#What is this one-sided attempt at conquest and victory?

[starryknight565]

no bc I will get heated, don't get me started on this one

another poll because i was just thinking about it

[she-walks-on-starlight]

Negotiations

a/n: This is Day 2! So sorry it's late, I was hospitalised over the weekend which put me behind! I'm working hard to catch up hehe

Pairing: Ambessa Medarda x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Write a scene without any dialogue

Warnings: smut, vaginal fingering, public sex, alcohol drinking, slight dom-sub vibes, mentions of violence, mention of blood

Summary: Ambessa hates negotiating, no matter how important it is for her rule. Perhaps she will make herself some entertainment to find it more enjoyable...

Word Count: 1.1k

18+ | MEN AND MINORS DNI | 18+

You know Ambessa finds these meetings the most tedious part of ruling over Noxus. She finds little meaning or use in negotiations, far more used to greeting political rivals and ambitious warlords with her sword at their throat than breaking bread with them. It is a preposterous notion to her, attempting to appease her perceived enemies. As she presides over the emissaries and nobles at the head of the table, you know she is listening keenly, identifying weakness, and sniffing out any hidden agendas. Noxian custom is steeped in violence, and there was a time that Ambessa would be demanding fealty or these peoples’ heads.

But things are different for her now. Now, her daughter Mel has agreed to remain in contact with her and visit Noxus more often with her consort, Jayce. Ambessa can breathe easier knowing that rebuilding the bridge between herself, and her daughter will secure her legacy and ensure that a Medarda inherits the throne upon Ambessa’s death.

She has you now. Seated to her right, close by so she can always see you. Her consort, the love she never thought she’d find again. You’ve dressed yourself in a scarlet red ensemble tonight, complete with a gold medallion belt accentuating your hips. Red and gold, her favourite colours. The colours of war and victory. Conquest. You’ve already caught her more than once tonight, her eyes raking down your figure, her eyes hungry and her tongue darting out to wet her lips. When your eyes meet, she flashes you a fanged smile, no doubt envisioning the many ways she will take you when this insufferable night is over.

You’re drawn to one of the visiting emissaries booming laughter as he gulps down wine and flirts boisterously with the serving girls as they refill his plate and his cup. You try to suppress your smile as you take in Ambessa’s disgust, knowing she’d want nothing more than to pick up the lout like a ragdoll and smash him into the ornate mahogany dining table, likely shattering it in the process.

The image sends an unexpected but not entirely unwelcome rush of heat between your legs. You squeeze your thighs as you imagine her leering down at the man, twitching as blood leaks from his head and then turns to you with her signature smirk. The very same smirk that ushered you into her bed three years ago, at another function where Ambessa was more interested in the wine selection than the purpose of the gathering. The scandal had rocked the court of Noxus, their esteemed leader engaging in an ill-advised relationship with a younger woman, and the daughter of an insignificant noble. She had silenced their doubts in her usual way, with threats of broken bones and removed tongues.

At first, you were convinced that she wanted only for your body, the way she tasted and marked your flesh during your visits bruising you with carnal possession. She was a tornado of fire, and you were blessed to be at the heart of the inferno. Countless nights you found yourself in awe of her, in awe of your luck. Nights spent with shaking legs, dripping with sweat and your own release as she made you scream her name for her over and over again. She was never satisfied with hearing your desperate pleas and devoted prayers to her only once. You never feared her, and knew she would never hurt you, not unless you asked her to.

But she soon proved to you that she wanted more, much more, than what your body could give her. She wanted you by her side always, listening to her stories of long-forgotten battles on distant shores, showing off your new dresses, massaging away her troubles in the bathhouse. She had fallen hard for you, an unexpected light leading her out of the darkness.

You’re startled out of your reminiscing by a hand creeping up your dress, invited in by the high riding slit at the thigh. You gulp as Ambessa’s face remains completely impassive as she sips at her wine, but you don’t miss the quick glance she sends your way, and you know exactly what she’s trying to say.

Be quiet. Don’t move. And enjoy.

Her hand climbs higher, and you hear her try in vain to supress the deep rumbling groan that threatens to emanate from her throat when she finds no underwear to stop her advance. You’re already wet from your earlier fantasising, and your clit is throbbing, begging for her attention. As she drags calloused fingers through your folds, you grit your teeth and grip the table tightly. You’re in for a ride, and regardless of the social setting, Ambessa will expect you to take what she gives you.

She wastes no time in gathering the slick pooling from you, coating her fingers before she pushes one inside. Her fingers are thick, and no matter how used to the stretch you’ve become, you relish in the burn as your pussy eagerly welcomes her inside. Your knuckles are white with how hard you’re holding on and you’re fighting to keep your breathing even, lest one of your guests suspect something’s wrong. Ambessa would hate to be interrupted.

She’s adding a second finger, smirking into her wine as she can feel you tighten around her. You can feel the pressure mounting in your belly, your entire body aching for release. You shoot her a pleading look and feel her curl her fingers in response. You start to see spots at the edge of your vision as she brings you closer and closer, all while engaging in dull conversation. Gods, you were going to make her pay for this later. Her thumb is pressing roughly against your clit in swift, calculated circles, you can feel her determination to send you tumbling over the edge. Soon enough, you are doing just that, but you’re hurtling not simply falling. Your orgasm hits you like a searing meteorite, burning through you with force and it takes all of your self-control not to cry out, biting down on your lip so hard you draw blood. You cover it up quickly by taking a sip of wine, dabbing at your mouth with your napkin and glaring at Ambessa reproachfully. She takes no notice, leaning back in her chair with a self-satisfied grin.

Shaking your head, you try to reintegrate yourself into the conversation, though none of it holds your interest. Instead, you find yourself consumed by thoughts of your handsome warrior, trailing over each scar you can see and thinking fondly of all the ones you cannot but know intimately. You will reward her mischief with a soothing massage and relaxing oils tonight, it’s been far too long since you’ve caressed her bulging muscles. But you will deny her the taste of your flesh until she begs, a fitting punishment for tonight’s shenanigans. After all, no matter what the nobles of Noxus or the visiting emissaries of foreign lands may think, no matter how imposing Ambessa may appear, you know that there is only person she will fall to her knees for. Tonight, you will make her remember why.  

[springwitch26]

Hey you're writing is so beautiful and *cough cough* incredibly hot, would you be down to write a Melissa brat tamer oneshot 😅

No pressure ofc!

-anon

tear you apart (melissa schemmenti x fem!reader)

summary: you're feeling bratty and melissa is all too happy to punish you.

warnings: smut (18+), brat taming, punishment, degradation, spanking, humiliation, overstim, voyeurism? basically unhinged content + agatha harkness obsession disease 💜

notes: thank you anon for your kind words and this request! hope this is worth the wait. melissa is such a brat tamer and i'm reminded of that every time she makes a biting comment or threatens to fight someone. she needs a girl who can take it and then give it right back.

all you ever wanted was to make melissa feel good.

you knew from the start of your relationship that she was a top. but at first, you weren't sure what she liked: did she want you to be her good girl? or did she enjoy a challenge?

within a few weeks, you had pieced together the answer: it depended on the day. on bad days, all she wanted was her sweet, obedient angel.

one night she came home deflated, having fought with barbara over a teacher appreciation gift from the district. she pulled you into her and didn't let go, holding you close through hours of gentle sex. you were so soft, so comforting, so good.

"come sit on my lap, babydoll," she had said, patting her legs where she sat on the sofa. you obliged.

"are you okay?" you asked, searching her eyes for frustration and regret.

"i am now," she whispered as she caressed up your thighs, smiling as you nuzzled into her neck to hide your whimper. "just do what i say 'n make your pretty noises, and i'll be just fine."

good days were a different story. competition and conflict excited melissa. she felt most like herself when she was telling somebody off or winning some game. so, when things were quiet at work or when she was feeling playful, you were more than happy to give her the challenge she craved. your attitude drove her insane, and putting you in your place was always exhilarating.

tonight was a good night. you could tell from the moment she walked in the door, carrying that massive read-a-thon belt. she was on top of the world after her victory, and now she needed another conquest.

you twirled around the kitchen as you cooked dinner in your thin sleep shirt and little shorts. melissa loved seeing you like this: comfy, happy, and best of all, lightly clothed.

you smirked to yourself as you hatched a plan. instead of greeting her like usual, you pretended not to see her come in. then you held up your phone and took a selfie that just happened to provide a view down your shirt. melissa saw it all.

"whatcha doin', hon?" melissa raised an eyebrow at you, still smiling from a great day at work.

"oh, nothing. just texting ava," you replied coyly. melissa's jaw clenched ever so subtly.

you had been friends with ava since back when you were still working at abbott. melissa wasn't jealous of your friendship with ava. no, what irritated her was how shamelessly ava would check you out and hit on you. ava's advances were never serious, she knew that. but melissa also knew that ava hit on you at least as much as she did gregory, and that was a problem in her book.

you smiled at her and went back to your cooking like it was nothing. you were in for a fight tonight.

...

when you sat down in the living room to binge-watch wandavision after dinner, melissa attempted to stroke up your thighs several times. you refused her and innocently cuddled into her side.

all was going according to plan until you heard agatha say "good girl" on the television. you shuddered and pressed your legs together, and it did not go unnoticed by melissa.

"aw, hon. does that make you feel needy?"

she had the upper hand. but you could still salvage this.

"yes, agatha drives me crazy," you said, meeting her gaze and giving her a sultry smug look.

"i thought you liked wanda..." she grumbled, her jaw clenched. it was working.

"mmm no, agatha is more my type," you drawled. you remembered melissa dressed as the scarlet witch. that sinfully sexy costume. she had done it for you.

the fact that you were switching up on her now made her livid. your type? she wasn't your type?

"god, kathryn hahn..." you whispered when the camera focused in on agatha's magical fingers, absolutely selling that you were turned on. it pushed melissa over the edge.

in one swift move, she shut the tv off and crawled on top of you, pushing you into the couch by your sternum. the look in her eyes was dark, fiery, dangerous.

"take your clothes off," melissa growled, fire bubbling behind her eyes.

she pulled herself off of you and sat looking you over from the other end of the couch, an expectant look on her face.

"yes, ma'am," you scrambled to comply with her instructions, stripping eagerly in front of her.

"leave the panties on," melissa stopped you before you could drag your thong down your legs. "on the bed."

the two of you rushed up the stairs and over to the bedroom, her grabbing at your waist the entire time. melissa sat back against the pillows, her legs spread for you. she gestured between her legs and you knew what she wanted.

you squealed and quickly adjusted yourself to straddle her, your legs on either side of hers as you unbuttoned her shirt. she sat upright against the pillows, her messy hair framing her heated face.

once you had removed her shirt and bra, she fisted her hands in your hair and pushed your head downward. you quietly whimpered at the manhandling. she took the initiative to swiftly pull her pants and panties down to her ankles, giving you just one firm command: "be a good girl."

you parted her legs gently and dove in, licking wide stripes up her folds but avoiding her clit to tease her. it wasn't long before you felt a fist in your hair, pulling you off of her to meet her frustrated gaze.

"unless you want red handprints all over your ass, don't fuckin' tease," she sneered.

you were torn: you wanted that punishment, but you also wanted to be a good girl for her. you chose to be good for now, attaching your lips to her clit and making her groan in satisfaction. you could always push her buttons later.

"that's it, honey, right there," she choked out as you swirled your tongue around her clit. she wouldn't last long, already worked up from seeing you strip for her.

you lapped at her and sucked on her bundle of nerves, enjoying the chorus of good girl and don't stop until you felt her legs start to tremble around you. at that point, you pulled back, leaving her bucking up into nothing.

you gave her a mischievous grin and started to trace your lips with your thumb absentmindedly. you watched her seethe in anger, never taking her eyes off of you.

"oh, sorry, i think i smudged my lipstick. give me a second," you could hardly contain your giddiness at how angry she looked. you needed her to lose control.

without missing a beat, she grabbed your hair and forcefully pushed you back between her legs. all of her gentleness was gone.

"such a dumb fucking slut. can't even follow simple instructions," she scolded. "finish me off, whore, and then we'll work on your behavior."

you felt yourself get soaked again at the manhandling, her seething words and her promise to punish you. eager to make up for your misbehavior, you ate her out with reckless abandon. she reached her high within minutes, whispering filthy things to you the whole time.

"fuck, that's good. lookin' up at me like that with your big doe eyes. i'm gonna come all over that pretty, smart mouth."

she came with a low groan, coating your lips in her wetness. the sight was pornographic: you looked at her with hooded eyes and wet lips, slightly fearful of her next move. it was exhilarating.

when she had recovered, she sat up and stared you down, a twisted smirk on her face. you swore you knew what she would say before the words left her mouth.

"bend over my lap, beautiful." her tone was dark, but you could hear the excitement behind her words.

you scrambled to obey, laying face-down on her lap with your ass up, wiggling gently in front of her. enticing her.

for a minute, there was silence. she just watched in amusement as you squirmed in her lap, desperate for any kind of attention from her. from where she sat, she could see your arousal glistening on your thighs. she was drunk on the power.

"a little desperate, hmmm?" she teased. you nodded frantically. she started to trace light patterns on your ass with her fingernail. "let me tell you what's gonna happen now. i'm gonna spank your cute little ass until you're crying and begging me to stop. then, i'm gonna fuck you until you're so sensitive that you can't stand to be touched any more. sound good?"

while she was nonchalant, you were almost at your breaking point from her words alone. you were completely at her mercy. you managed a "yes" and nodded intently for her to continue with her plan, desperate to see it through to the end.

it was hardly a second later when she slapped your ass, hard. you should have seen it coming, but you still yelped in surprise. you felt throbbing between your legs as the pain spread through you.

this went on for a while, and eventually you lost count of how many times she'd hit your backside. tears rolled down your cheeks, and you hardly felt them. and you were soaking her lap with your arousal. melissa whispered filthy things to you the entire time.

"my pretty, little, brat," she emphasized each word with a harder slap.

when it finally stopped, she started to caress you all over and praise you for taking your punishment so well. her soft touch brought you back to reality, and she guided you to sit up.

"wow, sweetheart. you really made a mess," melissa said, gesturing to her legs which were sticky with your wetness. you hid your face in your hands.

"stop it, you know i wanna see you. in fact..." she trailed off with a smirk and reached to grab her phone off the nightstand. "touch yourself."

your mouth fell open at the command, and she gave you a challenging look. not wanting to push her any farther tonight, you did as she asked and tried to find a comfortable position.

"spread 'em wide, princess," she said, smiling down at her phone like she wasn't watching your every move.

a burning heat ran through you at her words. you leaned back and started to gently circle your clit through your panties, anxiously awaiting her next move. you were a whimpering, blushing mess when she finally looked up at you with a grin.

"stay just like that," she said while bringing her phone up to point it at you. you heard the clicking noise of the iphone camera and your eyes widened. melissa had never done anything like this before.

"w-what are you doing?" you barely managed the sentence as your fingers worked you up, making you gasp.

"oh, just givin' myself a little treat for later," she replied coyly. "and maybe next time you act up, i'll show ya these. make ya remember your place."

you shifted uncomfortably, feeling hot all over from your fingers and the humiliation. melissa noticed and put her phone aside to look in your eyes.

"color?" she whispered.

"pink..." you replied shyly. that meant she could keep going. she smiled and cupped your face in her hands, kissing you softly.

her hand traveled down to remove yours from between your legs. she finally laid you down on the bed, running her hands up your thighs. your legs fell open for her and she leaned in to inspect your swollen folds.

she hummed as she trailed two fingers through your wetness, earning her a pitiful noise. when she pulled away and mosied over to the dresser drawer, you knew what she was going to do.

"i think you're wet enough for the strap, don't you?" she pulled out a bright red one that you had never seen before. she watched your eyes as you reacted to its size.

"i bought this as a surprise for you knowin' you'd go crazy over it," she mused as she adjusted the harness and attached the dildo to it.

"mel, it's... big," you said, looking up at her with wide eyes as she positioned herself above you.

"yeah, hon, that's why i bought it," she teased, smirking as if it was the most obvious reply in the world. you breathed a sigh of relief as she covered the strap in a thick layer of lube.

she took the cock in one hand and maneuvered it through your folds, pressing on your clit and making you cry out. you shuddered when she positioned it at your entrance.

"you ready for me?" melissa trailed a finger under your chin and forced you to meet her eyes.

"pink," you breathed, and she pushed the tip in. you felt the stretch immediately, and melissa used her free hand to rub your abdomen soothingly.

she continued to work her way into you, her hand never stopping its comforting motions. when she bottomed out, you felt so full you could hardly breathe. it was a thrill.

you nodded at her to signal she could move, and she started to fuck you slow and hard. the size of the strap-on allowed her to hit places that you'd never felt before, and you couldn't hold back your moans.

her thrusts became rougher very quickly, and she dug her thumbs into your hips to balance herself. you knew there would be marks there tomorrow. her pace and the low groans she let out suggested that she was still hanging on to some frustration in need of release.

she hit your g-spot and you screamed, overwhelmed with the feeling of her. she noticed the telltale signs of your orgasm approaching: shaking legs, parted lips, strangled moans. in response, melissa reached down to rub your bundle of nerves roughly, and that sent you over the edge.

"good girl, so good," she coaxed you through your high. you thought she would stop after one. oh how naive you were. you were trembling and squirming away from her, and she just continued to rub your clit, rocking gently inside you.

"come on, honey, give me another, i know you can," she encouraged you, peppering you with sweet kisses. you nodded and she started to fuck you again in earnest.

every nerve ending in your body was buzzing, and all you could feel was melissa. she thrusted into you like her life depended on it, and you admired her face as she worked you. her red hair hung around her face, which had also become red from the exertion. it felt amazing—hell, it felt insane—to feel her hitting all the most sensitive spots inside you. but it felt even more amazing to have the sexiest woman on the planet on top of you, working your body like it was her life's mission.

when your second orgasm washed over you, it was more intense than the first. it drained all the power from your body and you surrendered yourself to your fiery lover. she again whispered sweet nothings in your ear to help you along. when you had stopped shuddering, she pulled out.

you caught your breath and watched her rise to her feet, humming as she took off the strap. you could see a devious glint in her expression that told you you weren't done quite yet.

after that small taste of relief, melissa stalked over to you and spread your legs once more. you whined in discomfort, too sensitive to take any more.

"shhhh, baby, lemme clean you," she soothed before beginning to lap at you, savoring your taste. she tried to avoid your clit but her nose brushed against it, bringing a pained noise from you. she hummed into you and kept going, stroking your legs to relax you.

after you had gotten comfortable with the feeling of her tongue she drifted up to your clit, circling it but avoiding direct contact. you gasped and bucked up into her mouth despite your best efforts. even the smallest touch felt like an electric shock.

when your whines turned to quiet moans, melissa wrapped her mouth around your clit and started to suck, rolling her tongue over it. the pressure was white-hot and deadly, and it sent you over the edge in seconds.

"my sweet angel, i love you, you did so well for me..." she comforted you through the comedown. she stroked your sides and you relaxed into her touch, your heartbeat finally slowing. she placed a fond kiss on your forehead, then got up to get a washcloth and some water for you.

...

"i won the read-a-thon today..." she said while she cleaned you.

"i noticed," you giggled, smiling up at her. the love in her eyes made the green irises sparkle and swim with possibility. "i'm so proud of you."

"you coulda said that earlier!" she joked, recalling your misbehavior. there was a comfortable silence before she spoke again. "actually, i think i like it when you fight me a little."

you gazed at her fondly and laughed again, feeling warm and cared for. "i noticed."

[waitingforsecretsouls]

The amount of times I've seen the Dagor-nuin-Giliath misconstrued as a defeat, or "first sign" of the inevitable failure for the Fëanorians is just baffling if you consider the actual events.

But the host of Morgoth, aroused by the tumult of Lammoth and the light of the burning at Losgar, came through the passes of Ered Wethrin, the Mountains of Shadow, and assailed Fëanor on a sudden, before his camp was full-wrought or put in defence; and there on the grey fields of Mithrim was fought the Second Battle in the Wars of Beleriand. Dagor-nuin-Giliath it is named, the Battle-under-Stars, for the Moon had not yet risen; and it is renowned in song. The Noldor, outnumbered and taken at unawares, were yet swiftly victorious; for the light of Aman was not yet dimmed in their eyes, and they were strong and swift, and deadly in anger, and their swords were long and terrible. The Orcs fled before them, and they were driven forth from Mithrim with great slaughter, and hunted over the Mountains of Shadow into the great plain of Ard-galen, that lay northward of Dorthonion. There the armies of Morgoth that had passed south into the Vale of Sirion and beleaguered Círdan in the Havens of the Falas came up to their aid, and were caught in their ruin. For Celegorm, Fëanor’s son, having news of them, waylaid them with a part of the Elven-host, and coming down upon them out of the hills near Eithel Sirion drove them into the Fen of Serech. Evil indeed were the tidings that came at last to Angband, and Morgoth was dismayed. Ten days that battle lasted, and from it returned of all the hosts that he had prepared for the conquest of Beleriand no more than a handful of leaves.

-The Silmarillion, Chapter 13: OF THE RETURN OF THE NOLDOR

The Battle was a victory, not only barely eeked out but an utter eradication of Morgoth's armies. Not only the forces specifically marshalled against the arriving Noldor (what seems to be a reconstructed eastern host, with the last one mostly destroyed in the First Battle) but also Morgoth's initial western host occupied besieging Círdan and people, that had to be diverted for attempted reinforcement. Which the Fëanorians quickly shatter without issue, despite having to divide their forces. Something important for me to bring up because you'll often see the argument that the Fëanorians doomed themselves by cutting of the Nolo-and Arafinwëan manpower, which both ignores how Nolofinwë at the time was actively disputing Fëanor's leadership and therefore would not necessarily have led to an effective united front (with the implied 'solution' mostly boiling down to "Fëanor should have let Nolofinwë usurp his kingship because he would have made a better king anyway" and never "maybe Nolofinwë should have stopped agitating against the guy who was rightful king by all procedures of inheritance we ever see (and Fingolfin himself would adopt) to get himself crowned as his first priority"), as well as how even just the Fëanorians alone completely curbstomped the forces of Morgoth that had previously scattered the Laiquendi, confined Thingol to Doriath and besieged Cirdan. Sure, eventually they would have likely been overwhelmed by the unending stream of new armies, but that's exactly the same thing that eventually happens in canon anyway, even with the rest of the exiles present. Trying to argue that the Dagor-nuin-Giliath in particular already demonstrates the certainty of the Noldor's defeat is nonsensical.

It was "renown in song"! And given that this is mentioned in context of the victory it was, it feels safe to say the renown in question was of celebratory nature (as opposed to the often celebrated Fingolfin duel, which in-universe is explicitly described as thus: "The Orcs made no boast of that duel at the gate; neither do the Elves sing of it, for their sorrow is too deep."). Given how sparse the details and hints we get towards the Fëanorians and east Beleriand side of things can be, the vast majority of it in implications or one-liners (such as most of their alliances and friendships) and after-the fact admissions ("bereft of their power and glory of old" being the most prominent one that comes to mind), this just makes me very happy. Also disappointed-but-not-surprised how often it goes ignored or straight-up inverted. No doubt in large part due to the following:

Thus it was that he [Fëanor] drew far ahead of the van of his host; and seeing this the servants of Morgoth turned to bay, and there issued from Angband Balrogs to aid them. There upon the confines of Dor Daedeloth, the land of Morgoth, Fëanor was surrounded, with few friends about him. Long he fought on, and undismayed, though he was wrapped in fire and wounded with many wounds; but at the last he was smitten to the ground by Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, whom Ecthelion after slew in Gondolin. There he would have perished, had not his sons in that moment come up with force to his aid; and the Balrogs left him, and departed to Angband.

First up, any and all attempts to try and paint this as a pathetic end are straight-up ludicrous (especially for people who are impressed by Fingolfin's duel with Morgoth later on). Fëanor in this is not only taking on a variety of Balrogs but also what seems like the remnants of the eastern host that his forces had hunted into Ard-Galen in the previous section (once they notice his separation from his army they turn from flight back towards him; the Balrogs are even specifically noted to "aid" them!). And he's doing it. By. Himself. Not only that, putting up a long and fierce resistance against multiple Balrogs (compare this to Fingon in the Nirnaeth, who gets quickly tripped up by two of them).

The Balrogs are always depicted as Morgoths elite troops, their last appearance in the story having been to drive off the empowered Ungoliant:

But Ungoliant had grown great, and he less by the power that had gone out of him; and she rose against him, and her cloud closed about him, and she enmeshed him in a web of clinging thongs to strangle him. Then Morgoth sent forth a terrible cry, that echoed in the mountains. [...] The cry of Morgoth in that hour was the greatest and most dreadful that was ever heard in the northern world; the mountains shook, and the earth trembled, and rocks were riven asunder. Deep in forgotten places that cry was heard. Far beneath the ruined halls of Angband, in vaults to which the Valar in the haste of their assault had not descended, Balrogs lurked still, awaiting ever the return of their Lord; and now swiftly they arose, and passing over Hithlum they came to Lammoth as a tempest of fire. With their whips of flame they smote asunder the webs of Ungoliant, and she quailed, and turned to flight, belching black vapours to cover her[...]. -The Silmarillion, Chapter 9: OF THE FLIGHT OF THE NOLDOR

(Though I'll grant that there might have been less Balrogs present in the battle against Fëanor)

I'll also point out that the Balrogs retreat the moment the rest of the Fëanorian host and sons arrive as reinforcement, indicating they were not confident in their chances to take them on (otherwise why not take this chance to destroy your enemies once and for all, before they can properly encamp and establish themselves?), which seems reasonably, given the extended struggle even Fëanor alone put up against them (to the point that despite drawing "far ahead" of his van, said van caught up in time to prevent the last of it).

So, obviously the death of their father and king still would have been a heavy blow, far be it from me to deny this (despite the stories refusal to give us any details on the emotional impact of it...), but I reject the notion that it turned the battle into a net "loss", especially if you keep in mind the unusual circumstances of it that are already kind of separated from the battle proper. Which leads into my last point, no longer about the battle itself but still relevant:

Then his sons raised up their father and bore him back towards Mithrim. But as they drew near to Eithel Sirion and were upon the upward path to the pass over the mountains, Fëanor bade them halt; for his wounds were mortal, and he knew that his hour was come. And looking out from the slopes of Ered Wethrin with his last sight he beheld far off the peaks of Thangorodrim, mightiest of the towers of Middle-earth, and knew with the foreknowledge of death that no power of the Noldor would ever overthrow them; but he cursed the name of Morgoth thrice, and laid it upon his sons to hold to their oath, and to avenge their father. -The Silmarillion, Chapter 13: OF THE RETURN OF THE NOLDOR

Even if you are a fervent believer in the fact that Fëanor truly had a clear revelation about the future somehow (at the very least in part because you prefer the omniscient narrator to the in-universe chroniclers, I presume), even if you believe he, dying, would have known this epiphany for what it was: in-universe this would have been ludicrous to assume and incongruent with the very recent lived experience of him and his people. The Fëanorians, it bears repeating, just won a crushing victory against Morgoths forces, which they near obliterated, and even his most elite soldiers fled before them, the only notable casualty occuring due to singular circumstances (which fandom is not slow to point out when it comes to more humoristic purposes). There is literally NO rational reason for the Fëanorians, and indeed, Fëanor himself, to see their cause as doomed based on their experiences with Morgoth and his forces! So even if Fëanor truly gained this "foreknowledge", why should he have heeded it? The guy laughted in the face and threats of his worlds angels! These characters do not know they are in a story about fate and doom without recurse from either, and are determined to fight against such forces whenever they are presented or threatened with them. So the argument I see that uses this as another ammunition why "Fëanor sucked and was a bad dad!" (his sons are literally men grown...) because he urged his sons to remain committed to a cause he "knew was doomed" just ignores everything about recent events and the Fëanorian mindset and determination.

Since it's one of my greatest gripes, I also have to once again ask: where, in this, do people see this infamous "second oath" (which...wouldn't that make Celegorm's recital of it in Nargothrond a "Third Oath"? Yet I've never seen that argument, funny that) ?

(I also disagree with the occasional choice to present Maedhros' capture as somehow still part of it, which it very much is not, however close to the battle's conclusion it might have happened, since the concession of defeat by Morgoth's embassy necessitates for that battle to be regarded as concluded by both parties imo. I'd also argue that the Fëanorians took some time to recover from the ten day battle and fresh grief of loosing their father, as well as time to debate the offer for a few days at the least, something which Maedhros needing to convince his brothers of his idea kind of implies, nevermind the other practicalities of it, such as agreeing upon the place for negotiations and numbers of troops allowed (which both sides break, but would still have been negotiated) with Morgoth's embassy, which would have taken additional time. Which is not even mentioning Maedhros potential coronation. But that's neither here nor there...)

[scuttlingcrab]

Badges of Honour

Inspired by this stream a few months ago, where Tracy Wiles and Emma Gregory discussed how Minthara and Jaheira would interact. FINALLY got around to writing something. Had lots of fun with this one and of course, re-watching that iconic scene from Jaws.

Summary: After another successful fight against the Absolute, Minthara and Jaheira cosy up by the campfire, exchanging stories about their various scars.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via trappedinafantasy3)

Minthara sat in her tent, watching from the comforts of her hideaway as the other companions interacted. They danced and shared plentiful drinks around the campfire, celebrating another victory as a new villain fell in their shared conquests of eradicating the Absolute. 

She had a lot of time, too much time, to think about her past failings and what led her to this exact moment. Each blunder was a fresh wound that Minthara never fully allowed to heal. She flinched in discomfort as she forced herself to replay every single memory, over and over, watching as her grander ambitions, those hopes and dreams she desperately clung to, dissolved faster than a heartbeat - slipping through her fingers like the spilt blood of her enemies. 

There was indeed a lot to be thankful for since joining the party. The mismatched group of adventurers somehow welcomed Minthara with open arms, even going so far as to rescue her from Moonrise, despite her initial hostility towards them. Something she still failed to grasp, unfathomable from her violent and solitary upbringing.

The camp, and those who occupied it, eventually grew to her liking, no matter how hard she tried to resist it. She’d sooner slit her own throat than dare admit that to anyone. She couldn’t get too comfortable, no matter how much she enjoyed watching them go about their mundane tasks. 

No. 

Minthara would not make that same mistake again, she would not let her guard down under any circumstances. Just one moment of weakness, a sign of hesitation, would lead to her doom. No matter how precise her plans were, there could be no predictions as to what the next day had in store, or how the tides would alter the conflicts ahead. Minthara had to prepare, to make sure she was ready for whatever fight awaited her, whether that was at the camp or on the battlefield. 

Soon the joviality died down and quiet once again enveloped the encampment. Minthara attempted to relax, lying on her bedroll, but it was no use. She tossed and turned, unable to find an agreeable position. She closed her eyes, searching for sleep, hoping she would be able to escape into the void, into nothingness, where she would no longer be consumed by the constant pressures of her damned existence. But there was only chaos waiting for her there. Minthara’s mind raced, one thought, one fear leading to the next until she could no longer shut out the voices scratching at her skull. 

She sat up, her hands knotting into fists as she growled in frustration, ready to rip her lodging to shreds. Minthara paused however, when a soft humming sound floated in from outside her tent, pulling her away from those cursed thoughts. She peeked through the flaps, only to find Jaheira sitting alone at the bonfire. The Druid played with the flames in front of her, creating various animals from the embers that floated above it. Jaheira sang an unrecognisable yet pleasant melody as she made the animals move aimlessly around her.

Minthara let herself unwind, a wave of calmness washing over her as she continued watching Jaheira, transfixed at her simple display of magic.

She quickly eyed the rest of her surroundings, focusing on each companion's tent, searching for any sign of movement or sounds within. After a moment of stillness, she grew satisfied at the confirmation. They were the only two left awake in the camp, hopefully it would remain that way.

Minthara bit the side of her lip, her chest tightening as she forced herself to crawl out of her shelter. She had exchanged a few pleasantries with Jaheira, nothing more than a hello or acknowledgement of their current surroundings, as they passed each other around the camp. They never had a moment alone, despite fighting side-by-side since the Shadow Cursed Lands.

Before meeting, Minthara heard stories of Jaheira’s skill as a warrior, how the headstrong Druid was an active part of her community, bravely fighting as she sought justice and a better life for her people. All the stories served true, from what Minthara saw so far. Admirable, even for a surface dweller.

Each step felt heavier than the last as Minthara slowly approached Jaheira. She stood on the outskirts of the bonfire for perhaps a moment too long, clearing her throat as a way to announce her presence when Jaheira did not immediately notice her. 

“Ah, Minthara.” Jaheira spoke, gesturing to the seat next to her without pulling her eyes away from the flames. “Please, sit.”

Minthara hesitated, deciding to walk over to the opposite end of the bonfire. This caused Jaheira to focus her gaze on Minthara, carefully observing her as the magical animals disappeared in a puff of smoke. Jaheira’s eyebrow soon raised in amusement as Minthara continued to shuffle her feet, unsure whether to leave or take her seat. 

“I did not wish to disturb you. Carry on, by all means.” Minthara muttered.

“Nonsense. You are just as reticent as a porcupine. Lower your spikes, at least for tonight. I promise I won’t bite.” She grinned as she spoke, enthusiastically patting the seat beside her. “I’m not as scary as I may seem. Initially. Though, don’t ask my children. I’m sure they would tell you I’m a monster, ha!” 

Jaheira let out a hearty chuckle. 

Minthara found herself smiling too, laughter escaping her lips as she finally decided to plop herself down next to the Druid. She sighed, relaxing her shoulders and looking up at the sky. It was clear, thousands of stars sparkling all around them. A sight she could never get used to.

“Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I play with fire. A bad habit of mine,” Jaheira continued, conjuring a small fiery cat. It sauntered above the flames, moving in slow circles. “Almost like counting sheep, no?”

Minthara hummed in agreement. 

“It’s beautiful.”

A slight smile crept along Jaheira’s lips as she made the cat jump across the flames.

They sat together, sharing the silence while Jaheira conjured one animal after another; from panthers to owlbears, she paraded them around the air with elegance. Jaheira twirled her fingers as she orchestrated the animals movements, and Minthara caught sight of a large scar running along the Druid’s wrist.

“A remarkable scar.” Minthara noted.

“Hmm? Oh, this old thing?” Jaheira twisted her wrist, examining it against the firelight. “This body has seen it all, believe it or not. I have so many. Although I’m not sure if I have any recollection of this one anymore.” 

“As long as your adversary got what they deserved in the end.”

“Not all my scars are from battle.”

“No?” Minthara held back an exclamation, tilting her head in curiosity. 

“Here, these are from my youth, a result of falling out of a tall tree.”

Jaheira extended her leg, pulling her trousers up above her thighs and pointing towards a round scar on her knee. Minthara leaned in closer for a better look.

“Curious…” Minthara responded, reaching her hand towards Jaheira’s leg. “May I?” 

Jaheira nodded. 

Minthara lightly touched Jaheira’s knee, observing the white jagged shape of the scar that covered most of the area. The scar was rough to the touch and just as wrinkled as the surrounding skin. She observed two identical scars covering both limbs. 

“As I said, I found myself climbing one too many trees when I lived among the Druids. I quite enjoyed the thrill of escaping high into the clouds.”

“My scars serve as reminders, a display of a Drow’s skill and strength.” There was a pause as Minthara contemplated showing Jaheira her own markings, but immediately shook away any trepidations. “This one here was from an assassination attempt. One of many.”

Minthara raised her arm, pointing to a wide scar under her forearm, leading towards her elbow.  

“It was intimate. The dagger went clean through. You should have seen the other Drow, however. Scum. Long dead, their remains somewhere in the pits of the Clawrift.”

“A rough way to live.” 

“It was the only way I knew how, for a time.” A few painful memories bubbled to the surface of Minthara’s consciousness; abandoning Lolth for the Absolute, losing herself completely to Ketheric Thorm’s vacant promises…

“Well, look at this one then.” Jaheira interrupted, much to Minthara’s relief.

Jaheira lifted her nightshirt and pointed to a thick scar under her ribs. 

“Stabbed by a Bhaalspawn. Twice. Here… and here.” She turned slightly, showcasing the second wider scar on the opposite side of her stomach. 

Minthara brought her leg out, resting it on top of Jaheira’s. She rolled her pants up, pointing to her calf and upper thigh. There were three triangular shaped scars scattered across her leg. 

“I’ll match you. Three arrows. Laced with toxins. While hunting down some Drow from an enemy house. I hung them all afterwards, for heresy and for ruining a good pair of trousers.” 

Jaheira’s eyes widened, perhaps in astonishment and in awe. Minthara smirked with pride. 

“Oh an arrow! I’ve got a fun one.”

Jaheira pointed towards a star shaped wound on her left side, now faded with age.

“Right above my heart, any closer I’d be dead. Just like that.” Jaheira snapped her fingers, “Attacked while I was a panther, mind you. An old friend tried to take advantage of me. I spent hours cleaning the blood off my fur.”

Minthara bobbed her head in approval as she pictured Jaheira as a panther, sitting next to a stream, blood clouding the freshwater as she soaked her paws.

“And what are those ones from?” Jaheira asked. 

“Where?”

Jaheira pointed towards Minthara’s chest, to the series of scars that appeared through her night clothes.

Minthara’s face contorted, a grimace of distaste twisting her mouth. She knew which scars the Druid was referring to. Her eyes drifted to her chest, going over the deep cuts covering at least half of her right upper breast. Minthara’s mind flickered to Orin, to the torture she endured for weeks, the seemingly never-ending pain and suffering at the hand of that monstrosity. The humiliation, the embarrassment. Minthara’s body quivered with rage as she struggled to keep her searing temper from flaring, from soiling their conversation.

“Minthara, we don’t need–”

“No.” Minthara paused, taking a deep breath. She lowered her right strap, showcasing the display of wounds on her flesh. “Orin’s endeavour of branding me. I had refused then, making my own lacerations above hers while I waited for my end. I would not be marked, or owned. But that only made things worse, Orin took satisfaction in my rebellion. This is now a token of my failings.”

Jaheira considered Minthara’s words, rubbing her fingers against her chin in thought. The Druid raised her hand towards Minthara, without warning, causing her to flinch. Minthara nearly reached for her concealed dagger out of reflex. Jaheira halted her movement, conscious of Minthara’s sudden apprehension. Minthara steadied her breath, quieting her pounding heart. Jaheira merely wanted to perceive the old wounds, not cause anymore.

Minthara bowed, their eyes locking as she gave her consent to continue. Jaheira proceeded to place her hand on Minthara’s chest, covering the scars. 

“We’ve all been there, in one way or another. Ensnared in vines, unsure of an escape. It is wise not to forget the past, Minthara. Your shortcomings can make great teachings, but don’t dwell on them for too long. There is much yet to enjoy, to live for.”

Minthara smiled, a rush of emotions flooding over her. A lump grew in her throat and she quickly swallowed the tears she would not shed, not in front of anyone. The kindness from Jaheira in that moment, the understanding from not only her, but of the entire camp, was overwhelming. 

“Yes, more enemies to vanquish by my blade alone.” Minthara said eventually, her voice cracking. 

“That’s the spirit,” Jaheira spoke, nodding in agreement. “How about a drink?”

Before Minthara could respond, Jaheira was on her feet, scurrying towards her tent. She was back in a matter of seconds, not even giving enough time for Minthara to escape if she wanted to. The Druid held a large bottle of wine and two mugs, grinning like a child about to get up to some mischief.

“What are we drinking to? If I may ask?” 

“To our scars. To survival. To living. And t–”

“To vengeance perhaps?” Minthara interrupted. 

“Why the Hells not! But, most importantly, I say, let’s toast to friendship.”

Jaheira opened the bottle with a gratifying pop, pouring a generous amount of wine into both mugs. 

“To friendship.” Minthara said, accepting her beverage. 

Jaheira wore a wide smile, raising her mug high. Minthara’s cup met Jaheira’s and without a moment’s delay, the two began to drink.

Minthara took a small sip initially, letting the sweetness of the wine slide down her throat. Her cheeks flushed at the alcohol, her skin tingling slightly from the initial buzz.

“There are no toxins in this, I hope.” Minthara said, “I will have you know I have built quite the tolerance for most poisons. It would be a waste on your end. I’d expect better from you, anyways.”

“Duly noted,” Jaheira responded. 

The two could barely keep a straight face before they laughed in unison, Jaheira nearly falling over backwards. Their laughter echoed into the night, Minthara not caring if she woke any of the companions. 

Friendship. 

The word fluttered around Minthara’s brain, filling her heart with an unexpected amount of joy and warmth. Whether that was from the wine or from her evening spent with Jaheira, she did not know, nor did she wish to dwell on it. She didn’t want this night to end. Perhaps she would open herself up more often, and join in on the next celebration, if she felt up to it.

[chaospears]

a little something I've been working on. It's not finished but takes place a few weeks before shadow generations.

This was it.

Finally, it was happening.

The return of the Black Arms. The rebirth of Black Doom. The beginning of their conquest of this planet.

His eyes were drawn across the room. The emergency lighting bathed the once-white walls in stark red. Wires had been ripped from panels, air ducts torn down, and it was hard to miss the old bullet casings that littered the floor. A figure stood amidst it all; she was small, tiny compared to the hulking mass above them, her lilac spines were raised, her ears flattened against their head.

It was everything Eclipse had ever wanted.

But... it was hard for him to deny that something... felt amiss.

They stood beneath the powerful figure of their leader, his third eye boring down into them. Eclipse tried to ignore the way their hands trembled at their sides.

One of my finest creations. Black Doom's distorted voice clawed its way across the hivemind. You will make an excellent soldier. You will bring Shadow to heel. My assassin. My Dusk.

Solar's tail flicked back and forth. A habit they had picked up from Eclipse, a display of anger, or more likely an attempt to hide the fear broiling up within.

"That's not-" Solar spoke before she could stop herself. Her eyes widened. Black Doom was unfazed.

"What is it?" He spoke aloud, his voice reverberating across the Ark.

Solar shrank in on themself. Eclipse felt a pang in his chest. He had only seen her like this a handful of times.

Solar looked to him briefly, light catching the tears pricking in the corners of her eyes, before they cast their gaze to the floor. She started her sentence a few times before they were satisfied.

"My- my name." She whispered, their voice shook, and Eclipse could hear how hard it was to speak around the lump in their throat. "It's- my name is Solar."

Silence.

And then. A rumble. Low at first, until it erupted in a grating cacophony of laughter from their lord before them. Eclipse watched as Solar- Dusk- Solar's ears flattened against their head. She took a step back, too late as Black Doom lunged forward, grabbing their face in his talons and holding them aloft. Their legs kicked out beneath them as they struggled in his grip.

"Solar!" Eclipse called out, terror seizing him as he watched his sibling desperately struggle for air, clawing against the hand that held her. Droplets of green blood trickled down from both of them. He began to dart forward, to do what, he didn't know. To help, to save them. Save them from what? Black Doom? He who would bring them to victory?

Eclipse stumbled as Black Doom's eyes snapped to him, rooting him to the spot. Ice shot through his veins. What was he doing?

"It appears time on this wretched planet has softened you both." Black Doom growled, his voice cold, as he dropped Solar to the ground.

They clutched their throat, gasping for air, and before Eclipse knew it, he was knelt beside her. His hand stroked her back as she tried to steady her breathing.

Black Doom watched. He was looking for something, Eclipse knew. Black Death used to look at him the same.

But then he turned away, silently, moving through the space and out of sight.

I am not impressed. His voice clawed in Eclipse's mind, and he was overwhelmed with a wash of anger and disappointment. It hit him so suddenly the room began to spin.

[crisiscutie]

What do the Sephiroth's do when they're darling gives them the silent treatment?

The darling giving the Crisis Cuties the silent treatment? They'll have no problem in trying to regain the darling's attention.

OG Sephy: Would be quick to notice the darling isn't responding to his commands. When he initially sensed something was off with her, he was intrigued, thinking it could be another discovery about her, but when he realized she was just ignoring him, his teasing would become relentless. He would make good use of the tentacles or the Jenova Spawns to caress her velvety skin. Tentacle tickles, anyone? As time went on, the darling would feel herself slipping away, her body restrained by the tentacles and his voice resonating in her head. With a gentle blush, the darling's eyes will eventually change to a Jenova pink hue as the tentacle's gentle caress calmed her, and she asked her beloved Sephiroth what he needed help with...

Dissidia Sephy: He'd carefully inspect the darling, ensuring that nothing was amiss with her. Then, he would play along with the silent treatment game. He would jest around his pet, lamenting how she couldn't witness the beautiful trinket he received from his latest conquest, wishing she could receive it. Then he would speak of the many other things he wanted to give her, and how he yearned to have her curled up in his lap, purring from his touch... Yeah, the darling is breaking pretty soon. The thought of him spoiling her silly fills her with a desire that she can't ignore.

C.C Sephy: Freaks the fuck out that something is wrong with his mommy darling.. Until his twin (7R) points out the obvious: she's giving him the silent treatment. The following realization caused C.C to feel incredibly hurt, and he expresses it by acting like the kitten he is, from knocking items off her dresser to clawing his gloved hands underneath her door. C.C will make soft whining noises in the darling's ears while she's held in his arms, and he'll be standing right behind her a lot, ( especially in the darkness) making her startled. Yeah, eventually darling is going to give him the headpat he's been craving and the love he needs. Honestly, he is such a precious baby boy, why it'd be so hard to ignore him...

AC Sephy: His lack of concern for his darling's wellbeing means he knows this game: her silence was her way of showing her defiance to him. He takes a page out of Dissidia Sephy's playbook, and employed his loving and charming nature to please the darling. It'd take a while for the darling to take the bait, and once she was completely taken in, he'd harshly punish her by attacking her psychological mindscape with his psychic abilities. But after the punishment, he would return to his loving and suave side, providing the darling with whatever she needs and maybe giving her a small present to leave her in suspense and anxiety.

7R Sephy: Also, already know the game the darling is playing. He probably gets the silent treatment more than the others due to his relentless jokes and pranks. He would use this opportunity to continue to gaslight the darling, making her doubt her sanity. She thinks she already watered the plants in her garden? Nope, in fact, she hasn't done them for days. As she attempts to map out her next house-exploring adventure, he would muddle her recollection of her already known locations, making her think she hadn't seen them before. He and his twin would team up, like a human sandwich around their beloved mother while she cooked. Eventually, with a soft pout, the darling would call him a brat and give him a tender kiss on the lips while he silently celebrates his victory over her.

(WoFF) Lilikin Sephy: It would be so difficult for the darling to give him the silent treatment in the first place. The way he talks and moves is too endearing to ignore. But if darling could somehow manage it... He'll put on one hell of a show for her, one that will make her snuggle him for the next day or so.

[activatebutterflyshield]

The following is the introduction to the scholarly article As the Wheel Turns: A Speculation on the Gods, published in Foxtails, the professional journal of the Chatter & Melody Society, co-written by Sydney Saint-Vincent and Irene Yeoman

How, exactly, does one describe a god of Humanity? They are inherently unstable, full of contradictions and oxymorons to the point that one has named itself Contradiction, and she derives great power from that fact. But perhaps the best way to attempt to explain these strange things is by first describing their birth.

A god is born when Humanity creates one, as only Human Devotion can create something from nothing. Enough thoughts and convictions and beliefs and other intangible but very much real nothings can bring a being into existence from the swirling nebula that is Humanity. Gods are born and gods die every moment, most nothing more than sparks in the endless night, but some grow to match-heads, to torches, to camp-fires and fireworks and wildfires and blazing, flaming stars in the void. To quote the Right Honorable Sir Gilbert Jean-Pierre’s breakthrough book On the Creation of Creators, which established his reputation as a humanist philosopher and forerunner of the modern study of gods,

“He, or She, or They, or It, is not our creator, as no god, nor gods, is, nor was, nor are, nor were. Gods only exist because of Humanity; We are the true creators. That is why gods are always comprehensible, why they always appear to us as something and not nothing. To be inconsistent and yet coherent is the greatest trait of humanity; it is no wonder that we have bestowed that attribute upon our creations.” (1803, p. 15)

Humanity creates gods, stars in the boundless darkness, so that we might better understand ourselves and see the way forward. And the Eras are the brightest of stars.

An Era is born every time Humanity decides that they have moved on to a new part of Our existence, and they embody whatever time We have moved on from. The wonderful reality is that, theoretically, there are an infinite number of possible Eras, as time is theoretically infinite. And due to Human Nature, Eras are some of the most powerful gods, as it is only natural that we should hold some fondness or nostalgia for the times before. Thusly, the Eras of Humanity have gained great power in this modern day, and We always seem to find a new way to empower them.

There is no universal consensus as to what is an Era and what is not an Era, but what follows is the most widely agreed upon list of Eras:

The Chatter, Broken Chains, freedom and wilderness and revolution and anarchy, the fox bound eternal, pitchforks and torches at the gates of the king.

The Songbird, Wonderful Thing, creation and beauty and joy and revelry, the muse of all who breathe, marble and fascination upon the pedestal of greatness.

The Expanse, Bloodied Flag, ownership and conquest and war and empire, the loyalest of hounds, a banner of victory upon a hill of the dead.

The Mimic, Smiling Mask, worship and poison and wrath and control, the locust never sated, crocodile tears and lies through smiling teeth.

The Splendor, Gilded Crown, power and influence and wealth and elitism, the king lion of his pride, fangs of gold and glittering jewels.

The Wanderlust, Horizons Beyond, travel and trade and exploitation and distance, the shark disappearing past sight, a sail bright white above bloodied waters.

The Contradiction, Infinite Possibilities, theory and experiments and knowledge and progress, the cat with two sides, a tantalizing discovery for any to claim.

The Industry, Limitless Creation, production and efficiency and mechanization and profit, the dragon with a fire in its belly, merciless machinery.

The Duty, Tireless Mount, devotion and sacrifice and tragedy and patriotism, the horse that never stops, willing cannon fodder on the battle field.

The Fluctuation, Indiscriminate Fire, gambling and guessing and luck and fortune, the blind deer stumbling onward, scales always tilted but never fair.

The Speculation, Information Erased, secrecy and paranoia and ignorance and rivalry, the snake with a padlocked mouth, what is never fully understood.

The Inevitable, Dying Giant, decay and rot and destruction and loss, the whale withering alive, a fate prolonged and unstoppable.

Every Era exists, and thanks to their nature as gods, every Era holds sway over some part of the universe, no matter how small or grand. They come into and go out of fashion as time marches on, but rest assured that every Era will leave and return like so many spokes of a wheel as it turns. At time of writing, though the Inevitable has just come into its being, Speculation, Fluctuation, and Contradiction are back in fashion. Industry never really left, and neither did Splendor, but Chatter has returned with a vengeance as of late. One should hope that Humanity might cause the advent of something a bit kinder in the near future. A Era called the Blooming, or the Reclamation, might be best for Our survival.

[auncyen]

Oboro's Letter

I'm typing this up for my own reference (I've seen some of the content referred to but not the actual text) but also CAN I JUST SAY I'M SO MAD. I ACTUALLY DID FIND THIS IN MY FIRST PLAYTHROUGH. BUT THE GAME WOULDN'T LET ME PICK IT UP FOR SOME REASON. I TRIED SO MANY TIMES AND EVENTUALLY I THOUGHT IT WAS AN ANIMATION FOR INCENSE OR SOMETHING THAT JUST STUPIDLY LOOKED LIKE AN ITEM. WHY DIDN'T YOU LET ME PICK THIS UP, GAME THERE'S SO MUCH FOR OBORO HERE T_T

anyway the text is under the cut

My name is Oboro. I was born in U, a nation bled dry by its interminable war with Ku. Empty stomachs, spreading pestilence, and nights spent curled up against the chill were facts of life. Although the adults around me blamed my birth for my miserable lot, even in my tender years I knew the truth: Ku was to blame. That wretched nation who preyed upon the weak, bringing strife and death in its wake.

While the better part of my life was spent in suffering, my sister brought some small measure of joy to my existence. We were not bound by blood; I plucked her from the city streets and raised her as my own family. Now, some might think shouldering such a burden is folly, especially when I scarcely knew from where my next meal would come. However, I could tell that this child had a fire within her. Yes, when she spied the dagger I held in my hands, her cries ceased, and I knew. It was at that very moment when I decided we would make it through this life together. Oh, how naive I was then.

After four years of relative peace, Ku's forces fell upon the town we called home. If the tyrants were victorious, we would be killed or captured, forced to spend our lives in servitude. I resolved to kill King Jigo of Ku myself, that we might be spared such a fate. After donning the armor of a dead Ku soldier, I asked my sister to slash my body, and made my way to Jigo under the guise of being a wounded ally. While I slipped through Ku's ranks, my attempt on Jigo's life failed and I was captured. As his soldiers pinned me down, my mind grasped for a clever escape. It was then that Jigo asked, "Will you serve Ku by my side?"

An unexpected offer, to say the least, but one I did not hesitate to take. I turned my back on our home and joined hands with my sworn enemy. All so that my sister and I could live.

However, still we found no comfort. Ku's bloody conquest poured over one border after another, and the fires of war spread unabated. As the desert was stained a deep crimson, my heart became black as pitch. I recall on one particularly red day noticing a corpse turned toward me, its gaze piercing through lifeless eyes. I tried to look away, only to be met with a field of dead bodies upon the sand, each one leering at me intently.

Perhaps it was merely the work of a troubled imagination, but that is hardly the point. The act of living became something I could not comprehend. We steal, only to be stolen from, and then we die. This cycle repeats itself time and time again until at the end we find...what? I pondered the answer to this question and eventually reached my answer.

Life has no meaning, and living is a fool's errand. I was mistaken to look toward the dawn, for tomorrow is but a farce. A world so twisted ill deserves to see a new day. So, I will ensure that it never comes.

Such was the thought in the forefront of my mind as I wore the mask of dutiful subject. Day after day I played my role, until a man came to me bearing a grimoire and claiming it would pique my interest. The text within was said to stir the hearts of all who read it, but I was unmoved as I turned the final page, for I had come to realize the truths it laid bare on my own.

How many years has it been since then? At last, my plan is in motion, and a great battle looms on the horizon. This world will meet its end, and the light of dawn will be replaced with a choking darkness. For life has no meaning, and tomorrow is but a farce. Wouldn't you agree? No longer will we be forced to kill or be killed. No longer will we be forced to greet a dawn that only brings more suffering. The end is nigh.

[sublimenol]

Sonic Villain OCs!

So I've peddled about Deirdre a lot, but in her little AU world, I've got several villains that are her recurring baddies. I wrote up a few profiles on them for anyone interested for what bubbles at my headspace lately.

Gyre the Ibis

“My stratagems are sound. I simply need better soldiers.”

Gender: Male

Affiliation: Independent, Resistance(Formerly), Battle-Bird Armada(Formerly)

Description: Primary Color: White body. Orange-red masking around his eyes resembling goggles. Yellow beak. Fingertips are black feathers. Stylized take on an American White Ibis. Looks similar to Babylon Rogues. Lank, “Geek shaped”.

Wears a knee length, drab olive all weather coat buttoned up to his neck. Shoes are boot polish black. Attempts to look imposing and militaristic and serious.

Weapon of Choice: Gyre has a reprogrammed Valkeen that he brings out if he feels there is going to be a threat to his person. He prefers to keep it hidden to call it in should he need to escape.

Personality: Gyre is a legend in his own mind. He is a tactical genius. He is a clear headed, rational thinker who knows how to make the tough calls. In his mind, every decision is one of cruel calculus that no one but him seems to be willing to do. He is surrounded by a world of tools and fools, how he treats others is based on where he decides they fall. On a positive side, he can be cunning and prudent and his ego is not borne of overconfidence. He knows when to fold ‘em should the situation turn against him.

Background: Gyre’s background is simple. He grew in simple circumstances and found enjoyment in testing his mind against others; enjoying feeling superior and basking in adulation for his successes in education, games and glory. He did well in his small hamlet, and the taste of superiority led him to looking toward the Battle Bird Armada as his chance to become a figure of greatness. He learned quickly that he was a small fish in a very big pond. Unable to move upward, he stewed until Eggman’s conquest smashed through the Armada, GUN, and most of the world. Gyre took his chance and took leave of the Armada, cutting loose and escaping with his hide.

From there, he joined the resistance, inflating his military background for leverage. It did not take long for the Resistance to push back his influence. Much of his grand strategy was to expend as many resources as possible in order to secure any victory no matter how meaningless. He proved himself too willing to sacrifice others for the sake of scraps. He once again quickly found himself out of favor. Made worse when the war finally ended and the Resistance dissolved.

Gyre’s attention turned toward the scattered Eggman Empire. They could possibly use his intel, and his desire to get revenge on the Restoration for their slight to his ego. However, this plan was cut short by the Metal Virus. One of countless victims, in the aftermath Gyre determined the Eggman Empire to be just as much an enemy as every other power. He would not serve, he would command. He would finally work his way to becoming “General Gyre”. If he could only get good, loyal, proper soldiers as an army for his superior mind.

Boxcars the Badger

“Three rules in life; don’t apologize, don’t hold grudges, and always get while the getting’s good.”

Gender: Male

Affiliation: Gyre

Description: Tall and broad, little chunky. Upsized Sonic character model. Smithy or Tumble from IDW. Color pattern is the same as an American badger, though substitute the black for a very dark blue tone. Eyes are brown.

His wardrobe is minimal and standard for Sonic styled males. big simple brown boots and heavy cuffed gloves. Wears a newsie cap.

Weapon of Choice: Generally his hands. When he feels serious, he slips on a pair of narrow, thick knuckledusters.

Personality:  Boxcars is a genial, emotionally intelligent guy. Genuinely friendly and outgoing, he is loud, almost always presenting good humor and quick to laugh a deep belly laugh. This is no lie, nor a ruse. However, Boxcars is also a deeply self-interested person and a consummate survivor. He does what he wants, as he wants, and he’s quick to get out whenever things possibly present too much of a threat. He is an outlaw because it allows him a good fight and a degree of freedom that he craves. Particularly so because he can trust heroic types to always pull punches in ways that more murderous villains do not. Prone to using pet names(Sweetheart, Sunshine, etc) in lieu of names because he never really wants to get too close to people.

Background: Boxcars keeps a lot of his past close to his chest, so most of the detail is not well known. He is originally from Central City and while he didn’t have much to his name, he was always a little bigger and tougher than everyone around him. He learned young that he could leverage that into getting what he wanted through leveraging size and through learning to enjoy a good fight if his target had more mettle than he expected. At times he worked with others, other times he worked solo, but he was never much more than a pugnacious goon. And that was all well and good for him.

Crisis after crisis, Shattered Worlds and Eggman’s conquest, taught Boxcars how to survive while looking out for himself. He knew that groups like The Resistance would only be problems for him once the big threats went away, so he made it a point to keep a low profile and to live in the corners around the greater conflict. While he was a bruiser, he knew people liked you if you were friendly, which was easy for him to be. He never had anything against anyone, it was just that he enjoyed his lifestyle the way it was. He could live meager, and whenever things settled down, he would appear again.

Metal Virus was the same routine to Boxcars. When things went to hell, the badger went underground and out of the way. He maintains that he never once was in danger of being infected. Just another example of whenever the grave danger shows up, Boxcars’ puts his experience into making certain he can avoid having to deal with it as much as possible. Only in the aftermath did Gyre finally seek him out, looking to hire muscle for a robbery of some leftover Eggtech lab. Boxcars saw a predictable egotist, but not a threat. It would be a simple job to help the latest wannabe.

Cathode the Basenji

“. . .no.”

Gender: Female

Affiliation: Gyre

Description: A creamsicle orange canine with pointed ears and a tightly curled tail. Her eyes are a dark blue. She lacks any “head hair”, but has more fluff at the back of her neck to mimic longer ends.

Her outfit is overalls or a jumpsuit, usually tied at the waist, colored blue. 

Weapon of Choice: Homemade shock baton attached to a modified battery pack she carries at her hip.

Personality: Cathode is taciturn, focused, and curious. She consistently holds a high opinion of herself compared to others, primarily because of the high level of priority she places on things she considers “tangible”. Machines, mechanics, math, functional and provable skill are all things that she enjoys. Otherwise, she finds herself in insecure positions and insecure positions are, to her, to be avoided entirely. Other people, with their inconsistency and idiosyncrasies, are troublesome. Her desires are to get her hands on whatever kind of machinery or gear that the likes of Tails and Eggman have created so she can take them apart for her own study. 

Background: Born on a small, isolated island, Cathode’s interest in machines defined a lot of her formative years. She learned to fix and repair the shared equipment of her family and the few other families that shared their small rock of a home. With few other children, she spent most of her time with adults and functioned mostly as a set of hands to help out. Over time, she grew resentful despite her rapidly growing knowledge as the scarce resources and constant repair needs of the aging equipment meant that while she was invaluable, she wasn’t able to spread her wings and truly experiment and tinker.

The news of the great technological advances of Eggman astounded her. She craved getting her hands on those machines. She wanted nothing more than to dissect them, and to learn how they tick. But still she was kept from her desires by the short sighted, pragmatic minds of the others in her village. This bitter resentment was made all the worse when she heard about Tails and the young genius’ capabilities just reminded her of her own stolen opportunity. She blamed the others for needing her, demanding of her, and under the cover of night she slowly dismantled equipment around the island to cobble together a small boat in order to make her escape.

Unfortunately for Cathode, she arrived in Sunset City just in time for the Metal Virus to be dumped upon her.

In the aftermath, she has struggled to find footing. Her interests in getting ahold of Eggtech to dissect has required her to involve herself with shadier figures. When Gyre presented her with the opportunity to get ahold of the real deal, possibly without battle damage, Cathode could hardly pass that up.

Pierce the Wolf

“Every heart pleads for a “better world”, but no two minds can agree on a definition.”

Gender: Male

Affiliation: Eggman Empire

Description: A tall male wolf with leaner, pointier features than normal. Color is primarily a desaturated, pale blue, close to an off-white. He has a small scar on his right cheek underlining his eye Outfit is a standard red and black Eggman Empire uniform. He has an affectation of diamond stud cufflinks added to the uniform

Weapon of choice: Stiletto. One regular, a secondary spring assisted one hidden on his person. 

Personality: Broadly speaking, his personality and demeanor is malleable given the needs of the situation. He will be self effacing one moment, bragging the next. He will be cruel and calculating, or he will present the noblest of faces. Who he seems to be in a moment may not be the person he is in the next. The only truth is that Pierce cares only for himself and what furthers his own ambitions toward power. Everything else is a pawn or a player in the game of power. He is still an empathic person, however, that talent and honed skill is tuned primarily toward his enormous self-interest.

Background: Pierce is from a long standing family of leaders on a small, cold island chain. He was the latest to inherit the charge of his town, having taken over the unofficial but de facto role from his late parents. He found that town leadership was dull and ultimately limited, though he continued with it as was his duty. The global assault by Eggman, however, rocked the wolf’s world deep to the core. He saw in that moment just how small everything around him was. He saw that all he could accomplish was leading a tiny series of specks that were nothing more than crumbs for the real giants to clean up. And he wanted to be one of those giants.

Eggman’s swift success told him plainly that the Empire was the faction in which to throw his lot. It was not difficult to convince his people that it was the best idea. That they were small and not noticeable. Some he promised that they would be overlooked. Some he promised industrial potential in the new Empire. And soon he had followers behind his plan. A false show of support toward GUN. They were struck quickly and Pierce promised their small fishing villages would be safe for them to hide and recover from the devastation. Only to swiftly turn on them, envelop, and claim GUN materiel and hostages for himself. All a present to appease Eggman. His proposal worked well enough. Eggman wasn’t going to be impressed by GUN soldiers or technology, but the kind of social skills and cutthroat cunning could be useful for future endeavors. That said, Eggman also knew that Pierce needed to be separated from his home, and from easily manipulated flesh and blood soldiers as well. Pierce was made an offer, but it would cost him his people and home. Pierce only delayed responding as to not appear too eager.

Pierce found himself repositioned and given a small base of operations and a contingent of badniks. His goal would be to seed himself in the region in preparation for a new invasion. One that would be curtailed when the metal virus infected the world. And while he recovered, he knew then that Eggman was not going to be the one to lose this war in the end. The Doctor was simply too capable in an emergency to be counted on losing. If anything, it told Pierce that his decisions to become and remain an Egg Boss was the right one.

Once again he is returned to his base, still chafing under the provisions given to him by Eggman. He knows he is being watched and controlled. That he is a pawn in a greater game. But he has time. And he has patience. And when he looks out from the window of his quarters, he can see the sparkling lights of the city that is his prey.

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 7.9 (before 1870)

118 – Hadrian, who became emperor a year previously on Trajan's death, makes his entry into Rome. 381 – The end of the First Council of Christian bishops convened in Constantinople by the Roman Emperor Theodosius I. 491 – Odoacer makes a night assault with his Heruli guardsmen, engaging Theoderic the Great in Ad Pinetam. Both sides suffer heavy losses, but in the end Theodoric forces Odoacer back into Ravenna. 551 – A major earthquake strikes Beirut, triggering a devastating tsunami that affected the coastal towns of Byzantine Phoenicia, causing thousands of deaths. 660 – Korean forces under general Kim Yu-sin of Silla defeat the army of Baekje in the Battle of Hwangsanbeol. 869 – The 8.4–9.0 Mw Sanriku earthquake strikes the area around Sendai in northern Honshu, Japan. Inundation from the tsunami extended several kilometers inland. 969 – The Fatimid general Jawhar leads the Friday prayer in Fustat in the name of Caliph al-Mu'izz li-Din Allah, thereby symbolically completing the Fatimid conquest of Egypt. 1357 – Emperor Charles IV assists in laying the foundation stone of Charles Bridge in Prague. 1386 – The Old Swiss Confederacy makes great strides in establishing control over its territory by soundly defeating the Duchy of Austria in the Battle of Sempach. 1401 – Timur attacks the Jalairid Sultanate and destroys Baghdad. 1540 – King Henry VIII of England annuls his marriage to his fourth wife, Anne of Cleves. 1572 – Nineteen Catholics suffer martyrdom for their beliefs in the Dutch town of Gorkum. 1609 – Bohemia is granted freedom of religion through the Letter of Majesty by the Holy Roman Emperor, Rudolf II. 1701 – A Bourbon force under Nicolas Catinat withdraws from a smaller Habsburg force under Prince Eugene of Savoy in the Battle of Carpi. 1745 – French victory in the Battle of Melle allows them to capture Ghent in the days after. 1755 – The Braddock Expedition is soundly defeated by a smaller French and Native American force in its attempt to capture Fort Duquesne in what is now downtown Pittsburgh. 1762 – Catherine the Great becomes Empress of Russia following the coup against her husband, Peter III. 1763 – The Mozart family grand tour of Europe began, lifting the profile of son Wolfgang Amadeus. 1776 – George Washington orders the Declaration of Independence to be read out to members of the Continental Army in Manhattan, while thousands of British troops on Staten Island prepare for the Battle of Long Island. 1789 – In Versailles, the National Assembly reconstitutes itself as the National Constituent Assembly and begins preparations for a French constitution. 1790 – The Swedish Navy captures one third of the Russian Baltic fleet. 1793 – The Act Against Slavery in Upper Canada bans the importation of slaves and will free those who are born into slavery after the passage of the Act at 25 years of age. 1795 – Financier James Swan pays off the $2,024,899 US national debt that had been accrued during the American Revolution. 1807 – The second Treaty of Tilsit is signed between France and Prussia, ending the War of the Fourth Coalition. 1810 – Napoleon annexes the Kingdom of Holland as part of the First French Empire. 1811 – Explorer David Thompson posts a sign near what is now Sacajawea State Park in Washington state, claiming the Columbia District for the United Kingdom. 1815 – Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord becomes the first Prime Minister of France. 1816 – Argentina declares independence from Spain. 1850 – U.S. President Zachary Taylor dies after eating raw fruit and iced milk; he is succeeded in office by Vice President Millard Fillmore. 1850 – Persian prophet Báb is executed in Tabriz, Persia. 1863 – American Civil War: The Siege of Port Hudson ends in a Union victory and, along with the fall of Vicksburg five days earlier, gives the Union complete control of the Mississippi River. 1868 – The 14th Amendment to the United States Constitution is ratified, guaranteeing African Americans full citizenship and all persons in the United States due process of law.

[gobboguy]

Chapter 25: The Unwanted Union

In the dimly lit medieval council room, the air hung heavy with the scent of aged wood, polished brass, and inked parchment. The walls, adorned with faded tapestries depicting heroic battles and long-forgotten victories, whispered tales of a bygone era. Ionia, her form imposing even in the flickering candlelight, occupied the King's chair at the head of the grand table. The rugged King Roderick, once a proud ruler, found himself relegated to a mere side seat, his surroundings weighed down by the lingering musk of Orcish bloodshed. Roderick, with a strained smile, politely attempted to ignore the pungent musk wafting from Ionia, a reminder of the brutal conquest that had brought her to power.

Ionia's eyes, still aflame with the ferocity of battle, bore into Roderick's soul. With a voice that carried both authority and an undercurrent of disdain, she spoke, her words hanging heavily in the air. "Farfield City is lost," she declared, her tone unyielding. "The remnants of your army lie scattered, broken. Your people have become thralls, their fate determined by the whims of Orcish rule."

Roderick, his jaw clenched in a mixture of fury and helplessness, listened as Ionia continued her decree. "To secure my claim among the Sidhedark nobility, we shall wed," she announced, her gaze unwavering. "Know this, cousin: I have no desire for your touch, nor will I ever bear your offspring. This union serves a purpose, one of political necessity, not personal desire."

Her words hung between them, a heavy silence punctuated by the distant sounds of Orcish revelry. Roderick's mind raced, grappling with the weight of the decision before him. The fate of his people rested in the balance, and he found himself forced to swallow his pride, the bitter taste of defeat bitterer still than he could have imagined.

Ionia leaned forward, her eyes unyielding as she promised, "If you agree to this union, I will spare the surviving citizens of Farfield—for now." Ionia added ominously, her lips curling into a sardonic smile. The promise of further horrors, hinted at in those two words, cast a shadow over the room, reminding Roderick that even in this moment of apparent accord, the true nature of their alliance remained shrouded in darkness.

King Roderick's voice trembled as he dared to question Ionia, "What do you plan to do with Farfield?"

Ionia's lips curled into a sinister smile as she proudly unfolded her vision, her eyes gleaming with fervent zeal. "Farfield will be the birthplace of our dominion," she declared, her voice carrying the weight of conviction. She led Roderick to the balcony, where they beheld the horrifying tableau below. The once-bustling city now lay in ruins, consumed by flames that soared into the heavens, casting a sickly glow over the carnage. The acrid stench of smoke and burning wood filled the air, mingling with the harsh, triumphant cries of the Orcs and the distant, anguished wails of the city's inhabitants.

Ionia gestured towards the tallest spire of Farfield, her finger cutting through the haze of smoke to point out the ominous sight. "Look," she said, her tone carrying a mixture of pride and malice, "that spire, once adorned with the Farfield banner, now proudly displays our emblem—the black flag with the green hand. It symbolizes our victory, our ascendancy over this land."

High above the smoldering ruins of Farfield, the Orcish flag, adorned with a defiant green hand against a pitch-black background, flapped proudly in the wind, a macabre symbol of their triumphant conquest.

Roderick's eyes widened in horror, his heart heavy with grief for his fallen city. "But this destruction… this is madness!"

Ionia's laughter was cold and heartless. "Madness, or destiny, Roderick? Gelbeg envisioned a kingdom where Orcs could thrive, where our strength and supremacy would be unchallenged. Farfield is the first step towards that dream—a realm where Orcs rule, and all other races kneel."

The chilling finality in her words sent a shiver down Roderick's spine. Farfield, once a bastion of hope, had been transformed into a nightmarish realm of Orcish conquest.

Roderick, his voice heavy with resignation, finally spoke, "I will marry you if it means sparing my people."

Ionia's laughter cut through the air like a knife, her eyes devoid of any compassion. "Oh, how noble of you, King Roderick. But your crown means nothing now." With a swift motion, she plucked the crown from his head and flung it off the balcony, watching it disappear into the chaos below. "Your kingdom is no more, and your people are mine. Marrying you is just a formality, a reminder of your defeat. Now, kneel before your new queen."

[fantasyinvader]

This is something I've heard a lot, but it ultimately makes sense considering the game we are presented with.

I, myself, started with Verdant Wind and as such it was a simple matter for me to draw parallels between Claude and Edelgard. The game just kept harping on that they weren't too different from one another, that they believed similar things (though, them having similar ideals turned out to actually be the translators changing the line, as translations of the Japanese line has Edelgard saying she doesn't believe their ideals are that similar) and after Edelgard falls the game wanted me to believe that she was simply manipulated by the Agarthans. I felt sorry for her, and by that point I had known her route was actually the shortest of the four.

But, unfortunately, I neglected to factor in some of the messages of Verdant Wind at the time. That first impressions are dangerous if not followed up by getting to know people in order to clear up misconceptions. I'm also someone who focuses on details, as I have been a fan of mystery stories since I was a child, because those details often are the clues that can be overlooked to make the detective look like a big brain.

While I was playing, fresh from the reveals of Verdant Wind, I noticed something. Edelgard seemed to know more than she was letting on, and what she was telling me was an attempt to sway me. I quickly realized that she was a liar. The Nintendo Dream interview would later confirm my suspicions, Edelgard having a “cute” side to her wasn't meant to be the hidden truth players learned by spending time with her. As that interview said the twist to her character, the thing that gave her depth, was that she turns out to also be the game's would-be conqueror in the tradition of previous Fire Emblem villains, which in turn means that our initial impression of Edelgard is that of a cute girl.

I know myself and others in my circle make comments about how there's a hidden layer to Flower, one hidden under the surface. Except... that's not really true. Flower still depicts Edelgard as someone who withholds information and lies to her allies, causing people fighting for her to be uneasy. It doesn't really matter that the translation removed the line about her using an information campaign, as we still see her use one. That isn't hidden, the game still invokes Napoleon, a infamous propagandist and the first modern dictator, in Flower's epilogue. You may have to recruit Hanneman and talk to him during exploration, but the route still says that the Empire has demonic beasts as “war assets,” and information that contradicts Edelgard's narrative is sometimes even put into story scenes. The game might tone down the dark implications of Edelgard's victory in it's endings, but as already mentioned the game also depicts Edelgard as a self-serving liar. Even the translation changing Cornelia's death quote, removing the line about how TWSITD were being manipulated by Edelgard, it still says that everything Edelgard is doing in Flower is by the design of the people who killed her siblings and who Flower itself says made her father into their puppet. This entire war, like Verdant Wind, was of their design and Edelgard is simply doing what they wanted her to do. Edelgard still has the support of the military because she promised Caspapa control over the Alliance in return for his support, she promised him a neutral country in her war that was supposedly against the Church. But then again, Flower also keeps saying that hers is a war of conquest, so that she may purge anyone from power that would oppose her in remaking Fodlan in accordance to her own beliefs, and she does so while promising the nobility that bend the knee to her can keep their positions.

Flower isn't about seeing underneath the surface to discover Edelgard is actually a bad guy. It still depicts Edelgard as the bad guy, quite openly in fact. Flower, instead, is more about not missing the forest for the trees. The game doesn't want us to ignore the bigger picture of the route and the game as a whole simply because we focus on a few details. And that's really what has happened within the fandom, with people who still cite what Edelgard tells them despite the game presenting her as a liar as well as information that is in direct conflict with what she is saying. And this was even invoked with the route split: with the player being asked whether to see Edelgard as the vulnerable girl she presented herself as to them, deliberately invoking moe, or to see her actions for what they really were at the end of White Clouds.

If we take this back to what is taught through Verdant Wind, the more we get to know Edelgard the more villainous she is meant to become. Her being seen as a “hero” is a misconception that needs to be corrected, with the player needing to face that truth. Meanwhile, Edelgard herself is portrayed as ignoring information that doesn't present her in a good light, she chooses to ignore reality and that's why Ferdinand in Verdant Wind treats her the same as the Ahab-like Dimitri.

To say Edelgard is the good guy means to ignore the parts of the game, including her own route, that say otherwise. It kinda reminds me of this one review of an anime I watched a long time ago (For Aldnoah Zero), where the reviewer mocked people who would accuse them of being too harsh on the anime for focusing on it's negative qualities, and if you ignore those qualities it's actually quite good. To which the reviewer pointed out that by doing that, any anime becomes a 10/10 flawless masterpiece. If you ignore the parts of the game that make Edelgard look bad, then she becomes a hero. But if you don't and instead look at the forest of the game, then she's the villain with her own route being damning for her character.

I've been trying to figure out how to say this for a while, but it's kinda unique how Houses tackles the game having a surface layer and a layer underneath it. Usually, in cases like this, the surface layer makes things appear clear cut, "Side A is right, Side B is wrong" sort of deal only for, once you begin digging, things to become more complicated and ambiguous. People would argue that Houses does the same thing, part of what makes it "morally ambiguous" and why you can't say that Flower is a straight-up villain route. That once we get to know Edelgard, we learn she's not a monster.

Except… that's not what Houses did. The devs themselves confirmed that the worldbuilding of the game was done in support of Silver Snow meaning the game is built around the idea of fighting Edelgard. They invoked the Mandate of Heaven to explain why her winning is a bad thing, and even why Dimitri's ending in particular is better than hers. Edelgard being the conqueror is meant to be a twist, it's a side of her that exists alongside her being a cute girl, so the idea that she's actually a liberator falls flat since her seeking conquest is the thing that's supposed to take players by surprise. Not only that, her own route continuously depicts her as a liar, hands out information that contradicts her narrative and even pokes holes in it. The more you get to know Edelgard, the more negative things you see about her.

In Houses, the more we know the less ambiguous it is. And it's that knowledge, the stuff that should inform our decision, that is hidden under the game's surface layer. Houses is only ambiguous if you don't pay attention and remain ignorant of the great implications of what is going on.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Something this anon has wanted to explore many a time- an adventure wherein traditionally 'evil' creatures go through a reverse dungeon crawl- escaping the fortress in order to desert the Dark Lord's armies!

Campaign Starter: From Under the Shadow

No where to go but up

Setup:  More than a mere underdark fortress, Ykandri’s Shackle is a marvel of engineering and hubris that only the Duergar could have managed. Filled with visions of industry and conquest, the architects tasked with building a simple lift through a miles long fissure through the world below let their ambitions sprawl, becoming a make-work project for their subterranean empire and a monument to the pride of their succession of dour and powermad rulers. 

Like any expansionist Military power, the Duergar of the “Great-Chain” conscript their defeated foes and societal rejects to do the worst of the labor, toiling away to expand the warrens supporting the Shackle or fending off the beasts of he dark vastness that infest the surrounding caverns. This is where we find our party, the lowest of the low, captives bound together by their mutual desire for escape. 

 Adventure Hooks: 

While freedom is their primary goal, the party must keep up appearances and thier first mission will be a crawl through an mine and adjoining excavation site that has recently become infested with underdark pests. This will give them a chance to show off their characters and you an opportunity to hammer home just how miserable life on the Shackle really is. What’s more, having them return victorious and then being forced to hand over their gear and trophies under threat of lashes will set up great minor taskmaster/guards villains that they can avenge themselves against on the way out. 

Have them plan their escape like a heist, rolling out a hastily drawn sketch of the Shackle standing between them and nearby underdark portals. Lay out what sidetasks they may need to perform or challenges they’ll need to overcome to get the resources they’ll need for their escape.  

While preparing for their great escape, the party hear whisperings of  some tumult among the upper ranks of the Clan’s hierarchy, something to do with a prisoner and the overreach of the notoriously wicked spymaster. Leadership may shuffle from time to time but the lot of those captive in the Shackle never does. “ Different Boot, Same Neck” goes the saying... at least it does until a blinding burst of divine light suffuses the fissure and a band of high-level heroes from the surface world come to rescue that prisoner and bring the Tyrants of the Great Chain down in the process. Pull this trigger before your party is fully ready to escape, or just as things go righteously wrong after they’ve decided to attempt a more risky escape.  It’ll be clear they need to get out while the getting’s good, now having to sprint through a warzone rather than sneak through a prison. 

Portals in the underdark are tricky things, leading an escaping party to all manner of potential locales ( that they may might not know ahead of time unless they stole the right information). Maybe they’ll end up in a disused mine on the outskirts of a city of new beginnings, a far cavern trading post with fortunes waiting to be made,    a friendly settlement of exiles and make their reputation while defending its swampy borders. Perhaps somewhere even more strange? 

Operation of the Shackle:   The Shackle was built to ferry supplies, thralls, and soldiers en-mass across the great altitudes of the fissure, a task that could otherwise take days of marching or carting and be equivalent to descending a tall mountain. Instead, cargo is loaded from one level into an adjoining  fortified platform attached to the great chain, which is raised as the other side decends, until it comes level with another  platform. Cargo from one is loaded into the other, and then the mechanism reverses, sending the first platform down while the second platform ascends the way it came. By this way are the Shackle’s contents moved where they need to go by way of an overly elaborate, two way bucket chain, a process important to know should the party seek to escape their current level, or later should they wish to return to the site of their imprisonment and raid its ruins. 

Future Adventures: 

During the hatching of their escape plan, the party are slipped a few vital supplies by a drider merchant who did a little black market business on the shackle and took a shine to them in the process. Delighted to find the party no worse for ware ( despite possibly hopping dimensions) and that they’re now in a position to afford his more exclusive stock, the drider will be happy to send them on missions to fill their pockets then sell them things to empty them again. 

The Party and their favorite spider boy aren't the only survivors of the Shackle, as one of the mercenary captains hired to keep order in the prison fortress has made it out with a newly formed legion of followers, and is interested in carving out a new territory for himself that just so happens to include the party’s new home.  

It’s inevitable that the party left unfinished business on the Shackle, and some time into their adventures they may feel the call to return to their one time prison/home. Thoroughly in shambles after the heroes hit it with everything they had, the seat of empire has now become a patchwork of warlords fighting over the remnants of power, with vast stretches inhabited by the beasts of underdark attracted by the slaughter. Bonus points if the party runs into the pests they first fended off in the mines, grown in size, threat and swarming number without their population being culled. 

[magic-missle-blog]

Ghost division

approx 5k words

The teacher stood in front of her class, looking over the rows of teenagers. The red sun shone through the glass illuminating the brightly coloured room and the wooden desks. The youngsters were mostly green skinned mammalian Drek, like herself, although she did have two reptilian Gath, shorter and stockier than the Drek, they sat on specially made chairs to accommodate there long tails, Their parents had recently moved to this colony, the new mines and the wealth therein drew sentients from all over the galaxy. Most were dressed in a similar fashion, dark blue trousers and skin tight teeshirts with a Varity of symbols of cartoon characters. She inwardly shuddered at the fashion sense of the young,

:readmore:

Off to the side was a older Drek, he was an elder, over 70 years old and even though his once blue hair was now all grey, and his back had a slight stoop, he stood proud and his eyes were bright. He had on a dark green military uniform, a couple of shades darker than his skin. The rank badge on his chest showed he was a captain, the dagger with wings on his sleeve showed he was in the war fleet.

“Class” the teacher began “We have a special guest with us today. As you know tomorrow is 'Alliance day', the most important holiday we have, and it’s a very special one. Tomorrow marks fifty years since the alliance between Drek and Gath, fifty years since the foundation of the united galactic council, fifty years since the Canidations were defeated and peace was restored to the galaxy.”

She took a breath. “Please give a warm welcome to captain Furon.”

The teacher clapped her 6 fingered hands together and sat down behind desk.

Captain Furon walked smartly to stand in front of the class. He precisely placed a bottle of water down next to some paperwork on the crowded wooden desk. All eyes were on his uniform and side arm.

He looked at the teacher. “Thank you for the most gracious introduction.” He said with a smile.

“I want to tell you about the battle for this colony; it was the turning point in the great war, but ...before I begin, who can tell me how the alliance started?”

A forest of hands rose in the air. Furon pointed to one of the Gath students. The student stood up and said in a hissing voice. “Sixty or so years ago a race called the Canidations tried to conquer the galaxy, they invaded and destroyed many worlds. The Canidations attacked both the Gath and Drek our empires bordered one another. We stood together, and fought off attack after attack, eventually driving the Canidations back into their space. After the war ended, our peoples joined in the alliance and started the galactic council, over the years we invited four other species into The Alliance.”

The reptilian sat back down.

As the student spoke Furon nodded along. Once the Gath had returned to his seat, the captain said “That’s the official bare bones history, but it’s not the full truth.”

Captain Furon looked around the class. “It started with the Canidations, that right enough, but what you don’t realise is just how powerful they were. They had more ships, more weapons than any other species, several times over. In their home system there was a gas giant with many moons, these moons were the size of small planets and the Canidations built factories. Giant factories that could mass produce warships in great numbers. Their fleet had tens of thousands of fighters, thousands of cruisers and hundreds of capital ships. The Canidations were a strong warrior race, with a high birth rate. The soon outstripped the resources on their home worlds and wanted more.” his voice turns cold “They were a plague. They couldn’t be reasoned with or bargained with, they believed they were the only true form of intelligent life, everything else was simply an animal to be destroyed.”

He looks lost in memories for a moment, the room is silent, hanging on his every word, For the first time the students actually grasped that standing before them was a warrior, a man who had lived through the horror of the great war .A man who had stood toe to toe with the Arachnidiod Canidations, who had spat in there ruby coloured multifaceted eyes.

Furon continued “In ten years the Canidations invaded and slaughtered five species and with every conquest their blood-lust grew and grew, they gave no quarter, gave no mercy. The wounded, civilians, even children were all fair targets to them.

The seemed unstoppable, we knew it was coming of course. The Drek and Gath were next in line, as the Canidations territory expanded it was a matter of time until they were at our door. We tried to build up our fleets, improve our weapons and fortify out colonies but it was futile.”

He reached for the bottle of water on the teacher desk and took along slow sip, then continued.

“Around 7 years after the war started the Canidations attacked a Gath border post, a few months later they attacked one of our convoys. Normally only a fool starts a war on two fronts, but the Canidations were so powerful and so arrogant they didn’t care. Then they made a mistake. They opened up another front. They attacked The Terrain Empire.”

The class murmured and looked around. This was new information. The Terrans don’t have an empire, they are generally vagabonds or mercs, and they are rare. The population only a few hundred thousand individuals across know space, in fact, no one in the class had ever seen one.

Furon continued “The Terrans, or Humans and they were sometimes known, were a relatively young race. They only had interstellar travel for a few decades, but they quickly built up a small empire. As a young race no one really considered them a threat, including the Canidations, but they were wrong. You see humans had one great strength, adaptability. The Canidations became warriors, but Humans were born for war. In the 5000 years of recorded human history there was not one single day when some part of the planet was not at war. They could see as well as we could what was coming so they built up their fleets and dusted off ancient tactics renewed and improved for a new age. When the Canidations first attacked the Terran Empire, they terrans would lose three ships for every one Canidation vessel killed, but with every battle, every loss the humans learned. They studied the enemy, they adapted. After six months it was one to one, and after a further six it took five Canidation warships to kill a Terran vessel. The humans tech advanced at an unmatched pace. They created new and unique weapons and defences, but it was not enough. Even with losses of 5 to one the Canidations were so many that those loses was a victory, however it slowed the advance into Terran space, and forced then to pull resources from Gath and Drek space to fight the Terrans, giving us much needed breathing room. The advance slowed, but it did not stop,”

Furon took a breath

“I want to tell you about a battle, a very important battle that took place here, in orbit of this colony towards the end of the war. This was the most important battle in the history of the Drek, because it paved the way for the alliance.”

“Back then this colony had around ten million people, and it was an important supply and repair centre for the fleet. At first it was far inside Drek space but as the Canidations pushed onwards this world soon became a target. We tried to evacuate the civilian population but we didn’t have the ships or resources, our fleets were spread so thin as Canidation attacks hit all over the empire. Around seven million people were left when the Canidation death fleet arrived. I was a young officer stationed in the bridge of the Warship 'Firestorm', part of small defence force, all that high command could spare. Our orders were to defend the colony at all costs.”

************************************************

Ensign Furon looked up from his screen. The green and black display flashed in warning. “Captain....sensors have just picked up a large Canidation fleet heading this way. We have 30 minutes until they reach the system.”

The captain looked around his small bridge. The red emergency lights shrouded his crew in an eerie glow, various consoles beeped for attention, chair creaked as people shifted. His crew were at battle stations, ready to fight and die if needed. The Firestorm was destroyer class Warship, Small and fast yet it packed a punch. He was proud of his ship and knew it inside and out. “How large?”

Furon checked his screen, “six capital ships, thirty cruisers, five carriers....we're outnumbered six to one.”

The captain checked the status of the other ships in his fleet. A ragged assortment of cruisers and destroyers most damaged to some extent from the constant warfare, they were only here as this was the closest repair station to the front. There were various other civilian ships in orbit and a large ring of defensive satellites. The civilians he could discount as they were unarmed, but the satellites might be able to help...and then there was the repair station itself, upgraded with the latest weapons..... Captain Brekka shook his head, in his heart of hearts he knew it wasn’t enough, the firepower the Canidation fleet had would cut through the colonies defences like a hot knife through butter.

“Comms open a general distress call”

“Channel opens Captain”

The captain

“This is captain Brekka of the Drek warship Firestorm. We have incoming hostile craft; we are in orbit of Baldur colony. If anyone can help. Please come. We have transport full of children, please assist.”

The Comms office waited a few moments, “nothing captain, no reply”

The first officer, a tall Drek with long lanky limbs replied “all ships are battle ready and moving into formation, plasma cannons are charging. The colony rail guns are active and defensive satellites fully powered. We'll squash those fucking bugs like a spider under our boots'”

The captain smiled a rare smile. He appreciated Firsts attempt to raid the crew’s spirits but everyone knew they didn’t stand a chance.

“Furon. Status of the evacuation ships”

Furon checked his screen. “Three are fully loaded and taking off, the remaining ten will be airborne within twenty minutes. There have been delays, people are crowding on. Its chaos down there.” The main view screen showed various scenes of the plant below. Parents trying to push their children onto the waiting transports, civilian craft fleeing. People fighting each other and trying to flee.

“Cutting it close...” the captain said. He pressed a button on his command console, opening a channel to his fleet. “Prepare to break orbit, defend the transports at all costs.”

The bridge crew looked at the captain. The first office spoke up. “But captain...the planet....there are seven million people...”

The captain, his face drawn, heart heavy, looked at the sensor display. He knew what was going to happen. Those capital ships would smash the space dock as the cruisers destroyed the satellites and ground cannons. Once the defences were down they would bombard the colony with fusion bombs. A few might survive in outlying settlements, or if they managed to get to the bunkers....but by this time tomorrow most would be dead. “There’s nothing we can do for them, but if we defend the transports at least the children will survive.”

Minutes seemed like hours. Furon checked and rechecked the status of the Canidation fleet as they drew closer. The tension was unbearable. A trickle of sweat crawled like a spider down his spine.

CLICK CLACK.

CLICK CLACK

Someone was clicking a pen.

CLICK CLACK

CLICK CLACK

CLICK ...

The first office strode across the bridge and plucked the pen from the officer at fire control. With a grunt the pen was crushed in the firsts strong hand.

Blue eyes glued to the screen, Furon was the first to see the Canidations dropped out of hyperspace just shy of the planets gravity well and began their approach at sub light.

Heavy cruisers bristling with weapons, smaller but faster destroyers, behind that the capital ships. Monsters made of titanium and horror, each one ten times the size of his own vessel. Last but certainly not least the carriers with their cargo of small deadly fighters.

“Five minutes until weapons range” Furon said. The captain sat in his chair, still as a rock watching the sensor display on the main screen. The transports had all reached orbit and were slowly moving out of the gravity well where they could safely activate hyper drive, but they were slow, far too slow.

“Captain” Furon said with alarm “Enemy fleet is breaking formation.”

On the screen the carriers offloaded their cargo of small sleek fighters. Fast and deadly shaped like locusts, they were moving around the Drek fleet to try to flank the transports, as the main body of cruisers attacked head on. The capital ships headed straight for the colony, where their large guns and mass drivers would rain death on the helpless people below.

The captain knew the colony was doomed; all he could do was try to save the transports. Save as many people as he could. He knew his duty, but hated himself for abandoning the colony.

The captain pressed a button on his command console “Sword, Wildcat, intercept those fighters, the rest of you, battle formation, buy those transports as much time as you can....it’s been an honour serving with you.” He cut the channel, nothing else needed to be said. He looked around the bridge crew, emotion plain on the green faces, anger, hatred, but no fear. They faced death but they wouldn’t go down easy and with luck their sacrifice would save thousands of Drek on those transports. The captain couldn’t have been prouder.

“Two minutes until weapons range” Furon said

The incoming ships slowly grew in size as they drew closer.

“Weapon range in 90 seconds, the first transport is 3 minutes from the minimum safe FTL jump point, the last transport is 10 minutes away. Fighters will intercept transports in 3 minutes” Furon said.

So, Captain Drek thought, it’s not all in vein, a few transports will be safe and we’ll buy the rest as much time as we can.

“Weapons range in one minute....wait...captain....I’m picking up something on Comms, its an audio . it sounds like a...a howl?” when the captain nodded furon opened the channel. An eerie moan, filled the bridge. Words, almost two low to catch were mixed in the scary sound, “we are the ghost division, we are your death...”

Furon had turned a sickly pale blue colour. He cut of the channel, and turned to the captain, he was about to speak when his station beeped. “Captain, its a distress call its...it’s from the Canidation capital ships... they want aid....the call has cut off”. Furon said confused.

The screen zoomed into capital ships closing in on the planet, but where the there should have been six monstrous death machine, only four could be seen. Two expanding clouds of debris still glowing, were the remains of the others. As they watched a bright red explosion blossomed from the main hull of another ship, it quickly consumed the huge vessel. As it died a bright yellow explosion from the rear of the ship, the fusion plant loosing containment no doubt, finished it off.

On the main screen an explosion destroyed an enemy destroyer, and then another destroyed a cruiser. Within a few second ten Canidation ships were no more than glowing space dust.

The line of incoming ships dissolved into chaos. They fired weapons all around. The Drek couldn’t see anything though, the Canidations seemed to have gone mad, firing at empty space.

The first office looked up “the cruisers and fighters are breaking off they’re heading to the capital ships...what the fuck is happening?”

The bridge was a jumble of activity. Sensor reports were coming in, the Comms system was going crazy as the other ships in the fleet reported the same thing, asking for orders.

Furon shouted over the noise on the bridge “something is attacking them, I’m reading...fuck I don’t know what I’m reading. I’ve never seen anything like this. Weird gravity spikes, then ships appearing then vanishing. If I didn’t know better I’d say the sensors were damaged.”

The screen showed the Canidation fleet in full retreat. Black ships around the size of destroyers appeared out of no where, fired a barrage of projectile and energy weapons then vanished again. It didn’t matter where the Canidations turned or how the dodged, a ship always appeared, fired and vanished. It made it impossible to target them, or get an accurate count of numbers. When the new sleek warhips were sure of a direct hit they would fire a large torpedo, the weapon didn’t seem to have any guidance, but it packed a punch. Any cruiser it hit was killed, and even the monstrous capital ships were destroyed. With one missile. Brekka had no idea what the warhead was, but it was immensely powerful. It seemed to vapourise anything it hit rather than exploding like a normal missiles

The Comms office piped up “incoming hail”

“On screen” Brekka said

The screen changed from the confusion of battle to a video call.

A tall dark skinned human in a dark grey uniform appeared on screen.

“I’m captain Conroy of the Terran warship Lucifer; we received your distress call. Your transports will be safe now, want to help us mop up the rest of these bastards?” he asked with a grin.

Brekka let out a Drek war cry and said to the crew.

“You heard the good captain. Give them Hell”

****************************************

“The battle lasted less than 30 minutes. We didn’t lose a single ship, neither did the humans. Only one Canidation ship survived, and that was because the humans let it go. ‘Teach them to fear the wrath of Earth’ Captain Conroy told us. We offered the humans shore leave but they declined, they had a mission. To spread fear among the Canidations, to hit hard without mercy and vanish like ghosts. That battle was a major victory, it inspired our people, and it showed that non Drek could help, would be willing to help so in turn we could help others. Due to the humans example the Firestorm was the first Drek ship on the scene when a small flotilla of Canidations attacked a Gath supply line, we helped save a half dozen Gath ships. The Gath returned the favour and soon we were fighting side by side. It was from these small actions the alliance was born. If it wasn’t for the Terran ghost division, the alliance would never have happened.”

Hands rose as Furon finished history. “What happened to the humans? How could they make their ships invisible, what kind of weapons did they use?” a jumble of voices asked various questions.

Furon smiled and raised his hands for silence.

“We don’t know what stealth tech the human ships used, we think they could manipulate artificial gravity in some way to bend light and sensor beams around the ships but we can’t replicate it yet. As for the weapons, well they used tungsten projectiles fired from rail guns and plasma based energy weapons for the most part...but those torpedoes... they were something else. We managed to recover a few that missed their targets. From what we gather they used some kind of exotic matter with negative mass to generate an antigravity wave, That wave was unstoppable, and any matter caught in it was destroyed and changed into energy. This caused a chain reaction, if effectively turned the ships own armour into an energy blast. “

Furon took another drink.

“As for what happened to them....they spread fear among the Canidations. For months Ghost division stuck Canidation ships. Burned colonies, wherever that eerie sound would play Canidations died by the hundreds and thousands. They spreads So much fear that the Canidations halted their advance into Gath and Drek space and committed almost everything to the destruction of Earth. The humans fought hard and made the Canidation bleed for every inch but eventually the humans were pushed back into their home system. tens of Thousands of Canidation ships dropped out of FTL into the Sol system, almost the entire Canidation fleet, almost every and solider so they could watch humanity die.

The terrans had pulled everything back into Earth orbit, every ship, and every colonist. Everything other than ghost division

It must have been an amazing sight, the two biggest fleets the galaxy has ever seen...ready to fight to the death.”

Furon looked around the class

“But the humans...they were vindictive bastards, and clever. From what we gather they built one last torpedo. It must have been huge, at least a mile long, and filled with millions of tonnes of exotic matter. They fired it directly into their own sun causing it to go supernova. The Gravity wave of the dying star made FTL impossible. The entire Canidation fleet was wiped out in one go, millions of Canidations, dead In a heartbeat, I sometimes wonder what when through their mind before they were blasted into ash. Then the alliance struck. Our ships, the combined might of the Gath and Drek empires attacked. We hunted down and wiped out every last Canidation ship, but when we arrived in the home system, we found it had already been killed. The ghost division had been there first...no Canidations survived the human’s wrath. The home world had been cracked open like an egg. Every planet and moon that had even a hint of canidation presence was sterilized.”

The Gath that had spoken earlier said with awe “the humans destroyed their own home world rather than let it fall...they must have been mighty warriors.”

Furon smiled

“Oh they were re than mighty warriors. They were inventors, thinker ands dreamers. After the supernova had passed and it was safe, mercy vessels from the alliance went into the remains of the sol system... we knew it was hopeless but we owed it to the terrans to look for survivors. We found the smashed remains of the two inner planets, and the irradiated husk of the fourth planet. We found a diamond thousands of miles wide, all that remained of the planet after the atmosphere had been blown away. But of earth there was nothing, no debris, no wreckage, nothing.”

“ Just before the supernova wave reached earth, our long range scopes picked up something odd, a massive energy spike. We think the humans somehow created an artificial wormhole, they used the power from the supernova to rip open time and space. They shifted their entire planet, their moon and the whole fleet and left the Canidations to die. They used their own planet as bait and their star as the biggest bomb the galaxy has ever seen. You might say its impossible, but Humans could dream the impossible and make it possible...I don’t know if it s true or not, but they might still out there somewhere and could come back one day., and if they do i hope to all the gods that they come in peace.

[huggingtentacles]

Many people in an attempt to paint Malenia as less skilled than Radahn and thus a sore loser, fixate so much on the bloom. They ignore the fact that he was already incapacitated after being impaled by her but BEFORE the bloom. He couldn't even muster up the energy to glare at her. He couldn't do anything as she slowly pushed her sword deeper and took about 10+ seconds to bloom. He also couldn't react in-time to her jump-stab whereas she never slowed down when her arm was being cut off.

Re-reading this made me realize that I'm just rambling. It's very badly written and borderline incoherent. So my arguments might be bad. Also I want to point out that I am very biased. No I do not care. If you disagree that's fine, write your own post. BUT if you're the Lore Person and you know some of the answers to the questions I have, or you have your own additions, by all means, please add them. So anyway.

I was gonna point that out in my post about why Malenia totally owned Radahn but whatever I'll write it here.

Basically in Radahn Vs Malenia debate whoever wins depends on your opinion of what qualifies as a "victory". Since they were fighting a war, some would look at it from a militaristic standpoint, in which case you gotta define why they even fought, and that's not even clear. Was it for the great runes and the status of godhood? Well, Malenia probably didn't care about the runes, because she did spare Godrick. Was it just a war of conquest? Well, I'm from Ukraine and I know a thing or two about wars of conquest. There wasn't any occupational force anywhere else in the lands between, so it probably wasn't for the territory. In fact, it seems like Malenia deliberately went for Radahn. Maybe she just fucking hates Radahn's guts for some reason. Maybe their minds were just tainted by the great runes. I do not know what was the military objective. But in a war, like in any other war, there is no victor. In that I would agree that it's a loss on both sides. I can make a case though, that whatever was the military objective of the battle of Aeonia, it was something that was worth sacrificing yourself to an outer god for. Malenia's last attack reads to me as extremely calculated. Run in, sack your arm which would suprise your opponent because he probably didn't fight many people who would keep fighting after losing an arm, leap forward, incapacitate him in one hit and also damage yourself enough to trigger the scarlet bloom. Perhaps driving him mad and stop him from achieving something was the goal. That is up to interpretation.

But in their own personal duel, like, outside of everything else, just straight up a battle to the death... Malenia just won. Like, it's just hard to argue with this. Radahn was one of the mightiest demi-gods. And what state do we find him in? Fucking Ohio. Pathetic. This dude is so fucked he might as well belong to Dark Souls 3. Don't get me wrong, he is still really fearsome, don't hold a festival of war for someone who is weak. But when he is just Not Doing Well. If we came a few months later I think he would go so mad he would've eaten his horse. He's in a really sad state, he just doesn't read like a winner to me.

Malenia though? Well let's put aside the fact that she absolutely wrecks shit for a moment. When we meet her she's just chilling, you know? If Miquella wasn't kidnapped, I would imagine he would find something to cure her from the rot. She had all the chances of just brushing it off. And honestly if our Tarnished wouldn't invade the Haligtree, she might've figured something out. I don't really understand why she didn't go out looking for Miquella, but I would believe she would do that eventually. But maybe it was because of the loss or eyesight. Like yeah maybe fighting is just second nature to her, but navigating an area wouldn't be easy. Or maybe she waited for him to return because he had some sort of plan that was interrupted by Mohg?

In any case, Malenia not only crushed whatever Radahn was trying to do, she also had better recovery from the battle.

Also let's talk about that final hit. In PvP, taking damage on purpose to deal damage to your opponent is called trading. A good trade is used to either win over initiative by dealing more damage than your opponent and staggering them. It's difficult to argue that in technical terms Malenia won that trade. Radahn ended up a fun side-quest for some NPCs and Malenia is literally The Hardest Boss From Software ever made.