surely I should’ve spotted a strawberry head like yours sometime during the nine years we’ve been fighting Troy.”

Saga’s breath hitched, heat rising to her cheeks. I… need to come up with a story on how I got here. She adjusted her chalyms instinctively, the fabric settling closer to her scalp. “I… am new,” she stammered, searching for a believable answer as her pulse quickened. “I was recently sent from… uhm…”

He glanced at her; the boxes balanced easily against his chest as he walked with a tune under his breath, a cheerful counterpoint to the tension hanging in the air. “I didn’t realize Ithaca was sending reinforcements,” he said, his tone light, though curiosity flickered behind his words. “Where’s the rest of your crew?”

Saga froze inwardly, her mind racing for an explanation. What do I even say to that? Her grip tightened on her belt as she forced herself to respond, her voice quieter than she intended. “…I was the only survivor.”

The soldier slowed for just a moment, his expression softening as he turned his head slightly toward her. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said sincerely, his cheerful tone fading into something more somber. Though brief, his compassion hung in the space between them, and Saga struggled to maintain her composure, her disguise feeling more fragile with each passing second.

The silence between them lingered as they continued down the crowded camp, the soldier noises all around them filling the air. Saga gazed at the ground, her boots scraping against the dirt with each step. The man didn't mind the quiet; his boxes hung just so in his arms as he whistled a soft tune to himself, one Saga couldn't place but that seemed strangely reassuring.

She could sense the weight of the conversation hanging awkwardly between them. I have to do something—anything, she thought frantically, giving the soldier a sidelong glance. "I didn't catch your name, soldier," she spoke out quickly, her voice a little higher than she would have liked.

He turned his attention away, his smile lighting up his face again as if he was relieved by the change of topic. "Oh! Polites," he said with a warm smile, his voice friendly and inviting. His smile grew wider, with a catching energy that Saga found reassuringly familiar. It was clear he had no intention of going back to the serious subject they'd dropped.

"Ah, Polites," Saga said, practicing the name on her lips as her gaze flashed toward the cluster of tents before her. "Thanks for your help. The camp appears… bigger than I expected."

Polites smiled wryly, his steps unhurried as he navigated the maze of tents with practiced ease. "You get used to it after a while. Once you know where all the things are, it's just another labyrinth you're accustomed to." He adjusted one of the boxes in his arms, shifting its weight effortlessly, and nodded toward the path ahead. “We are almost there. The captain should be returning on his ship soon. He had to go return a maiden to her father to regain Apollo’s favor.”

“So I’ve heard,” Saga muttered, the grimace on her face betraying the frustration she barely managed to conceal. The story of the maiden weighed heavily on her mind, but she forced herself to suppress her thoughts. This wasn’t the time to dwell on the injustice of it all.

They fell into silence, the din of the camp filling the gap between their words. Saga followed Polites as he weaved through the narrow paths, deftly dodging oncoming soldiers and stepping over the occasional slumbering form sprawled on the ground. The smell of sweat, smoke, and the faint tang of sea air lingered in the heat, the sun above them relentless and unforgiving. Saga could feel its rays pressing against her back, her skin prickling beneath the stifling layers of her chalyms.

Her exhaustion began to claw at her resolve, each step heavier than the last. The lack of sleep from the past days finally began to take its toll, her vision blurring slightly as she rubbed her eyes to stay alert. Polites glanced back over his shoulder, his grin undeterred by the sweltering sun. “They sent you with the wrong armor, too,” he teased, his voice tinged with the same lightheartedness that seemed to follow him everywhere. “We’ll get you suited up properly. Can’t have you looking like a stray out here.”

Saga jogged forward to catch up, her cheeks warm with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. I would hope there’s better armor than this… I can barely hold all of this up. “Here, let me help,” she offered, reaching out to take one of the smaller boxes from Polites’ load. 

He arched a brow before handing it over with a shrug. The weight of it nearly pulled her arms downward, much heavier than she had anticipated. It toppled into her hands and fell to the ground, scraping her arms. Saga stumbled slightly but regained her footing, picking up the box quickly with a grunt of effort.

She earned a chuckle from Polites. “Careful there,” he said, his grin widening. “You don’t want to topple over again.”

Saga clenched her jaw and hoisted the box higher, determined not to show weakness despite the ache already building in her arms. “I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice firm despite the strain.

Polites emerged with his mouth agape, as though to speak, but paused, cocking his head that fraction and squinting forward, as though checking their destination. His pace slowed for a moment, and his eyes were elsewhere for a moment. In a few minutes of making his way through the tent labyrinth, his face brightened, and he dropped the box he had been carrying with a practiced thud. Taking no pause, he moved to Saga, his smile spreading as he gently pulled the small box from her stiff arms. He hefted it easily, as if its weight was that of a loaf of bread, and set it atop his own in a tidy stack.

"Eurylochus!" Polites shouted, his voice resonating with a boyish and warm enthusiasm that traveled through the busy camp. "We received a new arrival from Ithaca!" His smile broadened as he pointed toward Saga, his excitement sufficient to catch the eye of a couple of soldiers nearby.

Saga stood up a bit taller, her breathing quickening with the scrutiny. She cinched the straps on her armor tighter and tried to steady her panicky breathing, her exhaustion creeping at the corners of her vision. Though Polites' amiability was reassuring, her senses prickled at the thought that she might be unwelcome. She shifted her weight from foot to foot and looked off in the direction in which Polites was pointing.

The sound of creaking wood accompanied the gentle sway of the recently hoisted boat as a man stepped into view atop its deck. His skin, dark as the rich earth, stood out in stark contrast to the pale complexions of the soldiers surrounding the camp, their gazes instinctively drawn to him. He carried himself with a calm authority, his presence cutting through the din of the camp with a weight that demanded attention.

His square jawline lent his face an unyielding strength, as though it had been carved from stone, a testament to the resilience he exuded. Broad shoulders framed his powerful build—muscles that rippled beneath the loose folds of his tunic with every deliberate movement. His chest and arms spoke of a lifetime forged through war and hardship, each line and sinew a reflection of his capability.

His eyes, at first appearing black from the reflection of the midday sun on the water, gleamed as he turned his attention toward Saga and Polites. Something was piercing in his gaze—an unreadable mix of quiet wisdom and hard-earned wariness that only deepened the air of command he carried. A breeze caught the edges of his tunic, and the faint scent of the sea seemed to linger around him, as though he carried the very essence of the ocean wherever he went.

Saga cleared her throat, adjusting her attire. Huh. I wasn’t sure where… uhm… darker people stood in this day and age. Glad to see he is an equal. 

Eurylochus gripped one of the boat’s sturdy ropes with ease, the muscles in his arms flexing as he slid down with practiced precision. He landed on the shore in a fluid motion, his boots kicking up a faint cloud of sand before he broke into a steady jog toward Polites. Each step carried an air of effortless power, his presence demanding attention without the need for words.

As he approached, his sharp gaze drifted to Saga, who instinctively straightened her posture and bowed low, her movements stiff yet respectful. Eurylochus’ eyes lingered for a moment before flicking past her toward the empty horizon behind. His brow furrowed, and a frown darkened his features. “Just one?” he asked, his voice steady but edged with incredulity. “What’s one soldier going to do in terms of assistance?”

Polites, unfazed, flattened his face but kept his tone calm. “He was the only survivor of the storms on the way here,” he replied simply, his words carrying the weight of both explanation and defense.

Eurylochus exhaled through his nose, his lips pressing together in a thoughtful line that made his broad features seem smaller for a moment. Finally, he turned toward Saga, bowing slightly with a gesture that was both formal and genuine. “My apologies, soldier. What is your name? We are happy to have you, regardless of the circumstances.”

Polites’ expression shifted, a snicker slipping through as he chimed in before Saga could answer. “It’s Odious.”

Eurylochus straightened, his frown melting into something far more mischievous. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, and the air seemed lighter as he smirked at Saga. “Odious?” he echoed, his tone laced with amusement. “Quite a name for a soldier.” His eyes held hers for a moment longer, the teasing expression paired with a flicker of curiosity that Saga couldn’t quite decipher. “Come, Smelly, let’s get you out of the heavy equipment and into something more practical.” 

Saga felt her cheeks flush, the weight of their gazes making her acutely aware of the lie she had spun. But she kept her stance firm, nodding curtly as she fought to maintain composure. “Yes,” she replied, her voice steady despite the heat rising to her face. “Let’s… do so.” She lowered her head as she followed the man, Polites bounding quickly behind her. Ugh… I’m going to regret choosing this name, aren’t I? 

[cutecuttlefish]

The sword of the day is the xiphos.

The xiphos is a short sword utilized by ancient Greek infantry as a backup weapon. A hoplite’s main weapon was their spear, so the xiphos was mainly used when the spear was lost or broken. Hoplites fought in phalanx formation, standing shoulder to shoulder with each soldier protected by their neighbor’s shield. A spear made it easy to attack from this formation, though the swords generally came out once the phalanx broke. The xiphos was mainly used for thrusting, though its leaf shaped blade made it a capable cutter as well.

[themissingnumbers]

Hi, Starry! Remember that observation I said I wanted to do of that "A Boy Named Red" art piece? I finally got around to that. I don't mean to clutter your inbox or blog, but I don't know where else to put it, so I'll just put it here- This probably won't have any sort of theory in it, but I dunno yet. We'll see-

1. Where do I start- Uhhh, did anybody else see that one half of Fire's face is just... missing? Like, it's decomposed or something. You have to change the brightness of the image to see it, but you can see his bones—the mandible/jaw, the zygomatic bone, and the maxilla. Looks like his eye is missing, too, or is just empty/milky white. Freaky. (Also, those gold dots are looking right at us you cannot convince me otherwise.)

2. Might be grasping at straws here, but for whatever reason my brain focused on the fact that there are no words near Fire's head when it's perfectly fine overlapping everything and everyone else. The inner circle of the halo closest to his head is empty. Is that symbolism? Like, showing that he has no ability to think for himself? That the only words he's influenced by are the words of "God" (In air quotes because fuck Arceus, that thing is no god to me-) and nobody else's input matters so long as he does what he's told?

3. The Strings. Those strings bug me in a way I can't really explain. It's not just the stitches that are holding him together, but it's that fact that they're like... pretty. They're wrapped around him in such an intricate manner, like a work of art or the bow on an expensive present. They feel possessive. Evil. They're restrictive. One is connected to his eye, the other to the corner of his mouth, the others are wrapped around his arms and legs, and there are more wrapped around each individual finger. They're not quite chains, but they may as well be. They give me the vibes of "Oh, your pet finally learned to behave, so it deserves a nicer collar." It looks nicer, and it's more comfortable, but the core meaning behind it is still the same. Someone else owns you and you have no freedom. It gives me an oddly icky feeling.

4. Can I focus in on the sword for a second? Okay, thanks- That thing is so cool. Younger me was a bit of a weapon nut and that came out a little bit the more I looked at it, so enjoy this little ramble. The sword itself, as in the blade, at first glance reminded me of a Xiphos but looked like more of a Gladius upon closer inspection due to the shape of the blade. Xiphos swords have a Leaf-shaped blade that sort of gets wider in the middle and a reinforced mid-rib, while Gladius blades are completely straight with a uniform width and a pointed top, along with a diamond cross-section. (It's probably not a short sword, but from the angle I'm looking at, it looks like a short sword.) [Hold up: I went back and refreshed my knowledge, and I swear this blade looks like a Cinquedea, at least in shape.] Now, I can't really see what specifics the blade has got, but based on the blood spatter I'm gonna assume it's got a diamond cross-section. (But this is also fantasy so who really cares?) I also can't really see the hilt of the blade either, but with the angle we're looking at it seems like it's curved, which is freaking awesome. A curved hilt gives you more leverage for cutting and is good for thrusting attacks due to its more pistol-like grip, so it's effective. It's a powerful weapon when placed in the right hands. What I'm really focused on though is that based on the blade's appearance, it looks like a double-edged sword... which would be bad for a blade with a curved hilt because now you can't use it in the opposite direction, but there's also an extra meaning in a more figurative sense—like the power is a burden. Take that as you will :)

5. The Bodies. There are SO many bodies, some of which I spent too long trying to identify with no clues, but I'll just point out who I see. You've got (shirtless!) Red on the left with his ribs exposed and his guts spilling out, still smiling. You've got Blue not too far away from him with a knife in his neck. And then a little bit behind Blue but closer to fire there's just a pile of bones hidden by the darkness. I don't know who those belong to, but they're there. Over to the right, we can see who I'm pretty sure is Leaf going off of the dress, the shackles and the bloody hands. You can see Miki's head right by Fire's foot all wrapped up in red string. A little bit behind who I'm assuming is Leaf, I'm assuming is another Blue with bleeding ears or an injured face? They've got the FRLG high-collared shirt that Blue seems to wear, but the shoes don't really match up so I'm not really sure. I also don't know who's in the chest or who's facing Suicune, but all the way in the bottom right corner is Gold (ouch-) I couldn't tell at first, but after brightening up the image, you can see his hood, the detail of his pockets, and that little band on the sleeve of the arm laying nearby. (Poor Gold, but also Poor Fire-)

6. Other items. There are a lot of little things just lying around in this picture that I'm not really sure about, but I'll give them my best guesses here. There's something to the right of Fire, just below the hand holding the sword, that kinda looks like... coins? A flower? I'm not really sure, but it looks like it's on top of something else, which I unfortunately cannot see. There's a classic brick Game Boy off to the right as well. Don't know why it's there along with the box that person was shoved in. There's also like... some fuzz?- or some shit right up by Fire's wrist, which I also don't know why it's there or who it belongs to. I'm just assuming it's fluff/fur based on how I've seen Starry draw fur and Eevee. There are some crystals on the left, which kinda look like those crazy crystals jutting out of Dark Mewtwo. And there's also this weird ball thing in the bottom left that I genuinely cannot identify. It looks like it's being held together by green string, but I'm not sure. (Almost forgot to mention the Pomeg Berry at Fire's feet-)

7. The Others. I don't have too much to say about them, but there are two other characters in the background. A Suicune who's wearing a muzzle, and a Hisuain Zoroark with a golden collar around its neck. I'm assuming that the Zoroark is the character that got teased a while back, the one that was "Collared by the Narrative" I believe. Now, I'm also not sure why Suicune is wearing a muzzle, but I'm going to take it at face value and assume it's a form of control because the idea of Arceus having other gods in its back pocket just makes sense to me.

Okay, I think that's all I got for now. Sorry if it's too long. I just wanted to write this stuff down while I had the energy. Hope you like it though :)

Death comes in many forms; Slaughtered, Poisoned, Enshrined. Not every body is how it was, scraps and fragments left behind.

Remember the thirds, all that went wrong. The Youngest is the Eldest, strange beasts who don't belong.

Copies are valuable, for the imperfections they hold. Truth lies in scripture, held together with gold.

[thoughtfulrobot]

How to play Engineer TF2 but in Warframe

Vauban is a good choice of warframe for this, both because he already follows a combat engineer theme and because his physical build is short and stocky like Engie. Make sure you color him to match your preferred tf2 team.

For your primary weapon, equip any shotgun.

For your secondary, equip any single-handed pistol or revolver.

For your melee, grab your favorite hammer and equip it with the Motherwrench skin. Alternatively, if you want to be a Gunslinger Engineer, there are a few different fist weapons to choose from.

Subsume Protea and inject her Dispensary ability into Vauban.

Get the Xiphos landing craft and equip its turret gun air support. (Remember to stock up on air support charges!)

Alternatively, robotic companions can be equipped with guns and will follow you around. I would probably use a moa for this.

You could also have a friend "cosplay" as a turret by equipping a rocket launcher and a weapon with a high fire rate, and coloring their warframe like a tf2 turret. I recommend Mesa, since she gets a buff for going without melee weapons. Make sure you stock up on squad restores for them– a good engineer takes good care of his buildings!

Say nothing in the chat except "engineer gaming"

Follow me for more gamer tutorials (which I will probably never make, idk, we'll see)

[yizhuargos]

( ROSS BUTLER, PANSEXUAL, CISMALE & HE/HIM ) — by the grace of the gods, old and new, i present to you PRINCE YIZHU ARGOS of ARGONIA. the gods have blessed us with their presence for 32 years. the people of the kingdom have known them to be DISCIPLINED, HEROIC, LACONIC, and while it is not always shown to the masses, it is said they can also be CURT, AGGRESSIVE, STUBBORN. what will their tale in the story of metia be? only they can write it, so let’s see how their legend unfolds.

basics

full name: yizhu argos  title: second born prince of argos  epithets:  adamant, spear of argos age: thirty-two  birthplace: argia, argos  gender + pronouns: cis male, he/him  kinks: sweating, tactile & aggressive foreplay/wrestling, biting & marking, praise & validation, sensation play, shibari, worship antikinks: passivity & meekness, delicate/fragile partners, flowery & romantic gestures, excessive talking, degradation, submission, roleplay

appearance

6’3” with a powerful, battle-hardened build - broad shoulders, thick arms corded with muscle, and a frame sculpted by years of relentless training under House Lacon and the heroic years that followed as an Argos. His skin is a deep golden tan, his body marked with faint scars. Yizhu's face is angular, with a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and intense, dark eyes. His black hair is kept short and practical, rarely given a thought beyond necessity.

Yizhu wears a crimson cloak fastened by a golden phoenix brooch, marking him as a prince of House Argos. His armor is minimal but efficient, made for movement and war. A dark bronze cuirass, shaped to his torso, bears the stylized sigil of House Argos. Leather straps secure it over his shoulders, allowing full range of motion in combat. As a standard, Yizhu wears a pteruges, a skirt of thick leather strips reinforced with bronze studs for mobility and protection. His arms are mostly bare, save for bracers of black leather and gold, etched with ancient Argonian war glyphs. His greaves are of the same blackened bronze, built for long marches and swift, brutal combat.

Yizhu wields a xiphos, a short sword forged in the ancient Argonian style - a double-edged blade, darkened by a unique quenching technique, making it nearly unbreakable. The hilt is wrapped in deep red leather, and the pommel is shaped into the head of a phoenix. On his back, he carries a dory - a warrior’s weapon, used both for formations and single combat. The spear’s shaft is made of dark ironwood, and its bronze tip has been sharpened to a deadly, gleaming edge.

Strapped to his left arm is a hoplon-style shield, bearing the standard of House Argos. Battle ready and unbroken.

Yizhu is disciplined, restrained, and constantly moving with purpose. His stare gives little away but passive dislike, often unreadable, Yizhu assesses those around him as either a potential enemy or a temporary ally. His speech is deep, low, and laconic - he doesn't waste anything, least of all his words. He's direct, efficient, and absolute.

fighting style

As the shield before his brother, Yizhu fights like a wall of iron. His shield is not just for defense - it is a weapon in its own right. He wields it like a second blade, slamming it into enemies to break bones, knock them off balance, or create openings for a kill. Unlike most warriors who favor either the sword or the spear, Yizhu has mastered both. His dory is an extension of his will, and he wields it with terrifying speed.

When the fight closes in, Yizhu becomes an executioner. His xiphos is drawn in a blink, and he moves with fast, decisive slashes, targeting joints, arteries, and vital organs. He doesn’t engage in flashy duels - he ends fights quickly. Yizhu isn’t interested in looking impressive - only in winning. He fights with force and brutal efficiency, overwhelming his enemies with precision and unyielding strength.

persona

Loyal and devoted. Yizu is a blade sharpened in fire, a shield that does not break. Studied in the militant traditions of House Lacon but carrying the heroic legacy of House Argos, Yizhu embodies the might of Argonia. Unwaveringly faithful to his Kingdom and his older brother - the future King. Yizhu embraces his role as the second son - not as a burden, but as a duty. His love for his family is absolute, and he would march into hell itself if ordered. A lifetime of brutal training has hardened his mind and body. He does not waver, does not complain, does not falter. He has been trained to endure pain, hunger, and exhaustion, and he carries himself with iron self-control.

Though he is not a scholar, Yizhu possesses a keen tactical mind. His intelligence is not in books or philosophy, but in the art of war. He knows how to read a battlefield, predict an opponent’s moves, and exploit weaknesses - both physical and psychological. He is not reckless but is instead more akin to a calculating predator, choosing when to strike and when to hold.

To Yizhu, discipline is survival. He has little patience for those who show weakness, hesitate, or break under pressure. He is not needlessly cruel, but he does not tolerate incompetence or softness. Yizhu believes in Argonia’s supremacy. He sees the other kingdoms as weak, complacent, and beneath true warriors. He may tolerate them out of duty, but he does not respect them.

Now in the least bit emotional, Yizhu does not allow himself to be vulnerable. He learned at a young age how to lock his emotions behind an impenetrable wall and refuses to let them weaken him. Even with those he loves, he is distant - his devotion is shown through action, not words. Yizhu fights to win, not to impress. He does not believe in fair fights, honor duels, or unnecessary mercy. If an enemy stands in his way, he will cut them down without hesitation.

sexual

His approach to love, sex, and relationships is much like everything else in his life - with discipline, control, and a deep-rooted sense of purpose. Yizhu is not a man of grand romantic gestures, flowery words, or sentimental affection. Love, to him, is something earned, proven, and demonstrated through action rather than spoken promises. He does not actively seek out romance, as it remains secondary to his duty to Argonia and his brother. If it comes to him, he will not ignore it, but he will never allow it to make him weak or compromise him. Passion should never override reason, and he believes a man must never let love unmake him.

If he ever utters the words, Yizhu means them with every ounce of his being. It takes time and patience for someone to break past his emotional defenses. Delicate and fragile lovers do not interest him; he desires someone who can stand beside him as an equal, not behind him as a shadow. He admires warriors, strategists, and those who refuse to break under pressure. A pretty face means nothing without a backbone of steel.

Sex, to Yizhu, is an extension of battle. It is physical, intense, and often wordless, stripped of unnecessary sentiment. He is not particularly gentle nor interested in soft, romantic lovemaking. He prefers passion over poetry, dominance over delicacy. Naturally dominant himself, he does not seek control for control’s sake, but rather enjoys the struggle - the balance of power between himself and a lover. Despite his stoic nature, he can be ferocious, relentless, and consuming when his walls finally come down.

Above all, Yizhu values loyalty over fleeting passion. He does not seek casual flings often, believing that a lover should be more than a temporary distraction. If he shares his bed with someone, it is because he deems them worthy of his time and trust. Loyalty is the foundation upon which all his relationships are built, and betrayal is something he cannot and will not tolerate. Yizhu shows love through action - through silent protectiveness, through small but meaningful gestures, through standing beside someone when the world is burning.

folklore

Born alongside his twin brother, the Crown Prince of Argonia, Yizhu came into the world not as the heir, but as the spear and shield that would stand before him. From the moment of his birth, his purpose was clear - where his brother would rule, Yizhu would fight, bleed, and conquer in his name. House Argos had always produced warriors and heroes, and Yizhu would be no exception.

At a young age, he was sent to House Lacon of Laconus, the most disciplined and militaristic house in Argonia, known for its brutal training and rigid warrior code. Stripped of princely comforts, Yizhu was raised not as royalty, but as a soldier. He lived among the sons of warlords, trained from dawn until dusk, and endured relentless drills that left no room for weakness. He learned to wield the spear and shield before he could read, bled beside his comrades, and grew into a man shaped by hardship, discipline, and war.

While his twin brother studied statecraft, philosophy, and strategy elsewhere, Yizhu honed his body into a weapon. He embraced pain as a teacher, loss as a lesson, and war as his true calling. He learned to kill without hesitation, to command with unshakable authority, and to hold the line no matter the cost. By the time he returned to the capital, he was no longer a prince in silk and gold - he was a warrior clad in iron, tempered by hardship and sharpened like the very weapons he wielded.

Yizhu regards his youngest brother with a quiet, steadfast protectiveness. Born eleven years apart, the boy has never known the weight of a shield, yet Yizhu does not resent him for it. If anything, he sees it as his duty - his burden - to be strong where his younger brother cannot. The boy is softer, more delicate, and plagued by weak lungs that have kept him from the training yard. He will never swing a sword or don the armor of Argonia’s warriors, and while Yizhu struggles to reconcile this he is still family and someone that the warrior will always endeavour to defend.

Yizhu is not affectionate in the way his younger brother might hope. He does not coddle, nor does he speak many words of comfort. Instead, his love is shown in action: in the way he'd stand like an unmovable wall between his brother and harm, they grew up separately and apart but Yizhu would bleed for any member of House Argos. Others may see the younger prince as fragile - perhaps even unworthy - but Yizhu will break the jaw of any man who dares say so aloud because only he's allowed to make these claims.

Now, standing as a leader and commander among Argonia’s forces, Yizhu is a steadfast representation of his kingdom’s might and a willful testament to its warrior traditions.

[surgepricing]

That RWBY retrospective was a great read. Would you be willing to share the rest of your deep dive? I would love to read it

Thought long and hard about what I wanted to show off next; very rarely did I get into discussing RWBY in later volumes without stepping on some toes. I decided I'd post one of the more tame chapters from the Volume 2 recap, just to see what people have to say. I hope you enjoy it.

I won't be able to do this with every recap while preserving the images and gifs I used, since there's a limit of 30 and sometimes my posts went well beyond that, but I can always try other options.

Title: RWBY 09 – Volume 2, Second Arc (Part I) Original Posting Date: Dec 19, 2020 Episodes Covered: Volume 2, Episodes 5 & 6

Alright. So far, Volume 2 is not taking me to happy places. But why stop now?

We ended on a gigantic fight between four girls and a robotic mech.

V2E5, “Extracurricular”

The first thing I get to recap to you is a fight scene, right out of the gate. We open on Pyrrha, seeing her gear up for combat, spliced inbetween flashes of the fight itself. Now, for once, since this fight is neither the focus of the episode, nor that important overall, I’m not going to slavishly transcribe it, but rather give you the rundown:

It’s Pyrrha versus the entirety of Team CRDL (Cardin, Russel, Dove, and Lark, in case you forgot). Cardin’s packing his big giant mace, Russel’s armed with dual knives with what look like dust rotors, Lark is swinging around a halberd that looks completely unaltered, and Dove is armed with a slim double-edged blade that can fold into a pistol. If you want to see the fight that badly, I have good news: it’s easy to gif, since it’s brutally short, a mere minute and a half (1:40 to 3:14). So here, my treat:

As you can see, Pyrrha is completely untouchable here, even four-on-one. She sends CRDL’s members flying with precise strikes and sweeps, and deflects Dove’s and Russel’s blades with only the shield braced on her one arm without even going off-balance. Sky and Cardin hit a bit harder, and Cardin gets points for being the only one to take more than three seconds to demolish, but she trounces him, too, the minute she sees an opening. All in all, she was in complete control of the battle and it showed.

You might be wondering how Pyrrha could so skillfully dismantle four attackers, some of whom have clear advantages on her in size and weight and who were attacking together. Don’t worry—you’ll see.

The lights come on in the arena, and Glynda’s voice again announces the end of the match, complimenting Pyrrha and mentioning she’ll have no trouble qualifying for the Vytal Tournament. She turns to the stands, asking any of the attending students if they’d like to fill one last match. RWBY, who are in the stands, appear uninterested, but we can see two familiar faces sitting just behind them. Glynda zeroes in on Blake, who hurriedly snaps some book shut, accusing her of being rather ‘docile’ in recent classes, but before she can volunteer her, a hand is raised and Mercury’s voice pipes up.

Glynda makes to select an opponent for him, but he stops her—he wants to go a round with Pyrrha. Glynda, clearly a tad peeved at having been interrupted twice, tries to tell him that she’s already finished a match, but Pyrrha welcomes another fight, very happy to take him up on it.

Mercury, legs greaved in black metal and showing off glinting silver bullets loading the chambers, slowly struts onto the field to meet his opponent, and in the background, Emerald glances at the back of Ruby’s head, then at the match, with a pointed focus on her eyes. Mercury takes a kickboxing stance, while Pyrrha stands with shield and xiphos at the ready. The two of them rush to meet each other, and Mercury throws a kick that meets Pyrrha’s shield before she sweeps his other leg out from under him. He makes distance with many an unnecessary backflip.

The two fighters clearly appraise one another, before Pyrrha runs forward and presses him. Mercury goes on a fantastic defense, deflecting her strikes and trying to get around her shield, but this enables Pyrrha to just butt him in the chest and send him skidding back.

Mercury nods, as if to say ‘eh, pretty good’, and in the stands, Ruby turns to compliment Emerald on how well her ‘friend’ is doing, who smiles and then rolls her eyes as soon as Ruby turns back towards the match. The two in the arena continue:

Mercury launches a fast and furious series of strikes with the goal of bringing a heavy boot down on something that gives, and Pyrrha performs the sickest move ever, throwing her sword into the air behind her and then just catching Mercury’s next kick with the back of her arm. Mercury undercuts the coolness of this just a bit by answering her next series of slashes with the re-equipped sword and knocking the xiphos out of her hand and some distance away. Pyrrha doesn’t look too concerned about this.

When Mercury makes to pounce on this advantage, she raises her free hand as if to catch his boot, but it doesn’t make contact. We the viewer see a very faint black outline around her hand and his boot as she does it. Mercury is sent off-balance, and takes a moment to absorb what just happened. Pyrrha rushes him, and he gets back up in time to meet her shield with both legs and fire his greave-guns, sending him shooting off of it and a good distance away, just in time to say the magic words before she can press her assault.

M: I forfeit.

Pyrrha is thrown off, and skids to a halt, surprised and rather annoyed at this turn of events. Mercury dismisses her—she’s a world-class fighter, and they’re obviously leagues apart. Glynda understandably shares her irritation, given that Mercury chose to fight her in the first place. Mercury and Emerald are both grinning.

Glynda reminds everyone that “the dance is this weekend” and their first mission is on Monday. RWBY file out of the arena, Blake’s nose buried in a notebook and Emerald watching them as they go. Mercury dryly remarks, as he comes up to Emerald, that learning is “so much fun”.

Now before I pounce on the words that I just bolded, which the next scene that we cut to would like to elaborate on, let me draw your attention to something:

Do you see this overhead shot of Beacon’s courtyard? To the right of RWBY, heading out, you will see Sun’s team, SSSN (pronounced “Sun”)—himself and Neptune, plus Scarlet and Sage.

That is their—Sage’s and Scarlet’s—only appearance this volume.

No, they do not actually interact with anyone nor are they involved in this scene whatsoever, they’re literally in the background and stay there. I don’t feel bad about spoiling that. Better we got it out of the way now. Do any of you remember something I highlighted in my Volume 1 Final Thoughts?

I said that slow pacing wasn’t something we could afford when this show only runs for 25% of the year and is on hiatus the other 75%. It’s not like live-action dramas, either, able to make up for that by running for 50 episodes at a time or packing 30-45 minutes into each episode. It seemed, at the time, an astounding feat of juggling to introduce so many new characters in the very last episode and then even more in the Volume 2 trailer and opening—but now we can see that it evens out, because they don’t intend on using any of them.

By this point in time, RWBY fans had been sitting on the knowledge that Sun had his own team, salivating in the aftermath of his glorious first impression, and hungering for some details on his crew for quite a while, and have at this point gone five weeks with nothing but scraps. They will go the rest of the volume—ten more weeks, what with the World of Remnant introduction—and then the rest of the Volume 2-3 hiatus with yet more nothing to go on.

Release date of Volume 2 Trailer: July 4th, 2014 Release date of Volume 3 Episode 2: October 31st, 2015.

Fifteen, almost sixteen months. Over a year. Not a year in which consistent content was coming—a year in which an official entry to the series’ collective body came and went. If you were actually interested in these characters as a team, any sparse involvement of the remaining two, or anything deeper than a petri dish from Sun and Neptune, you were absolutely not going to get it. Sucks to be you.

Love to Be a Part of It Someday: 10

*idly twirling a foil scraper* That’s not good. That is, in fact, pretty fuckin’ bad. Dickish, even. A point each for Sage and Scarlet, plus a point for the lack of unit behavior with Sun and Neptune—plus another for the conspicuous amount of time spent ignoring these dudes whose names haven’t even been said in-show. Fairest arrangement I can think of.

But that’s all I can say now. I will be bringing this back up later, near or at the end of the Volume. The same goes for the hair-ripping Exit Stage Left from last post that had me so bald.

So let’s move on to the issue actually comprising this scene.

Blake is lagging behind her team, head still buried in her notebook. Sun breaks off from his own team to catch up with her.

S: Hey, Blake! You, uh, doin’ okay?

B: I’m fine.

S: *clearing his throat* So I hear there’s this dance goin’ on this weekend… Agh, sounds...pretty lame, but you an’ me, I’m thinkin’, not as lame? Huh?

B: ...What?

S: The dance, this weekend! You wanna go, or what?

B: ...I don’t have time for a stupid dance. *turning and walking away* I thought you, of all people, would get that.

In case the tone of this conversation is not clear to you, here’s a gif, so you can see their body language like I can.

Sun is being his usual chill and somewhat dorky self, if a little nervous, not pushy or rude. Blake, who has suddenly developed noticeable circles under her eyes since leaving the school arena, responds in a much rougher tone than we might have expected given her previous characterizations. Sun is visibly deflated and her teammates eye her as she walks off. Ruby spares sad boi Sun a glance before we cut to the next scene.

B: You what?

Ruby answers that they want her to go to the dance. When Blake calls that ridiculous, Yang mentions that they’re worried about her. This investigation, she says, is starting to mess with her head.

Ohhh, the investigation! Yeah, that was a thing that happened last episode, wasn’t it?

Wiess mentions that Blake can’t sleep, hardly eats, and her grades are tanking. Blake wants to know why she should care about grades when lives are at stake! Yang responds that they know, and they’re still trying to find out what Torchwick is up to.

Ruby mentions that thanks to Blake and Sun, they know that he and the White Fang are operating somewhere outside of southeast Vale, and Weiss follows up that Schnee records indicated that Vale was clearly the primary target of dust robberies over the last month.

Not to interrupt yet more blossoming angst from Blake, but yeah, this is our reward for following that three-episode ‘arc’ that culminated in the Paladin fight. Weiss lists that last bit off as if it’s useful information—it isn’t, because the characters live in Vale, among the robberies, and the viewers have so far only been shown Vale, and robberies happening there. It gives them nothing to go on besides “hey, at least the plot isn’t operating outside of our reach, like in other countries!” and that is why I remain firm in my decision to award it the Road to Nowhere point.

But seriously, think about what’s going on here. Blake’s grievance about lives is that they’re at stake, not that any have been lost, just in case you don’t believe that all those massacred people on the interstate really last episode didn’t matter. They don’t even register here. As if to underscore the fact that we just hit the reset button—on everything, including Blake’s inner turmoil over Torchwick that seemingly got resolved in Episode 2—they’re even back in their standard outfits, with the cool, unique, badass outfits that they wore for an episode and a half completely ditched, forgotten, and never brought up again.

None of that mattered. We went nowhere.

Alright, now that I’m good and mad, let’s continue with the scene.

Y: Don’t forget about their missing military tech, too.

I’m fine! I’m cool, I’m calm, I’m fine!

(for reference here, the recap before, I had gone into an extended rant about how Torchwick just having a gigantic military mech made no sense, since it's not feasible for him to steal it undetected with his level of resources, and how barreling down a public interstate in it with the White Fang emblem stamped on it pretty much broadcasted his location and claimed the carnage so that it couldn't even be used to sow distrust against Ironwood).

When Blake protests that there’s still unanswered questions, Ruby responds that she won’t find any answers if she can’t even stay awake. Yang reiterates that they want her to relax a bit for one day, and Weiss insists it’ll be fun—because after all, Weiss and Yang are going to make sure of it! You see, they’re planning the whole event!

Yes, Yang said that verbatim. They—two girls—are planning a school event comprising not just the hundreds of students living at their campus, but hundreds more students coming in from three other countries! Sorry, I’m not letting you get away with that.

Ill Logic: 16

It isn’t alleviated by the fact that the event was originally being managed by four students instead of a mere two. Weiss mentions that upperclassmen team CFVY (pronounced “coffee”) aren’t back from their mission yet, so she and Yang were asked to pick up where they left off. Weiss promises that after the dance, they can return to their regularly scheduled business, nose in Torchwick’s business and all.

B: I think this is a colossal waste of time.

She gets up and strides out, mentioning that she’ll be in the library, with her team bemoaning that she can’t keep going like this.

But enough about that! There’s a knock on the door, and Weiss answers it. Guess who it is!

What he’s here for is obvious before he even says it. Weiss shuts the door in his face, and he knocks again, begging that she open it, and promising not to sing.

J: I lied!

W: [facepalming]

J: Weiss Sch-nee! ♪ Will you accompany me? ♪ To the daaaaance on! ♪ Sunday? ♪

W: Are you done?

J: ...Yes?

W: No. [she shuts the door in his face, then turns to her teammates] ...What?

Y: And that, is why they call you the ice queen.

W: All my life, boys have only cared about the perks of my last name. [crossing her arms and turning away] Besides, I already have a date in mind.

R: Date or no date, none of this will matter if we can’t get Blake to go.

The scene here ends on a zoom-in towards the sky outside the open window. But first…You didn’t think we were going to escape this shit without a little commentary on boundaries, did you?

Mkay. We’re not quite done with this issue, but we may as well do this—you may be flashing back to the first interaction Weiss actually had with Jaune, and his very pushy and rude flirting in the same scene. I mentioned there that it translated worse when written than watched, and could easily be brushed off as harmless even though it wasn’t. There is no such allowance here.

We’ve already established, through that scene and through the recent cold shoulder she gave him in class, that Weiss has no interest in Jaune’s time. Trying to ask her out to a dance, therefore, is a bad idea, but not necessarily a full-stop no-bad-wrong. Once she made it clear via door slam that she still wasn’t interested, that was the official cutoff, and any further pursuit should’ve been given up. He continues to pester her, and then she still gives him the official “No”.

If, like me, you mis-remembered this as Jaune asking her out like four or five times past a clear “No”, don’t worry, there’s still more to talk about. Because while Jaune is still over the line—

Jaune: 8

—what the real issue here is, is the framing of Weiss’ answer. See, it’s not because Jaune has qualities that turn Weiss off, or that his behavior is bad, or even that she simply doesn’t want to go to the dance—it’s that she assumes that Jaune only wants her because she’s the illustrious Schnee heiress. It is framed as though Weiss’ ‘no’ to Jaune is simply one of caution rather than actual disinterest in him—as though he ‘deserves a chance’, and the only reason he isn’t getting one is because a) Weiss made the wrong assumption and b) she already has the spot filled.

The problem is that Weiss doesn’t need a reason. She may hate Jaune’s guts, or may be head-over-heels with him. She may simply find him unattractive, or may simply not enjoy his company. She may not enjoy dances on principle. She may already have a date, or may not. She may have no reason whatsoever to say no to Jaune.

And she can still say no to him, and deserves to have that respected. Because a girl doesn’t need a ‘good’ reason to reject a guy. The ‘no’ is the beginning, middle, and end. She says no, and that’s that.

Fauxminism: 6

There’s shades of this with Blake, too, mind, what with her team trying to push her to go to a dance she has no interest in. Blake may, like myself, simply not find dances enjoyable and want to skip it, regardless of whatever turmoil is causing her to lose sleep, but this passes just a tad more easily because her physical health and mindset are clearly not their best.

Back to the next scene. We are shown Jaune training with Pyrrha. Both of them are wielding their swords with both hands and have gone shieldless, so Pyrrha seems to be teaching him the basics. He presses her into a couple of sword locks, before she sweeps his legs out from under him with her own. She laughs, and compliments how much his swordplay has improved, extending a hand to help him up (while a very creepy but un-commented-on green glow emanates from the headmaster’s tower in the background).

She asks if he wants to go ahead with Aura training, and Jaune hesitantly wonders about skipping that for tonight. She recommends he keep at it, and that she’s sure they’ll discover his Semblance in no time (hinting for the audience that one is attached to the other). Jaune dismisses this as the problem, saying “It’s dumb”. Pyrrha presses him when he clams up, and he admits he wants time to lament about Weiss.

What about her, Pyrrha asks, and he confesses he asked her to the dance and she promptly shut him down. Pyrrha, quite stiffly, mentions that there’s plenty of fish, as the saying goes. Easy for her to say, he says, since she probably has guys falling over themselves in line to hit that up. She subtly hints that this isn’t the case, only to be blown off. If she doesn’t get a date to the dance, he says, he’ll wear a dress.

Wait for it. I’ll comment on it in time.

Pyrrha gives Jaune’s retreating back the solemn gaze of the unrequited crush, and all I can do is question her taste, which I will do in detail soon enough.

The next scene we cut to is the dorm room where Cinder, Emerald, and Mercury are staying. They’re commenting on ‘the invincible girl’, Pyrrha Nikos, who Mercury appears to have figured out. He and Emerald explain that her semblance is ‘polarity’, but she hides it well, using it to manipulate combat in her favor in subtle ways that won’t be noticed if you aren’t looking. In this way, she creates the impression that she really is untouchable in combat on skill alone, rather than because most fighters would realistically be helpless against her.

We will ask a question now: if Pyrrha’s so good at being subtle about her abilities, why did she magically wave Mercury’s foot away from her face rather than simply catching it? She proved she was capable of doing just that. One looks significantly less suspect than the other, and likely wouldn’t have actually been caught by Mercury’s oh-so-clever analysis!

Ill Logic: 17

Your Fight Scene Sucks: 10

C: People assume she’s fated for victory, when she’s taken fate into her own hands. Interesting. Add her to the list.

How very ominous. Mercury mentions that Cinder should be able to take her easily, and she adopts a more serious demeanor as she declares that it’s not about overpowering the enemy, but taking away what power they have. How different those two things really are, in this context or any, is something I’ll leave up to readers.

When Mercury bemoans more waiting around, Cinder mentions a ‘fun weekend’ in store for them, while holding up a needle she’s using to sew something. The episode ends.

Before I move on to the next episode, I need to air an issue I’ve been saving since the beginning of this one, and I will preface it with an apology, because one last time, I’m about to use the j-word: juvenile.

It took me a while to find that word, you know, when I was first outlining a spork of this animation, and when I was searching for and finally settled on it, I was thinking of this plot point right here, and nothing else. It didn’t occur to me until I was actually writing the recaps for the preceding episodes just how many times I could, and would, apply that word.

And it does occasionally hit me that I may come off as snobbish or elitist for that, and I apologize if so. I promise that’s not my intention. I’m not some fun-hating asshat that takes issue with a show being accessible to kids and not being filled with blood and gore and sex and f-bombs. I’m not trying to put RWBY ‘beneath’ me.

But there is nonetheless a problem with how this show is treading its water. There are certain things the audience is expecting, was expecting, and some they most certainly weren’t—and probably didn’t welcome. And as for me, I would call this one of them. Let’s lay our cards on the table here: we now have a dance arc to sit through. Dance arcs are restricted, generally speaking, to a few different settings, and it’s rather difficult to make most of them cross over with the dramatic, monster-slaying world of Remnant. And failing the one, rather more flexible type of dance arc—the whole ‘regal, fancy high-society ball’ type—we instead are being handed the other type. Say it with me now, what we’ve really got is a prom arc.

I cannot fucking stand the prom arc.

Suppose for a minute that I did enjoy high-school shows, of which the prom arc is the most standard, inseparable staple. Regardless of the fact that I detest them in general, there are interesting things you can do in a high school setting, especially if there are fantasy elements involved. If binging Supernatural doesn’t scar me deeply enough by the time I’m done, hell, the one I’ll probably move on to is Teen Wolf, in which I understand this problem to have reared its ugly head. The prom arc is emblematic of both high school shows and what ends up being wrong with most of them, in that it’s the least interesting thing you can possibly show me.

Absent any monster-slaying or teens with superpowers, maybe on occasion I can still get invested in a plot about how some chick is trying to hide her pregnancy, about how a bully gets his due (one we had in this show, as it happens!), or how some kid getting in with the wrong crowd tries to get out before it destroys his life. To say nothing of the oft-ignored or mishandled potential of trying to watch teens struggle through things like sexuality or gender, which more and more of us could relate to and want to see. And yes, even that is relevant to what I will say later on.

The fact of the matter is, ‘who is taking who to prom? Tee-hee! Ooooh!’ is the plot point that is both the least interesting and the one that often takes up way too much time and attention. It’s tired, annoying, endlessly-retreaded, boring…and now we have one right here.

Coming right off the heels of Torchwick chasing gun-and-sword-wielding teens down a crowded freeway and the large-scale implications Blake keeps babbling about, why should we disagree with her assessment of this? Why on earth would we care about some freaking prom? Do we not have a million more interesting things to look at?!

And don’t think that it ends with me calling this farce for what it is. There’s also the fact that it doesn’t make sense. This prom is happening on the heels of a bazillion exchange students arriving to stay on campus.

Really? You want to ask hundreds of people who are unfamiliar with the city and have never been here before to try and find dates, ostensibly with people from other countries that they hardly know, when they barely know their way around? That makes sense to you? Someone should bitch slap Ozpin upside the head for thinking that’s a good idea.

Ill Logic: 18

It’s not getting Reliable Leader points because I can’t prove it was him that organized it, but it’s still a terrible idea nonetheless. Whatever, let’s move along.

V2E6, “Burning the Candle”

We open on Ruby sitting at a table when set upon by Weiss, asking her opinion: which tablecloth should she go with? But they’re both the same, and Weiss leaves in a huff when this is pointed out. Yang is carrying a huge amp and sets it down with a colossal thud. She asks if Ruby has picked out her dress yet, and Ruby, incredibly down in the dumps, asks what the point is if Blake isn’t going.

You have a weird fixation on Blake attending a very pointless event, you know that? Do you have some terminal inability to enjoy anything if it isn’t being done with your whole teeeeaaam? I’m gonna start calling you Esme.

Yang waves this off: don’t worry, Ruby, Blake’s going! Said with a confident smirk, which given Yang’s track record with coercion so far, does not make me think the things I imagine Rooster Teeth wanted me to think, so great work there. She then snaps at Weiss that she doesn’t want doilies everywhere. No doilies, no fog machines, Weiss answers.

This leads to a comment from Neptune, who walks in with Sun. Lovely to see you two again, did you ever find your missing two team members? No? Sorry to hear that, keep at it! Neptune thinks this might be pretty cool, and Sun asks if the ladies are all ready for ‘dress-up’. Ruby is not as enthused as Yang and Weiss are at the idea of getting all dolled up to turn heads. So what are they going to be wearing, the latter asks?

S: Pfft, uhhh, this?

Before I can point out that this is yet another detail implying that Sun is poor, Neptune tries to wave him off, but Sun will not be ignored. He mentions that, despite having moved to Mistral, he grew up in Vacuo, which viewers will by now understand to be a desert nation and rather dangerous.

S: It’s not exactly a shirt-and-tie kind of place.

Y: Yeah, we’ve noticed.

Holding my tongue here.

Sun, visibly uncomfortable, asks what Blake thinks of all this, and if she’s still in her ill mood, and they confirm that she is. Yang, again all a-smirking, says to just trust her, because Blake will definitely be at the dance tomorrow. Whatever could she mean?

She means racism, of course! See, in the next scene, she’s got a laser pointer, and interrupts Blake’s time poring over a library computer by bothering her with it until she gives in and tries to follow it to the source. It is an extended sequence and very uncomfortable. Remember: this would not matter if Blake was just a cat person, and cat people and humans coexisted with nothing else said about it. But the faunus in this show are explicit stand-ins for people of color! So this joke is unfunny and offensive by default. Imagine if some black kid was hanging out on the computer and some rudeass white kid started trying to dangle fried chicken or watermelon in front of them, ‘cause black people love that stuff, right? Ha. Ha. Ha. So very funny.

RSVP: 22

When Blake finally finds Yang holding the laser pointer, the latter drags her off by the arm, claiming they ‘need to talk’ and no, it’s not funny. Cut to the next scene!

Lie Ren walks out of the JNPR dorm’s bathroom wearing only a towel. In the exact same manner, Jaune comes out of nowhere and grabs him by the arm, claiming they need to talk. Ha, funny, hee.

J: Ren…I’m just gonna come out and say it. You…are one of my best friends. These past few months, I feel like we’ve really bonded! Even though...you don’t say much. I mean, you’re really quiet. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know that much about you personally...but darn it, I consider you to be the brother I never had!

R: [still in a towel and visibly uncomfortable] ...And I you.

J: Which is why I wanted to get your advice on...girls!

I love when racism is followed by good old-fashioned homophobia! Because yes, that’s what this is. The fact that Ren’s in a towel and Jaune starts by using language like “you’re one of my best friends” and the ever-suspect “come out and say it” make it clear that this is obviously a funny joke meant to make the audience laugh because oh, he sounds like he’s about to confess his love to another man! Isn’t that funny?!

*icily* Miles Luna, you see this big fat dick? Eat me. It’s fucking scary as hell for gay people trying to approach love and you don’t get to make us the butt of your jokes.

And for the record, no, I don’t think that was a one-off. See, people watching RWBY had, before Volume 2 even aired, asked about the topic of sexuality within this show. They wanted to know...well, mostly whether their favorite ships were gonna happen, but beyond that, they wanted to know whether Rooster Teeth intended to display non-heterosexual identities and how they felt about doing so. Monty went on record and assured them the characters would figure that sort of thing out under their own power and on their own time, and that it would not be brushed aside but also wouldn’t be a huge part of the story. So by this point, Rooster Teeth are already aware they had an LGBT audience...and this little scene still got greenlit.

Malevolent? Malicious? No and no. But abso-fucking-lutely in poor taste? Definitely so.

Jaune eventually says that he wants to know how Ren and Nora got together, only for them both to uncomfortably clarify that they’re not a couple. He urges her to put her headphones back on, since obviously he wanted Ren’s opinion on this and not hers. Dick. Ren asks him what this is about.

J: It’s Weiss. I’m completely head-over-heels for her, and she won’t even give me a chance. She’s cold, but…she’s also incredible. She’s smart, graceful, and talented...I mean, have you heard her sing? I just wish she’d take me seriously, you know? I wish I could tell her how I feel, without messing it all up.

Yes, we are still not done with this tiresome matter.

First, this was clearly an attempt to back up what I said above: it’s all a misunderstanding! Jaune doesn’t want her because she’s a Schnee, (or just because she’s hot), he’ll have you know! It has nothing to do with superficial qualities like her money (or her hotness). It’s all about those other not-at-all-superficial qualities like how graceful she is, what a beautiful voice she has, and uhh, what was that last one? Oh yeah, how smart she is! Notice that Jaune said nothing that actually indicated he knows her. Is she a kind person? Does she have passion or drive? Does she care about others? Does she put forth effort to be the best she can be and make every day great? What are her interests and hobbies? The best you could say is that ‘smart’ technically isn’t superficial, but it’s one short step away from ‘aw yeah, she’s got a brain to go with those hot titties!’

This was clearly a transparent attempt to smooth over burgeoning distaste for Jaune and his interactions with women, so it’s getting two points, and one of them is our very first!

Jaune: 9

Band-Aid Brigade: 1

Moving on. Pyrrha cuts in, telling Jaune that if he really feels that way about Weiss, he should just tell her. No schemes, no pick-up lines, just honesty.

P: Jaune. You can’t get it wrong if it’s the truth!

I beg to differ! He can get it very wrong! He’s gonna show us that much very soon!

But Jaune likes this advice and hurries out, leaving Nora to sadly advise Pyrrha to practice what she preaches.

Now we cut back to Blake and Yang. They are occupying some unused theater classroom, with Yang sitting cross-legged on the teacher’s desk and Blake pacing back and forth with her arms crossed. Blake insists that they can’t afford to slow down, while Yang says that taking a break isn’t a luxury, but a necessity. At Yang’s invitation, Blake reluctantly sits down to listen to her story.

Cuz it’s story time!

Y: Ruby and I grew up in Patch, an island just off the coast of Vale. Our parents were Huntsmen. Our dad taught at Signal, and our mom would take on missions around the kingdom. Her name was Summer Rose. And she was like...Super-Mom. Baker of cookies and slayer of giant monsters. And then...one day she left for a mission and never came back. It was tough. Ruby was really torn up, but…I think she was still too young to really get what was going on, you know? And my dad just kinda...shut down. It wasn’t long before I learnt why. Summer wasn’t the first love he’d lost. She was the second. The first was my mom. He wouldn’t tell me everything. But I learnt that they had been on a team together with Summer and Qrow. And that she’d left me with him just after I was born. No one had seen her since.

Yes, this is belated Yang Time. Pay careful attention to what she said here. I’ll be talking about it in just a minute.

Blake asks why Yang’s birth mother left. Yang answers that it’s that exact question that ate at her as a kid and drove her to find out why. We transfer to art deco as Yang delves deeper into her backstory. She found a clue, she describes, while the art deco shows us a picture in a broken picture frame, that she thought would lead her to her mother or answers thereabouts.

Y: I waited for Dad to leave the house, put Ruby in a wagon, and headed out. I must’ve walked for hours. I had cuts and bruises, was totally exhausted…but I wasn’t gonna let anything stop me. When we finally got there, I could barely stand. But I didn’t care. I had made it. And then I saw them. Those burning red eyes. There we were. A toddler asleep in the back of a wagon and a stupid girl too exhausted to even cry for help. We might as well have been served on a silver platter. But, as luck would have it...our uncle showed up just in time. My stubbornness should’ve gotten us killed that night.

The bolded material, this time, is for me. First, I know a lot of you will expect me to comment on Yang’s parents and what they’re like, and on this matter, one in particular. But please wait. Give it time—there is an appropriate moment to talk about this, and you need the full effect. For now, let’s just focus on the first one: Ruby.

In addition to Yang Time, we now have our very first details about Ruby’s mother, Summer Rose! Fans had been itching to hear about this ever since that extremely loaded song, Red Like Roses Part II, debuted in Volume 1. A dark past, trauma, a desire to know why her protectorate left her...and then we find out Ruby was too young to understand Summer dying. That handily puts a stopper in any of that juicy development we were kind of relying on for Ruby, not to mention any development of it in the future, too. It’s not as though it doesn’t make sense for Yang to angst about a missing mother as much as Ruby, but this kind of locks it onto Yang and away from Ruby. And with Yang focusing on her birth mother over Summer, that means Summer will continue to be unexplored. And Rooster Teeth will continue to fumble this going ahead.

At the end of this story, Blake makes a very good point: these situations are not the same, and she is not a child with no sense of scope. Yang, gripping the desk rather hard, reiterates that she isn’t telling Blake to stop. After all, she herself hasn’t—she’s still looking for details about her birth mother. The difference is, she doesn’t let the search control her, which is what she wants for Blake. Blake insists that she doesn’t understand. That she’s the only one who can fight this. Why…? I’m not sure. Perhaps you guys need to see how this goes down:

Y: No, you don’t understand! If Roman Torchwick walked through that door, what would you do?

B: I’d fight him!

Y: You’d lose!

B: I’d stop him!

Y: You can’t even stop me!

I’m not of the opinion that Yang shoving Blake necessarily constitutes abuse, or even just an unhealthy scenario. Certainly I wouldn’t do it, but Yang is supposed to personify ‘tough love’, and she’s right: Blake is literally running on fumes and would suck ass if the time came for her to get what she wants. That said, this is another one of those Yang ThingsTM that looks way worse when considering prior missteps surrounding her. Fortunately, I think this is one Rooster Teeth actually caught onto in time—but that’s for later.

Yang gives Blake a hug, reiterating one more time that even though she supports what Blake wants, the way she’s going about it is self-destructive. And that’s why they want her to get some rest, for both her and the people she cares about. And...maybe try and head to the big event tomorrow, if she feels up to it? Yang’ll save her a dance, she says. They both leave, allowing us to get a good look at the winged gear emblem Yang was drawing on the chalk board.

(I will, even with what I said earlier, condemn anyone that, like Certain People Back in the Day, has the audacity to say this would’ve been a perfect time for them to kiss or for Yang to ask Blake to the dance. That turns what is framed as a gentle suggestion into the sort of thing that you do not do to an emotionally unstable and hurting person. You wait ‘til a person is stable and in good health to put the moves on them or you face my fiery wrath.)

That was pretty okay. A bit belated, and a bit of a forced fit for Blake’s problem, but we did indeed get two things I said we needed in my Volume 1 Final Thoughts—in-depth Yang characterization and one-on-one interaction with her team members. Here, have a cookie.

We cut to Jaune strolling down the sidewalk with a big ol’ smile on his face, holding a white flower and yes, he is doing exactly what he shouldn’t be doing—!

Jaune: 10

Pyrrha, I gotta pin this one on you. You were in the room when Jaune said he got turned down, why did you encourage this?

Yes, he’s off to go announce his feelings for Weiss! On...the night before the dance. And unless I’m just dumb, hoping to get a date with her. But his attempt is, as we already know, doomed. Jaune passes an alleyway, only to hear Weiss’ voice...calling Neptune’s name. Peeking around a corner, he (and we) watch Weiss catch up with the man himself, who asks what’s up.

W: I know this is a little...unorthodox, but…I wanted to ask you something. Would you...like to accompany me to the dance tomorrow?

Neptune’s hand is behind his head in apparent recognition of how ‘unorthodox’ this is. Jaune, crushed, backs away from the alley and goes back to his dorm, the flower discarded, and since he didn’t stick around to see Neptune’s answer, neither do we.

We cut to the very next night, where the dance is happening indoors. Yang, in a very untypical plain white dress and heels, is hosting, and yes, before you ask, every single one of the couples in view behind her is visibly a man/woman pairing. The latest visitor Yang welcomes is her very own sister Ruby, who she gushes over for having gotten all prettied up, including heels. Ruby would like to complain about those in particular, lampshading Weiss’ uncanny ability to fight in them. We then cut to Sun.

Sun is wearing…black? His tail is swinging behind him and we see that he’s swapped out his white jacket and lack of shirt for an identical jacket in black, this time buttoned up just high enough to let him display his necklace, and that he’s also wearing a white tie, which he is very unfamiliar with and struggling in. Behind him, a quiet voice reaches him:

B: I knew you’d look better with a tie.

Awwww!

She takes his arm, and he asks if this means they’re going, yanno, together. Technically yes, Blake says, though her first dance is spoken for.

Cutting back to the dance, we get a lovely view of all of those cookie-cutter heterosexual couples dancing, before...

…Blake finishes one dance, and starts another.

*tapping a foil scraper on the desk* Yes, I know I was a tad snide about the background characters, but we got the important bits here with the main characters. Via Blake dancing with Yang, we are being shown that it’s not a stigma for people of the same sex to dance together, even if they’re not there as a date, so to speak. I’m not going to call that an accident, because that was the purpose of the scene and that’s what it did. I am going to call this dangerous, because even if the intent was clean and hit the mark for once, this also adds potential energy to a burgeoning fandom war.

See, what they aimed for was “Same-sex couples can go to the prom dance!” And they got that. They did. Laud them for it. What they also got was “Blake and Yang went to the prom dance—right before she got together with Sun!”

Yang bows out, Sun steps in. I’ve already commented on the...particular energies of certain shippers in this fandom. I also mentioned that, with the somewhat-too-close relationship Rooster Teeth have with their fans, and the way they like to eat away at what gap there is between them, they can invite bad things. A lot of people were not happy with how Sun, the resident love interest, was still ‘getting the girl’. And yeah, that’s entirely on them—shippers take things too seriously and get very up in arms over shit that doesn’t matter. We know that, that’s what they do. But things like this stoke the eventual fires that break out. I, personally, would’ve had Blake dance with a woman that wasn’t the other half of the biggest ship in fandom at the time—Pyrrha or Weiss, perhaps—but I’m not going to berate RT for not thinking to do that.

Enough about that, though. Sun and Blake are very cute dancing together, as commented on by the others, who are very happy that Blake is happy and is going so far as to laugh, apparently having gotten some rest and improved.

When Ruby asks what they do now, Yang just tells her to have fun before walking off, as does Weiss. She’s left alone to complain about her dumb stilt heels she can barely walk in. The music takes on a twinkling tone as Ozpin shows up, asking if she’s not enjoying herself.

They talk about nothing. No, I’m serious, nothing of any importance is being said here. Ozpin and Ruby bemoan that life is more than just fighting, Ozpin says fighting and dancing aren’t that different, and then muses on bonds becoming stronger. I think he showed up just to give this closing line:

Oz: Nights like these are ones we’ll never forget.

Yang then welcomes in two more guests—Emerald and Mercury.

The episode ends. And so does this post—unfortunately, this arc has to be split in two as well. Like the last one, it’s a bunch of little annoying fails leading up to a huge fail-fest that will get me absolutely furious and chatty about it. Then we’ll do the World of Remnants, and then the last arc, which will take...three posts? Maybe four?

Counts:

Jaune: 10 It Was Right There: 3 Fauxminism: 6 Hypocrisy: 1 Ice Cream Queens: 0 Reliable Leaders: 4 Prowling Wolf Fallacy: 0 Threatening Enemies: 2 Love to Be a Part of It Someday: 10 Your Fight Scene Sucks: 10 + 2 Evisceration Evasion: 2 Ill Logic: 18 Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Veil: 4 + 1 Wink Wink, Nudge Nudge: 0 Band-Aid Brigade: 1 RSVP: 22 Road to Nowhere: 6 Y.A.S. Queen: 3

[mer-acle]

hiii you said you wanted to draw alisha yesterday (OH MY GOD AAAAAAAAAAAAAA) and I thought I should describe her a little to make it easier i guess. (Also I was gonna do this yesterday but I got sick :( ) (also you absolutely dont have to draw her if you changed your mind)

Okay let me start with 16 year old alisha. She has blond shoulder length hair that is wavy. Usually puts it in a ponytail. Gray eyes. (She is so good at doing the puppy eyes btw) Very full of life smile. She wears the camp tshirt but it has embroidery of little animals mushrooms swords etc over it (more towards the bottom) There is definitely an owl there hehe. They are not perfect but she loves doing them and they still look pretty good. She has brown shorts, probably to her knees and also filled with embroidery. (Most of her clothes are filled with embroidery like this. kinda like doodles) Very cute small earings. An owl necklace. Ohh and she has this belt thing to carry her sword (a xiphos so around 50-60 centimeters I think) and extra pockets. (There is also 16 year old alisha after her quest. Aside from a really nasty wound on her left shoulder -claw marks going in deep- , some necessary bandages for said wound and a smile that doesnt reach her eyes anymore there isnt much difference. Her clothes are bit torn so she probably changed them ig) ooh lastly 3 beads at her camp necklace (every kid has one & the amount of beads accounts to the summers they've spent in camp)

Jumping to 20 year old alisha -> dark brown hair with the roots undone for a while (she's been neglecting it). Hair very messy and short, a bit past her chin, more wavy since its shorter. The fronts of it are tied into a little bun so it doesnt obscure her vision. Very tired, has eyebags for ages. Doesnt wear the camp tshirt but instead a dark brown shirt that covers up most of her chest and shoulders with long flowy sleeves. Earthy colours, lots of green and browns. Kinda witchy clothing. Loves capes. They are her favourite. Also all of her clothes now have a thousand handmade hidden pockets in them. A light brown flowy skirt past her knees with flower embroidery at the hem. A belt for her sword ofc. (She keeps a lot of knives hidden in her clothes too) No owl necklace :< Seven beads at her camp necklace. Also she has this golden cuffs at her wrists, its colour almost looking toxic and painful to the eye, that kinda travels under her skin like bones made of sharp glass or like how tree roots go under the earth ig. (Yes it is the lightning. Yes it is excrutiatingly painful. Yes it has been on her for over a year. Yes it is slowly making its way up her skin.) Its probably 10 centimeters up her wrists rn. Though we mostly cant see it bc she covers it up with her sleeves. Just glimpses of it really.

Anyway this was it I cant wait to see what you do if you do end up drawing her. Its such an honour like aaaaaaaaaaaa

*munching on the sweet delicious lore* nom nom

Also I hope you're feeling better

I literally love all of this I am very excited to draw her I have a pose idea already fbejdbdj (I was hoping she had a sword so it would work lol)

Some notes for now:

The embroidery??? How cute is that????

"loves capes" my girl has good taste

"no owl necklace" soul shattered

The lightning dhdbufbk. OBVIOUSLY it's traveling Jesus fucking Christ Eve 😭 (I love it)

[targon-comic]

About Rakkor; I

There are a number of Rakkor villages, which differentiate themselves by colours: red, blue, green, orange... They wear this colour in their capes, clothes and sometimes even the crests of their helmets. Oftentimes adults decide to transfer to a different village and leave their birthplace behind. They always stay above the "red line", a band of reddish, dried out old trees at a specific elevation of Targon. Their warriors cross the border and go below only during conflict with enemy tribes.

Most Rakkor have one, or a pair of Relic Weapons - weapons of their ancestors imbued with magic, which let them match opponents who are using sorcery. It is unheard of that a Rakkor is magically gifted. Each teen picks from the available Relic Weapons which one they want to use after (and if) they pass their Rite of Kor, a couple of weeks before that rite of passage. Once a Rakkor dies, the Relic Weapon they used is returned to the pool of available ones. Enemy tribes look to steal these weapons whenever they can, which is still a rare occurrence; both to use them, and to study them to try and find a way around them with magic.

Rakkor do not use bow and arrows; but their high religious class, the solari, do have archers in their guard. The most common weapons are a large aspis shield and a spear, gladius and xiphos swords, small buckler shields, hooked axes and short spears.

[reddragoncatsblog]

Drawn by an artist named ZZTheDark

These are not men in suits, they're actually mechs. These machines are called Spartans. These are machines founded by a military scientist. They're based on mecha from various anime, especially an anime called Armored Trooper Votoms for their maneuverable rollers. These machines use a variety of different weapons, from autocannons, to blast cannons, to ballistas (giant crossbow sniper rifles), to flamethrowers, to spears. They also have a side arm called the Xiphos, a magitech conductive short sword with a shape that's based on the real sword that Spartans in Greek history used.

[tea-dragonz]

Korina’s Origin Headcannons Part 3

Mors and Keres are able to see in the dark. Their eyes glow in dark spaces due to a combination of reflecting light and magic shenanigans.

Korina and Asteria have a very faint glow to their bodies, and Stella has a stronger glow. They are also warm to the touch, but normally not hot to a painful degree.

Luchnos is a spirit and has no need for food, however he still eats and drinks because he wants to. Any food or drink he consumes while in his puppet body just gets converted into fuel for the candle flame on his head. (Its brightness/intensity can be used as an indicator of his energy levels)

Longer lists of headcannons below:

Wing headcannons

Korina and Asteria have Quail wings - Quails are associated with Asteria in Greek mythology (she turned into one to escape Zeus’ advances) and throughout many cultures they are often symbols of harmony, prosperity, family, and love, which are traits that fit well with their characters and stories. These are elliptical wings that have shorter, rounder feathers and are built for short bursts of flying rather than long flights.

Morpheus has Halcyon Wings - Ovid’s Metamorphoses is the only major mention of Morpheus (technically Roman mythology and not Greek, but again it’s the only major mention of Morpheus in classical literature). The story of Ceyx and Alcyone, which he was heavily involved in, ended with them being transformed into halcyon/kingfisher birds. I went for the Common Kingfisher since they're in Greece, and I think they have elliptical wings? (Idk Google didnt tell me anything so I made an educated guess)

Keres and Mors have Vulture Wings - Vultures were associated with death, decay and war in Greek culture. They were also used in the punishment of the giant Tityos in a similar fashion to Prometheus (who, in some versions was also tortured by a vulture rather than an eagle). (Also irl vultures are chill I'm just going with the mythology symbolism on this one) They have passive soaring wings, which are broader and have longer primary feathers with gaps between them.

Thanatos has Screech Owl Wings - Screech owls specifically are associated with Hades, but I thought their connection with death and the Underworld was fitting enough. Most owls have elliptical wings, though they are also known for near-silent flying (other birds’s feathers usually make a lot of noise)

Xiphos has Crow Wings - Crows in Greek mythology are associated with bad luck and death, though they are also depicted as servants of certain gods such as Athena and Apollo. Not a direct fit for Xiphos’ story, though I do think it’s close enough. Crow wings are elliptical like those of the quail, which I explained above.

Last Name Headcannons:

Okay I don't think anybody has any actual last names aside from son/daughter of *insert god here*. Plus also last names weren’t really a thing in Ancient Greece so there’s not really any point to this. This is just a fun little "what would their last names be if they had them?" sort of thing, mainly for the demigods

Mors Grivas Athanasiou & Luchnos Athanasiou

The last name Athanasiou means “immortal” and is derived from Athanasios, which in of itself is derived from Thanatos. I can imagine both Mors and Luchnos having the last name Athanasiou because of their connection to Thanatos, though I imagine Mors would have Grivas tacked onto his name at Keres’ request, with Grivas meaning vulture and presumably the type of last name a Keres child would have.

Korina Galanis

Galanis mean “pale blue eyes”, and both Morpheus and Korina have blue eyes, so I thought it was fitting. (Also there weren’t any cool last name related to the stars of heavens that I could find, so…)

Keion Vasilios & Zenobia Vasilios

Vasilios means “royal, kingly”, but it can also be translated as basil lol. I was also considering Aetos as a last name since it’s derived from Zeus’ eagle companion, but I thought Vasilios sounded cooler.

Nefeli Apostolos

Apostolos means “messenger” and also has some Abrahamic connotations because of the apostles. Couldn’t find any other surnames that really fit, so Apostolos it is.

Marit Kazantzis

Kazantzis is actually derived from the Turkish language and refers to a cauldron maker, such as with the type of cauldrons used to make alcohol. Child of Dionysus, alcohol making, what more do I have to say?

Tryphon Onassis

Onassis means “lover, favored one” which is fitting for an Aphrodite child for obvious reasons (this could also apply to the other Aphrodite kids, but I was mainly focusing on Korina’s Origin)

Sophist Anagnostis

Anagnostis means “reader or scholar”, like Apostolos, this name also has an Abrahamic connection.

Masika Anubis Fouad

So I looked up Egyptian naming conventions, and usually the name includes the names of your forebears (father, grandfather, etc.) Thankfully Masika only has 1 ancestor that we know of so I didn’t have to make the name too long. Fouad is an Egyptian/Arabic last name that means “heart-soul”, and Anubis’ job is to judge people’s hearts so I thought it fit.

[npcemi]

The Ascension of Danny Fenton

Danny didn't expect to become king. He didn't expect it to hurt. Oh, look the GIW:

Danny, Sam, and Tucker were all enjoying their time at the nasty burger. In the middle of their conversation Danny when Danny hears a voice behind him say “You might want to transform Phantom.” The halfa doesn’t have time to respond. He was thrown at high speed into a building, shifting into his ghostly form just in time. He takes a look at his adversary. She is a very short Greek ghost girl with pale skin, black hair, and blue eyes in a white soft cloth dress with blue accents and a veil that was pulled back to reveal her face. It looked far too young and kind for someone who just threw him into a building. Her left hand held an Xiphos that looked like it was going to crumble apart. It was black with red cracks that radiated heat. He moved to attack, flying into the girl with his fists, but she grabbed him and redirected him into another building. She followed it up with a slash of her sword which released a massive wave of ectoplasmic fire. When Danny managed to block it with a wall of ice that melted instantly. The girl smirked at him. He flew at her again but duplicated himself. The girl took out the duplicate with her sword and punched Danny. She followed up with a decisive front kick that caused him to fly into a statue. Danny groaned and looked at the girl. She looked at him, and fired another wave of that ectoplasmic fire from her sword, this time his ice wall melted too fast and the fire overwhelmed him. Danny was sure his ice core was the only reason he wasn’t burnt out of existence because of the flame. “This is the power that defeated the Tyrant Pariah Dark, I expected a bit more, to be honest.” The girl taunted. Danny pulled himself out of the molten stone around him. He knew this enemy was more powerful than even his evil future self, more powerful than Pariah. Danny didn’t want to use his ghostly wail. Danny hated his ghostly wail; it was far too destructive to use, it tired him out too quickly, and it was the same scream he unleashed when he died, but he had no choice. Danny sucked in a breath and unleashed his ghostly wail. It shook the earth, shattered windows, and caused the nearby buildings to begin to collapse. The girl smiled, impressed at the wail’s destructive capability before letting out a small short whistle. It didn’t last even a fraction of a second, but the sonic force that came from her not only neutralized Danny's ghostly wail but threw him into a building that collapsed on him. The Greek ghost walked towards Danny, “Yes, you shall do nicely.” She said with a grin before a voice called behind her. “Who are you and what are you doing in Amity Park?” The voice belonged to Vlad Plasmius. The vampire-looking ghost floated in the sky not too far from the girl. Vlad was not a fan of Daniel, in fact, it was kind of funny watching the boy get so thoroughly beat. However he was the mayor, and even if others didn’t know about his ghost form, he wasn’t going to let an unknown ghost this powerful destroy or try to take his town. “You're not needed,” the girl waved her hand and Plasmius fell to the ground and the black transformation rings washed over his body. Vlad was shocked, he didn’t mean to transform back into a human, he tried to transform again but to no avail. He tried over and over again. Sam and Tucker watched the Greek girl turn back to face the unconscious boy who transformed back into Danny Fenton, and pulled him out of the rubble. The Greek girl then summoned something circular Sam, Tucker, nor Vlad could make out and shoved it inside Danny's chest. Sam went up to confront the woman. “Who are you and what do you want with Danny!?” The woman dragged Danny’s body to the street in front of Sam and Tucker. “All in due time Samantha Manson.” The woman waved her hand and like magic, all the destruction from the battle was undone. Everything was pristine like nothing happened. The girl turned to leave, but not before telling Sam and Tucker, “Tell the boy to get some damn singing lessons!” Before seemingly fading out of existence. “Who was that?” Sam and Tucker said at the same time. “I don’t know, and I almost don’t want to know.” Plasmius’s voice from behind the duo sounded. The elder halfa transformed once again now that the mysterious visitor was gone. In the depths of Longnow, Clockwork gazed at the Greek ghost girl known as Hestia with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Her mischievous and impulsive nature never failed to test his patience. "Was that really necessary, Hestia?" Clockwork questioned. Hestia, the spirit of the hearth and family, lounged lazily on a nearby bench, her eyes glimmering with mischief. "Come on, Clocky, you know I can't resist, besides, he put up quite a fight, didn't he? Even better than Pariah," she responded with a mischievous grin. Clockwork let out a resigned sigh. He had come to expect these antics from Hestia. Despite her childlike demeanor, she held immense power and influence, especially when it came to shaping the destinies of those she deemed worthy. And, much to Clockwork's chagrin, she seemed to have taken a liking to Daniel. "And did you give it to him?" Clockwork asked, Hestia's eyes sparkled with excitement as she nodded. "Of course, Clocky! He's the best thing to happen to the realms in a long time. He needed a push, a nudge in the right direction, and I provided it. It's all part of the grand plan." Clockwork couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and annoyance towards Hestia. Her unpredictable nature often led to unforeseen consequences, but her role in guiding individuals toward their destinies was unquestionable. "Remember, Hestia, we are bound to observe and guide, not manipulate outright," Clockwork reminded her, his voice filled with a gentle authority. Hestia waved off his concern with a nonchalant flick of her hand. "Oh, come on, Clocky. You know I always play within the rules. I just like to spice things up a bit. And besides, this is for the greater good." Clockwork couldn't help but crack a small smile. Despite their differences, Hestia's enthusiasm and dedication to her role were undeniable. In her own way, she brought balance to the realms, even if her methods were unorthodox. Danny and Jazz head down to grab breakfast, Danny munches on some cereal not caring anymore that the milk was half ectoplasm, while Jazz has a glass with her oatmeal not realizing how much ectoplasm was in the milk. “Hey Danny how've you been since I whooped your butt yesterday? '' A childish voice calls out, Danny and Jazz turn. Danny sees the ghost girl from yesterday and jumps back pulling Jazz behind him. “She's the ghost from yesterday!” Danny shouts. Hearing the word ghost Jack and Maddie burst through the door. However, upon seeing the normal-looking new girl in the room, Jack asks, “Who are you?” The girl smiles brightly and says “I'm Hestia and I'm a ghost. Specifically the spirit of the hearth, family, and most importantly connection. Well, this form is Hestia, it's my favorite.” Jack and Maddie stand there stunned, “Oh, and I’ll be working with Danny here now. Yes, we will work together very intimately.” Hestia struggled to find the proper words, “Yes, he will be inside of me, no wait that didn’t sound right,...” Hestia thought some more as the faces of those around her started to change from shock to different kinds of worry. “I will be inside of Danny, yep that’s the words I’m looking for, yes Danny and I must work closely.” She nods and Danny interjects “That doesn’t sound any better!” as Jazz nods her head furiously in agreement. Maddie and Jack finally come back to reality and shoot their weapons at Hestia. Who reappears on the other side of the room. “That wasn’t very nice. I’m a good ghost!” Hestia shakes her head, “No wonder Danny and Jazz no longer have a familial bond with you two.” Hestia says before fading out of existence. Jack and Maddie immediately shout how Danny must now be ecto contaminated and must run some tests. Jazz panics and says “Oh we’re running late for school, gotta run!” and yanks Danny out the door. Later that day at Pandora's lair Tucker gets a notification on his PDA. The GIW announces that they will use the Fenton portal to launch an ecto-nuke made of ectoranium and powered by the ectoplasm of a few blob ghosts to destroy the ghost zone. Everyone is shocked not knowing what to do. The infinite realms connected an infinite number of universes. To destroy the realms is to destroy all of those worlds The group stands in stunned silence, their hearts sinking at the devastating news. The implications of the GIW's plan are dire, as the destruction of the Ghost Zone would mean the obliteration of countless interconnected realms and universes. Sam, her eyes burning with fury, clenches her fists tightly. "They can't possibly be serious. They would risk destroying everything, just to eliminate ghosts?" she exclaims, her voice filled with a mixture of anger and disbelief. Jazz tries to compose herself despite the overwhelming sense of urgency. "We have to find a way to stop them. If the Ghost Zone is destroyed, it will have catastrophic consequences on the entire fabric of existence," Danny, his eyes glowing with an intense green light, steps forward. "We can't let them carry out their plan. We have to find a way to disable the ecto-nuke." Tucker, his mind racing, looks at his PDA and starts typing furiously. "I'll hack into their systems and see if there's any way to disable the launch sequence. We need a plan, and we need it fast," he says, his fingers dancing across the screen. "We must gather all the allies we can. The Ghost Zone will unite against this threat. We must rally the spirits, the guardians, and anyone who stands against the destruction of the realms," Pandora advises. Sam nods in agreement, "We'll fight together. No matter the odds, we won't let them succeed. " "We must gather everyone we can, but where do we meet?" Pandora wonders out loud. Danny calmly says, "Pariah's keep, everyone will meet us at Pariah's Keep." Unbenounced to Danny, jazz, Tucker, and Sam. Danny's words echoed throughout the ghost zone and all ghosts, even clockwork, and the observants feel the compulsion to go to Pariah's keep, not knowing where the compulsion came from. Freakshow, a master of manipulating ghosts, eagerly accepts an offer from the GIW to take control of Vlad Plasmius. Using his enchanted scepter, Freakshow delves into the depths of Vlad's mind, seeking to harness the former billionaire's ghostly powers for the GIW's malevolent agenda. As the energy of the scepter intertwines with Vlad's essence, his mind becomes clouded, and his actions fall under Freakshow's control. As the echoes of Danny's words reverberate through the Ghost Zone, Clockwork, the Observants, and countless other spectral beings find themselves inexplicably compelled to join the gathering at Pariah's Keep. Despite their confusion over the source of the compulsion, they know that their presence is necessary. One by one, the ghosts arrive at Pariah's Keep, the atmosphere crackles with anticipation as familiar faces and ancient spirits stand side by side. As the gathering reaches its apex, Danny steps forward about to speak up with the grave news but Vlad appears out of nowhere still under the control of Freakshow, and blasts Danny with a massive ecto blast leaving a volleyball size hole in Danny's chest and exposing his core. As the aftermath of Vlad's attack settles, the ghosts around Danny maintain their hold on the defeated antagonist. Everyone's attention becomes fixated on the mysterious sight before them--Danny’s core, it looked like a translucent black crystal with stars on the inside. The crystal was encased in ice. But even weirder was that Danny's core was surrounded by a spinning silver metal crown that emanated blue fire. Hestia appears out of nowhere and looks at Danny, "Probably not the coronation you expected huh, my King." she whistles. "King, I can't be king!" Danny's voice whimpers. "Too late, you already got the crown" Hestia points to the crown circling around Danny's core. "How, the crown of fire is locked away!" Pandora exasperates. "Nope, That 'crown' was a trinket just so Pariah could feed his ego." Hestia laughs, "My truest self is the spirit of connection, I am all that connects every possible thing. Right down to the quarks.” Hestia gives a dramatic pause. Hestia declares, "I am the crown of fire." Hestia Smiles at Pandora "As long as there is connection between anything, anywhere, at any time I shall exist. The crown will exist." Hestia returns to look at Danny, "The crown has always surrounded the core of the current King, we can get you a trinket for your head if you want, I didn't think you were that vain." Danny shook his head still in shock, "I'm not" "Good" Hestia replied. She sends him off on his own to attack the GIW saying he should be enough and that unleashing the armies wasn't necessary at this point. As Danny single-handedly launched a war on the GIW facilities, chaos erupted across the human world. His destructive power was unparalleled, leaving a wake of devastation that surpassed anything in human history. Buildings crumbled, streets were torn apart, and the nearby abandoned cities were shattered. Yet it was only a fraction of what Danny knew he was capable of, Danny didn’t have the time to learn how to hold his powers back properly. The news spread like wildfire, showing the world the magnitude of the conflict. People watched in awe and terror as Phantom's rage crumbled buildings, witnessing the extraordinary powers of the ghost and the sheer scale of the destruction he caused. The GIW's weapons and defenses proved ineffective against the King of the infinite realms, and their facilities fell one by one. However, amidst the devastation, there were some innocent lives caught in the crossfire. The widespread destruction and loss of human lives became an unbearable weight on Danny's conscience. He had fought for the safety of every realm in existence but he never intended for such destruction to befall the human world. The casualties and suffering weighed heavily on him, and guilt began to gnaw at his heart. He didn’t want to become Dan, he couldn’t become Dan. He sought to end the conflict and mitigate the damage caused. Together, Danny and Pandora traveled to the US Capitol Building. They stand before Congress, "Members of Congress, we come before you today to shed light on the atrocities committed by the GIW." Danny begins, his voice steady yet filled with emotion. "In the name of justice, in the name of protecting our realm, every realm in existence, your loved ones, and our loved ones, we urge you to reconsider your support for these actions." Pandora's words resonate with eloquence. She shares stories of the ghosts' suffering, how ghosts have societies, how they have families that are being torn apart, of the need for empathy and understanding. Congress listens intently, their expressions shifting from skepticism to concern. The evidence presented by Danny and Pandora paints a vivid picture of the horrors inflicted upon the ghostly inhabitants of the Infinite Realms. The atmosphere in Congress is tense as the debate over the ghost situation escalates. Representatives from both sides passionately argue their points, their voices echoing through the chambers. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez raises her voice above the commotion. "Did that seem non-sentient to you? Did the suffering, the emotions, and the pleas for justice of these ghostly beings not resonate within your hearts?" Republicans quickly counter her statement, dismissing the ghosts as mere threats to national security. "These so-called 'ghosts' are dangerous entities that need to be neutralized for the safety of our citizens. This isn't about sentience; it's about protecting the American people," one representative asserts. The debate rages on, with members of Congress divided along party lines. Some empathize with the ghosts, recognizing the need for a more nuanced approach. Others cling to fear and prejudice, using terms like "unfeeling evil post-human consciousness" and "ectoplasmic scum." As the discussions continue, the anti-ecto acts are brought up--a set of legislation aimed at classifying ghosts as non-sentient and mandating their destruction. The proposed acts spark outrage among those who advocate for the rights and recognition of the ghostly inhabitants of the Infinite Realms. "Are we not a nation that prides itself on justice and equality?" Ocasio-Cortez challenges her fellow representatives. "To deny these beings their sentience is to deny their basic rights. We cannot turn a blind eye to their suffering and dismiss them!" The debate becomes heated, with voices rising and tensions mounting. Supporters of the anti-ecto acts label Ocasio-Cortez and her allies as bleeding-heart liberals, accusing them of being out of touch with the concerns of the American people. Yet, within the chaos, other representatives step forward, their voices joining Ocasio-Cortez's in defense of the ghosts Following an intense voting process and deliberations, Congress reached a decision on whether to continue the war against the ghosts. The votes were counted, and the outcome was announced to the awaiting nation and the world. With a slim margin, Congress decided not to continue the war against the ghosts. However, the GIW and the Anti-Ecto acts remained intact. It was a decision that carried significant weight, marking a turning point in the conflict and the nation's approach to resolving the crisis. The voices of reason, diplomacy, and compassion prevailed, guiding the country towards a different path. This decision to halt the war against the ghosts was met with mixed reactions across the country and the infinite realms. Supporters of the GIW and the Acts expressed their disappointment, arguing that the ghosts posed an ongoing threat that required immediate and decisive action. Meanwhile, those in favor of peace and diplomacy welcomed the decision.

I didn't have room in 'The long road of how starting a fight with Superman over clone parenting eventually lead to Danny Phantom Becoming God' to show how Danny becomes the Ghost King. So I made this little one-shot showing how it happened. Also, note the Ghost King is not equal to God with a capital G at this time.

[m-r-levine]

Find The Word / Last Line Tag

A belated answer to @late-to-the-fandom ‘s tag. Thank you!! 🖤 Even though it took a minute to hunt because Life but also mobile os. (The times i use a Real Computer™️ anymore outside of the Boring Job are vanishingly slender.)

Rules Guidelines: To either share their last four lines or find the words desk, done, double, dead in their WIP and post the excerpts.

Gently tagging in with neither pressure nor deadline @avrablake @winterandwords @schepper-wubs-wips @spookyceph (it won’t let me tag @ceph-the-ghost-writer and I don’t know what I’m doing wring I’m so sorry) and as always, an open tag for anyone who would like to play.

These excerpts are from Unspoken, as mi hijo maldito is in time-out for continuing to resist my efforts to get him and Vishan into the actual plot point we’ve been writing towards for 75k already.

Desk

“As you were,” said Keris briskly, even though they all knew it wouldn’t happen. She crossed to the desk at the head of the room in taut silence. Several fidgeted as she drew a copy of the third volume of the current Lists from the shelf under the wall slate and dropped it on the desk. They all knew what it held, as they knew the reassignments she’d authorized that morning would be transcribed into their proper place in the master volumes soon enough, which in turn would update the spellbound copies. They all knew she knew the Lists even more intimately than they. It was a running joke among the cadets that the Praetor was miserly with her magic because she used the better half of it to carry the Writ and all the Archives in her head. Yet not one soul dared a breath of question as she turned pages in the third volume of the Lists, skimming notations they all half-believed she didn’t need to read.

Done

Every voice on the Council served for their mind as much as their valor even from the Founding — and all of them lost shieldmates in the campaign for Xiphos. Cir understood them and their secret hearts, just as he understood Keris would need to learn how to understand the same before she could carry the mantle. They needed to purge the emptiness where their secret heart said they hadn’t done enough, that if they only fought harder, the Fallen would still be there, and no one would ever need to think of carving their shield-names in stone. They needed to strive and bleed in defense of their beloved’s honor once more, and prove to themselves that surviving the Fallen hadn’t diminished their love. And — they needed to prove to each other that they loved one another too much to keep fighting when Death joined the little battle.

Double

This one i had to stretch a little since it only occurs twice and the other instance was in a fragment

The last region in the set was not a physical place at all. Few comandanti folios stayed there long - if they were on leave to heal and did not, their folio moved either among the retired or the Fallen. Those on regular leave rotated back out with the season. Personal leave rarely stretched much longer, unless they took a quatrain for formal education in one of the powerful cities and for whatever reason couldn’t attach themselves to a local cohort.

Except for one.

Comandanti Hastatus

Davrush mej Nakun

Rated master:

Pilum, double-edge short sword, thrown hammer, thrown shortblade, short backsword, sling, dagger, buckler, lance.

Rated expert:

spear, long hammer, single edged saber, shortbow, corseque, halberd, tower shield, unarmed.

Rated distinguished expert:

longsword, arming sword, bardiche, long backsword, longbow, crossbow, round shield.

Last campaign:

Mor’chagh, see West campaign, see also Ragestorm cult mission folios.

Dead

“Discipline only tempers mortal fallibility. It's not a cure. Beware the excesses of virtue attributed to the dead."

[m-r-levine]

Oof. So uh that’s a long list. Looks like 27 28*… unless I’m forgetting stuff. Brain move too fast for typing. WIPs perpetually spawning plotbunnies. Piles of outlines, some of which are probably too ambitious to be one book.

Send help.

*ETA: 28, I forgot one of the side fics

Dark Tapestry world (original):

Spun Shadows (Keris story 2, leveling up with the Trinae and weathering a major civil disturbance in Libertalia. B-plots involving conflict of duty and yearning for companionship despite all the dangers that entails)

Threadcutter (Sy story in his alias as Finn Chieragh. The gods are not as dead as we thought and they are making that everyone’s problem. Keris is enthralled by a possessed blade and Rokoval’s efforts to divide her from it are less than completely successful. Sy and Rokoval’s rivalry blossoms into full-on hatred, but they are forced to work together to keep the godbotherers and abominations in check. Battle of Xiphos)

Dark Tides (Urg’tak origin story, alternate “start” line overlapping Darkly Woven/ Keris 1. Piracy in a post-apocalyptic fantasy setting with queer protagonists, cultural conflict, political power struggles, and what do you do when you fall in love with someone who forgets you every time they get knocked unconscious yet fate keeps crossing your threads anyway?)

Unspoken (Keris story number??? In which she now leads the Trinae. Cieron was lost on pilgrimage centuries ago, but strangers with magic beyond anything known since before the Rending show up at the Xiphos gates to return his personal effects and beg the Trinae to mediate ongoing faction struggles in their home country. Bonus round, lost city under the sands rumored to hold an ever-dying god and the secret of true immortality somewhere behind the ranks of lots and lots of revenants B plot forbidden romance with her oggish second-in-command which really wants to a series of graphic novels where the plot priorities reverse and escalate to PWP )

Binding Darkness (Keris story for when the conflict of duty and longing eventually win - but her curse won’t let her pass on. Minx and Rokoval discover her and each blame each other when they realize she is a haunt and no longer a tangible living person. Their dispute eventually brings the situation to Sy’s knowledge, and he tracks down her remains, determined to unravel the pattern he blames himself for. Polyamorous disaster beans. Came Back Wrong. Discovering the roots of the long torrid drama. No matter how far you go there you are.)

Seeds (Keris pre-Rending, wildly unprintable og/elf shenanigans. Main plot is oggish struggle for independence and self-determination against the backdrop of a centuries-long war between the major moonborn powers. B plots involve polyamorous attraction crossing cultural boundaries and challenging assumed power diferencial and also Magical Science)

Just A Little Taste (late-era supporting character Chrysoprase and sude character Baarca go on an adventure and fall in lust then accidentally take on an elder dragon who collects mortals like a “rescue” animal hoarder and spark an international incident)

Wager (short story, Keris x Minx origins, delightfully toxic stabby!bard/warriormage femmeslash. Potential to expand into novel concept Bright Thread)

Lesson (graphic novel series, kinky PWP, late era Keris alias shenanigans with new playmates learning their prejudice and bias must die for them to find fulfilling roles in life and their relationships)

Honorable Burden (late era supporting character Chrysopraze runs away from home and is captured to be sold at a private market in the City of Mirrors. The first bidder is a decorated Indigo Faction captain who was invited for politics and manners and to perhaps buy servants or gladiators, not the prize jewel. When his money is politely refused, he massacres the auctioneers and audience and takes her by force. They flee to Libertalia, hiding under assumed names while they both try to figure out what comes next. Fake dating trope with extra peril and kink)

Dark Fairytales

Obsidian Slipper (novella, genderqueered cinderella type)

Exile Cycle (wondertale, origin story for the first king of the exiled moonborn and just-so stories surrounding the Quatrain Festival)

Near Earth fantasy

Malados (Sequel to La Mala Suerte, Teca follows the mad demon hunter Vishan West™️ even though he is profoundly unwell after the event of book 1. Shenanigans ensue. Angst with only one bed, shared peril, enemies to lovers to enemies to friends)

Golden Sails (outlined novel, Man of Science Aiden Ó Faoláin signs on to an expedition for the Royal Academy and en route to the place they’re studying his ship is captured and survivors held ransom by Khalif Isidoros Reis. His ransom is set so high the crown mistakes him for someone Important™️ in disguise and sends Admiral Diana Seshat Attebury to steal him back. Shenanigans ensue.)

Well Met (short story, pre-LMS, a young Dan Seward struggling with his crush on Eleanor Knight and realizing it’s both much more than a crush and it’s hopeless)

And then there’s the @studiorat fics

King of Shadows (LoZ, pre-Twlight. Novella.) currently fleshing out the rough draft into chapter 4 of 8. Mature but clean Zelgan)

Spirit Winds (LoZ, pre-Twilight, falls between Flower of Twilight and King of Shadows. Zelda seeks their Name in the Geld’o tradition and comes out the other side of the Trials a true sovereign)

Sun’s Heart (LoZ, pre-Twilight, collab novella with @folodu set after Cruelty of Gods and concurrent with the Twilight Princess canonical execution. Gerudo delegation comes to claim the body of their king before Hyruke can burn it and the newly-elevated Sun’s Heart Nabooru gets drunk and falls into bed with Zelda. Chaos ensues, decades of intrigue come to boil, and in the middle of it the Arbiters attempt to invoke the judgment of the gods on the real Ganondorf. Currently rewriting chapter 12. Mature but clean.)

Day Arising (LoZ, OoT/Majora alternate timeline. Novel currently developing the second of five acts . Intended to be a novella and we see how well that went. Angsty and complicated with exceptionally raunchy kinky bits integral to the developing relationship and the meta-plot of the Sins series. Polyamorous Gan/OCs with a heavy side of starcrossed GanLink)

Brief Minutes Tell (LoZ, post BotW AU based on the TotK trailer and going in a wildly different direction. Clean but dark and experimental triforce trio novella. Roughly halfway into the outlined plot, i don’t know why i can’t convert it to words.)

East Wind (LoZ, OoT/Majora. Smutty GanLink PWP developed complex military and political intrigue and in Act 4 veers into a dysfunctional but ultimately intriguing trio dynamic. Rewriting the early portion of the act while still aiming for the same core beats later. This is a trilogy length drama in a queer and tragic hat)

Shade of My Enemy (LoZ Twilight Princess era graphic novel AND prose adaptation because I am ridiculous. Mature and dark but clean gothic canon-compatible Zelgan with potential for post-canon trio)

To Draw New Mischief On (LoZ OoT/Majora. Rated for violence and dark themes. Capstone accidentally epic novel for the Branches and Fate cycle. Platonic Link & Ganondorf: the hero stole the destined prince of darkness from the birthing room and hid both him and his magic from the whole world.m, hoping to save everyone this time. This mostly works… right up until he meets Zelda and she refuses to trust him unless he brings her the kokiri emerald, which sets Destiny in motion again. Polyamorous with a side of Zelgan, but the romantic elements are C plot at best.)

Monstrous Depravity (LoZ, Twilight Princess) A canon-compatible smutty AU of SoME. A side project started with the explicit intent of torturing my cast until they give me words again for their main projects damnit. Currently converting outline to prose in chapter 12 of 20 but I have 20 finished and 19 almost finished because my brain is just not accepting linear storytelling right now for Reasons which no doubt contributed to us being in this place to begin with. Zelgan focused polyamorous orgy with Size difference, monsterfucking, extended RACK play, angst and drop and suicidal ideation, hurt/comfort, persuasion, sex drugs, temporary character death, love confessions, like… the kitchen sink would be in there if I find a way to shoehorn it

Fall Eternal (OFMD fix-it Izzy oneshot)

Unnamed Voltron fixit I have no business still prodding at the outline for

Garden (LoZ, Twilight Princess, SoME-compliant) Another collab with @folodu , loosely sequel to Entanglements. Zelgan PWP though the “plot” in question is rather small and almost domestic, overlapping with and expanding on the relationship arcs in SoME

Foreman to a Hero (LoZ, spinoff of Mischief) Follows a minor side character who works for Link in his guise as an architect and follows him is small, slice-of-life moments traveling in tandem with the events of Mischief. Teen at most for dark themes and swearing

How many writing projects do you have?

(If anything, I don't just mean ideas, I mean full-blown projects-when you already have a plot, have characters, and just need to finalize the details and write the whole thing.)

I'll go first. I have 22 projects at the moment, one of which I'm very actively working on.

[jay2k-writing-stuff]

Crowned by War II

"Come then, boy, and test your mettle against the Lord of Battles, and see if you can take my crown from me! You face the King of War, and you had best not disappoint!"

We stood in the sand-covered floor of the arena, the stands around us empty and barren. Above and across from me stood the Shrine of the War Crown, hanging with the banners accumulated over the ages by the one who wore it. It had showed the long-practiced care and maintenance, its earthen tones re-painted when needed, the scarlet adornments and accents also, the gold and silver and platinum filigree here and there polished. Only the Sign of War itself above the shrine needed nothing, a divine blessing keeping it cleaned and gleaming.

The sands in the arena had been smoothed and swept, raked into a mandala pattern with the same long care. Apart from around the pair of us. I was simply armored, light mail and plate with the sphinx-sigil and colors of the Bellicon League, a vambrace and gauntlet on my left arm, a bracer on the right, greaves and sabatons. I held my gladius at one side as I faced down my opponent.

Bellerex, by contrast, wore no armor whatsoever. He was bare to the waist, his body hale and well-built despite his age, and showed the multitudes of scars that he'd taken over the millennia of his existence. Tattoos banded his arms and his neck, though the ones on his forearms were hidden by the leather wraps he'd tied around them. He wore loose, pristine white trousers, with black footwraps and legwraps below the knee. His clean white teeth showing in the midst of his short-cropped gray beard beneath a shaved bald head. He bore a blade in each hand, a falchion on the right, and a short xiphos on the left, both held in an almost lazy, loose grip. Around his brow sat his crown, an iron circle wrought to resemble interlocked blades, woven with chain-like designs.

The echoes of his last boast faded in the grounds of the shrine, and I set my jaw. "Have at you!" I declared, and then I moved.

Only one such as he could have seen me move. I felt the parry of my slash, my vambrace already up to intercept the retaliatory swing of the falchion. Bellerex smiled as he regarded me, the xiphos locked with my gladius. "Oho! Such speed! But I could hardly expect otherwise of any challenger for my crown."

Sand fountained upward from the tamp of my foot, breaking the blade-lock. My armored arm knocked his falchion away before I lunged inward to slam into his broad chest. It was like striking a wall, but there was a micron of a step backward as he strengthened his stance. His arms scissored inward, to aim for a grapple or grip, but caught only air. He turned his head to look up, watching as I somersaulted over him, but then was already moving out of the way as, mid-turn, I suddenly catapulted back down, the slash parting the air with a sound like tearing silk.

"Ah-h-h," his satisfied sigh reached me as the sand fell back to the floor, xiphos held reversed as he scratched at his beard. The old man chuckled. "That lunging strike actually made me give ground, however small. And the air-step as well! Such techniques I've not seen in so long--"

He had to interrupt himself to sidestep my next attack, but his reverse-swing of the xiphos-- intended to strike my head from my shoulders-- went over me as I instead spun low, my legs scything at his. His stance was too strong to topple him, but I had not expected it to. I used that iron strength in his thigh to step up his flank, rising up at head height. I could see the delighted surprise in his expression as my other foot came around and cracked off the side of his skull.

The blow did knock him off balance, but he was still upright as I landed and moved in. The flat of my sword caught his wrist, knocking the xiphos to the sands, before the vambrace caught him in the jaw, I flipped the gladius around and caught him in the temple with the knot. He staggered again, still off balance, before grunting as I brought the gladius across his collarbone and upper chest. I felt the edge bite at his flesh and smelt the spill of fresh blood before I leapt away again, re-adjusting my grip as I watched him.

Bellerex had regained his footing, and was looking at the blood trickling down from the injury. He touched it and licked it off his thumb. "The fabled technique of the Bellocin masters. The strength of the ox, ferocity of the lion, the speed of the hawk," he recited the tenets of the league's style. "Of course, boy, you know this as well--"

I turned, parrying his own blinding speed, bending backward to avoid the cross-swing that came in response to the parry, and was already blocking the knee that came up with my greave. He was laughing as I used his raised leg for my own to step off of, thrusting myself backward, handspringing to come upright, then air-stepping upward to avoid the fresh blitz rush.

But then he leapt after me, air-stepping himself to match me. "--I was the one who taught the technique to the League to begin with!" He air-stepped again to lunge for me, only to get knocked back to the arena floor with my left hook. He landed nimbly, rotating his arm as he watched my own descent. "Hell of a punch, boy."

I nodded at the compliment. "I am not hailed as Marshal Strongarm without reason."

The old man chuckled. "I would be a fool to assume you didn't have other tricks up your sleeve, then. Not merely mastery of the Bellocin technique." This time his parry was faster, and so was his retaliation, leaving a scratch across my plate before I leapt clear of his immediate reach. He was already upon me less than a blink later, and I trapping his punching arm underneath mine. "Aha, you think at this close range I can't use the falchion effectively and can use your free hand for a solid punch or two before I'll get free--"

He had been expecting me to go for the face and head, perhaps under the impression that I could silence his declamations. And it was true that I value less verbal sparring in a melee, but instead of going for his face, I got one punch in on his liver before he tucked his right arm in and trapped my armored fist. He did not crow about the trap, merely grinned again, before his head snapped forward. I'm no stranger to the Weagian Kiss, I've utilized it myself, and endured them more sturdily than others.

Others weren't wearing an iron crown when they did it, though.

My vision went blurry as I staggered back from the clutch, feeling my skin split and bleed where the crown had struck. As fast I could be to recover from such a blow and get my vision back, I knew I didn't have that kind of time. I shut my eyes and let other senses prevail, managing to block the falchion again with my armored arm on an instinctive reaction. I heard the movement of air and turned, barely parrying a swing, then grunting as his fist caught me in the jaw. I managed to turn with the blow to avoid getting it dislocated, and kept turning as I dropped, again sweeping low with my foot.

Once more, his stance was too sturdy to be felled by the kick, so I tried the step-climb off his knee again. This time he was turning in response to it and his fist once more got me, striking me in the chest and sending me flying backward. I only just managed to turn and use the air-step to slow my momentum before landing in an awkward stumble. My vision was clear enough to see him already closing again.

Another tamp of my foot sent a fountain of sand up, obscuring my presence long enough to get out of the line of his charge, but I heard him laughing again as I blinked my eyes to finish clearing my vision. The lingering ache throbbed in my head from the headbutt, I could feel the blood trickling down my face, and managed to see him slowly advancing. "You've been the best fight I've had in at least five centuries, Marten!" he declared. "Not many people can remain standing after taking two of my blows!"

"I wouldn't expect so," I admitted. "Not many could even stand a chance against you."

The old man tilted his head. "I've proven I can keep up with and counter your Bellocin techniques. You've felt my physical might. And still there's no fear in you."

I scoffed. "To live without fear is to be a fool. Accepting one's fear and mastering it is key to reaching your best self."

Bellerex chuckled, but shook his head. "No, even the best of challengers that have faced me have had fear inside them. These were men and women I know had mastered their fears--"

"--and you beat them all because in spite of that, they still had fear of you," I wiped blood from my face with a cloth. "If not when they stepped onto the sands with you, then certainly not long after, when they realized exactly what they were facing."

"And you aren't afraid of me, boy?"

He was upon me again, hoping to instill that missing fear into me with another blitz rush. But his step faltered when I threw bloody cloth in his face, once more somersaulting over him with a slash of my own, then air-stepping back out of his furious whirling swing's range. More blood splattered onto the sands from the fresh wound across his shoulder blades, but he laughed again as he popped his neck.

I faced him. "I knew what I was walking into. I knew who I was facing. Amras the Last."

His smile at last faded. I nodded. "That was your name, long ago, before you came out of the Far Reaches, wasn't it? With your company of heroes? Sezuai, Rhaene, Nehtana--"

"Do not speak their names!" His voice roared now as he came for me again, with speed that eclipsed the blitz rushes earlier. I had already moved to avoid his furious pursuit, once again tamping down my foot to send a fountain of sand in front of me to obscure my escape. When he turned again to find me, he had to jerk his head out of the way of the xiphos, which I had scooped up and thrown at him. As it was, it tore his cheek open.

"You miss them, don't you?" I asked him, as he felt the fresh well of blood on his face. "You've wanted a worthy challenger not so much for the fight, but because you want someone who can beat you, so you can move on to wherever they're waiting for you."

My escaping dodge wasn't fast enough either, as it caught my arm. If it hadn't been my armored one, I would have lost the limb. I could feel blood slicking the interior of the vambrace and gauntlet as I air-stepped away once more, but he was doing the same in the chase. Once again, I tamped my foot, but he was too close this time and the falchion slashed through it. I leant back from it, grunting as it caught the bridge of my nose and edge of my cheekbone.

"I won't keep falling for the same tricks!" Bellerex snarled as I parried his next swing, ducking close and bulling into him with the blood-soaked vambrace. "Did you want another butt in the head, boy-- yeeaarrrgh!!"

The scream came as I sank my teeth into his gashed cheek and tore a strip from his face. I spat his flesh into the sands and then blood into his eyes before reversing my gladius and bashing the knot into the wound. He stumbled back with a wild swing of his falchion, but I had already ducked and air-stepped backward.

"You want to die!" I shouted at him. "But your pride won't let you lay down and accept defeat!"

His eyes were blazing as he looked up at me. His smile was more fierce, with less delight in it now. "Oh-h-h, I'll make sure your armor has pride of place in the trophy case, Marten of the Bellicon League--"

He stopped to catch my flying knee in his free hand. I was able to see the astonishment at how fast the attack had come before the other came up and into his chin. He staggered back, tanking the downward hammer-fist of my gauntlet across the back of his neck. He still managed to step back and avoid most of the upward reverse-slash of my gladius, leaving another bloody carve in his chest. He blocked the follow-up slash, then grunted as my armored hand slammed into his liver again.

I jumped back as he aimed another punch, then watched as he felt the fresh slash on his chest, the bloody mess of his cheek. "You've been holding back?" His voice was bewildered.

I said nothing, knowing that he would work it out quickly enough. I was proven right when he chuckled again, nodding. "Of course. I wanted a worthy challenge," he spoke out the thought process. "If you'd come out with everything from the start, and it failed at the outset, you'd feel the fear you won't let yourself have. Because if I went down from your best shot, you had nothing left to fall back on, and-- you knew I would be disappointed in that." He looked up at me with a new respect in his eyes.

I nodded. "Ramp up my techniques as you adapt. So in the end, I know I've either died giving you a worthy challenge, or I have elevated myself to the point that I can surpass you."

He gave another, somewhat rueful, smile and chuckle, before his lip curled, distorting the ruined side of his face. "And invoking their names?"

I shrugged. "Bringing up your former comrades let me know that my theory was right. Your pride won't let you go without falling to a worthy foe. I suspected when I studied the teachings of my antecedent, Tiran Soldat."

"Ah, word of his prowess reached me, of course," the old man admitted. "I regret that he never sought me out."

"By the time he learned of your shrine, he was unable to make the journey." I shrugged again. "Lungrot had taken root by then. He could never have allowed himself to face you at anything less than his best."

The old man laughed, sadly this time. "Perhaps I shall meet him, whenever I move on to what comes next." He gripped his falchion sturdily. "Our next exchange is going to be our last, you know this, yes?"

I nodded, squeezing the grip of my gladius tightly. "I won't hold back this time, and I know you'll be coming at me with everything. Perhaps I'll fail to stop the wars eternal, but it won't be because of weakness."

He nodded again, and there was a silence that fell as we each took the moment to center ourselves. I saw the instant before he was going to move, and I once more tamped down my foot. But this time, every bit of sand in the arena leapt into the air, obscuring everything, and causing his blitz rush-- faster than the fastest blink-- to falter as he lost sight of me.

I had already moved aside from the path of his rush, then air-stepped back in behind him, my sword cutting across the backs of his legs. I heard the stumble, then the crash as he went tumbling to the arena floor as the sand fell back down around us. As I slid to a halt, I could feel my muscles screaming at me; forcing myself past my usual limits with the speed of my technique was not without consequence.

So I was limping with stiff, sore legs as I approached the old man, who had turned onto his back, blood pooling around his maimed legs. He propped himself up onto his elbows, falchion having fallen and spun away in his collapse. He had a smile on his face as I shambled up to him. "Ah-h-h," he sighed. "You didn't hold back. Thank you."

He regarded me from where he lay. "You know what awaits now, yes?" He reached up and took the crown from his brow, holding it up toward me.

I stood back from it. "I do not want your crown--"

"Want has nothing to do with it, boy," he snapped. "I was not the first to bear it. Nor will you be the last. But the crown will always be borne by the one who bested their predecessor. Take it."

His tone brooked no argument. I grasped it, and he pointed a finger in command. Reluctantly, I planted the gladius in the sands as I took it with both hands, settling it on my brow. There was a Power in it, one which was waiting for me to complete one final task, before it would reveal itself to me. I looked back at the old man.

"Peace, the world will get for a while," he said, as he lay back. "It won't last. It never will. But for a while, the wars eternal will stop." He settled himself. "But now... the time has come for me to move along to what comes next." A sigh. "Finally."

I took up my sword and held it ready. He watched it rise, and nodded. I plunged it down into his heart, and he let his eyes close with a content smile at last. So passed the One Born of the Far Reaches, the Eternal Champion, Lord of Battles, King of War. Called Karlvon, Yudaragi, Vasto Polmarc, Bellerex, Amras.

The Crown's Power whispered, but I let it know that I did not wish to know its secrets yet. I needed rest, myself, and then to see that the old man received a proper send-off.

In time, others would come to the shrine. Others would add their armors and weapons to the trophies. More banners would line the path through the valley.

They would come to face the Last of the Bellicon League, Scion of Tiran Soldat, Marshal Strongarm...

Marten, Crowned by War.