#always a defensive battle never an outright assault

[katsuko1978]

Ancient Rome: We didn’t start this fight but we’re damned sure gonna finish it!

Gauls: Um… but none of us have attacked you…

Rome, gearing up for war: Nope, definitely taking defensive actions against this unprompted attack on Roman citizens.

Gaulic generals: Oh for fuck’s sake, guess we’re fighting now.

(aka wifey and me are watching documentaries on YouTube and we’re on Rome and Caesar, and I was reminded that Rome always claimed that they only fought defensively despite building a goddamn empire)

[rocorambles]

Scheming Captain

Pairing: Kuroo x Reader, Daishou x Reader (Side)

Genre: Yandere Kuroo, NSFW, Military AU, Non-Con/Rape, Kidnapping, Non-Con Bondage, Forced Infidelity, Forced Voyerism, Forced Exhibitionism, Humiliation, Degradation

Summary: Peace has made people forget just how sharp Kuroo’s claws are, but he’s more than happy to remind a certain snake that there’s more to him than a lazy smirk and a handsome face.

Nohebi and Nekoma have been at odds for as long as anyone from the two lands can remember. Venomous fangs and deathly sharp claws lunge and clash with one another in a dance as old as the kingdoms have existed despite the shaky truce barely keeping them from outright slaughtering one another. And it doesn’t stop as Daishou and Kuroo become commanders of their clan’s troops.

The two men have never gotten along, and the tension only escalates as they’re forced to sit in meeting after meeting together, cutting words and vicious sneers tossed at each other all the while, only their respect for the other commanders in the room keeping them from physically assaulting each other. Bokuto Koutarou pleads for his long-time friend to behave and Sakusa Kiyoomi of Itachiyama shakes his head in distaste. The Tokyo alliance meetings go on as smoothly as they can when half the participants look seconds away from murdering each other.

But then one day something changes and owl-like eyes blink wide as Daishou merely shrugs his shoulders and ignores a blatant insult from Kuroo before calmly continuing on his conversation with Sakusa. But as he turns to ask his friend what is going on, he’s only more confused by the equally disbelieving look plastered all over Kuroo’s face.

Daishou’s sudden shift in attitude only irritates the Nekoma commander even more and Bokuto flinches as Kuroo no longer holds back, outright verbally attacking Nohebi’s commander left and right. Yet no matter how disrespectful the messy-haired man is, no matter how crude his words are, Daishou barely reacts and finally Kuroo cautiously backs off.

Nohebi has always been a bunch of snakes, a cunningly backhanded group of individuals who thrive out of sight and worry gnaws at Kuroo, wondering if Daishou’s change in demeanor is the calm before the storm. So spies are sent and with the grace of cats, Nekoma watches carefully from the shadows, wondering what schemes Nohebi is up to now.

Except there are no schemes and hazel eyes look incredulously at the photo of you laying innocently on his desk.

You’re attractive. Kuroo can see the appeal of you as a quick fuck. But it’s clear you’re more than that, more than just another whore for Daishou to wet his dick with. Annoyance flares inside of Nekoma’s commander as he sees how peaceful and happy his long-time rival looks, two things Kuroo hasn’t felt in ages, if ever.

All this time, he’s been busting his ass off to make sure his troops are always battle-ready, defenses securely in place, training and strategizing late into the night, barely enough free time for a quick trip to the brothels once in a blue moon to let off some steam. And Daishou has just been casually falling in love? Wandering about Nohebi with a pretty little thing on his arm, spoiling her with presents and taking her on romantic dates? Becoming a changed man?

Kuroo can’t help the feeling of being left behind, envy and greed coiling inside of him, blurring the direction of his already erratic moral compass. He won’t let Daishou escape from this war torn hole they’re trapped in. He can’t let the Nohebi commander find happiness when everyone else is still recovering from generations of damage and conflicts. So traps are set, plans are carried out, and the cats swipe a pretty little snake right from the heart of the Nohebi den.

It’s boring how easy it is to kidnap you. Really, Daishou should be thanking him for clearly displaying how lax Nohebi has become recently, how subpar their border control and security is. And Kuroo hides a mocking chuckle when the snakes chaotically slither around, distraught, anxious, unsure where to even begin looking for their missing darling. Oh Daishou Daishou Daishou. Peace has truly made those venomous fangs dull and Kuroo greedily laps up how tense and distracted Daishou is at their Tokyo Alliance meetings, how heartbroken and shaken the man looks as Bokuto reassures him that Fukurodani wouldn’t stop aiding Nohebi in their search.

Fingers point at Miyagi, Hyogo, and any prefecture outside of Tokyo and Kuroo expertly nods and schools his face as he promises Nekoma’s aid as well. But that sincere facade cracks the second he’s safe within Nekoma’s borders and he smirks as he nonchalantly enters your cell, leering at you as he tells you how pathetic and pitiful your lover looked, cooing at you to be grateful that Daishou hasn’t given up his frantic attempts to find you. It really must be true love, huh?

In his defense, Kuroo had never meant to touch you. His only intent was to pull the carpet from under Daishou’s feet, bring him back to that cruel reality of their world. But as hazel eyes rake over your figure each day, his hunger and curiosity grows. You look so easy, bound and helpless, unable to do anything except wait for his daily visits, humiliated into eating and drinking from his hands. It’s been so long since Kuroo’s had the luxury of a warm body to slide inside of and he can’t help but think you must be exquisitely delicious if Daishou is wasting so much time and energy to have you back by his side.

It starts with just a kiss, a little taste he can’t help taking when he sees a stray drop of water on your lips after he sets down the glass he had been pouring for you from. But then you lunge to bite him in retaliation and the predator in him purrs in excitement.

You tense when you see that feral grin spread across his face and then it’s a mess of rough bruising touches, teeth marking your entire body like it’s his own personal canvas to mark. It’s messy, brutal, painful, and you can’t do anything other than struggle against your restraints as calloused hands grope you, Kuroo’s voice huskily growling filth into your ear between harsh bites.

But then a confused sound slips past your lips as a jolt of something...sharp, not entirely unpleasant jolts through you as fingers twist and pull your nipples, something large and hard grinding against your core.

You’re adorable like this, wide-eyed and confused as pleasure begins to mix with your humiliation, unable to hide your little whines and moans and Kuroo groans as your increased struggle only has you grinding against his cock even more, the fear in your eyes only making him harder. He has half a mind to release you, let you think you have a chance to escape, watch you try and flee like a silly mouse, before pouncing on you, easily shoving you down and showing you your place underneath him, trapped under his claws.

But the ache in his groin has him seeking instant gratification and before you even fully comprehend the situation you’re in, you gasp, wincing and whimpering as something large insistently pushes against your folds, mouth open in a mix of shock and disbelief as his head finally sinks inside of you, eyes rolling in your head from the sheer fullness as he keeps on sliding in until you swear he’s inside your womb, balls pressed against your opening.

“Scream my name, pretty girl.”

It’s irritatingly impressive how you refuse to say his name despite how cruel he is to you, how harshly he pounds into you, how he relentlessly uses all your holes far past the point of any return, leaving you gaping and leaking his seed even in the rare moments he’s not all over you. You’re so loyal to that damn snake and it only fuels him to ravage you more, force and break you into submission, until all you can think of and desire is him.

What does Daishou have that he doesn’t? That snake doesn’t deserve an ounce of the adoration and love you have for him. You should be enamored with him, thankful that someone of Kuroo’s caliber is even wasting his time on you.

It was just supposed to be sick twisted revenge on Daishou, just a selfish whim of satisfying himself with a warm attractive body. But he can’t stop thinking of you, your trembling body and forcefully pleasured cries all he can see and hear in his mind. You’re no longer naked and in chains, yet you somehow feel even more terrified, more nauseous as you’re locked in Kuroo’s bedroom, forced to dress in luxurious lingerie, collared and doted on like a glorified pet.

Even his touches make you more on edge, rough handling turning into something softer, more intimate and although you know it’s all forced, know Daishou would never blame you, you can’t help but feel guilt sink like an anchor in your gut with every sweet murmur and kiss Kuroo envelops you with.

“Come on. Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’ll be gentle today.”

“Just say my name. Is that so hard?”

“Say you love me. Say you like me more than Daishou.”

You can feel your body changing, hate how easily it reacts and instinctively leans into Kuroo’s every touch, how perfectly it molds to him as he holds you in his arms at night. You don’t know how long you’ve been here for and despair tightens your chest when it becomes harder and harder to remember the nights spent in Daishou’s bed, all his touches being overwritten by hazel eyes and a taller frame.

But you take solace in the fact that not once does Kuroo’s name slip past your lips, your mind repeating Daishou over and over mentally like a mantra. And you sleep peacefully despite the ache between your legs and the exhaustion weighing heavily on you, blissfully ignorant of the dangerous waters you’re treading in as Kuroo’s temper flares when he hears you breathily moan his rival’s name in your sleep.

Kuroo’s never been known for his patience and what little he has you’ve completely worn down. You learn the hard way that despite the fact that you think you’ve hit rock bottom, things can and will get worse.

It’s an overwhelming feeling, the way your eyes widen, heart racing in affection when you see Daishou in the flesh, right there, right in front of you only for fear and anxiety to clash with the warm feelings when you see how worse for wear he looks, bruises and wounds littering his skin, his body shackled and bound.

“Kuroo, please. Don’t hurt him.”

“Oh, so now you want to say my name. But that’s not even the name I���ve asked you so nicely to call me.”

A lazy grin spreads across the handsome face you’ve become too familiar with and disgust swells inside of you. But this isn’t the time for pride, not when your heart is on the line. So you grovel.

“Tetsurou, I’m begging you. Please let him go. I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything, huh?”

You tremble as he nonchalantly strolls towards you, blinking back terrified tears as he embraces you from behind, cruel amusement evident on his face as he watches Daishou struggle futilely against his restraints as Kuroo’s hands roam over your body.

“So you’ll stay by my side forever? Be willing and eager to warm my bed, warm my cock anytime of the day and night, no matter who’s watching? Such a loving and loyal girlfriend. Daishou, you really found yourself a stunning sacrificial lamb. Well then, let’s give your ex-lover a show since it’s the last time he’ll ever see or hear you.”

Your eyes widen in panic, hands scrambling to shove Kuroo’s much stronger frame off, only to sob in defeat when he growls at you to behave, darkly murmuring threat after threat to the man you love if you don’t cooperate. You can’t bear to look into Daishou’s eyes, eyes clenching shut when you hear him scream your name, hiss venomous insult after insult to Kuroo between pleas for him to leave you alone. Shame keeps your body limp, putty in Kuroo’s hands as he effortlessly arouses your body, only your teeth practically biting your own lip off keeping the little aroused mewls and gasps from humiliating you any further.

If Kuroo’s honest, he doesn’t particularly want Daishou to hear your pretty lewd sounds, to see the way your nipples harden in desire, the way your pussy’s soaked just from a few thoroughly practiced strokes. He doesn’t want you to look at or even think about the snake bastard when he’s the one touching you. But he reminds himself this is supposed to be a statement, a final nail in the coffin of whatever Daishou and you had once had. After this, you really will be his and only his.

So he harshly grabs you by the roots of your hair, forcing you to gaze into the eyes of your pathetic lover, the angle of his hold forcing your mouth open, your wanton moans echoing through the room, unable to be hidden any longer. Maybe he should have dragged Daishou here sooner, his cock only twitching even more in interest at the crestfallen betrayed look in his rival’s eyes as he watches how easily you unravel from just a few strategically placed kisses and bites.

Fuck. Kuroo swears your tighter under Daishou’s disbelieving eyes as he sinks his cock inside of you, your hole fluttering and clenching around him. Maybe he’d have to rethink his plans and fuck you in front of your cucked ex-lover if this is how you react to shame. He wonders if you’d clamp down just as tightly in front of an entire room filled with audience.

The thought makes him groan and he increases his pace, the clapping of his balls against your ass punctuating the air, making a perfect rhythmic background to your lewd wails of pleasure and humiliated cries. You’re no longer even looking at Daishou as lust ravages you, eyes rolling back in your head as you succumb to the addicting feeling of being stuffed full of Kuroo’s cock, womb and pussy pulsing in a silent plea for the comforting warmth of his seed.

“Don’t be such a greedy slut, darling. We have a guest remember? Smile for him.”

Daishou flinches at how wrecked and content you look as Kuroo sticks two long fingers in your mouth, index and middle finger parting to forcefully split your mouth into a mockery of a smile, drool and your tongue sloppily lolling out from between your lips.

“Good girl. Now time for the finale.”

It’s amazing how much the human body can adapt and Daishou can only watch in sick fascination and horror as Kuroo rails you, pounding in and out of your body in a way that only looks agonizing, like he fully intends to literally break you. And yet...you’re enjoying it. It’s been so long since he’s held you, but he knows that look on your face, that faraway dazed gaze, eyes criss-crossing as you can only focus on the mind-numbing pleasure overtaking you.

You’re going to cum on another man’s cock, on Kuroo Tetsurou’s cock. And all Daishou can do is endure this cruel punishment as your body beautifully convulses as it reaches its peak, going limp and docile as Kuroo helps you ride out your climax while he chases his own end.

There’s silence except for Kuroo’s guttural groan as he slams balls deep one last time inside of you, flooding and marking your insides with thick white spurts.

You allow yourself to slump in Kuroo’s hold, too exhausted to fight anymore, no meaning in resistance when he’s so thoroughly conquered you in front of the man you love. All you can do is hope this is over now that he’s made his point, hope Daishou will still love you just as much as before even though you’re used goods now.

But your head snaps up and you struggle anew at the words that echo that cut through the air.

“Bring him back to his cell.”

You don’t know what’s louder, your pathetic cries and sobs for Kuroo to release him or Daishou’s angry and terrified shouts to unhand you.

“Kuroo- Tetsurou, please. Let us both go and we won’t tell the rest of the Tokyo Alliance about this. If you keep us both here, they’re bound to realize you’re at fault.”

You flinch at the loud cackle Kuroo responds with, heart dropping when he finally decides to verbalize what he finds so humorous about your fighting words.

“Oh darling, I have Bokuto wrapped around my finger. Who do you think he’s going to believe? Me? His long-time trusted ally? Someone he considers a brother? Or you and your ex-lover? Two people from a territory notorious for your underhanded ways when we were all at war?”

You know the truth of his words, know that despite the peace treaty tenuously holding the Tokyo Alliance intact, Nohebi will always be the odd man out, the nation everyone else is wary of, fully expecting them to sink your venomous fangs when their backs are turned. But your mind still races to find any loopholes, any chance to save Daishou and you.

“But-but surely they’ll realize something’s wrong when Daishou is missing from the future Tokyo Alliance meetings?”

You shiver as Kuroo fondly nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, lips sensually kissing a butterfly trail up your throat, before lazily smirking at you.

“Smart girl, but I already accounted for that. We’ve already laid the groundwork of planted evidence for Fukurodani and Itachiyama to believe Daishou’s disappearance is the work of the Miyagi Alliance. There’s been increased tension between all the alliances and I’ve been meaning to go head to head with Karasuno again. All perfect timing really, don’t you think?”

You don’t think there’s anything remotely perfect about the war-torn picture Kuroo is painting or how he’s secured Daishou’s and your imprisonment, but you can’t bring yourself to voice that opinion. Not when your chest feels like it’s constricting so tightly you might suffocate, not when you’re hyperventilating, vision beginning to blur at the edges as panic sets in with the realization that this is your life now.

“It would be so easy to just throw Daishou’s corpse in the middle of that chaotic mess. Convenient too if they happen to stumble across it on Karasuno territory-”

Kuroo’s thoughtful pondering is caught off as you faint in his arms, body going heavy and limp. He chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he carries you in his arms towards his quarters. His scheming can wait for now. He can think of better ways to use the rest of the evening’s hours.

[daresplaining]

“Blind Man’s Bluff”: Psychic Swashbuckling and Spider-Man!

    On the whole, Soule’s run was fairly weak for me, especially following on the heels of Waid’s fantastic work on the comic. But there were elements that I really liked, so I want to highlight some of those while waiting for Zdarsky’s run to begin! One of the stand-out story arcs was #8-9 (titled “Blind Man’s Bluff”), which is half team-up, half heist, and just plain fun.    

    This story hinges on a simple-yet-fantastic scenario, with Matt engaged in some high-stakes gambling, and it starts off with one of the best, most characteristically Matt Murdock-y openers in years: 

Matt: “I raise. Fifty thousand.”

Matt (caption): “These cards I’m holding? Absolutely no idea what they are.”

    (One tragedy of this arc is the dang brown hair, which I might have taken as part of his disguise if it weren’t pervasive throughout significant chunks of Soule’s run.��Hopefully, this trend will die a quick and permanent death now that the Netflix show has ended.)

    We eventually learn that Matt is in Macau on superhero business, hunting down a briefcase stolen by Black Cat, and has engaged in this game of poker to get closer to those protecting it. But his reasons for pulling this stunt feel irrelevant. The scenario is good enough that it stands on its own. Matt is in disguise, pretending to be sighted, playing Texas Hold ‘Em (one of the only casino games he, as a blind person, can even pretend to play, as he explains) and keeping on top of the situation despite all odds by doing the two things he does best: expertly reading his opponents via hypersenses, and being bold as hell. 

Matt (caption): “Okay, two pair showing, and it’s just me and Flex left in this round. If either of us has a king or nine, we’ll have a full house, which is a hell of a hand. But if we don’t, then... all right. Work through the odds. We know that the other players wouldn’t have folded if they... You know what? Let’s just see what happens.”

Matt: “All in.”

    Another treat of this story is the return of Laurent Levasseur-- one of Matt’s less-used civilian identities.  

Adhira: “May I join you? That is, unless you would rather be alone.”

Matt: “Not at all. I’m meeting a friend later, but... that’s later.”

Adhira: “Excellent. My name’s Adhira.”

Matt: “Laurent Levasseur.”

    For anyone unfamiliar, this is the French identity Matt was given when he went deep undercover for SHIELD in Scott Lobdell’s “Flying Blind” arc. 

Claudia: “My turn. Your name?”

Matt: “Laurent. Laurent Levasseur.”

Claudia: “You don’t sound very sure.”

Daredevil vol. 1 #376 by Scott Lobdell, Cully Hamner, and Christie Scheele

    “Flying Blind” is an imperfect story, but there’s a lot I love about it. Since it is almost never mentioned, this is a fun little callback-- and it’s also not the only one in this issue. As Matt mentions, he also gambled like this while undercover in Europe during Ed Brubaker’s run. What can I say? I’m a continuity nut. I love consistency. 

    As if Matt’s first poker game weren’t daredevilish enough, the comic gets even more creative and shashbuckly when he reaches the final round of the tournament. This is where he encounters real competition in the form of a telepath, who is employed by the casino to ensure that the house always wins. But of course, Matt is uniquely equipped to deal with this challenge as well. 

Matt: “Apex’s powers let him dip into the other players’ minds. It’s why he always wins. He knows what everyone else is holding. He sees through their eyes. To which I say, Mr. Apex... I wish you the best of luck.”

    Of course, it’s always great fun when Matt’s hypersenses work to his advantage, but it is even better (and much less common) when his blindness works to his advantage. Again, this is just a fantastic story premise on every level. 

    And then it gets even wilder, as Apex conducts a full-on assault on Matt’s mind to try to break him down from within.

Matt: “God, he’s strong. I have defenses against psychics-- Stick and my other senseis taught me to protect my mind as much as my body. In a world with telepaths around every corner, a secret identity doesn’t last unless your mental walls are strong. This kind of fight is nothing new for me.”

    This is an interesting comment because it is inconsistent with previous depictions of Matt’s training. Various psychic/mystical abilities are a key part of the Chaste/Hand power-set, but according to Miller’s version of Matt’s origin, his training with Stick ended before he learned how do to any of that. He is physically capable of keeping up with fully-trained Chaste members, but is a complete amateur in most other respects, which is something I’ve always enjoyed about his team-ups with them. 

Stone: “It will not work, Murdock. You are not trained...”

Matt: “I love you, Elektra. If there’s any way to bring you back-- I’ll do it-- even if it kills me!”

Stone: “...You do not know the way... Murdock-- help me--”

Matt: “Stick said... it’s just a matter.. of moving energy...”

Daredevil vol. 1 #190 by Frank Miller and Klaus Janson

    That said, I will buy the idea that Matt has strong mental defenses, and he has shown an aptitude for this sort of thing (against all odds, he is actually successful in reviving Elektra in the scene above). What he didn’t initially learn from Stick, he could have picked up in his later experiences working with the Chaste and with Master Izo-- the “senseis” I assume he’s referring to in the Soule issue. And it’s true that Matt has experience fending off mental attacks, with “Shadowland” being a major recent example. Though he needed help getting the demon out of him, the practical realities of that struggle probably taught him a lot. And finally, possibly most convincingly-- intense mental willpower is what allows Matt to function with hypersenses without going crazy. That is a form of mental shielding that Stick did pass on to him, and at which Matt is an absolute expert. And so it’s great seeing this expertise displayed via Matt and Apex’s mental battle, in which Matt nearly has his secrets exposed before knocking the guy out.

    My favorite case of Matt battling a telepath is still from A Vs. X: Versus, when Psylocke tries to get into his head and just gets blasted by his hypersenses...

Betsy: “Overloading-- feedback--”

Matt: “There’s the answer-- she’s a telepath. And she just learned what it’s like the first time you experience my hypersenses-- it hurts.”

Avengers Vs. X-Men: Versus #4 by Rick Remender and Brandon Peterson

...but this is a lot of fun too. 

    Having won the tournament (and a huge chunk of cash he can’t use, because it’s not under his real name), Matt finally acquires what he went through all this trouble and risk to get: a hotel room at the casino. Having secured this, he moves into the next phase of his plan, which involves a wonderful team-up with his superhero BFF Spider-Man. 

Peter: “Wait, this is your room? I thought you said this floor was for high rollers.”

Matt: “Sure did.”

Peter: “[...] I feel like there are things you aren’t telling me.”

Matt: “Oh, definitely”

Peter: “Good thing you’re one of my oldest and most trusted colleagues in the super hero biz.”

Matt: “Sure is.”

    Again, the plot itself feels secondary. Matt needs the room because it allows him access to a restricted floor of the casino, where the briefcase he needs to steal is being held. But it’s the interactions with Peter that make this issue so great. Soule writes both them very well, playing up their banter and the comfort they feel around each other, and thus emphasizing their closeness and the fact that they have known each other for a very long time. 

Matt: “This city’s almost completely vertical. It’s all tall towers and mountainsides.”

Peter: “I know, I love it. It’s like a six-lane highway for guys who get around the way we do. [...] I got a Spider-Tracer onto the briefcase before that guy made it into the panic room. [...] I’ve been tracking it ever since the guy got on the helicopter back in Macau.”

Matt: “Good news. Where is it now?”

Peter: “Oh... looks like... right in there.”

Matt: “You know... you are amazing.”

    And it’s important that this is emphasized, because of the other key part of this team-up: the fact that Peter no longer knows Matt’s secret identity. While Matt is his casual self around his friend, and while Peter attempts to laugh off this shift in status quo, it is there beneath the surface the whole time. Peter tries to advise Matt on the dangers of being in a “black-costume phase”, he tries to drop hints about how weird it is that he doesn’t know Matt’s real name, and then in the end, when he can no longer just let it slide, he confronts Matt directly. 

Peter: “I was thinking about it when you called me to help you down here. I have a lot of memories of adventures we’ve gone on over the years. But they feel... incomplete. Like they aren’t the whole picture. Like a jigsaw puzzle with only half its pieces. And I thought, ‘Gee, that sure is odd, considering that you are, after all, one of my oldest and most trusted colleagues in the super hero biz.’”

    This early in the run, the exact details of what happened with Matt’s secret identity haven’t been revealed yet. And this is the first time someone directly addresses the mind-wipe, or even seemingly notices it, so it is extremely significant. (I do think it’s weird that Peter is the only person to notice it, but that’s a topic for another post.) While I feel the mind-wipe was a very bad move, since it damaged so many of Matt’s relationships and negated a lot of decades-old character development, I do at least appreciate the poignancy of this moment; of Peter trying to understand why he can no longer trust someone he considers a friend, and Matt deciding that he can’t bear to outright lie to him. 

Matt (caption): “Make something up. You’re an attorney, Matt. You can make anyone believe anything, and Spider-Man wants to believe you. If you tell him something even remotely plausible, he’ll probably-- No. Enough is enough.”

Matt: “The reason you feel like there’s a hole in your memories is because there is. Everyone used to know my identity, and I did something to change that. I’m still the man you trusted. The only differences is that now you don’t know my name.”

    It’s an emotional end to a great story arc-- and while I would have much preferred to Matt to get Peter back up to speed, I appreciate the moment for what it is. Hopefully, after three years of this near-complete isolation, Matt will go into Zdarsky’s run with a desire to fully rebuild these relationships that clearly still mean a lot to him. 

[razieltwelve]

Thunder (Final Rose/Gate)

Note: This is a followup to Opening Gambit.

Lightning studied the holographic display, and her lips curled in distaste. The enemy had finally gathered their forces, and they had come to take back the gate. If the intelligence they’d gathered using satellite imaging and surveillances drones was correct, there were roughly one hundred thousand enemy soldiers. By the end of the day, Lightning would be surprised if any of them were still alive.

“Your orders, ma’am?” one of the techs asked, ready to convey her words to the rest of her forces.

“Wait until the main bulk of the enemy has breached the exclusion zone and then open fire.” Lightning smiled thinly. It was fortunate that Fang was here. Her wife was a warrior through and through. This one-side, ruthless slaughter would have disgusted her. Lightning had always been more of a soldier. In the back of her mind, Saviour was simply happy that the coming battle would be swift, decisive, and highly efficient. “Have the artillery open fire first. Allow the troops on the outermost wall to pick off any survivors. We might as well blood some of our troops while we’re here.”

X     X     X

The Vengeance Mark III Ultra-Heavy Transforming Tank (VUHTT-3) was one of Dia Technologies’ most popular products. It was basically an ultra-heavy tank that could transform into arguably the most powerful artillery cannon in the world. It boasted extremely durable armour and impressive manoeuvrability with inbuilt forcefields and the ability to fire some of the deadliest projectiles in the world across distances up to, and in some cases even surpassing, thirty miles.

It’s predecessors had helped to hold Mountain Glenn, with one of the VUHTT-1s to survive the battle being responsible for more than 3000 Grimm kills with its high-explosive shells. And it was the VUHTT-3 that had helped hold the line when hordes of massive Grimm had besieged some of Atlas’s most important cities. A squad of VUHTT-3s had helped to destroy one of the largest Grimm hydras in existence, a behemoth that stood more than two hundred feet tall. Their devastating barrages had weakened it enough for a member of Team STRQ to strike the killing blow.

These awe-inspiring war machines now faced a new foe: the soldiers of another world. Lightning had forty of these tanks at her disposal. As the enemy crossed into the exclusion zone, twenty of them rumbled into position before transforming. Their treads gave way to massive support pylons as their barrels split and merged with parts that sprung up from the main chassis to form even larger cannons. As the twenty tanks turned into twenty artillery cannons, a grim silence fell over the area.

“Requesting permission to open fire,” the commander of the tanks asked.

Lightning’s reply was immediate. “Permission granted. Fire until the enemy’s formation has been broken and then withdraw to Defensive Positions A through E.”

“Understood. Commencing fire.”

X     X     X

The only warning the soldier had that he was about to die was the eerie whistling sound that filled the air. A split-second later, he and everyone around him was consumed in a cloud of flame and metal.

X     X     X

Lightning watched the carnage unfold through several of the drones hovering over the battlefield. The VUHTT-3s had done their work well. Within moments of opening fire, the enemy had already sustained thousands of casualties. The enemy had clearly crafted their armour to withstand swords, arrows, and other similar weapons. The standard high-explosive fragmentation shell the VUHT-3s fired was designed to immolate and shred hordes of Grimm. The enemy might as well have been wearing paper.

Even so, the enemy continued to press on. She wondered if it was foolishness or bravery. As per her commands, the tanks continued to fire until the enemy’s formation had completely disintegrated. 

“Ma’am, enemy fliers have begun their assault.”

“Understood. Open fire with the anti-air batteries.”

X     X     X

Aerial Grimm were some of the greatest threats to Remnant’s safety and stability. As such, the various kingdoms and nations had spent ridiculous amounts of money on developing technology to counter aerial Grimm. Standard anti-air batteries used a combination of lasers, missiles, machine guns, and flak cannons to provide flexible but effective defence against a variety of threats.

Lightning had been given her pick of available technologies, and she had chosen a system that combined flexibility with power. At the centre of her defence were eight heavily fortified towers that house massive flak cannons capable of turning the sky into an ocean of shrapnel, as well as rail guns that could pummel anything with armour heavy enough to withstand the barrage.

Spread throughout the rest of the facility were a host of lasers, missile pods, machine gun emplacements, and so on. Whether it was a swarm of lightly armoured threats or a handful of massively armoured capital threats, Lightning was confident her defences would be able to handle it.

She was correct.

The first wave of dragon and wyvern riders simply ceased to exist under a withering hail of machine flak cannon and machine gun fire. Others tried to dive low to avoid the onslaught only to be met with a storm of lasers. Lightning made a mental note to send teams out to recover the bodies later. The creatures might be worthy of study, and she knew Vanille, Diana, and many of Remnant’s other scientists would be interested in examining them more closely.

“This is a slaughter, ma’am,” one of the comm operators murmured.

“Yes,” Lightning said. “It is.” She put one hand on the young man’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I understand. In our world, we train to fight Grimm. But these aren’t Grimm. These are people.” She turned her attention back to the holographic display. “Hopefully, the next time they think of attacking us, they’ll think again.”

X     X     X

The battle didn’t last much longer after that. A few thousand of the enemy got close enough for the defenders on the outermost wall to open fire, but that was by design. To their credit, they executed their orders perfectly. The enemy were cut down in shorter order, and they did not suffer a single casualty in return. Lightning would have been surprised if they had. The only enemy to get that far had been infantry, and the standard rifles used by Vale and Atlas had an effective range of around a mile when used against lightly armoured targets like these soldiers. Against a Grimm, the effective range was more along the lines of four hundred years, but she wasn’t about to complain about it.

Total enemy casualties were around sixty thousand. Lightning’s lips curled. It was a grim result, and she hoped the enemy would be smart enough to avoid repeating it tomorrow since the rest had apparently withdrawn.

She was wrong.

The enemy attempted a night assault next, and it met with similar results. It was little wonder some of her troops looked a bit queasy. A hundred thousand casualties in a matter of days. It really was horrific. However, they quickly recovered their nerve when they were reminded of what these people would have done had they the strength to retake the gate and beside Remnant.

There were, however, a few survivors, and Jihl and her forces learned some very interesting things from them.

X     X     X

“I’m told you are the commander of this army.” King Duran of Elbe studied his opponent intently. This pink-haired woman had devastated his forces, slaying thousands upon thousands of his troops. Was it magic? Was it something else? He didn’t care. All that mattered was that his army was gone. And it was only now that he realised how badly he’d been played. The Saderan Empire had never arrived. No. They had never had any intention of arriving. Instead, the allied forces had simply been a sacrifice, a way of buying them more time against an opponent they’d known would destroy the allies with barely more effort than it took to swat a fly.

“I am.” The pink-haired woman glanced at his mangled body. Duran had lost an arm and a leg. It was only by the strange magic of these people that he was still alive. “My name is Lightning Farron although I suppose I go by Grand Marshal Lightning Farron for the time being. I am told that you are a king.”

“King Duran of Elbe,” he replied. “You are not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Demons,” he said simply. “You slaughtered the armies that went against you, and yet your forces have provided treatment to the few who survived, and I am told the others survivors are being treated well.”

Lightning stared at him for a long moment. There was something unnerving about her, like being in the presence of one of the apostles. The air around her was thick and heavy, a miasma that seemed to sap his very will. Abruptly that feeling faded. “We are not monsters, and your good treatment comes with the expectation of cooperation.”

“Ah, yes. I see.” That Duran could understand. “And what might I receive for cooperation, grand marshal?”

“I have… agents who have already infiltrated these lands. They have told me that you commanded an allied force, one separate from the empire that thought to invade my world. You have been set up, King Duran. They knew what we were capable of and did not warn you.”

“No, they did not.” Duran grimaced. The words were like ashes in his mouth. With his army destroyed, it was only a matter of time before the empire thought to suborn his kingdom. “And they will only profit from our defeat.”

“Which would be a shame,” Lightning replied.

“Oh?” Duran tried to keep his voice level.

Lightning turned away. “Jihl. I’ll leave this in your hands.”

A blonde woman came forward and smiled. It was, Duran thought, a very cold smile. “I think we both know why you’re here.” Jihl sat down beside his bed. “You’ve betrayed, King Duran, and used for the benefit of others. With your downfall, the Saderan Empire will undoubtedly look to strengthen its influence over your kingdom if not conquer it outright. It seems… unfair for them to profit from your misery, don’t you think?”

His lips curled. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

“What if I told you that we could give you a new leg and a new arm? What if I told you that you could make them pay for what they’ve done?” Jihl leaned forward. “What if I told you that your kingdom could benefit from all of this?”

“I would ask why you would do such things for me.”

“We’re strangers in a strange land, King Duran. We need friends and allies.” Jihl gestured at his mangled body. “The events that led you here were unfortunate, true, but victory can be found even in times of grave misfortune if you know where to look.”

Duran’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me what you want.”

“How about this...”

[vagrantblvrd]

It Goes Something Like This (1/1)

Summary: It’s hard to say how the hell this even happened, but Michael’s not going to complain. (Or, okay, he is, but only because everyone is so fucking stupid.)

Notes: I've been rewatching the Criminal Mastermind videos and fell in love with the idea of these four becoming crew of their own before meeting Geoff and Jack and all the FAHC shenanigans that follow. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

AO3

Technically, Michael meets Jeremy first.

“You fucking shot me!” Michael yells, because he and Jeremy are drunk as fuck and recounting to the others how they met.

Opposite sides, Romeo and Juliet kind of bullshit and Michael running into a short fucker with dyed hair and this shitty little gun.

Michael carrying an equally shitty assault rifle that fucking jammed on him, giving Jeremy enough time to pop off a shot that grazed his shoulder before he bolted. (Insert short joke here.)

“I panicked!” Jeremy yells back, because he remembers that night just as clearly, and he knows Michael now. (Goddamned short jokes.)

Michael starts cackling because he’s got a shit-ton of short jokes all saved up just for Jeremy and Jeremy knows him now.

It’s no surprise when Jeremy yells incoherently and fucking tackles Michael off the couch, mouth crashing into his like he thinks he can stop Michael, the others laughing helplessly at them.

========

Ryan is...he’s this fucking bogeyman haunting Los Santos and whatever hellscape he came from remembers him because pieces of it come looking for him from time to time.

Michael heard about him before he met him, which is something that just happens in Los Santos.

You hear about fuckers like the goddamned Vagabond and either shit your pants at the thought of running up against him, or don’t really think about it because what are the odds, right?

If you’re Michael, though, you end up with a crew that hires Ryan on to help with a job and have the shitty luck to have someone from Ryan’s past catching up to him. (Worst timing really, and Michael caught in the middle of the whole mess.)

They’re waiting for the timer to hit zero before they kick things off and Ryan’s being a little too smug about things again. (Not dangerously so, no. Just this side of irritating, which means someone needs to remind him the Vagabond is really just a huge dumbass.)

There’s a certain kind of silence over the comms, not quite judging, because God knows their own pasts have caused them trouble in the past, but -

“In my defense,” Ryan says, sounding less like the soulless monster he’s supposed to be, and more like  the hapless idiot he is. “I thought Carl was dead.”

The silence this time around is absolutely judgmental because Ryan is an idiot who slips up from time to time.

“Yeah, well,” Michael says, remembering the nightmare chase through the streets of Los Santos while being chased by an asshole bent on revenge. “You’re a surprisingly shitty driver for someone with your reputation.”

Michael grins as Ryan sputters, and outright laughs when Gavin starts squeaking and Jeremy wheezes.

“Oh, you are in for it when we get home,” Ryan says, and it isn’t the Vagabond or hapless idiot Ryan making the threat, just that dumb bastard Michael’s more than a little in love with.

Michael grins at the chorus of ooohs from Gavin and Jeremy and Ryan’s fondly exasperated sigh.

A soft ding sounds over the comms signaling the start of this little heist of theirs, and Michael cheerfully breaks out the explosives to start things out the right way.

========

“Fucking Battle Buddies!” Jeremy yells, because he’s an idiot.

“Battle Buddies, fuck yeah!” Ryan yells, because he, too, is an idiot.

Idiots who refuse to tell Michael and Gavin how they met, just come out with the Battle Buddies shit like that’s a thing normal people do.

They even have matching tattoos on their biceps. Michael likes to run his fingers over them, tracing the lines of stupid hardcore design on the dumbest people he knows, and feeling their muscles flex under his touch.

========

Gavin -

“Ryan was supposed to kill me,” he says, tinkering with some gadget or whatever Ryan got for him on his latest job. “Didn’t do it, though.”

It’s an idle comment, lazy day for them with the rain coming down steadily outside and things going well for them at the moment.

Michael looks up from the deathmatch he is handily losing while Jeremy and Ryan hunt each other in-game, every bit as creepy as the rumors say the Battle Buddies are.

“Fucking surprise there, Gav,” Michael says, as though Ryan’s the only one in the room who’s tried to kill him.

There was a time Michael was ordered to kill Gavin too, and Jeremy has a similar story of his own, because apparently Gavin’s just that annoying.

Makes a habit of making enemies easy as breathing and getting clear of them by the skin of his teeth one way or another. (They weren’t the first to hired to kill Gavin, and knowing him they won’t be the last.)

“Hey,” Ryan protests, not looking away from the screen. “I almost killed you.”

Gavin snorts, like Ryan’s blowing things out of proportion there. (Honestly given the way things went when Michael was sent to kill him, it’s possible.)

Twisty little fuck with a love of traps and clever as hell.

This scar on Michael’s back from one of them, and Gavin patching him up when Michael realized his boss was a lying fuck and maybe keeping Gavin alive was in his best interests after all. (Which, you know, considering how things worked out, it definitely was.)

========

Lester’s the reason they started working together, all that time ago. Called them in for a job he didn’t want to trust to anyone else for whatever reason, and things just sort of...happened from there.

Jeremy eyeing Michael warily, eyes darting to Michael’s shoulder and the graze long since healed. Michael snatching the keys out of Ryan’s hand with a scowl, because he’d be goddamned if he let the asshole drive anything he was in ever again. Gavin with this bemused expression on his face as he looked to Lester as though wondering what the hell the man was thinking.

Lester not giving a shit about any of that as he laid out the particulars of the job and chased them out of his place to get things done.

The four of them staring at each other because really, and finding out through a series of misadventures along the way that they actually worked well together. (Somehow didn’t get each other killed, but that’s one and the same sometimes in Los Santos.)

Lester kept calling them together for jobs, and eventually they figured hey, why the fuck not and formed a crew of their own, and that slid into something else because hey, why the fuck not?

Jeremy’s terrible fashion choices and worse puns and shy, sweet smile when they kissed for the first time. Ryan’s stupid everything and strong hands cradling Michael's face so, so gently after a close call and lips against his, something desperate to it. Gavin’s reckless bravery and blood on his face, crooked little smile and quiet “Hey,” after endless days tearing the city apart to find him like he’d never doubted they’d be looking for him.

The four of them figuring their shit out like complete idiots. (Which meant it took them fucking forever to do it, but when they did it turned out to be the best fucking thing in the world.)

Lester still goes to them when something big is happening, and for better or worse, Agent 14 trusts them too. (As much as an asshole like him can, at any rate.)

========

Gavin is the one who finds out about them. Pair of idiots making like they’re here to take over Los Santos, one step at a time.

Asshole in a tux and his partner in crime known to favor gaudy Hawaiian shirts, and ties to the Roosters.

Looking to carve out a space for themselves here and putting out feelers for anyone willing to take some risks for major rewards.

“No,” Ryan says, because Gavin has that look in his eye again.

The one that says he’s fascinated, and he’s always been a bit of a risk-taker, and they’re a little too invested in the stupid fuck to let him get himself killed.

“I mean,” Jeremy says, icing his shoulder after a sparring match that got a little too spirited, while Michael presses a bag of frozen peas to his jaw. “It could be a good thing?”

Michael leans against Ryan, feels the tension running through him because he’s a pessimistic bastard. (No surprise considering the road that led him here to Los Santos.)

They’re doing pretty well for themselves, when all is said and done.

Have a nice place to live and a few fancy cars, a bike or two. All the tech Gavin could ever want and contacts all over the city.

Lester hates them a little less than he hates most people, and Agent 14 is willing to look away if they get into things they shouldn’t when he isn’t involved. (Hasn’t called the FIB or IAA down on them anyway.)

Absolutely no reason to look into these two idiots, or too closely at the way they’re all feeling a little restless where they are now, too big for the small-time crew they used to run with and the kind of shit they’re involved in, and not big enough on their own for some of the things they’d like to try their hand at. (No reason at all, if they want to stay where they are.)

========

“Huh,” Ramsey says, eyebrows raised as he gets a look at them. “I, uh. Huh.”

Michael glances at Ryan who is menacing as ever while working. At Jeremy who has traded in that brown cowboy hat of his for a blindingly white one apparently as a fuck you to any other cowboys roaming the streets of Los Santos, like that’s a thing that happens.

At Gavin, smug as fuck as he takes a delicate sip of his drink, because he’s got three of Los Santos’ more notorious figures at his back, and loves the reactions it gets from people when they realize. (As though Gavin isn’t as well known as they are, or his work, at any rate.)

The bar is quiet for this time of day, the six of them in a booth at the back and Patillo eyeing them appraisingly while Ramsey -

“You said you were looking for people for this job of yours,” Gavin says, eyebrows raised. “We’re interested.”

Ramsey sits back, gaze flicking between them and this frown between his eyes as he considers. (There are new rumors about the four of them these days, and he’s sure to have heard them by now.)

“We are,” he says slowly, as though he’s realizing the things he could do with them on his side, a light in his eyes alarmingly like the one Gavin gets.

Gavin smiles, just a hint of teeth, because he’s always a step ahead of them in matters like this.

========

Ramsey becomes Geoff, Patillo becomes Jack, and Los Santos never really recovers when the six of them decide to make their mark on the city.

Infinite Possibilities

[fanofawesomethings]

Unexpected Visitors

Another installment of the adventures of @bixbitesmeepmorps‘ Bixbite and Onyx

If you want a fan fic of your own, message me and I will tell you my prices

Bixbite watched the flowers sway in the wind. The months of snow had gone by as the snow began to melt. Everything was still cold and many days the sky was stone gray but it had been several days since the last snowfall. As much as Bixbite loved seeing the white snow decorate her forest she was even happier to see the earth and the plants that she knew would sprout after the cold months. One such bed of blue orchids sprouted at the foot of the mountain before the soil became rock; as she watched them the shadow of her dangling legs covered them. The wind was especially cold and strong that day and a petal flew off with each gust.

           Carried by the same gust was a new bird that flew into the forest over the winter. Feather a bright orange except for a pink spot on its spine, with a small tan beak, Bixbite encountered the bird perch itself on a branch outside the cave and sing to them sometimes at night. The bird returned and nestled itself in a nest of twigs and leaves across from where Bixbite sat. A long time had passed since she last seen her hawk companion, Beak, and in her lonesomeness to see her bird friend again, Bixbite named the small orange bird Beak as well.

           The bird sang to Bixbite across the way. Amethyst taught her how to make a similar sound—Bixbite called it “birding”—and Bixbite tried to do it as she taught her, pinching her lips and exhaling.

           “PSSSST!” Bixbite blew through perched lips and frightened the tiny bird more than she did whistling to it.

           Suddenly a stronger gust shook the forest. From out of nowhere and catching Bixbite by surprise the wind blew ever leaf on every tree with violent strength. The small Beak was thrown into the tree trunk while the bits of its nest were scattered to the forest floor. Bixbite’s hair blinded her from seeing her bird get hurt, or from seeing that the sky had darkened for a moment. When the winds settled she only saw an empty branch; Beak was gone. She didn’t think much of it other than believing the bird left peacefully.

           Onyx left the cave looking very exhausted. There wasn’t any sun to blind her after a long night and morning in a dark cave yet she rubbed fatigue out of her eyes as she dropped down next to Bixbite. As if by instinct, she threw her arm over Bixbite’s shoulder without even meaning to and Bixbite in returned leaned her head on her partner’s chest. Together they watched the treetops, staring off into space. Bixbite felt her head bob each time Onyx sighed.

           “Are you thinking about Plume again?” Bixbite asked, snuggling her head into Onyx.

           Onyx didn’t answer but Bixbite knew the answer already. There weren’t too many things that could make Onyx sigh so obviously—missing a day of doing anything physical, Bixbite going to visit Wheat Town without her, and whenever she thought of Plume Agate. Of course Onyx would never say it outright, but Bixbite knew the Gem soldier long enough to read her sighs.

           “I’m sorry she’s still…” Bixbite didn’t want to finish the thought.

           “Yeah, me too,” responded Onyx bitterly.

           Since daybreak, Onyx sat and stared at the surface of the amber Gem. More often than naught the temptation to pop the bubble containing her overcame her and Onyx would take a while to talk herself out of the idea. It was the same that morning and her biggest argument in favor of the impulse was the need to see if the corruption had faded like a sickness. Onyx left the cave when she settled the argument.

           “Maybe you should give her Gem to Steven? Every time you wake you see Plume and then you get depressed.” Bixbite would often see the bubbled Gem at times too at the back of the cave and she too would feel low on Onyx’s behalf.

           “No, I can’t. Every time I got poofed in battled, Plume would stay by my side the whole time and wait for me to reform. I have to do the same.”

           The wind picked Bixbite’s hair up into Onyx’s face. Her hair always smelled like the forest trees and flowers and smelling it seemed to put Onyx at ease but not as much as twirling locks of the magenta hair in her finger. Having her hair played with tickled Bixbite. She felt another deep exhale.

           “I wish I could’ve met Plume. I wish I could’ve met your other squad members. All your stories of them—they sound like great Gems,” said Bixbite.

           “Plume would’ve loved you. She always saw the value of a Gem, even if they were Off Color.” Onyx had her smile elevated. “I wish you could’ve seen her stand up to Blue Diamond.”

           “Who’s Blue Diamond?” Bixbite was ignorant of many things of Gem culture, specifically the things that happened on Homeworld.

           Onyx used the tip of her nail to scratch the symbol into the limestone rock. The four Diamond insignia; Bixbite remembered seeing the symbol on the Gem structure and the Gem ship above.

           “She’s one of the four Diamonds that make up the Great Diamond Authority. Blue, Yellow, Pink and White Diamond—my Diamond,” Onyx pointed to each Diamond on the insignia, stopping at the top one. “When the Gem War broke out, we wanted to join the rest of the Gems fighting the Rebels, but we had to ask Blue Diamond for permission. Blue and Yellow hate Off Colors more than any other Diamond; she didn’t want us to go, but Plume stood up to Blue Diamond and convinced her to change her mind.”

           Bixbite smiled. “You got to come to Earth because of Plume. Now I have to thank her.”

           “If you met Plume the first thing she’d do is pick a fight with you. She wouldn’t mean anything bad—it’s just how she says hello.”

           Onyx’s arm went limp on Bixbite’s shoulder. Bixbite noticed immediately and when Onyx realized it herself she quickly retracted her arm and stood up. The black Gem turned away and brushed the tear off her cheek, pretending to do it nonchalantly. But Bixbite could read sadness with Onyx’s back alone.

           “It’s okay to miss her, Onyx,” said Bixbite.

           Onyx leapt from the rocks to the soil and she punched the first tree she saw. The release of her bottled anguish left a crater in the base of a tall tree. It didn’t topple beneath her mighty strength but Bixbite could see if she were to climb that tree it would fall in a second.

           “You know me and my squad went on more missions than I can count. It was probably something like two thousand or something. And after every one we went back to Homeworld expecting a something—even a ‘thank you’ or ‘good job’. And all we got was the same: ‘Off Colors’. Plume gave us all the praise we wanted but Homeworld elites made fun of her for leading us too. She didn’t care what they said, but I did.”

           Onyx balled her fist and she punched the tree again, punching it off the stump as if her hand was an axe.

           “Two thousand missions and we never got anything from the Diamond. Ungrateful tyrants. This is all the War’s fault. All because Pink got shattered the Diamonds attacked the Earth to crush the Rebels. It makes me feel better that Rose Quartz is gone, but I won’t rest until the Diamonds fix what they caused.            

“But I thought they were your leaders,” said Bixbite, naïve.

           “They wanted to use you like weapon, they hated me since I was created, and they caused Plume to be corrupted. I’m not a soldier for them anymore.” Onyx reeled her fist back to slam down on the remaining stump.

           “Golly, are they strong?” Bixbite’s question stopped Onyx before she delivered the punch. She lost the strength to punch the stump.

           Onyx looked troubled and worried, her lips muttering something under her breath. Her Gem shined with the cold sweat running down her smile. The weight of Onyx’s word dropped on her shoulders and she repeated what she had just said. Bixbite saw the effects of her question and she quickly jumped down to Onyx.

           “They are strong. They’re…the strongest beings in the entire universe,” the black Gem panted.

           At the slightest touch from Bixbite Onyx jumped like a skittish cat.

           “You don’t have to go after them. Steven tells me he can heal Gems and he’s practicing really hard to heal even corrupted ones. If we believe in him I just know he’ll help Plume too.”

           “Really?” Onyx inquired.

           Bixbite wrapped her arms around the black Gem’s mighty body as best she could. Her fingers couldn’t interlock completely on the other side but she didn’t mind. Onyx held the tips of Bixbite’s fingers and connected them with her hands. She was still and Bixbite felt a sigh of relief.

           A whistle in the air grew from distant to piercing. The wind threw a strong hand over the forest when the whistling peaked. Bixbite’s hair was blasted all over her face and across Onyx’s back, while Onyx got a face full of her own hair. The trees thrashed to and fro with the spastic winds, and dirt flew everywhere is miniature tornados that blew dust into Onyx’s eyes, beckoning her wrath to resurface.

           “Where the heck did this wind come from!?” Onyx growled, loud because the whistling was deafening as well as annoying.

           “It’s been like this all day!” Bixbite answered.

           “WHAT!?” Onyx didn’t hear her at all.

           “IT’S BEEN LIKE THIS ALL DAY!”

           “OH! SOMETIMES I REALLY HATE THIS PLANET!”

           Bixbite tried to think of something in the wind’s defense but she couldn’t see Onyx through her thrashing hair.

           A tremendously large shadow fell over across the forest and that time Bixbite was able to see it with Onyx. The source was something that hovered above the clouds and it larger than both of them, combined. They heard a sound, the sound of metal grinding together, and then an object broke through the clouds—a small, blue object. It struck the earth with a loud bang and then the floating object above flew away just as the wind assaulted the forest one last time with a fleeting gust. The forest was unnervingly calm as it tried to return to its normal stillness.

           Onyx analyzed the space where the floating object occupied. The force that propelled the object left a clearing in the clouds but it also left a trail behind it.

           “Only a Gem ship can stay still in the air and make a trail like that,” said Onyx with disdain in her voice. She looked off to the distance. “And it brought someone here.”

           “A-Another Gem?” Bixbite didn’t have her interest in meeting new Gems since their last encounter with Alabaster and the other new Gems; she clung to Onyx’s arm.

           “We don’t have any backup from your friends, but it looked like it was only one Gem. Stay close to me, Bix.”

           The two of them walked in between the trees with extra caution. Both kept their eyes wide open for anything the same color blue coming towards them, but the dense forest blocked them until they were drawing close to a clearing in the trees. A quickly fading cloud of smoke floated in the sky, close by—whatever landed, landed in the clearing they were approaching. Bixbite clung tightly to Onyx and she held her partner’s hand firmly as they drew closer. Finally they could see the blue object on the other, but Onyx pushed Bixbite and herself close to the ground.

           The crater where the Gem landed was sizeable and very deep with the powerful impact she left, despite her size and appearance. The Gem in question was thin and tall with hair as blue and curled like ocean waves. Her eyes were wide and bright, and she had golden freckles over her nose. Dirt lightly stained the ends of a dark dress that went down to her knees and was cut open below the neck, showing her teardrop-shaped Gem on her chest.

           “A Lapis Lazuli? Earth has its quota of Lapis already,” Onyx griped in whispers.

           Onyx formed apprehension when the Gem glared at the entire terrain, a menacing glower. The Lapis stood up and took a step forward and nearly fell down if she hadn’t caught herself; Onyx watched carefully. She waved her hand over her blue Gem and the Lapis pulled an orb of water that she configured with her fingers like clay and she made two smaller, flat circles that she held on top of her nose, in front of her eyes. Suddenly the Lapis wasn’t glaring and what’s more her steps become much more stable.  

           The Lapis scratched her head to shake the dirt out of her hair. A bit of it fell around her lips and she curiously licked it up and then spat it out when she regretted the decision.

           “She might be stupid. As long as she doesn’t see us maybe everything will be—” Before Onyx finished her thought, Bixbite slipped past away and burst through the cover before Onyx could stop her.

           “CHEST LAPIS!!” Bixbite squealed.

           The Lapis was startled, throwing her arms up automatically to defend herself. She paused as Bixbite ran to her and then her face lit up as much as Bixbite’s did.

           “BIXBITE!” The Lapis chirped.

           They collided with their arms thrown around the other upon impact. Overjoyed, Bixbite picked the Lapis who was taller than her and twirled her in the air, and then the Lapis did the same to Bixbite. They laughed and they cried; Bixbite cried into her soldier and the blue Gem cried into the top of Bixbite’s hair. The water on her face splashed on top of Bixbite and soaked her hair and the Lapis was glaring once again.

           The change in the Lapis’ expression was drastic and her glare was unsettling while she was staring at Bixbite. It was unsettling enough to alarm the Gem warrior that was watching cautiously. Stirred to go to Bixbite’s aid, Onyx charged out of the brush. Bixbite saw the charging Onyx and the glare on the Lapis and she swiftly put herself in front of Onyx’s path.

           “Onyx, wait! She makes that face because she can’t see!” Bixbite cried.

           The charging bull was stopped by confusion.

           “What?” Onyx inquired.

           The Lapis formed two more flat discs of water over her eyes, which allowed her to see the bigger Gem, and she was startled. Her mouth hung down as she stared from Onyx’s feet to the top of her head and she looked to be too much for the new Gem to handle. The Lapis looked overwhelmed, and a bit nervous.

           “Onyx, this is a friend of mine. I call her Chest Lapis,” Bixbite introduced, pushing her closer to Onyx.

           “I…uh…um…I’m…Lapis Lazuli…Facet 7B, P-Polish 24FL,” the Lapis stumbled.

           “We met during the Gem War when I landed on Earth. She was the one who told me I was a Gem and everything,” said Bixbite.

           “Okay. It’s good to meet you,” responded Onyx, uninterestedly, holding out a hand that scared Chest Lapis who didn’t understand the gesture.

           “You shake her hand with yours, it’s an Earth thing,” whispered Bixbite into her ear.

           Chest Lapis stuck her trembling hand out and Onyx received it, shaking it and the Lapis too when she wasn’t expecting it. As soon as it was over the Lapis grabbed her hand back and inspected it as if there was damage to it. Bixbite hugged the blue Gem again.

           “I missed you so much, Chest Lapis, I can’t believe you’re back! Where were you all this time? Why didn’t you come to visit me?” Bixbite inquired.

           “I did! I looked everywhere for you during the War, but I couldn’t find you. I was so worried about you and then the Evacuation Order was given and I thought—I thought—” The Lapis pulled Bixbite close to her chest, pressing her tightly as she sobbed. “You’re really here.”

           Her friend felt weak to the touch, her whimpers struck Bixbite with grief. Bixbite’s tears were no longer tears of joy. They cried, and Onyx turned away to give them a moment to themselves.

           “When I heard about the War ending—I thought you’d been—I thought you were gone,” sobbed Chest Lapis.

           “I never thought I’d see you again, Chest, I’m so happy you’re back,” smiled Bixbite wiping her tears. “But why did you come back?”

           Chest Lapis took a moment to compose herself. “Oh, I was given a super important mission! My friend wanted me to search the Gem Ship we saw stranded over there and see if there were any stranded Gems on board. Bixbite…is she one of them stranded Gems?”

           “Oh no, this is my dear friend, Onyx, she lives with me in that mountain,” said Bixbite. “The stranded Gems are—” Onyx clapped her hand over Bixbite’s mouth.

           “They were two Peridots and a Pearl, but they used an escape pod to get out off planet. They left the ship hovering over the mountain but it doesn’t work without them,” answered Onyx.

           Bixbite looked to Onyx and Onyx sneakily shook her head to keep her from saying it which she complied but without knowing why.

           “Is that so? Oh dang, I’ll have to catch up with my Agate, she was the one who gave me the order and then we’d meet up,” said Chest Lapis.

           Bixbite turned to Onyx with uncertainty. She had been swept away by the joy of seeing her friend again that she forgot about the dangers of strangers. Onyx didn’t express it but she was nervous as well.

           “H-How many others came with you, Chest?” Bixbite asked.

           Prancing around the clearing like a gentle deer, Chest lapis didn’t seem to hear Bixbite. She heard the rustles of the trees and at the same time she felt the breeze sending her blue skin in a tingle with the cold. Birds chirping in a branch nearby tickled her ear; the Lapis danced with the music she heard. Her feet barely touched the ground, only the tips of her bare toes, her arms waved as delicately as flowers blown by the wind, and she seemed to move in a circle. Bixbite stayed quiet; she hadn’t seen the Lapis’ dance in so many years.

           Sparkles fell on everywhere she went. Water glistening in the dim light was on everywhere her feet touched, coming from her feet and her body like a ribbon. With a twirl of her body, water danced from her Gem, flowed across her body to her back, and then divided into eight separate spears of water that hoisted her off the ground in a grand finale as she waved her arms above her head.

           Bixbite was muted by awe for she had seen something she hadn’t seen before. Onyx quickly forgot the matter at hand because she was stricken by jealously; nothing she ever did garnered the same reaction from Bixbite. Chest Lapis descended to the earth and Bixbite jumped for joy.

           “Chest! You’re still the best dancer I’ve ever seen!” Bixbite cheered, clapping.

           The spears splashed on the grass. Chest Lapis’ face blushed beneath her golden freckles.

           “Thanks, Bixbite,” she sighed.

           “Hey, Lazuli, how many came with you to Earth?” Onyx finally asked remembering the situation.

           The Lapis suddenly became uneasy and nervous.

           “M-Me and my Agate were on a ship together—and we were going to see meet up with the rest after—and they are a lot of Pearls and Peridots.”

           Onyx felt apprehension start to bubble in her stomach.

           “Why exactly did you guys come back here? From everything I’ve seen here this planet isn’t part of Homeworld’s colonization.”

           “Yes—I mean no it’s not—but we were told to come and meet together. I-I don’t know why,” answered Chest Lapis.

           “Does that mean you’re going back to your Agate now?” Bixbite asked and Lapis nodded. “Can’t you stay here for a little bit? I haven’t seen you in so much time I wanted to show you around my forest since you didn’t get to see it last time. Please say you’ll stay for at least a little while.”

           The Lapis appeared to be conflicted, looking over her shoulder in the direction the ship flew in. Her feet started jumping in place with her indecision until she finally exhaled.

           “Sure, I can stay for a little bit,” said Chest Lapis, sounding very unsure in her own words.

           Bixbite squealed with delight and embraced her friend who despite her audible uncertainty smiled that she made her friend happy.

           There wasn’t time for them to visit Wheat Town to show the visiting Gem the wonders of human culture, Bixbite understood but she was still determined to show Chest Lapis all the forest had to offer. Bixbite took the Lapis to some of her favorite places. They watched the tiny stream of trickling water feed into the still pond, they visited the valley where the Gem War was fought in and the Lapis was amazed that there was no hint of the battles left amongst the tall grass in the huge valley, and they scaled the mountainside—as far as Bixbite would allow—and together they stared out in the vast horizon. Chest Lapis saw each wonder with astonishment obvious on her face—her mouth hung down lower with everything she saw.

           Onyx watched the foreign Gem the entire time, convinced there was more to the Lapis that what she saw. The blue Gem showed no signs of hostility towards anything, even the strange things that made Onyx apprehensive when she first came to the forest; rather, the Lapis was enthusiastic to see more things, just as Bixbite is. In the next stop on their tour, Bixbite led Chest Lapis by the hand to their cave; the Lapis skipped merrily beside Bixbite who did the same as they walked. Onyx became less convinced the new Lapis had ulterior motives.

           “This is your base?” The Lapis asked observing the maw of the small cave but not going inside.

           “It’s our home. Well it was mine after you left and when Onyx came it became our home,” said Bixbite.

           “But it looks so dark and small.” Chest Lapis poked her head and immediately withdrew like a turtle.

           “It’s actually really nice inside. Come on, I’ll show you.”

           Bixbite took the Lapis’ hand but she could sense her hesitation to go inside. The darkness inside was too thick for the Lapis to see anything, until an inexplicable magenta glow blinded the side of her eye. Bixbite held her a ball of sparkling aura in between her fingers and the Lapis had a look of befuddlement.

           “Bixbite—? What is—?” She gasped.

           “I got stronger since you left,” said Bixbite with a hint of pride in her voice. She made the light brighter solely to show off.

           Onyx smiled with pride too.

           The inside of the cave may have been illuminated for the Lapis to see but the light didn’t make the small cavern any bigger. They took three steps inside and Lapis saw the end.

           “That over there is where I sleep and over there—” Bixbite began.

           “Sleep?” Chest Lapis repeated.

           “It’s a thing humans do here. You close your eyes and then rest and sometimes you get these weird pictures in your head and you don’t even have to do anything! Oh! That’s where Onyx sleeps.”

           The Lapis saw where Bixbite pointed to but she soon saw more. The orb was hidden behind a rock but the side of it peaked just enough for Chest Lapis to see it and slowly walk to it while Bixbite was talking.

           “And see this? This little rock kept hitting me on the head whenever I woke up so I punched it and it—Chest?”

           Bixbite caught Chest Lapis as she knelt down and held the bubble in her hands. The Plume Agate Gem that floated inside glistened with the magenta glow and the Lapis was mesmerized by the sight of it. Bixbite gasped, and Onyx who stood at the entrance looked back and saw Lapis when it was too late. Onyx stormed into the cave and swiped the bubble away, panting frantically when she grabbed it.

           “Don’t touch that,” said Onyx calmly enough.

           “Oh…ah…I’m…so…” The Lapis froze.

           “Chest—I should’ve told you—” Bixbite scrambled to think.

           “Bixbite, that’s an Agate. Wh-Why do you have her bubbled?” Chest Lapis panicked.

           Bixbite was a cornered animal. The need to keep it a secret like Onyx wanted conflicted with her urge to tell her friend, and the conflict was shoved in front of her face expecting an answer straight away. Onyx had no such conflict; she was on her way to leave the cave with her bubbled friend in her arms, but she was stopped by Bixbite’s eyes near the entrance which begged her to stay and help. Chest Lapis turned between Bixbite and Onyx and Bixbite knew the further they delayed the more Bixbite feared it made them appear suspicious and it caused her dread.

           “Onyx,” Bixbite spoke, frightened.

           She groaned. Onyx caressed the air around the bubble’s circumference, protective of the delicate orb and conflicted. Showing reluctance outright, the black Gem gave her permission.

           “Chest Lapis, can you keep this a secret? Please, as my friend,” begged Bixbite.

           Conflict was then passed onto the Lapis who was left confused by the request. Bixbite opened her eyes wide to show the blue Gem the desperation in her eyes. Tears started to form. Chest Lapis was unexpectedly shaken by the tears on Bixbite, almost to the point of crying as well.

           “O-Okay,” said the Lapis with her eyelids fluttering so she wouldn’t start crying too. Bixbite hugged her friend.

           “That’s Plume Agate, she’s Onyx’s squad leader, but she’s been corrupted so we have to keep her in a bubble,” explained Bixbite.

           Chest Lapis gasped dreadfully. “Corruption?! Such a thing—! B-B-But that’s a punishment only for high level rouge Gems! Why would she be—?”

           “It was the Diamonds’ last attack on the Earth. It was supposed to wipe out the Rebels but all it did was corrupt any Gem on the planet, including Plume,” said Onyx.

           “We’re keeping her in the bubble until we find a way to heal her,” said Bixbite.

           “You’re a Lapis Lazuli, a pretty high member of Blue Diamond’s court—you must’ve heard things about Corruption. Like a way to undo it,” said Onyx.

           “Only rumors. Aquamarines and Agates use Corruption like a threat when the threat of shattering isn’t enough, but no one has ever seen it outright. No one even talked about it until after stories of Rose Quartz made it back to Homeworld.”

           Onyx punched the wall and the entire mountain shook. The frustration swelled up in her eyes and she left the cave, with Plume in her hands. Bixbite sighed sadly.

           “I’m sorry,” said Chest Lapis.

           “It isn’t your fault, Lapis. Onyx really cares about getting her friend back. And I wish I could help her, but this is more than we can do by ourselves,” said Bixbite.

           Chest Lapis pondered it for a moment and then her face brightened when the idea clicked.

           “You can come back to Homeworld with me! You and your…friend. Maybe there you can two can talk to the Diamonds. They wouldn’t let one of their Agates stay Corrupted, they’d have to help.”

           “Homeworld? Me?” Bixbite was blown away until she was at a loss for words. She pictured it in her head, for a brief moment. “Chest, I can’t leave my home. I told you that before when you left.”

           The Lapis pulled her friend close to her chest and wept.

           “The Diamonds attacked the Earth. You could’ve—been—I’m so happy you’re okay after so many years.”

           “I’m happy I got to see you again too, Lapis.”

           “If you won’t come to Homeworld then you can come with me to the rendezvous. I may not know anything about Corruption but there are plenty of Aquamarines and Agates there. A lot of Blue Diamond’s court was asked to come here; maybe one of them knows.”

           “But won’t they get suspicious that a new Gem is with you?” Bixbite asked, on the thought as well.

           “We could tell them you’re on a Scouting mission. A ship comes by here every couple of years to update the Star Maps, we could say you’re on that mission.”

             Bixbite was speechless because she was picturing how it would go. If they were to do what Chest Lapis said she wondered if it could work and she imagined what she would be able to learn—what she’d see on a ship with new Gems. The Lapis giggled because she recognized the look of hunger on Bixbite’s face for adventure.

           “That would be incredible…but Onyx—” Bixbite started towards the entrance when the Lapis grabbed her hand.

           “Bixbite…you’re friend is an Off Color,” said Chest Lapis.

           The magenta Gem was visibly crossed.

           “I didn’t mean it like that! I’m sorry! But the Diamonds don’t send Off Colors on missions as much anymore. It would look suspicious if one just showed up here without a reason. If you want to come, we have to go alone.”

           “But I can’t go without Onyx. I need her.”

           The Lapis held both Bixbite’s hands in a tight grip. She looked deeply into her eyes and Bixbite saw the earnest intent burning like a wildfire in the blue.

“I promise I’ll keep you safe and then I’ll bring you back your forest.”

Bixbite didn’t doubt for a moment her friend would keep a promise she made, but still she was hesitant. Through the entrance she could see Onyx sitting on the edge of the rocks with her head lowered close to the bubble. She looked vulnerable, fragile, and Bixbite’s Gem ached at the sight. Suddenly Onyx took off running into the forest. Bixbite didn’t need to think on it any longer.

“Let’s go.”

[shaso-cinnjin]

Trust.

Written by @grand-master-alrik-ville and @shaso-cinnjin

Chapter 1: Old Friend, Old Enemy M41.072

Shas'la Hel'ves ran as fast as his hooves could carry him. The mont'gue'la had ambushed his convoy out in what they thought was safe territory. Hel'ves looked behind him and stopped. How could he not have thought about them. Raising his pulse rifle, Hel'ves ran back to cover the civilians as they ran past. Just about 60 meters behind were the mont'gue'la that the Imperium call Chaos Marines. He knew he was no match for them, but he had to buy the civilians time to get away. Just as he was about to turn and follow them, Hel'ves noticed a little girl trip, falling face first into the churned up ground. Hel'ves slung his rifle and launched himself towards her, sliding down next to her to pick her up.

“Come on, you have to get up. We cannot stay here.” Hel'ves stated as he tried to get her on her feet.

“I can’t. My legs are too tired”

“Then I shall carry yo-” Hel'ves was cut off by the cackling of a Chaos Marine as his shadow descended up Hel'ves. Seeing the devilish and barbaric looking axe raised high in the air, Hel'ves turned his back to the marine, attempting to protect the child as best he could. He waited for the pain and the cold of death to come, but all Hel'ves heard was the sound of a loud metallic CLANG, and then a wet THUD as something landed next to him. Turning his head, the chaos marine laid next to him, and a different presence stood over him. Looking up, all Hel'ves saw was a white cape emblazoned with a silver cross and crossed lightning bolts, and a terminator standing above.

“Run, get your people to safety and tell your Shas O’ that he must press his forces into the flanks if we are to win this war.” The tall marine ordered, his shield raised to protect both him and Hel'ves.

“Who…who might I ask are you, so I know who to tell my Shas O’ to thank for rescuing us” Hel'ves hesitantly asked.

“I am Grand Master Alrik Ville, of the Storm Templars. He will know what to do beyond that. Now go!!” and suddenly the marine dashed forward into the mont'gue'la, no fear in his voice, and he could only sense duty seeping from him.

The distress call from the evacuation convoy rang loudly in his ears as he shot through the sky, the fire billowing its orange and red glow from its location becoming more and more visible the closer he came to its last known location, he feared the worst yet hoped for the best, a hope that would soon take life as he spotted the untainted popping of frantic bolter fire and the crackle of power swords.

As he crested the cliff of the canyon where the ill-fated convoy rested he saw them, weathered armor glinting with orange and yellow as their frames became silhouetted from the muzzle flash, their tall shadows flickering against the trees surrounding the area, fighting valiantly against the bloodied hounds that surrounded them.

Arvack looked upwards, “Incoming projectile! Take Cover!” he screamed as he and his battle brothers dove into what cover they had left.

A thunderous crash was shook the ground as the projectile made impact over their heads, a ring of dust now hanging over them, the cries to the blood god falling silent.

Arvack leaned around his cover bringing his bolter to bare, in front of him was no crater left by stray ordinance but the rising form of a Tau battlesuit gripping the decapitated head of a bloodletter tron from its body by the suits gauntlet. A single red eye turned to look at Arvack, scanning what Arvacks assumed was his left pauldron,

“Storm Templar… It's been so long.” the suit spoke in flawless gothic, “What happened here?” it asked.

“We were ordered by the Grand Master to hold this position to provide cover for your “people” from this convoy while they retreated.”

“I owe both you and your commander a debt, Arvack.” it spoke turning its attention to the recovering horde as it began to reinitialize its assault.

“How’d you know my name?” Arvack inquired, firing his bolter at a charging berserker, blowing its head into gory chunks across the canyon floor.

“I know many things, we’ve met before on the flaming spires Jukaa, you were but a scout.” it said fondly as the T’au began to mow down cultists with its burst cannon, each popping spectacularly in dazzling blue explosions.

“That cannot be true, you lie! It’s been 200 years! That commander’s long past, he is but ash now.” Arvack spoke briefly, his attention becoming more drawn into the defense of his squad.

“Doing pretty well for a pile of ash don’t you think!” the T’au chuckled. “Shas’O Cinnjin, it’s a pleasure to work with your chapter again, Sergeant.”

Arvack looked back at the tall suit, its snow white limbs the same as those he saw blackened by soot back on Jukaa, the same T’au that fought beside him back on that infernal planet.

“Lets go, I’ve cleared a path!” the T’au shouted pointing towards an opening in the trees, “We’ll meet up with more reinforcements that way.”

Alrik rammed his shield into the first Chosen as he charged into battle with the traitors. Swinging his axe in a downward arc, Alrik cleaved the pathetic traitor in two before spinning around and using his shield as a club to crush the skull of another Chosen. Running further towards the convoy, Alrik could see the Tau battle suit aiding his men.

Alrik gave an amused HMPH, as he barreled through some more traitor marines, carving them into pieces. “Cinnjin, you never cease to show me that I can trust you” Alrik mused as he slammed his shield into another.

“Third squad, form a defensive ring around the Tau, the 4th company will be here to push back these fools,” Alrik ordered as he made his way into the quickly forming ring and took position at the back of Cinnjin, “Hello, old friend. Miss me?”

The caped terminator barreled his way into the perimeter forming around Cinnjin,

“Hello, old friend. Miss me?” he asked warmly, Cinnjin knew only one astartes whom would greet him so kindly.

“Alrik, it's good to know you still draw breath” Cinnjin chuckled as he ignited two traitors with the beams of cyan spraying from his pack mounted plasma rifles.

“You’re most kind for aiding us, I fear the more inquisitive among our kind will brand you traitor, you know my offer from all those years ago still stands, I won't ask you outright to come, but if an unpleasant fate begins to manifest in your chapters future, beyond your control, you are always welcome to pursue your goals here, as an equal.” Cinnjin spoke with slight concern in his voice.

The ring closed around them, Chaos of all forms sprinting from the treeline over the steadily increasing mound of corpses, blue and orange flashes making the shadows flicker and grow in spastic pattern. The crack of thunder hammers slamming ceramite and the pop of pulse munitions hitting home filled the night as the defenders grew ever fewer.

The ground began to shake and the clouds opened above, beams of bright blue shot down from the stratosphere, a beam of incinerating heat traced the outline of the group, annihilating the surrounding area. The flick and hum of incoming thunderhawk and tigershark engines sang chorus for the symphony of munitions they let loose as the entire canyon, save for the convoy, became naught but atoms before the combined might of the allies combined forces.

“Hel’ves told me about your desire to flank them, looks like they finished off the others just in time to save their poor commanders.” Cinnjin laughed, his eye lenses began shrinking to pinholes to better cope with the blinding light. “Tis’ a Victory, Alrik, even the smallest can make all the difference don’t you think?”

Alrik smiled under his helmet as he hacked at a Chosen, cleaving the traitor in two. “Cinnjin, you know I must say no to the offer. My loyalties are to my Emperor and his Imperium, regardless of whether it is a shadow of its former glory or not. Maybe in a different time, our Empires would see that we would work better as an Alliance. However, I fear that the Imperium has grown to a set in its xenophobia to ever realize that.” Alrik stated with a hint of sadness. Slamming his shield into a charging possessed marine before cutting him in half, Alrik looked behind him to see a charging chaos marine with a melta bomb going for Cinnjin.

Alrik pushed his Terminator armor as best he could to get as much speed as he charged for the traitor. Unfortunately for the traitor, he didn’t notice until it was too late the charging behemoth of cermatite and muscle. Using his shield as a club, Alrik decapitated the traitor in one undercut swing, sending its head and the bomb flying.

“All units, engage these traitors with extreme prejudice, leave none standing” Alrik ordered.

“My friend, our chapter is one of very few that ally themselves with…xenos. While we keep that under black tape, we are the only ones who try to help those that have helped us.”

“Aye, I know where your loyalties lie, it was never a matter of that, of sides.” Cinnjin spoke sending a punch into a whirling screamer, the force of his onager gauntlet sending a shockwave into the treeline.

“It was about consequences, how sometimes the black ink gets washed away, it’s not an offer of annexation into the empire but of protection, so that you may serve your people even if they grow hate you, a thought that I dread.” Cinnjin spoke to the terminator as it smashed the skull of one of his traitor brethren beneath his bootheil.

Cinnjin then let out a sigh. Briefly noticing trees falling from deep in the thick foliage, the only warning of what was to come.

With a blood curdling scream the Debaser of Slaanesh slammed into the defensive perimeter, its wip like tendrils cutting through armor like it was the air itself. Cinnjin fell silent and began to crouch forward.

“You may want to move.” He said motioning for Alrik to step away.

All that stood in Cinnjins place after that moment was a cloud of dust a faint blue trail and a very, very shattered sound barrier.

Cinnjin shot fourth over the Debaser, grappling the two large horns cropping out from the head of the beast, kicking his vector thrusters around he began to rear the beast towards its own, it sending chunks of eviscerated heretic flesh through the air in spectacular gory sprays.

With a crack and a thud it was clear the commander had had enough, using his onager gauntlet to strike the beast so that the pressurised air punched clean through it and the ground, its head exploding in a purple-red haze coating him in blood.

Cinnjin them motioned to the path he had previously cleared and for the Astartes to follow.

“The evacuation should be complete, come!” the bloodsoaked commander yelled, pointing towards the salvation of the landing-zone.

“It's time we show these creatures the meaning of what we stand for!”

“If it comes to that Cinnjin, then I will accept your offer.” Alrik stated as he walked past the Debaser. “Templars, move to the LZ and secure the perimeter. Double time it” Alrik broke into a run.

“Cinnjin, I pray that the path we tread will never see us become enemies. As we both know, the path to ruin is paved with good intentions. My Emperor discovered that ten millennia ago. I fear your people are due for it as well. I just hope it will not see a good man like you taken from this galaxy.”

“I fear the same” spoke Cinnjin, “I’ve taken… "steps” to see that it doesn't. Until we meet again, Alrik.“ With those final words Cinnjin reignited his retros and shot into the air. His departure shaking the ground he once stood upon, the blue haze of his jumpack becoming ever dimmer as he rose up into the stratosphere.  

Chapter 2: New Age Diplomacy M41.109

Alrik stared through the glass of his flagship The Iron Storm. Down below were the burning remains of the Storm Templars home world Valencia. The day had come for Ahriman’s revenge. Though it had been many centuries ago, back when Lanius Pathiel had walked among their once proud halls and fought alongside the greatest of his chapter’s heroes. Today was a tragedy in the history of the Storm Templars, but one the Storm Templars will recover. Until the time for revenge is right, however, the Storm Templars must disappear, to give their enemy a false sense of security. “All ships, lock onto our warp jump point. We make for the Eastern Fringe. We have allies there that will show us hospitality. All hands, prepare for Warp.” Grand Vicar Remuldus stepped up behind Alrik, a puzzled expression on his otherwise stone-like face. “Grand Master, surely you don’t mean to barter with Cinnjin. Regardless of whether he is an ally, the wider Imperium would see this as…” Alrik raised a hand sharply, cutting his High Vicar. “Our people need a home, Remuldus, and our chapter needs a place to bury or dead. Cinnjin has offered us a home, and I intend to take him up on it. You know as well as I that he is an honorable man and a friend of our chapter,” Alrik turned to look at his friend, a long red scar running diagonally down his face, “and if we are to have our revenge for those that died down there, and for the stain on our chapter’s history, we must become like ghosts. What better way than to hide where not even Ahriman would think to look. Trust in me, Remuldus.” Remuldus stood emotionless, his face set. Suddenly he gave a sigh before look Alrik in the eye with a smile. “Once more my friend, you have proven yourself. I see your wisdom and logic in this course. May the Emperor guide our actions as he has done before, and let us go to our esteemed friend.” Alrik and Remuldus clasped gauntlets in a sign of mutual respect and kinship. Alrik turned to look our the view port. “All ships, initiate warp jump on my mark…..mark. With that, a series of over 30 warp rifts opened as the fleet made its jump to Tau space, bound for a friend they had not seen in years. A faint mechanical whining sound from within the suspended suit, chem injectors and nutritional drips retracted back into their inactive positions, Cinnjin woke from a dreamless sleep, something he had become accustomed to in his age. At least it took an edge off the fatigue, and the infernal nagging of the water caste. He did not wake to the usual hum of busy drones tending to battle damage or the flicker of his inbox prompting him within his heads up display but a wailing siren. “Ambush!” he thought lurching upright, tearing the still unattached wires and tubes from the walls and various equipment that allowed him brief rest. “Status report, Por’O!” he screamed into his communicator. “We’ve got jump readings off our starboard side, I’ve scrambled the fighters but they’ve caught us at port. They’re transmitting an unknown signal through the rift, can decipher it!” the Por”O replied. Cinnjin caught a faint flashing in his peripheral vision, a tiny screen flicked on and off as it read out its message. “Stormborn” “Recall the Fighters!” He spoke, with a taste of worry on his voice. “Get the EMT on the bridge and clear a landing zone upon the planet's surface, today is about to be a very dark one, and I refuse to let it dim any more.” “But Shas’O, it could be an ambush or a-” “Do as I say Ki’neth, trust in me.” Cinnjin cut the Por’O off, his voice adding a palpable calm to the situation. “Y-yes, Shas’O.” Just then the void tore open to birth a dozen vivid swirling holes, spears of silver and steel pierced the veil into T’au space, each one an intricate maze of spires and stunning stained glass sanctuaries depicting the heroics of heros long past, each one a grey reminder of the power of imperial might and the solemn reminder of engenuity long lost to time and tragedy. A few entered real space in ragged condition, their might hulls porus with shell holes torn to ragged ribbons by the lashing tendris of ordinance powerful enough to end trillions of lives in seconds. Cinnjin saw this, his mechanical fist clenching into a vacuum tight grip, it was the first time he felt rage in a very, very long time, the only calm in his mind came when he saw the flagship, its colossal silver hull ornately detailed and etched into swerling branches of silver and marble, its weathered prow still carried the remains of enemy vessels strewn across its titanic width. It sat protectively at the head of the fleet, like a lioness guarding her cubs. Now all Cinnjin felt was sadness, sadness and a hint of hope. He was sad that they had to come, but glad that they did. What would follow would need to be a time of rebuilding and trust, the Storm Templars have shown their true face, they need help, and now it was the T’au’s turn to be what the universe had been missing for fourty thousand years, kind. Alrik stood straight as he let his personal serfs attach his artificer armor to his neuroports. He had intended to come in his terminator armor, but Ahriman had seen it torn to ribbons. He stared at the remains of his once glorious axe, a relic of his friend, now shattered at the hilt. Alrik supposed now was the time for it to return to its old master, as well as his shield. When the Serfs returned with his new relic blade, he could scarcely believe what he beheld. A long polearm, a gigantic spear wreathed in symbols of lightning and the symbol of justice: The Hammer. His personal artificer never ceased to amaze. “Alrik, my friend, it is time to meet with Cinnjin, before his men get too restless.” Remuldus walked in before giving a low whistle. “Very fitting, I would say. Your weapon matches too. You look more like a sentinel.” “I embody that role. I am a sentinel to our chapter just as we are sentinels to our people. I agree with you friend. What is the Grand Paragon doing?” “Currently tending to his Paragons and the needs of our people. Should I recall him?” “Negative. We shall handle this. I think we need everyone we can get. Come lets meet our friend.” The Command Suit strode down the pristine halls towards the airlock trailed by a neat formation of fire warriors, each of their helms a pitch black, their pauldrons bearing the personal markings of their commander. Two warriors on either flank of the formation held a banner, one bearing the Iconography of the Storm Templars chapter as the contingent remembered it, and the other bearing a simple T’au symbol. Behind them proceeded numerous medical teams, unsure what the condition of their allies was they prepared for the worst. This was the same across the dozens of T’au ships rising to meet the sizably larger imperial vessels, the only one coming close to matching their size was the Flagship Drakken a prototype vessel with a massive centered railgun that bisects the ship right down to the picketed prow, a piece of equipment the T’au learn to fear from the Damocles Crusade adapted to meet their needs. “Wait to hail them before boarding, once we receive that it is indeed them, we will proceed” Cinnjin spoke across his fleet via intercom. “This is not an exercise in force, but compassion, this is where we prove we are different. Be kind my fellow crewman, be kind.” With that Cinnjin received the all clear, the airlock clicked and puffed oxygen visibly through its vents before opening. “Hello, old friend.” Alrik stood at the airlock as it opened, his silver and gold suit shimmering in the passageway lights. His spear was mag-locked to his back, a sign of respect and peace to his old friend. Once the airlock opened, he looked up at the battle suit, the now dull red scar very visible across his face. “Hello, Cinnjin. I wish this were on a better occasion but I must take you up on your offer. Our home system has been razed and our home world destroyed.” Alrik stepped aside to show his wounded men and the many civilians that waited in the hangar. “Many of our apothecary's were killed in the fighting, but we were able to recover as many as we could.” Cinnjin stepped aside, and his retinue followed in perfect sync to allow the medical crews aboard. “Your people are welcome here on Tash’var, and you are permitted to build upon orbiting moons to create a new “Chapter Monastery” as you call it. Shame really, I always hoped to see the Stormhold.” Cinnjin spoke, his tone serious with a hint of grief. “You have my utmost condolences. However I believe the grieving will have to wait unit things get settled.” Cinnjin then gestured down the hallway. “Shall we make room for the wounded, we should move around the ship so we can better talk without remaining ourselves an obstacle.” “I can guarantee that it would have been a sight for you, Cinnjin. I agree. If you would follow Remuldus and me, we can talk in my personal chambers” Alrik turned slowly before stepping off in a slow march, keeping his head forward, never letting his eyes wander. They walked down silver and marble halls, etchings depicting heroes of eons past. Here and there, picts displaying heroes in terminator armor holding off hordes of orks and traitors. Some depict massive combats with the Eldar. There is only one that depicts a dreadnought, its fist raised high, ready to crush a Tau battle suit. Cinnjin followed Alrik down the weathered hall of the flagship, wounded lining the walls on either side. They passed underneath gothic arches and past ancient statues. Cinnjin couldn’t help but feel the worried eyes of imperial crewmen eyeing his every move, he didn’t exactly blend into his surroundings. “Worry not about how they feel Cinnjin. They are hurt and scared. They will understand in time.” Alrik stated without looking. The group came upon two ornate blast doors. Placing his hand upon a pad beside them, Alrik opened the doors to his chambers. The main room was a rather modest hosting room, filled with furniture to sit upon. Lining the walls were shelves containing books and terminals with data streaming across them. Alrik’s personal serfs came forward before kneeling before him. “How may we serve you, Grandmaster” they spoke in unison, no questions asked about Cinnjin and his retinue. “Please, gather some tea for those that can drink, and whatever our friend Cinnjin here is able to have that we may be able to provide” “I thank you for your hospitality.” Cinnjin spoke, moving around the humble chamber briefly admiring the smell of burning incense. “Your chapter is welcome here, Alrik. The moon of Il'cea has land that is yours to govern. Save you defend it and its people. A condition I know you have little issue with.” “If there is anything specific you need we will attempt to accommodate you.” Cinnjin said turning to face Alrik. “I would like to ask of I could borrow some of your stealth teams. Despite their expertise in stealth operations, my fourth company was decimated trying to fight our traitorous cousins. We need to train our scouts going to that company.” Alrik turned towards Cinnjin. “We also need help with construction and possible terraforming. To being anymore than my people would be to invite war upon your cadre unless you were to join in an alliance. Like Commander Farsight did” “We would be honored to instruct your men, my kind are most reasonable when it comes to these things, it will not be difficult to sway things to better suit you. We’d even be willing to share equipment given time.” Cinnjin gestured towards the nearest of his bodyguard, the comparatively small warrior stepped forward, placing a disc shaped object upon the table. “A gift to soothe these difficult times, it is a shield generator, same make and design as mine, however more fitting to your “aesthetic”. The shield bore a simple design, not more than a simple disc with rivets dotting its circumference, and a single word etched in low gothic centred upon its crest. It read “Virtue”. “I saw it a fitting gift come our next meeting, albeit I had hoped to present it to you under better circumstances.” Alrik picked up the device and attached it to his shoulder. He could see the device shimmer as it dispersed the energy field around him, melding itself with his armor’s built in shield. He nodded approvingly. “A fine gift, one I am happy to receive, regardless of circumstances.” Alrik turned looked at Cinnjin. “In exchange, if your people are so inclined, we can teach your men further in the ways of melee combat. I unfortunately don’t know how much our technology would ban of use to you” That would be most appreciated, in time I’m sure your men would be willing to share with us your knowledge, though I do have to keep an air of ignorance about the truth regarding your technical equipment, the Ethereal caste still think me ignorant to the reality of the “warp” as you call it. They must be given time to better realize its complications, lest I suffer the wrath of knowing such a dangerous knowledge. A bit ironic don't you think?“ Cinnjin laughed. “All you must do now is allow us to help you, you are in good hands.” “Your men are welcome aboard our ships. They will be escorted by my men to keep any descendants in line. I must make a further ask that no mention of the Greater Good be made. We have our own version of which works for our people. I do not wish to cause any complications in our relationship as it stands. I do hope you understand.” "Understood, though you were already a whole coming together to work towards something greater, you already fight for a greater good, just one separate to my own. I however will instruct the more zealous of my crew to hold their tongues when it comes to Ideologies.” Cinnjin the paced over towards the stained glass window, a giant figure depicted in shining golden armor. “I think he may be proud, Alrik, I know little of your Emperor but if he is half the man you are he’d be proud, of you, of what you stand for.” "He was the most powerful man in the galaxy. Could persuade entire armies to lay down their weapons without a single shot being fired. Could mend machines with but a single touch and obliterate an enemy without a single motion being made. He was the epitome of what man could become. Now he is nought but a skeleton upon a failing throne. Few realize what he gave up to save his Imperium from the claws of the Chaos gods and their traitorous followers. He burned his own beloved sons soul from existence, so that he may never be brought back into being. In doing so, he sacrificed his immortality. He was a god among men, a true god. He merely wished to see mankind rule the stars, not alone, but the dominant species. I believe he would have attempted to have your Empire join the fold, if not ally with us. I merely wish to see a part of his vision come true.” "He did not know us, he knew a cold galexy that knew no warmth, I’m sure he could see the value of kind not his own given better times.” Cinnjin then turned away from the everwatching gaze of the imparator prime towards Remaldus. “I presume this to be your second? I wish to become acquainted with you, space marine.” Kindly spoke Cinnjin, extending a hand in a formal human gesture of trust. Remuldus looked at the hand before slowly taking it in his own. "I am Premier Vicar Remuldus Teuton. I am what other space marines call the High Chaplain of my chapter. I lead my brothers in prayer before, during, and after battle and in times of peace. However I am not his second. I am merely his spiritual counsel. Unfortunately, his second is seeing to his men. The first company was the rearguard in our retreat from our sacred home and took heavy casualties.” “It's a pleasure all the same, Remuldus, I look forward to hearing what you have to say, a holy mind is strongest in times of darkness.” Cinnjin praised, gently shaking Remuldus’ hand and taking note of the weathered and battered skull the Chaplin wore, the flickering of candle light highlighting the cracks lining the faceplate. “Now If you’ll allow me, I’d like to speak to you, Alrik, and perhaps a High Paragon, if one so much as remains after such a tragedy. I have a matter I’d like to discuss, in private.” Alrik went over to a command console. “Remuldus, go ahead and head to the chapel. I think now would be a good time for one of your sermons.” Alrik stated as he typed into the console. “Aye, Grand Master. As you command” Remuldus turned and walked out of Alrik’s chambers, his black armor melding with the shadows around him. “Randrid to the Grand Master’s chambers please, Randrid to the Grand Master’s chambers” Alrik called over the ship vox before shutting off his link. “So, what did you need to discuss, old friend?” “I need to share some grim news my own, we’ve managed to create a means of traversing the Damocles Gulf, after the tragedy of our fourth sphere expansion a wormhole opened in the silent zone, a path of void left by Hive Fleet Gorgon.” “We received a distress call through it, the same frequency as our missing expansion built a nexus of thousands of star forts around it and dove into it find our lost friends, this succeeded, however we drew a putrid ire.” “The sickly legions of the Death Guard appeared from deep space in numbers never seen before, a million fronts opened in an instant and the slaughter of millions took place, millions of lives that I am failing to save. They push ever closer to the nexus, and if they breach it the heart of our empire will be exposed to the destructive forces of chaos. I will not ask you to fight for us, for me, but the Empire is fighting a losing battle, and we need all the help we can get.” “I only wish to discuss such a thing in the presence of your Paragon due to the horrid eldritch powers at be, his expertise may be of some use, or at the very least he shield my words from the prying eyes of the warp.” The blast doors opened before the terminator armored figure of Randrid as he stepped through. “You have need of me, Grandmaster?” Randrid questioned, giving a momentary glance towards Cinnjin. “Yes High Paragon. Our friend here has told me that the forces of the Death Guard have launched a full-scale attack upon their Empire. He is fighting a losing battle. While I won’t necessarily say that he isn’t asking for our help militarily, he is asking for counsel about how best he can face this threat. Also, Cinnjin, this room is psychically shielded from all but Randrid here.” Alrik started with a hint of pride. “I see. Indeed, Cinnjin, you face an uphill battle if you face the Death Guard. Veterans one and all, and cursed by Nurgle to be nigh unstoppable. Depends on who leads this force, that will answer what your best course of action is. Truthfully though, the Death Guard are near peerless in psychological warfare, now more than ever. Your best chance is to kill any and all psykers, known to them as Plaguecasters. The rest would be to concentrate as much heavy firepower on any vehicles and heavy infantry they bring. Create kill zones to trap any light infantry or their regular troops. Finally, whatever you do, do not engage in melee with any cultists that look more like the undead than people. Those are called Poxwalkers. Any man they kill will rise and join their ranks.” “Thank you for sharing such wisdom.” Cinnjin said bowing slightly. “I’ll be sure to share such knowledge with my colleagues, as well as the good you’ve done for us.” “I would also like your paragon to study one of our drones taken from such a conflict, your Imperium shuns such thinking machines due to their susceptibility to dark influence, however we suffer not even the tiniest disobedience with our designs, the philosophy of our kind engrained within every fiber of their being, even to the point where they exhibit a sentience of not corruption but a desire to continue their intended task, even doing so after suffering such damage that they should fesable be incapable of doing so. Adapting some portions of our design may lead to a decrease in the creation of servators.” “Sometimes I think they may have souls their very own.” Alrik and Randrid looked at each other before chuckling. “My friend, we shun the use of fully autonomous AI, free thinking machines, for a reason. As long as the AI is controlled, we do not mind whatsoever. The reason we use servitors is because they are either criminals where even the best of rehabilitation programs would fail to turn results or trainees who have failed their trials and are too maimed to be returned. We take no pleasure in doing so, but regular humans can only do so much. Though you may notice we have many more serfs then you think” Just as Alrik makes this statement, his personal serfs return with drinks, passing them out to everyone. “Indeed, the war with the Men of Iron brought about the end of the first Empire of Man, with their reliance on technology being the catalyst. It is okay to use technology to benefit, but there is a line between benefit, and a crutch” Randrid spoke before sipping his tea. “However, we can study your drones combat footage and tell you the best course of action about how best to deal with them, if only to give your people more time to consolidate and hold. I will say, your builder drones are of interest” “You must think me a fool.” Cinnjin said with a sigh. “I know the risks, our drones are no crutch, but partner’s. The notion I was attempting to make clear is that in time your stock of servators may dwindle and although your chapter will still be capable it may be hindered without a workforce.” “And what causes the peculiar interest in our construction equipment?” Cinnjin said, motioning for his bodyguard to relax. “How quickly they work, their ability to continuously build. As it stands, we have no enginseers or techpriests to build our ships and knowing them, they would take forever. We meant no offense to you or your technology. Specifically you, but we have seen many other septs rely almost entirely on their technology solely.” Alrik apologized. “Nor did I mean any offense.” Randrid stated, locking eyes with Alrik for a moment. “Me and Alrik seem to agree on one thing. We will give you our full support to hold back the tide. We take care of our allies.” “We hope to do the same.” Cinnjin spoke kindly. In most cases septs attacked are in development, a phase of vulnerability where the infrastructure for a "living” workforce has not yet been implemented. I can see where your misconceptions come from.“ "If you provide the blueprint we will be happy to build you most anything, lest it require too much material at that time. The defense of the Empire comes first and the Ethereals only trust you with so much requisition, a stance I have worked to remove since our last meeting.” We can build you more than just a few cruisers if that's what you are asking.“ A drone then Calmly buzzed into the room, its eye lense staring curiously at Alrik. With a beep it drew back towards Cinnjin. "This drone will be the connection between you and me if we aren’t face to face.” Cinnjin said fondly, physically greeting the drone by placing a hand utop it. "Very well my friend.” Alrik tapped into his coms. “I need a servo skull to my quarters with blueprints for a strike cruiser.” Within moments a servo-skull floats in from a vent and displays the blueprints in front of Cinnjin. Cinnjin waves his hand over the holo-pict, designating the blueprint as vital information to his system, a faint but rapid click can be heard as his focal lens take even the tiniest the details with sharp precision. “I’ll upload this to my ships memory banks for data-transfer once we reach a dry dock, I am most impressed with your chapters personal changes from what is usually the standard for Astartes navy ships.” he praised. With a final click he returned his focus to Alrik. “I believe these talks have been fruitful. Once the entirety of your fleet is void worthy we’ll guide you to our space docks for further replenishment of provisions, then we will direct you to your new residence. Now if you’ll excuse me I must make my way back to my ship before they worry too much, our men aren’t as fond of each other as we seem to be, something that I hope to change yes?  Regardless it was a pleasure meeting you Randrid, you as well Alrik. Oh. Don’t forget to contact me immediately if you need anything, you are our guests after all. ” With those final words Cinnjin motioned his retinue to return to his ship, all silently standing and returning to formation behind their commander. Whether they were more relaxed after their ordeal or even nervous to begin with could only be guessed at. “Until I see you next, old friend.”

The years went by quickly, the Storm Templars rebuilt their fortress monastery with the help of the Tau builder drones. The fleet of the Storm Templars grew rapidly, its ships being completed in the spans of months rather than years. A trade route was established, with markers being placed to establish a route that would take any Imperial forces away from Tau planets. Given time, the Storm Templars returned to their former glory.

“Brothers, serfs, now is the time we return to the fold of the universe. We shall show our true might, not just to our friend Cinjinn, but to the wider Imperium.” Alrik announced from his pulpit in the staging area. Pressing a button, a hologram appeared in the air for all to see. “This planet is currently under protection from Cinjinn, and being attacked by the Death Guard. We shall through our full might into this. We shall remind them why we are the Emperor’s Storm. Board your transports, make ready for war. For the Emperor! For Mankind!” This battle cry was repeated in unison from over a million voices. Armored feet marched in lockstep to thunderhawks and stormbirds. Fighters took off to dock with their respective ships. Tanks filled into clamps underneath specialized thunderhawk transports. Death comes for the those that claim to be deathless.

[whiskeyworen]

Name: Vaela Race: Sylvari Gender: Female Time: “Of the Dawn” Class: Revenant. Allies: ???? Relationships:  Slane (former….?) Weapons: Auric Sword and Chak Axe, Pumpkin Smasher Hammer

What happens when you take a charming young woman, someone who brings out the smile in the most somber of people, makes lethargic people active, or the reticent to become chatty...and you amp that up to 11 and give it a psychotic twist? You have what Vaela became. (’Read more’ on the actual page doesn’t want to show up. More below)

Vaela and Slane were podmates. That is to say, they were grown in the same dual pod that the Pale Tree uses to create her Children. Vaela formed first, a sixteen hours ahead of Slane, emerging from the Dream just after dawn. She already knew she was going to wait for a friend to arrive, so she merely sat with a smile on her face, for when Slane emerged from the other half of the pod at the end of the day. They were inseperable after that; her bouncy, positive personality working at odds with, and complimentary with his quietness and introspectiveness. Between the two of them, they gave each other the opposing viewpoints they needed to be 'normal'. She was by far the larger of the two of them, stepping in at a whopping 6'2", while Slane was a much more petite 5'6". She always enjoyed a good laugh when a Norn, fresh from Hoelbrak, caught a glimpse of her and always, ALWAYS made a joke about being 'half Norn'.

When they were both just fresh 'born', Vaela and Slane had taken a day trip to Lion's Arch (now in the post-Scarlet era known as Old Lion's Arch, ironically), to take in the sights. While browsing the markets, Slane had gotten her a backpack plushie in the shape of a spotted charr, which she adored. The day had gone well, until the accident. They were to go to Divinity's Reach next, so they went to use the Asura gates to get there. Vaela walked through first, always the one at the front, always pulling Slane along. But something glitched. That day, every gate out of Lion's Arch failed simultaneously. Not just every gate; the exit gates at the destinations also failed. Some glitch in a program, or a solar flare...something. The normally safe gates, which upon failure would have spit a person in transit back out at their entry point, didn't do that. Nor did they spit them out at the exit. Slane didn't know it till the gates were reset and he walked through to Divinity's Reach...alone. Vaela was nowhere to be found. Neither were the hundreds who had disappearred as well. Hundreds of people just...disappeared. It was a debacle for the Asura, and cost them a fair bit of money and time to make sure there were redundancies, but for Slane, it all but destroyed the happy life he'd had.

For Vaela, things were arguably worse. She didn't die... neither did the others that were lost. Instead, they had been dropped into the Mists. Randomly, across the entire breadth of the Mists, in their infinity, these poor lost souls were sent wandering across space and time, through warped dimensions of both. No one knows what happened there, but Vaela finally made her way back to the normal world, during the Maguuma assaults against Mordremoth. Her time in the Mists had twisted her normally upbeat personality, given it a psychotic, almost insane edge to it. Never one to have used a weapon in her prior life, she was now a master of sword and axe, which she used to carve a path of destruction through the Maguuma. Her Sword, originally of the Exalted, she found in one of the twisted sub-areas of the Mists. What it was doing there, she didn't know and didn't care. The Axe... the axe was a living thing. A twisted Chak creation she found that appealled to her. It clicks curiously when she wields it, as if it can't understand the entity holding it. Her Hammer is a thing of nightmares. Figuratively and literally. Somewhere in her trials, Vaela had stumbled into the Mad King's realm, and out of desperation, had wrenched a lamp post out of the grave-riddled grounds. Placing a pumpkin on it infused in Mist energies so it would never rot or break, she began to use it as a bludgeon, a massive warhammer of fear. The last thing opponents would see is the flaming, grinning face of the pumpkin as she hurled it at them, or brought it down on their heads with grim finality. She won't stop because someone got in her way. Why? Because she could sense Slane out there somewhere. Amidst the voices of the damned, bellowing of demons, whispers of the tricksters echoing in her mind, a small part of her remembered her past life and wanted to rekindle that. But that same part held a deep-seated rage and hate. She wanted to see Slane, to be with him again...but she also wanted to kill him, to make him suffer like she had, to feel an inkling of the agony her untold time in the Mists had inflicted on her. The voices goad her. They chide her. They try to convince her in both directions. She doesn't care. She doesn't even know what she'll truly do when she finds him again. Will she fall into a screaming berzerker rage and assault him with everthing she has? Will she be so overcome with happiness that she'll drop her defenses and weapons, regardless of the outcome?

She continually draws back from him as much as she draws towards him. The part of her that still loves playing games and having fun still does so...but with a deadly glint. She leaves traps, trophies, hints, warnings for him. A message to be sent, but by one who has almost forgotten what writing is. She still has the backpack though. It's the one thing that physically ties her to the past. To let it go would be to succumb totally to the madness of the Mists. Vaela has made it SO far. Nothing will stop her. Not a Dragon, not a God, not the Mists themselves. She WILL be happy again, inside and out, like she was back then. She just doesn't know how she'll do it. (Notes from Me: I made Vaela after noticing Sylvari tend to come in pairs. Her personality and shape and size I made a parallel flip of Slane’s. Even her name, when I wrote it out, was supposed to be a jumbled, inverted, slightly adjusted version of his name. They are literally, two peas from the same pod, though she left the pod first. I keep thinking of her in terms of Warhammer 40k, as someone who was lost in the Warp, alone and afraid, and had to do anything to survive till she could make it back. It cost her most of her sanity, and gave her a whole host of mental disorders in the form of voices in her head, real and imagined. The best I can give for a description of her is a blend between the Joker and Harley; always causing mayhem, causing issues, but with a SMILE on her face. Whether it’s a cheerful smile or a rictus grin is up for debate. I can totally see her humming a cheerful tune while leaping back and forth between opponents, blades singing. She’s probably one of the most dangerous characters I’ve made, both for her personality being so lightswitch-easy to change, and for the sheer raw power she can put out to back up whatever her mood is.) Additional Note: I finally found a character in another medium that presents the image I have of Vaela the best (at least when she’s not talking to the voices in her head). That is Mari Makinami Illustrious, of the Neon Genesis Evangelion You Can (Not) series rebuild. If you’ve ever seen Mari in You Can (Not) Advance, then you’ve kinda seen what Vaela is like when she’s in the throws of battle. Somewhere between singing and humming pleasant songs, to outright screaming bloodlust. No inbetween for her.

[thechurchillreview]

Contains SPOILERS for Alien (1979), Prometheus (2012), and Alien: Covenant (2017).

The problem I have with both Prometheus and Alien: Covenant is that the Alien proto-Xenomorph (Stupid unconvincing and not scary CGI! No suspense or terror with it this time around...) never needed anything resembling an origin story. These aren't questions I had. Nor answers I ever thought of seeking before. Sometimes, the mysterious should stay, well, a mystery. Alien comic by the always fantastic @faitherinhicks.

In Alien, those aboard the Nostromo are woken up and diverted far away from their charted course home to investigate a message of unknown origin. Kane enters a vagina-shaped looking entrance of a found spaceship, becomes a figurative sperm, touches a mystery egg that a Facehugger then emerges from. From that point forward, Kane’s body serves as an incubator for the titular Alien until some early spoken dialogue comes back to violently haunt him (“I feel dead”). The chestburster ripping out of Kane is one of the most iconic scenes in Alien. It is messy, frightening, and bloody. I mean, jeez, Kane was a victim of clear sexual assault and an unwanted pregnancy kills him in the process! Viewers are given glimpses of something grisly occurring (“Bones are bent outwards...Like he exploded from inside”), but the full disturbing magnitude of the parasitic sexual predator is observed here. Prior to, simultaneously, the audience and Nostromo crew learn that the organism has put Kane into a coma, possesses a defense mechanism of molecular acid-like blood, and can survive adverse environmental conditions.

Heck Alien screenwriter Dan O'Bannon said so himself in the Alien Saga documentary released in 2002. "One thing that people are all disturbed about is sex... I said 'That's how I'm going to attack the audience; I'm going to attack them sexually. And I'm not going to go after the women in the audience, I'm going to attack the men. I am going to put in every image I can think of to make the men in the audience cross their legs. Homosexual oral rape, birth. The thing lays its eggs down your throat, the whole number." The more you know right?

See, Alien chiefly works because of its claustrophobic horror atmosphere combined with its characters being in the dark as much as we too stumble about spliced with the subtext I already mentioned earlier. You feel the tension. You fear and totally envision what the “alien” could be capable of. The human mind's perception of a mysterious horror combined with imagination is ridiculous: hence the strength of the withheld image. This is especially heightened throughout the air ducts scenes. Due to this, akin to the malfunctioning mechanical shark named Bruce in Steven Spielberg’s Jaws (1975), the less the Alien’s Xenomorph is visibly seen, the more compelling and terrifying the reveal moment is.

 And even when information is gathered about the "alien" the humans are still stuck grasping at straws.

 Always one step behind.

 Another cadaver.

Eventually, Nostromo’s seven crew members is whittled down to one. Leaving Ellen Ripley, a science-fiction icon, portrayed by Sigourney Weaver, the last one. Where everyone else failed with attempted teamwork, Ripley triumphs alone. 

Look, Ripley’s function in Alien is to carry the story forward. That it is her story was and remains a big deal in the big Hollywood picture. Ripley is seen briefly (...Sorry) in her underwear towards the conclusion to signify the “conclusion” of her terrible ordeal (the removal of battle attire, how we change out of work clothing and slip into something more comfortable). I used to have a problem with this, but over the years I saw it more as Ripley foolishly lowering her guard too soon (became too cocky before truly winning) while the exposure of her flesh reflects her vulnerability. Earlier in Alien, the men are seen in their underwear too when they’re awakening. The comatose Kane in his underwear medically make sense I believe, yet could be additionally stating his level of vulnerability at the time. I don’t sleep in solely underwear with a shirt. Nope, I prefer jeans and a shirt, always. 

She stealthily and quickly dons astronaut attire, bravely impales the Xenomorph with a harpoon gun shot that sends it into the void of space, and fries it with the engines of the ship burning up the cable to leave it adrift out there. The nightmare is no more. Now mourning, reporting, and sleeping is next.  So, through the aforementioned sexual assault subtext, Ripley isn't depicted as powerless or weak in Alien. She courageously kept her composure and survives against the lethal threat that killed the rest of the Nostromo’s crew. 

Yeah, the one key aspect that both Prometheus and Alien: Covenant have utterly failed is generating another woman on equal footing with Alien’s Ripley. The freaking focus of the Alien prequels is a male robot designed by a male creator. His creator should’ve of comprehended the deeper implications of David’s piano piece selection of instead of outright criticizing his choice. *Shudders* I don’t study music compositions and I know the meaning behind what David chose, jeez. Should’ve destroyed him immediately. Nope, too dumb to think of that.

We do get female characters and in the kindest way possible that I’m typing they’re essentially awful. Elizabeth Shaw has her uterus cut open (courtesy of David poisoning/killing her boyfriend), repairs him, and is experimented/tortured upon. In comparison, after discovering that Ash isn’t human, Ripley finds out all she can before pulling his plug. Shaw fixed an already proven to be duplicitous android…? What a fool. In Covenant, Daniels “Dany” Branson putting too much trust in Walter backfires when the painfully obvious twist towards the end rears its ugly head. Daniels not verbally battling harder for Christopher Oram to reconsider his position before landing on a trap which also goes against the purpose of the Covenant? The fact that Daniels was allowed to speak a famous Ripley line still baffles and enrages me! You’re not her. Neither is that moron Shaw.

Don’t get me started on Oram following David to a lair of Facehuggers after the android tried to befriend an alien that decapitated Covenant crew member Rosenthal. Or Oram abandoning the mission because they perhaps found another suitable colonization location that isn’t seven years away? His choice kicks off the unspeakable horrors his crew faces against. He jeopardized the lives of his crew and almost 2,000 innocent others inside of the Covenant! Oram, you’re seriously an atrocious captain! Or how about Rosenthal not following orders about staying close by whilst freshening up despite witnessing an alien ripping another crew member’s jaw off with a tail swipe? Or Maggie Faris freaking out at the sight of blood, locking Karine Oram inside with the very deceased transforming Ledward, coming back with a weapon, slipping on blood which makes her miss her target, unable to save the being mauled to death Karine, breaking her ankle when running away then falling down often, missing with every shot except for a bunch of exposed blasting explosives than in turn blow up a ship and herself?! Once again, Ripley follows proper quarantine protocol with her captain Dallas, the infected Kane, and Lambert...Until Ash undermines her and lets them inside the ship. Every crew member lacking a helmet since the air is apparently (that’s not suspicious to anyone? Really?) breathable leads to the demises of Ledward and Hallett plus the freshly born alien killing machines. It was their fault for intentionally touching something or stomping around without a care in the world.

 Yes, the sheer idiocy on display in Alien: Covenant is unbearable. Hilarious even. Er, sadly.

The truth is that there’s a barbarous beauty to Alien and with Ridley Scott insisting on prequels to the original classic he's hurting what made Alien so special in the first place.

Look Covenant isn't entirely bad...Just absolutely needless. The ideas within its DNA have considerable merit (same with the previous installment Prometheus) and Scott should of established a new IP instead of piggybacking off of an existing mostly looked upon favorably motion picture brand-name. It is confusing and complex for the sake of it. Covenant notoriously introduces some stuff and then doesn't bother to follow-up on any of them to a degree where it matters in the narrative being told! Such as the theme of love versus duty, to name an example. “Here’s a gay couple! Lope and Hallett! After the fact. Enjoy that cake everyone! Unless you viewed The Last Supper prologue video on Youtube that is.” Um, that is not how you garner praise. Just more deserved derision. Having and reinforcing the script’s couple concept crew might have been interesting. If only Alien: Covenant had bothered to color those finalized paper-thin cut-outs masquerading as genuine individuals and actually followed this angle. 

The alien existing as its own damn unmanufactured species in the depths of space apparently isn’t good enough anymore. The “perfect mysterious organism” has been ruined by Covenant: that’s the truth. Dagnabit! No, the world must have at least three prequels to Alien (Scott hinted at six in all). What the French toast?! Basically, the ideas/themes in Prometheus and Alien: Covenant deserve or should've been in a franchise that isn't remotely connected to Alien. We’re eight entries in (counting the AVP movies). EIGHT! With it would seem six more planned to go, oh my goodness. In other words, don’t waste your breath on Prometheus or Alien: Covenant. They offer misplaced themes, awe from certain gorgeous visuals alongside vexation, bafflement, and unintentional hilarity.  

[dawnfelagund]

Mountains between the Light and the World: On Walls and Greed and the Privilege of Isolation

[This essay was originally written for the Personal Essay prompt for @backtomiddleearthmonth​, on the orange/nonfiction path. There have been some amazing comments on the original post here. It’s a personal essay, so it delves into my personal politics a bit more than I usually do in my fandom stuff.]

I've recently been rereading the early chapters of The Silmarillion, and the other day, I also read Lyra's thought-provoking story The Parting of the Ways, a conversation between Finwë and Morwë about the decision of the Avari to remain in Middle-earth. This line from Lyra's story sums up where my thoughts have been wandering these past few days:

"I do not doubt the splendour of the Blessed Realm," Morwë interrupted him. "It is, in fact, one of the things that rub me the wrong way. Why only there? If the Valar have the power to create such splendour, such light, why have they limited it to a secluded place? Does not the rest of the world deserve such light?"

I've always been bothered by the Silmarils: not that Fëanor had the audacity to make them but what they represent of the worst of human nature, carrying on a trajectory originating with the Valar, who were the first to covet and hoard light, a gift of Ilúvatar himself.

In The Book of Lost Tales 1, light "flowed and quivered in uneven streams about the airs, or at times fell gently to the earth in glittering rain and ran like water on the ground" (The Coming of the Valar). Like most of the details in the BoLT, this idea did not make it into the published Silmarillion, which conveniently skirts around the question of where the light in the Lamps came from:

And since, when the fires were subdued or buried beneath the primeval hills, there was need of light, Aulë at the prayer of Yavanna wrought two mighty lamps for the lighting of the Middle-earth which he had built amid the encircling seas. Then Varda filled the lamps and Manwë hallowed them … and the light of the Lamps of the Valar flowed out over the Earth, so that all was lit as it were in a changeless day. ("Of the Beginning of Days")

But the ubiquity of light after the making of the Lamps certainly echoes this early idea. Furthermore, in a late writing found in Myths Transformed (Morgoth's Ring):

Therefore Ilúvatar, at the entering in of the Valar into Eä, added a theme to the Great Song which was not in it at the first Singing, and he called one of the Ainur to him. Now this was that Spirit which afterwards became Varda (and taking female form became the spouse of Manwë). To Varda Ilúvatar said: 'I will give unto thee a parting gift. Thou shalt take into Eä a light that is holy, coming new from Me, unsullied by the thought and lust of Melkor, and with thee it shall enter into Eä, and be in Eä, but not of Eä.' . . . Now the Sun was designed to be the heart of Arda, and the Valar purposed that it should give light to all that Realm, unceasingly and without wearying or diminution, and that from its light the world should receive health and life and growth. Therefore Varda set there the most ardent and beautiful of all those spirits that had entered with her into Ea, and she was named Ar(i), and Varda gave to her keeping a portion of the gift of Ilúvatar so that the Sun should endure and be blessed and give blessing. (Section II)

This is a mishmash of sources, I know. But what unites them is the idea that light was initially (and ideally) supposed to be freely available to all of the world. It is also at least implied that light had a divine origin in Ilúvatar and was not a creation of the Valar.

What happens, then, to that divine light? Slowly, it is corralled into ever more restrictive spaces; slowly, it is reduced to the entitlement of the few rather than the right of all. Driven by fear, the Valar raise the Pelóri so that, behind barriers of safety, they might recreate what was lost. Afterward, "they came seldom over the mountains to Middle-earth, but gave to the land beyond the Pelóri their care and their love" ("Of the Beginning of Days"). The Elves awake in darkness and quickly learn the terrors of Melkor. When the Valar discover them, they are permitted access to the light only on the terms of the Valar. It is as Morwë asks in Lyra's story: "Why should we have to leave our ancestral home, forever? Why are we told to do it now or never? Why can we not choose at any time, or go back and forth as it pleases us?"

Because the Valar desire control and, with it, the illusion of safety it provides. But with this purported safety comes neglect, usually of the most vulnerable and in need of their aid. The later isolationist tendencies of the Eldar are instigated by this choice of the Valar: the sequestered, "protected" realms of Doriath, Nargothrond, and Gondolin. All of these realms achieve a high degree of splendor, often in explicit mimicry of Valinor, but at what price? Rarely do they contribute their share to the defense of Beleriand; instead, they rely on the Fëanorians, Fingolfin and Fingon, and the younger sons of Finarfin, as well as the native Sindar and Avari (and later Mortals and Dwarves) who do not dwell within these protected realms. These peoples bear the brunt of the assault of Morgoth (and very often the neglect or outright scorn of the chronicler of The Silmarillion is the thanks they receive). In all cases, there is a simultaneous fear and a desire to consolidate onto oneself and one's own the good things in life, to the suffering and exclusion of others.

This hits close to home, especially in an era where popular opinion would have us stop our ears against the suffering of others in the name of safety, when the naked need of the most vulnerable is not enough to stem the greed of the privileged, when nearly all of us succumb at times to the desire to wall ourselves in with the comfortable sound of our own views in others' voices. I doubt Tolkien intended this message, but as I've lately been rereading these texts, it seems all I can hear.

I've sometimes questioned my long-standing interest in the Fëanorians. I am an advocate for peace, and they hardly seem to represent my values in this regard. Pengolodh gives us an exhaustive list of their sins. But one thing they did not do is hole themselves up in the name of safety, nor did they ask others to fight their battles while they stood aside. Maedhros "was very willing that the chief peril of assault should fall upon himself "; if you look at a map of Beleriand, the open, exposed places most convenient for Morgoth's forces to access Beleriand were occupied by the Fëanorians. They took the most peril onto themselves. Thingol hated them, and yet for hundreds of years, their presence protected him.

As I said, I've always been bothered by the Silmarils. Perhaps that sounds contradictory. I am bothered by the impulse to put something that should belong to all into a form that can be possessed by the few. The Silmarillion concedes that "some shadow of foreknowledge came to [Fëanor] of the doom that drew near; and he pondered how the light of the Trees, the glory of the Blessed Realm, might be preserved imperishable"; his making of the Silmarils was perhaps a corrective to the original crime of raising mountains between the light and the world, not to mention the folly of the Valar in inviting the destroyer of the original Lamps to dwell within the safe bounds of those mountains. I am bothered also because, corrective or not, the Silmarils certainly don't allow a happy ending. Probably because a happy ending isn't possible. Once you take what is god-given and hoard it for the benefit of a few, how is envy, greed--how is darkness upon a swath of the world--not the inevitable result?

As an agnostic, I shy from proclaiming anything "god-given." But I do believe that all humans are born with the potential to leave this world better than they found it. Let's say this potential is the light. Let's say that it is shared freely upon all of the earth. What could we accomplish?

I sometimes say that anyone who suffers from disease, bad/stupid laws, inconvenience, the inanity of bureaucracy, anything really; who regrets that 21st-century technology isn't more like sci-fi authors imagined it'd be, should curse inequality. Imagine where we would be if all people had been able to contribute equally to solving the world's problems; imagine the genius minds squandered on picking cotton or scrubbing floors or knowing their place, minds that might have built and cured and innovated. Imagine what we could yet accomplish if we worked actively to grant all equal access to their potential.

Over the years, I've read eloquent defenses of the Valar, and I've tried to open my mind to such arguments. But I find I cannot because when they could have shared the light they'd been given, they hoarded it; when they could have risen to the defense of others, they largely hid away, more concerned for the safety of their pretty things than the lives of others, and if I am to expect more of myself, then I must expect more of the Wise. And this raises a big point that I think the narrator of The Silmarillion misses in his obsession over the ill-fated mission of the Noldor in Middle-earth: that at least they did something.

[nedsecondline]

A Powerful Russian Weapon: The Spread of False Stories

By NEIL MacFARQUHAR

August 28, 2016

STOCKHOLM — With a vigorous national debate underway on whether Sweden should enter a military partnership with NATO, officials in Stockholm suddenly encountered an unsettling problem: a flood of distorted and outright false information on social media, confusing public perceptions of the issue.

The claims were alarming: If Sweden, a non-NATO member, signed the deal, the alliance would stockpile secret nuclear weapons on Swedish soil; NATO could attack Russia from Sweden without government approval; NATO soldiers, immune from prosecution, could rape Swedish women without fear of criminal charges.

They were all false, but the disinformation had begun spilling into the traditional news media, and as the defense minister, Peter Hultqvist, traveled the country to promote the pact in speeches and town hall meetings, he was repeatedly grilled about the bogus stories.

“People were not used to it, and they got scared, asking what can be believed, what should be believed?” said Marinette Nyh Radebo, Mr. Hultqvist’s spokeswoman.

As often happens in such cases, Swedish officials were never able to pin down the source of the false reports. But they, numerous analysts and experts in American and European intelligence point to Russia as the prime suspect, noting that preventing NATO expansion is a centerpiece of the foreign policy of President Vladimir V. Putin, who invaded Georgia in 2008 largely to forestall that possibility.

In Crimea, eastern Ukraine and now Syria, Mr. Putin has flaunted a modernized and more muscular military. But he lacks the economic strength and overall might to openly confront NATO, the European Union or the United States. Instead, he has invested heavily in a program of “weaponized” information, using a variety of means to sow doubt and division. The goal is to weaken cohesion among member states, stir discord in their domestic politics and blunt opposition to Russia.

“Moscow views world affairs as a system of special operations, and very sincerely believes that it itself is an object of Western special operations,” said Gleb Pavlovsky, who helped establish the Kremlin’s information machine before 2008. “I am sure that there are a lot of centers, some linked to the state, that are involved in inventing these kinds of fake stories.”

Interactive Feature | Dark Arts: Russia’s Stealth Conflict

The planting of false stories is nothing new; the Soviet Union devoted considerable resources to that during the ideological battles of the Cold War. Now, though, disinformation is regarded as an important aspect of Russian military doctrine, and it is being directed at political debates in target countries with far greater sophistication and volume than in the past.

The flow of misleading and inaccurate stories is so strong that both NATO and the European Union have established special offices to identify and refute disinformation, particularly claims emanating from Russia.

The Kremlin’s clandestine methods have surfaced in the United States, too, American officials say, identifying Russian intelligence as the likely source of leaked Democratic National Committee emails that embarrassed Hillary Clinton’s presidential campaign.

The Kremlin uses both conventional media — Sputnik, a news agency, and RT, a television outlet — and covert channels, as in Sweden, that are almost always untraceable.

Russia exploits both approaches in a comprehensive assault, Wilhelm Unge, a spokesman for the Swedish Security Service, said this year when presenting the agency’s annual report. “We mean everything from internet trolls to propaganda and misinformation spread by media companies like RT and Sputnik,” he said.

The fundamental purpose of dezinformatsiya, or Russian disinformation, experts said, is to undermine the official version of events — even the very idea that there is a true version of events — and foster a kind of policy paralysis.

Disinformation most famously succeeded in early 2014 with the initial obfuscation about deploying Russian forces to seize Crimea. That summer, Russia pumped out a dizzying array of theories about the destruction of Malaysia Airlines Flight 17 over Ukraine, blaming the C.I.A. and, most outlandishly, Ukrainian fighter pilots who had mistaken the airliner for the Russian presidential aircraft.

The cloud of stories helped veil the simple truth that poorly trained insurgents had accidentally downed the plane with a missile supplied by Russia.

Moscow adamantly denies using disinformation to influence Western public opinion and tends to label accusations of either overt or covert threats as “Russophobia.”

“There is an impression that, like in a good orchestra, many Western countries every day accuse Russia of threatening someone,” Maria Zakharova, the Russian Foreign Ministry spokeswoman, said at a recent ministry briefing.

Tracing individual strands of disinformation is difficult, but in Sweden and elsewhere, experts have detected a characteristic pattern that they tie to Kremlin-generated disinformation campaigns.

“The dynamic is always the same: It originates somewhere in Russia, on Russia state media sites, or different websites or somewhere in that kind of context,” said Anders Lindberg, a Swedish journalist and lawyer.

“Then the fake document becomes the source of a news story distributed on far-left or far-right-wing websites,” he said. “Those who rely on those sites for news link to the story, and it spreads. Nobody can say where they come from, but they end up as key issues in a security policy decision.”

Although the topics may vary, the goal is the same, Mr. Lindberg and others suggested. “What the Russians are doing is building narratives; they are not building facts,” he said. “The underlying narrative is, ‘Don’t trust anyone.’”

The weaponization of information is not some project devised by a Kremlin policy expert but is an integral part of Russian military doctrine — what some senior military figures call a “decisive” battlefront.

“The role of nonmilitary means of achieving political and strategic goals has grown, and, in many cases, they have exceeded the power of force of weapons in their effectiveness,” Gen. Valery V. Gerasimov, the chief of the general staff of the Russian Armed Forces, wrote in 2013.

A prime Kremlin target is Europe, where the rise of the populist right and declining support for the European Union create an ever more receptive audience for Russia’s conservative, nationalistic and authoritarian approach under Mr. Putin. Last year, the European Parliament accused Russia of “financing radical and extremist parties” in its member states, and in 2014 the Kremlin extended an $11.7 million loan to the National Front, the extreme-right party in France.

“The Russians are very good at courting everyone who has a grudge with liberal democracy, and that goes from extreme right to extreme left,” said Patrik Oksanen, an editorial writer for the Swedish newspaper group MittMedia. The central idea, he said, is that “liberal democracy is corrupt, inefficient, chaotic and, ultimately, not democratic.”

Another message, largely unstated, is that European governments lack the competence to deal with the crises they face, particularly immigration and terrorism, and that their officials are all American puppets.

In Germany, concerns over immigrant violence grew after a 13-year-old Russian-German girl said she had been raped by migrants. A report on Russian state television furthered the story. Even after the police debunked the claim, Russia’s foreign minister, Sergey V. Lavrov, continued to chastise Germany.

In Britain, analysts said, the Kremlin’s English-language news outlets heavily favored the campaign for the country to leave the European Union, despite their claims of objectivity.

In the Czech Republic, alarming, sensational stories portraying the United States, the European Union and immigrants as villains appear daily across a cluster of about 40 pro-Russia websites.

During NATO military exercises in early June, articles on the websites suggested that Washington controlled Europe through the alliance, with Germany as its local sheriff. Echoing the disinformation that appeared in Sweden, the reports said NATO planned to store nuclear weapons in Eastern Europe and would attack Russia from there without seeking approval from local capitals.

A poll this summer by European Values, a think tank in Prague, found that 51 percent of Czechs viewed the United States’ role in Europe negatively, that only 32 percent viewed the European Union positively and that at least a quarter believed some elements of the disinformation.

“The data show how public opinion is changing thanks to the disinformation on those outlets,” said Jakub Janda, the think tank’s deputy director for public and political affairs. “They try to look like a regular media outlet even if they have a hidden agenda.”

Not all Russian disinformation efforts succeed. Sputnik news websites in various Scandinavian languages failed to attract enough readers and were closed after less than a year.

Both RT and Sputnik portray themselves as independent, alternative voices. Sputnik claims that it “tells the untold,” even if its daily report relies heavily on articles abridged from other sources. RT trumpets the slogan “Question More.”

Both depict the West as grim, divided, brutal, decadent, overrun with violent immigrants and unstable. “They want to give a picture of Europe as some sort of continent that is collapsing,” Mr. Hultqvist, the Swedish defense minister, said in an interview.

RT often seems obsessed with the United States, portraying life there as hellish. On the day President Obama spoke at the Democratic National Convention, for example, it emphasized scattered demonstrations rather than the speeches. It defends the Republican presidential nominee, Donald J. Trump, as an underdog maligned by the established news media.

Margarita Simonyan, RT’s editor in chief, said the channel was being singled out as a threat because it offered a different narrative from “the Anglo-American media-political establishment.” RT, she said, wants to provide “a perspective otherwise missing from the mainstream media echo chamber.”

Moscow’s targeting of the West with disinformation dates to a Cold War program the Soviets called “active measures.” The effort involved leaking or even writing stories for sympathetic newspapers in India and hoping that they would be picked up in the West, said Professor Mark N. Kramer, a Cold War expert at Harvard.

The story that AIDS was a C.I.A. project run amok spread that way, and it poisons the discussion of the disease decades later. At the time, before the Soviet Union’s 1991 collapse, the Kremlin was selling communism as an ideological alternative. Now, experts said, the ideological component has evaporated, but the goal of weakening adversaries remains.

In Sweden recently, that has meant a series of bizarre forged letters and news articles about NATO and linked to Russia.

One forgery, on Defense Ministry letterhead over Mr. Hultqvist’s signature, encouraged a major Swedish firm to sell artillery to Ukraine, a move that would be illegal in Sweden. Ms. Nyh Radebo, his spokeswoman, put an end to that story in Sweden, but at international conferences, Mr. Hultqvist still faced questions about the nonexistent sales.

Russia also made at least one overt attempt to influence the debate. During a seminar in the spring, Vladimir Kozin, a senior adviser to the Russian Institute for Strategic Studies, a think tank linked to the Kremlin and Russian foreign intelligence, argued against any change in Sweden’s neutral status.

“Do they really need to lose their neutral status?” he said of the Swedes. “To permit fielding new U.S. military bases on their territory and to send their national troops to take part in dubious regional conflicts?”

Whatever the method or message, Russia clearly wants to win any information war, as Dmitry Kiselyev, Russia’s most famous television anchor and the director of the organization that runs Sputnik, made clear recently.

Speaking this summer on the 75th anniversary of the Soviet Information Bureau, Mr. Kiselyev said the age of neutral journalism was over. “If we do propaganda, then you do propaganda, too,” he said, directing his message to Western journalists.

“Today, it is much more costly to kill one enemy soldier than during World War II, World War I or in the Middle Ages,” he said in an interview on the state-run Rossiya 24 network. While the business of “persuasion” is more expensive now, too, he said, “if you can persuade a person, you don’t need to kill him.”

Correction: August 28, 2016

An earlier version of this article misstated the surname of a spokesman for the Swedish Security Service. He is Wilhelm Unge, not Urme.

Correction: September 29, 2016

Because of an editing error, an article on Aug. 29 about the Kremlin’s reliance on disinformation to sow doubt, fear and discord in Europe and the United States referred incorrectly to coverage of the Democratic National Convention by a Russian television outfit, RT. It devoted little time to the speeches, focusing instead on scattered demonstrations, on the day President Obama spoke — not throughout the entire convention.

Follow Neil MacFarquhar on Twitter @NeilMacFarquhar.

Eva Sohlman contributed reporting from Stockholm, and Lincoln Pigman from Moscow.

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[runesingers]

Arnora Runesinger

“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world" -Oscar Wilde

Appearance Information

Character Name: Arnora Runesinger

Aliases: Rune, Arnora, Firestarter

Race: Hyur, Highlander

Gender: Female

Apparent age: early to mid 30s

Hair: Thick, curly, long, jet black, with purple undertones, but almost always has a fancy hat on or oversized flowers in her hair.

Skin: Fair

Eye color: Green

Scars:

*Handful of scars in various stages of healing scattered throughout her arms and torso

*Claw mark shaped scar along her lower back and right hip

*Large scar running from the top of her left anterior shoulder to her outer wrist

Tattoos:

*Right posterior shoulder has a large Nymeia Lily flower and a dragonfly, the lily branching into flowered vines over the top of the shoulder and partially down her bicep, mixed in are various other flowers and vines

*Left inner wrist the runic symbol "Fyri"

*Right outer wrist trailing inward has a purple and maroon dahlia flower

Profession:

Bardic tracker, runecaster, plant lover, wanderer. While most women have to worry about becoming the crazy cat lady, she has to worry about becoming the crazy plant and minion lady. Like most highlander, especially Ala Mhigan, from a small age she was taught the ways of combat and resourcefulness. Taught to live off the land and use her senses to follow the signs around her, this lead to a love of the wild and an odd obsession with plants, adorable creatures (though her idea of adorable may be somewhat questionable) and gemstones.

 Personality:

The Classic professional one moment, easily entertained and distracted the next. She's patient and observant, always searching and listening to what's around her, sometimes it seems, to the things that others are unable to hear. This translates well when working but can often lead to her having a distracted countenance; an almost distant eyed dreamer in some ways, but never doubt, she's almost always acutely aware of what's around her even if she isn't reacting to it. She fluctuates between states of quiet reserve watchfulness, and easily entertained and amused but overall has a very casual, laid back mannerism. She is something of a notorious flirt, even when she doesn't realize she's flirting, and can often be described as having an easy going charm and quick wit. She's overly patient, almost too much, and willing to accept a lot of personal insult and irritation without action, but is fiercely defensive of others, and can be somewhat quick to anger and rise to a challenge if someone else is on the line. Possessing an innate curiousity she is always exploring and seeking out new things, a trait that has often landed her in her fair share of trouble along the way, but where most see trouble, she sees adventure, and is quick to dive in head first if something fascinates her. This has lead to her ending up in the hot seat more than once, and also lead to a quirky habit of collecting; collecting figurines as well as actual plants and creatures she finds both fascinating and adorable along with other random and various trinkets along the way, making her something of a moderately reserved horder.

 Religious beliefs/philosophy: Follower of  Althyk

  Background Information

Childhood:

Like most children of Highlander, especially Ala Mhigan, her childhood was anything but 'typical', where most other races and cultures learned through play and mimicry of adults, Ala Mhigan children learned through combat and mimicry. It is often a joke that Highlander children spring forth from the womb wielding weapons, and in many ways it is true, from the time she was able to walk, she was swinging a lance or pulling the strings on a bow. She lived in Ala Mhigo in a time that was under constant duress after the actions of King Theodric involving the Ala Mhigan Monks which ushered in the Garlean forces pushing forward. Like most Highlander and Ala Mhigan, she and her family fought back against Garlean control during the skirmish.Too young still at the time to be oficially involved in much of the direct conflict and battle, she fought more along the sidelines, using her skills as a hunter and tracker to smuggle supplies in to Ala Mhigan forces a little at a time, refusing to abandon Ala Migho until the last wave of the assault. Later, when it was clear that the Garleans were taking control and the Ala Mhigan forces, already devastated by Theodric's actions, she worked to smuggle, refugees out, choosing to stay behind enemy lines until the death of her father during one of the larger uprisings. Ala Mhigo became too unsafe and it was obvious that the Garlean forces were going to win the skirmish and she, along with her surviving family, escaped to Ul'dah. But where tragedy came, more followed, and the overcrowding in the streets and the lack of employment all around was made difficult, rather than be welcomed by their neighbors, they were outcast and left to scrape by on blood and sand and little else. It was the decision of her mother, when Little Ala Mhigo became too overrun with refugees and later bandits, that they move on to another city state and greener, literally, fields and taking up residence in Gridania.

 Recent history:

One of the few survivors of her original family, many taken by Garlean forces, others in the refugee riots in Ul'dah, she became more of a drifter and wanderer. The sense of displacement, rather than become something unbearable to her, gave her, her first true sense of freedom from the normalcy and expectation of Ala Mhigan life. With this new found freedom came thirst and desire to see more of Eorzea and it was in her early 20s that she set out on her own, much against the overbearing wishes of her mother and remaining siblings, and yet, like any true highlander, she would not be deterred and taking what little she owned in one bag and a sturdy bow, she set out. For a while she kept mostly to herself, keeping her possessions spartan as she continued to move from city state to city state across Eorzea. With no real plan or goal, she worked to make something of a name for herself and scrape together a living as a tracker and amateur apothecary, while following the death of her father, choosing to dabble a little deeper into the arcane, possessing a particular talent and fondness for lithomancy and runecasting, skills made further attainable having already somewhat mastered the study of geomancy, something her father taught her was essential to any hunter worth their weight in salt. Her fascination and interest in the arcane was one of the guiding forces furthering her travels from Gridania all the way to the walls of Ishgard, but it has been ultimately her skills as a bardic tracker and amateur apothecary that left her with a more notable reputation, particularly after assisting in the detainment of a rather notorious thief plaguing Gridania, more than once she's found herself in the role of playing "bounty hunter".

 Notable relationships:

*Father: Thrandr Wolfkin (Deceased)

*Mother: Thora Thundersoul (Status unknown)

*Sister: Elise Hawker

*Brother: Valgard Smokefist (Deceased)

*Brother: Valbrandr Talon (Deceased)

*Brother: Nikulus Warcry (status unknown)

  General Stats

Strengths, talents, and points of pride:

At range, she has excellent aim with a bow, and a fair degree of accuracy with a lance. Exceptional tracking, observation, and listening skills. She's something of a horticulturist and in her free time grows and arranges plants into elaborate displays and has a fond collection of plantlike creatures she's collected over the years. She has a talent for music and musical instruments of all ranges, including singing, but favors a flute and violin, the last of which she has been heard to state, literally touches her soul. While she's become something of a a collector, she can live off ridiculously simple means and for her, there's no such thing as getting lost in the wilderness, unless it's completely intentional. Slow to anger with a wealth of patience gives her the advantage of being able to calculate and rationalize a situation before leaping to a decision.

 Weaknesses, detriments, and points of improvement:

Despite being almost always observant, she can be easily distracted by the things she sees or hears around her and become too fixated on her surroundings than her primary focus, this coupled with a high curiousity can lead her into adventurous and dangerous situations with little thought to her own personal safety. Slow to anger and her ability to rationalize and think out clearly a situation before acting can also lead to a tendency to keep her own feelings in check and lead her to overthinking even the most simple problems. Her eagerness to defend those she sees as having faced some source of injustice has lead to more than a few conflicts that could otherwise have been avoided. Not very skilled with heavy weapons, though she tried to learn when she was younger. Despite her skills, many of which require a degree of magical knowledge, the idea of completely magicked healing has always fascinated her but been difficult to grasp. At present, she's learning more about close quarters combat, but being a woman of taller, broader stature, has a ways to go when it comes to smaller arms.

  Interaction Points

Favored alcoholic beverage: Rum Chata

Favored non-alcoholic beverage: Orange Juice

Favored food: Steak and stuffed cabbage, also fond of cakes and sweets

Favored weather or season: cool and shady, she adores thunderstorms

Favored color: Purple!

 Reactions

How does your character react when... Describe how your character reacts, either in actions or what they would say out loud.

Examples:

You find a powerful weapon: Keep it, sell it, collect it. Depending what the weapon was and what value it held either monetarily, useful or aesthetic.

You find a coin purse: This would depend on witnesses. She wouldn't outright take it and would even make a show of returning it, if there were wandering eyes, but depending what was in it, her if found somewhere isolated, she'd most certainly snoop through it and see what she could find.

You find a trap: Study it, analyze it, figure out its exact purpose and how it works to see if it can be replicated, if we're talking the item. If we're talking a surprise trap or attack, she'd probably wait and see what the target was before deciding.

You find a corpse: Again, study it, analyze it, search it for any sign of combat or struggle, any indication of natural versus foul play, and search for any sign of identification. No family deserves to constantly wonder. Whether or not it returned to its family with its possessions however, is another question.

Any roleplay preferences or limitations for the character? Not off the top of my head? I enjoy roleplay, group, private, adventure, mayhem, chaos, romance, you name it. Can't really think of any 'limitations' other than obvious things people should feel bad about any how!

  Character sheet:

 Offensive Proficiency: +1 Bow, +1 hand to hand, +1 Astrology Magic Dark

Defensive Proficiency: +1 Bow, +1 Alchemical

Trait:

 Keen Observation: Find the weakness of an enemy. The party gets +1 proficiency against the enemy until the end of combat round.

[aion-rsa]

Armies Of Darkness: 15 Heinous Henchmen Hordes

Ah, henchmen. They truly make the (evil) world go round. If it weren’t for the nameless, faceless masses that followed villains around to do their bidding, most rogues would likely be overthrown in a hot minute. With the recent reveal of the Putty Patrollers design for the new “Power Rangers” film coming out, we at CBR began to think about some of our favorite henchmen squads.

RELATED: The 15 Worst Villains In Batman: The Animated Series

Even though many of them are used as cannon fodder against heroes, members of these armies would still eschew their own unique identity and fight against insurmountable odds as part of an evil organization. That’s some pretty hardcore dedication there. So please, join us, as we recount some of the top henchmen armies that did their very best to spread the scourge of villainy on behalf of their gloriously evil leaders.

THE HAND

Why do evil ninja organizations make for the best henchmen armies? The Hand is one such group, originally assembled in the 16th century to empower the oppressed citizenry of rural south-central Japan, arming them first with martial arts training, and later with dark magic. Over the years, The Hand’s purpose twisted from defense to control. In the modern era, they have hatched numerous schemes involving everything from organized crime to summoning ancient beings, all in a bid to gain more power for their idol, known as The Beast. The ninja often use these The Beast’s dark powers to resurrect their dead warriors, making them unstoppable soldiers for their cause.

First appearing in Frank Miller’s “Daredevil” #174, The Hand has always posed a legitimate threat to the enemies they face. One such adversary is The Chaste, a band of warriors led by blind martial artist Stick. Another is Matt Murdock, whom most know as Daredevil. Regardless, the Hand poses a nigh insurmountable threat to anyone who opposes them. Their numbers are great, they are practiced in subterfuge and are not afraid to make sacrifices to further their reach of darkness. Even though they are largely defeated by Murdock time after time, the scale of threat they pose is no less intimidating.

PUTTIES

Where would Rita be without her Putties? These dime-a-dozen clay soldiers were often thrown by the handful at the Power Rangers in attempts to deter or otherwise stop them from catching on to the sorceress’ evil plans. The Putties were far from useless, though, as they could take on disguises of regular humans for more nefarious plots. In one such case, they took on a glamour to appear as children in Halloween costumes to lure Tommy (the Green Ranger) away from the rest of the Rangers and ambush him.

The Putties did also boast a little bit of fighting prowess when they would brawl with the heroes. For all their haphazard punching and kicking, though, their arguably most practised ability was getting beaten by the Power Rangers. Still, the Putties were stalwart in their loyalty to Rita and their mission to destroy the teenagers with attitude. Even if their never-ending battle was a losing one, their memory lives on in garbled speech, broken clay pieces and a legacy that will continue in the upcoming live-action “Power Rangers” movie.

BLACK DRAGON SOCIETY

This fictional henchmen army is a pretty interesting one, as it’s actually based on a real-life organization of the same name. The original Black Dragon Society was a right-wing paramilitary organization in Japan during WWII, dabbling in espionage and heavy political influence during the conflict. The Society in the comics, however, spanned several different companies and committed a variety of villainous acts. Throughout their appearances in the DC Universe, they stole military weapons, took hostages, coordinated violent attacks and fought anyone who stood in their path to world domination.

Created in the comics by Gardner Fox and Jack Burnley, the Society was never short on foes. In its “Master Comics” debut back in 1941, the Society was fighting Minute-Man, while in “All-Star Comics” they went up against the Justice Battalion. Even if they’re not directly involved with any heroes, the Black Dragon Society has maintained a presence as an ever-looming evil organization in comics throughout the years. That kind of henchmen legacy is hard to come by, but these guys have managed to do it with suitably subtle aplomb.

THE PHALANX

This cybernetic hive-mind species was co-created by writer Scott Lobdell and artist Joe Madureira, and debuted in “Uncanny X-Men” #312. The Phalanx is largely an abomination of the Technarchy aliens, but still just as formidable. These guys come to “life” when the Technarcy virus tries to infect organic lifeforms; so, pretty much anything it comes across that’s alive. The virus takes over the host, converting it to the hive mind and thus the Phalanx grows into an unstoppable horde. Over multiple appearances, they have spread their scourge among numerous lifeforms, from Earth’s mutants to the entirety of the Shi’ar Empire.

While the Phalanx itself doesn’t serve a single consistent leader (apart from facilitators and “interfaces” like X-Men enemies Steven Lang and Cameron Hodge), the collective was more recently brought under the heel of the villainous Ultron for a time. Ultron influenced the hive mind to infect much of the Kree army in attempts to conquer its empire. Under the tyrannical robot’s orders, the Phalanx invaded much of the Kree’s territory, captured multiple heroes and enslaved many to its cause. Ultimately, the species were defeated during the “Annihilation: Conquest” event, but few henchmen armies can boast inter-galactic subjugation on their list of achievements.

PARADEMONS

Created by Jack Kirby in his legendary “New Gods” series for DC, the Parademons serve as shock troopers to the nefarious Darkseid, lord of the planet Apokolips. A good rule of thumb developed around the soldiers: if you saw a Boom Tube open up, expect a squad of these guys to come flying out shortly thereafter. Parademons are bred for aggression, often acting as an advance force for Darkseid’s numerous invasions. On top of having aerial mobility, these guys are usually toting some kind of firepower, be it advanced guns or fire breath (depending on the continuity). During invasions, the Parademons have come up against some of Earth’s finest including Superman, Wonder Woman and the Flash, just to name a few.

These interdimensional henchmen are simply not to be messed with. They are as ruthless as their leader Darkseid (though a bit more mindless), and are more than willing to die at his command. They are known for swarming en masse and detonating themselves if it means inflicting even the slightest damage on a hero. Even though they were usually just fodder in advance of Darkseid’s arrival, they still managed to get things done through their signature shock and aggression, even if they are always ultimately defeated.

THE DEADITES

When evil itself needs an army of henchmen, what works better than a horde of deadites? In the realm of “Evil Dead,” deadites are generally people (sometimes plants or animals, too) that have been possessed by malevolent Kandarian demons, usually after death. They function as a sort of collective force at the behest of the Necronomicon: a really, really, really evil book. The deadites exhibit all sorts of abilities, from superhuman strength to physical mutation. Many of them are able to fight after losing limbs or being injured, with only severing the head or outright obliterating their bodies being the surefire way to kill them.

The deadites are terrifying in that they only serve evil. Their purpose in life is destroy all that is good and wholesome, and they do so by masquerading as regular people until the time is right. They are malice incarnate, often twisting the appearance and memories of the people they possess to further torture those around them. When they are unleashed by the Necronomicon (or some other demon baddie), they are a downright scary force with which to be reckoned.

H.I.V.E.

When it comes to evil organizations full of henchmen, mission requirements tend to be “go big or go home.” Otherwise, why else would you need an army? This certainly was the case with the Hierarchy of International Vengeance and Extermination, a.k.a. H.I.V.E. The group operates with the sole intention of exterminating superheroes; a lofty ambition, indeed. Created by greats Marv Wolfman and George Pérez for “New Teen Titans,” H.I.V.E. is an evil collective dabbling in science and sabotage, rather than just relying on outright assaults. Serving a number of masters and mistresses, H.I.V.E. members set their sights high and worked to eliminate Superman and the Teen Titans during their debut.

While the group has had its ups and downs, it has managed to make itself known to the DC hero community. They have largely managed, in newer iterations (under the name “Holistic Integration for Viral Equality”) to have a public face to mask its various nefarious goings-on behind the scenes, which makes the group even more dangerous. Throughout tumultuous leadership changes (namely, its leaders being killed every so often), the henchmen of H.I.V.E. have remained unwavering in their mission to erase heroes from the world.

A.I.M.

Another group comprised of some of the best and brightest in henchmen, Advanced Idea Mechanics (or A.I.M. as it’s commonly known) was a large scientific branch of Hydra before breaking off to create its own sect. Created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby and originally called “THEM,” A.I.M. can often be found researching new and terrifying technologies in secret for years before unleashing them on the unsuspecting world. All members of this scientific army of doom toil away at projects to please the group’s board of directors, and of course, its leader, the Scientist Supreme.

A.I.M. has managed to trouble the world with many dangerous creations, such as the reality-bending Cosmic Cube and the villainous M.O.D.O.K. The members of A.I.M. are frightful in their no-holds-barred drive for scientific discovery and profit. They have also proven formidable, despite their collective beekeeper look. The A.I.M. network is vast and their resources significant, allowing them to tap into some of the brightest minds in the world. Luckily, A.I.M. has recently been repurposed for more altruistic means by former New Mutant and current Avenger, Sunspot, who bought A.I.M. out in a corporate coup. The group was even more recently folded into the American military and rebranded “American Intelligence Mechanics.”

TEAM ROCKET

Yes, it may be easy to write this one off since everyone remembers Jesse, James and Meowth (that’s right!), but these guys were only the most recognizable faces of the organization because they pestered Ash and his friends every other day. Team Rocket itself was a large operation full of henchmen, all of whom were hell-bent on stealing prized pokémon and using them to one day take over the world. The criminal group had a number of different branches staffed with countless members working to achieve the ideals of their villainous leader, Giovanni.

When not participating in the outright thievery of a trainer’s pokémon, Team Rocket were known to conduct experiments on the creatures to make them stronger and resell them to the highest bidder. The henchmen that comprised Team Rocket were undoubtedly cruel and ruthless, even though Jesse and James were seen as hapless dimwits. Their fellow members, on the other hand, were much more devout in their mission to “extend our reach to the stars above.”

GALACTIC FRIEZA ARMY

More commonly known as the Frieza Force, the Galactic Frieza Army was a massive military organization that cut a swath of destruction across the galaxy and seized numerous planets along the way. The army itself was comprised of a healthy combination of fanatical followers, enslaved species and folks conscripted into the organization for fear of reprimand from Prince Frieza himself. Regardless of their motivations, every henchman in the organization threw him, her or itself into the numerous conflicts Frieza started in his family’s bid for universal domination.

The Army shined in its forceful recruitment processes, lavishing in strong troops from thousands of conquered races. All of its soldiers pillaged without remorse when an attack was launched on a given planet, and surrender was never an option in their playbook. Not only that, the force had multiple allies across the galaxy, including a recently-revealed connection to the Red Ribbon Army. Even though pretty much the entirety of the army was wiped out by Goku during the Namek conflict, many of its henchmen continued to fight on, even resurrecting their dead prince after a time. Now that’s loyalty!

HYDRA

When it comes to world domination, few can compete with the evil organization Hydra. Another Lee-Kirby creation, the group is shadowy, subversive and absolutely twisted in doing whatever it can to accomplish its ideal of a new world. Priding itself on rebuilding and enduring through defeat, Hydra has served a number of leaders throughout the years; most notably Baron Wolfgang von Strucker and of course, the Red Skull. The henchmen of Hydra cover a full spectrum of ne’er-do-wells, from foot soldiers to assassins, spies and scientists. They really are a holistic terror organization.

Perhaps the most imposing thing about the army is its sheer global reach. Throughout their numerous appearances, henchmen from the organization have infiltrated groups around the world, including its nemesis, S.H.I.E.L.D., the United Nations and more. This is doubly scary when considering that many Hydra agents hide their affiliation with the group well, with no one person being the “face” of the organization (except for Deadpool’s “friend,” Bob). Hydra remains one of the biggest evil armies in the 616 and beyond, positively brimming with henchmen willing to devote themselves to the cause and shout “Hail Hydra!” while they do it.

LEAGUE OF ASSASSINS

Whenever something incredibly secretive and shady is going down in the “Batman” universe, it’s usually because of the League of Assassins. Created as an adversarial force by Denny O’Neil and Neal Adams, the League is a group comprised of the most elite warriors, serving their leader Ra’s Al Ghul in his goals of eliminating whomever he felt posed a threat to the natural world. A quintessential henchmen army, members of the League are subjected to brutal training and even brainwashing in order to uphold the ideals of the Demon’s Head.

Unlike many others on this list, League members are hardly cannon fodder. Assassins are practiced in subterfuge as well as combat, being some of the most formidable fighters in the world. They have often come up against Batman himself and in many cases, given him a run for his money. League warriors are also willing to die for Ra’s al Ghul, having few qualms about executing (or being executed) to fulfill his will. While they might not be as embedded as Hydra, the League of Assassins remains a group with a grim reputation that often strikes fear into those that hear its name.

THE FOOT CLAN

As we’ve seen earlier, evil ninja henchmen armies seem to be one of the best ways to tackle a cadre of heroes. Conceived of by TMNT creators Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird, the Foot Clan is a group of ninjitsu warriors that serve out the villainous machinations of their leader, the Shredder. A direct dig at the aforementioned Hand organization (the Turtles were a parody-spinoff of Daredevil), the Foot actually gained some real street cred in its crusade against the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Its members have actively participated in drug smuggling, high-stakes theft and even outright assassination in order to gain more power and influence for the group.

Many of the Foot Clan soldiers are no match for the mutated turtles in individual combat, but their numbers are certainly their biggest strength. Throughout their media appearances, recruitment into the organization appeared to be hardly limited and even allowed young teenagers to join in the fray. The ninjas often used this to overwhelm the turtles in skirmishes in the hopes of overpowering them. Regardless of their success (or indeed, lack thereof), the Foot clansmen are always remembered fondly as endearing (if hapless) ninjas (or robots, if you were only watching the cartoon) getting whooped up on by a mutated turtle spouting one-liners.

COBRA

It’s hard to think about the G.I. Joes without sparing a thought or two about their arch nemesis Cobra. Created by Larry Hama and Archie Goodwin, Cobra is a fully-fledged army with ideals in direct contrast to that of the Joes. Answering to their leader Cobra Commander, members of this army would go up against their patriotic foes in a variety of ways. From regular infantry to the Crimson Guard, members of Cobra attacked from any angle they could to achieve Cobra Commander’s goals of wealth, power and the destruction of the Joes.

Throughout many of their iterations, Cobra operated mostly in secret. It gained a reputation as a shadowy organization, with many members hiding in plain sight. Many of the grunts were experienced fighters and saboteurs, unafraid of launching a full assault against the Joes if it meant a potential victory. Interestingly enough, Cobra isn’t as fanatical as other henchmen organizations on this list. Many of them would simply surrender to the Joes if they were outnumbered or defeated. Most Cobra members are more motivated by money and camaraderie at the end of the day than a hysterical need to please their commander.

STORMTROOPERS

As far as henchmen armies go, there are hardly many contenders that could boast the numbers and cultural cache that the Galactic Empire does with its Stormtroopers. Whether it be by land, sea or space, this army had all of its bases covered in its support of the Empire’s rise to power. The army’s combatants were different varieties of humanoid troops (originally starting out as clones) dedicated to mercilessly squashing Rebel forces at the behest of their leader, Emperor Palpatine, and his second in command, Lord Vader.

Even though they laughably couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn in their early appearances, they have since been revamped to appear even more cruel and brutal in more recent iterations (particularly in the comics). They are willing to brave the harshest of planets if it means implementing the Empire’s ideals and stopping the Rebel Army where they can. Their numbers appear infinite, given their clone origins, while their uniform appearance strips them of any cumbersome individuality. The Stormtroopers are an iconic and truly faceless enemy army that inspires fear from the moment they first set boots to the ground.

Which fictional faceless (if feckless) forces are your favorites? Let us know in the comments!

The post Armies Of Darkness: 15 Heinous Henchmen Hordes appeared first on CBR.com.

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