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norsereadalong · 4 years

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Eyrbyggja Saga Week Five Prompts

Welcome to Week Five of Eyrbyggja Saga! This week (Oct. 26th, 2020) we’re reading chapters 25-29, as laid out in Hermann Pálsson’s translation. This week’s section starts off as follows:

Now to come back to Vermund and Thorarin the Black, they made landfall in Norway north of Trondheim Fjord and sailed up to Trondheim….People considered Bjorn a great warrior and the bravest of men in any dangerous situation.

Nú er að segja frá þeim Vermundi og Þórarni svarta að þeir komu af hafi norður við Þrándheimsmynni og héldu inn í Þrándheim….Og meðan Pálna-Tóki lifði var Björn með honum og þótti hinn besti drengur og hinn hraustasti í öllum mannraunum.

Below are some prompts to invoke discussion. You don’t have to answer them (unless you want to), and you’re welcome to ask questions of your own for the group to discuss! We ask that you participate at least once a week in one form or another, be it through a response paragraph, fanart, etc., but you’re free to choose whatever topic you’d like. Remember to DM a link to your responses to @edderkopper so we can find them!

1. Alright, for those of you who had “Berserkers” on their Saga Bingo Card, fill it in now! Seriously though, folks—what is up with these burly brothers Halli and Leiknir?

Berserkers were once revered in Norse Mythology and poems as Odin’s warriors—what is the reception of these men by the Icelanders as detailed in the saga? Why does the author care enough to immediately identify their “eastward” Swedish nationality in the chapter heading? How does the author describe their desires, personalities, and purpose?

2. Why might Jarl Hákon Sigurðarson think he can control and temper the berserker brothers better than Vermund? What do we know historically about Hákon Sigurðarson as a ruler? (There’s some interesting stuff their folks, including a story about a pig pen and banished clergymen!)

3. What can we parse out about the politics of feuding in medieval sagas, especially when people of a lower economic status are involved, such as those unfortunately held in bondage as slaves?

4. Poor Thorgerd and her useless relatives! When a feud leads to death, what avenues can saga women pursue to gain justice for a slayed family member?

5. Halli’s desire for Asdis gives us a little bit of information about marriage proposals in saga culture. What do we think about Halli’s interest in Asdis and the steps taken with regards to the proposal? Do you feel sorry for the berserker brothers, or do you think Styr was right in tricking them in order to help Asdis dodge a socially unhappy marriage?

What about the commentary at the end of the chapter about Snorri the Priest and Asdis’ betrothal: “…the wedding took place in autumn, and everyone agreed that both men had strengthened their positions by these family ties.” (Pálsson and Edwards, 79). Compare Halli’s interest in Asdis with Thorodd’s inquiry after Thurid’s hand in chapter 29.

6. I’d just like to direct everyone to the awesome burn that is Bjorn’s skaldic verse about Thorodd in chapter 29. That is all.

Sword-skilled, I slaughtered the sons of Wood-Leg.

It was harder for Thorodd to thrust me through,

than to lie making love to his elegant lady

Or rob the Earl’s traders and take their taxes.

#norsereadalong #week 5 2020 #Week 5 2020 prompts #eyrbyggja saga #prompts

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newmorenograd · 5 years

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The man they dragged into the throne room was like a wound in the fabric of the Kongenvord Palace, a stone breaking through the river surface. Eddies of disgust spread through the assembled crowd of nobles as they marched him down the blue carpet towards the dais. They forced him to kneel in front of the royal family; the King and Queen seated on their thrones, and before them, standing apart, the Prince.

For the Prince to sit on one of those thrones, he would have to deal with this first.

The man was here to punish Sejris. The Krovians hadn’t even bothered to dress him nicely for the occasion, only decorated him with medals to somehow pretend that this creature was a prize. His filthy uniform was just another injury for the disobedient Prince. He was supposed to be a soldier. The soldiers of the Angengard Regiment always stood tall, always looked clean and vicious and capable. Sejris had seen them in their gold-threaded tunics, guarding the palace, talking tactics with the King, lining up for triumphal marches through the streets of Larkport. Now Sejris wondered if this was because he had never seen them fresh from war.

There were no Krovian soldiers wandering through Larkport. If the Iscan army brought any back it was as prisoners of war; they were kept in the jails attached to the barracks outside the city, for the safety of the citizens and the royal family. This man was lucky to see what his army had failed to defile. His uniform was black and grey, with red ribbing — these were not Iscan colours — and it looked like they had dragged it off a corpse. It was matted, filthy, and torn in places: a bullet had killed whoever wore it last. Gods willing, it would happen again.

He was accompanied by a woman dressed head to toe in silk, a loose, high-waisted jumpsuit that made her seem even taller than she already was. The Krovian ambassador, Prodanaya. Sejris had seen her around court before. Though she spoke passable Iscan, they had never talked. He would never have bothered someone who looked so focused on her mission unless she was necessary for his. He might have liked her, were she not complicit in his present humiliation.

“Your majesties,” Prodanaya said, “it is my honour to introduce to you the Witch Kommandir of the 11th Tactical, Starshina Aleksey Rodinovich Voronin, sometimes called the Carrion Eater, sometimes called the Crow. We are pleased to offer you his services as consort to the Prince, as a symbol of our commitment to the treaty between our two great nations.”

A man who ate the flesh of the dead — they really had picked the worst person they could find. Sejris looked down at him, disgusted. Voronin was staring at the floor; Sejris could not look him in the eye.

The King spoke as though there was nothing out of the ordinary about this farce: “The Commonwealth of Isca thanks you and your people for this gesture of good faith towards our new accord. With this union, we demonstrate our family's ties to your culture and lands, and the great sense of responsibility I'm sure we both feel towards the treaty.”

“We are grateful.” Prodanaya’s words were edged with poison.

“And of course,” the King said, addressing the court, “a fitting prize for the Thane of Angengard, to commemorate his leadership in these times of war.”

Sejris could feel his father’s eyes at his back. The King could have had a third throne brought to the dais, one for Sejris to sit at a level with his parents, but he had refused. When the King was seated, he preferred to be standing. Sejris did not intend to rule with complacency. He intended his father to know this in the same way his father intended his offer of a third throne as a token, a gesture at the leadership Sejris could not have shown during the war — he was too weak to wield a sword most days, and bedbound the rest of them.

He and his father waged a private war of manners; for the court, this remark was simply a cue for Sejris to speak. He was to introduce himself to his betrothed. Perhaps he was meant to kneel.

Instead he took half a step back.

In the awkward silence that had fallen over the throne room, Voronin looked up. There was something close to resolve in his expression, a steely anger — not that there was much Voronin could do with that anger now, since he and his fate were already sealed. If Sejris was lucky, Voronin would give up entirely, and he would have a husband he could command for himself, slack like a puppet grown used to its strings.

Then Voronin spat. He spoke some words in a tongue that had nothing to do with the Krovian that Sejris had spent many late nights revising in preparation for his betrothal. Almost reflexively, one of the Krovian detail kicked him in the ribs. It looked like it hurt, but Voronin didn’t flinch.

Neither did Sejris. He wanted to step away again. He wanted to leave the throne room and never return. The cursing, spitting — all of it was obviously vulgar. But it was the vitriol that really angered him. Voronin’s reward for losing the war was marrying the victor. Didn’t he know that he was walking into a life of luxury like nothing he’d ever known? That he wasn’t the one being punished here?

Prodanaya scolded Voronin in that same wrong-sounding Krovian. Sejris had no interest in hearing any more of it.

“This man is worse-behaved than the dogs in our kennels,” he said: pointedly, in Iscan. He directed his words at the ambassador, but they were meant for the King. “Will he stand if I tell him to?”

Prodanaya smirked. “If you can speak like the gutter, he might. But you know how dogs are, your majesty.”

Sejris disliked her insolence, but she was right. Voronin was the furthest thing possible from the person Sejris was supposed to marry. They had been someone tidy, someone kind. Someone Iscan. Voronin was a feral animal, a creature that cared for none but his own.

The ambassador commanded the Krovian guard; he responded by wrenching an unyielding Voronin to his feet. They stood face to face now, or as close as they could get — Sejris was eye-level with the ripped collar of Voronin’s uniform jacket.

Up close, Voronin was hideous. His scarred face was disdainful; worse, because he was looking down on Sejris. Voronin spoke, and this time he didn’t spit his words out like the lash of a whip. The meaning was lost, but Sejris picked up on the vague inflection of a question — he doubted that he could provide the answer Voronin wanted.

“No doubt he will settle into life in the palace,” the King said. The incident only amused him. “The splendours of the battlefield have nothing on his new chambers.”

He continued, encouraged by polite laughter. Sejris did not pay his father any attention. He looked up into Voronin’s brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, searching for some trace of fear, curiosity, anything other than anger. It was hard to see intent, though, when there was a vicious scar cutting across Voronin’s face, right between his eyes. A man who had already been so wounded would not be so easily punished. But there were ways to wound that didn’t leave a scar.

Sejris spoke in the Krovian he had practised, and he spoke quietly so that only Voronin could hear: “I will not have you punished for spitting, nor for speaking out of turn. But if you step out of line once we are betrothed, I will have you join the dogs, and they will not be so kind.”

The King’s posturing speech was trailing off, giving Sejris the space to listen closely to Voronin’s reply. He made a concerted effort to gauge tone from how Voronin spoke: conversational, pragmatic. Those were two things which Sejris had no interest in being at the minute, especially not with this man. Even if they had one tongue in common — which it was becoming apparent they did not — Sejris had no desire for them to be any closer than their betrothal ceremony would bring them.

He glanced over his shoulder, and the Queen caught his eye.

“Enough talk,” she said. “Shall we have a betrothal?”

“I think we shall,” the King said, and Sejris turned away before he could catch his father’s eye too.

One servant approached each of them, Sejris and Voronin, with the other’s betrothal torc in a fine wooden box. The box for Sejris was opened first: there lay a torc made of some ponderous metal, gold-plated, a betrothal knot at the front and the generic royal crest at the back. It was ugly. That was fitting for Voronin, but for Sejris it was yet more ugliness he would have shackled to him.

And it was not the torc he had expected. When he thought he was going to be marrying Asdis, Sejris had designed their torcs to his exacting specifications. Both solid gold; enough metal to twist easily into a betrothal knot, but not so much it became unwieldy. At the back, they were fastened by Sejris’ personal crest, the arms he had chosen for himself much in advance of being able to use them. They would display on flags and standards only when he became King.

He wanted to be surprised by the change, but all he felt was a dull, familiar horror settling in the pit of his stomach. There was nothing more cruel than depriving someone of their choice — which Sejris’ father had been doing all his life.

Sejris commanded Voronin in Krovian. “Turn. Bend your knees.” It was the only way he’d be able to reach around Voronin’s neck to fasten the torc.

The Krovian guard translated; Sejris was unnerved by how different it sounded. Voronin knelt all the way down — so it wasn’t a perfect translation. Sejris flexed his fingers. They weren’t shaking when he unfastened the torc, nor when he took a nervous step forward. Voronin was imposing even on when he was still. At least with him kneeling, Sejris could slip the torc around his neck without having to bend down. Already the dog was following orders.

Sejris shut his eyes. He didn’t open them again until it was done, the clasp fastened in place around Voronin’s neck.

Voronin, still kneeling, turned to face him and asked a question. The Krovian guard translated, in rough Iscan: “Collar for you?”

Sejris nodded for the other servant to open the box. He prepared himself for the unknown — if his father had seen fit to alter his design for his partner’s torc, then surely he had done the same for Sejris’ own. Perhaps it was to be clunky and ugly in the same way that Voronin and his torc were.

It was not. This one was solid gold. The knot was elegantly tied and the sides of the torc were studded with a faceted turquoise each. It was so light and fragile that Sejris had no doubt that Voronin could crush it between his large hands. The torc was beautiful. It perfectly matched Sejris’ clothes and jewellery, and that was the problem. His father had picked out something ornamental but breakable, ultimately useless. That was part of the punishment. That was how he viewed his son.

Sejris wished Voronin would break the torc. Ruin this experiment before it had the chance to begin — without the torc, there was no betrothal. Instead, Sejris watched him stand and take it in his hands, a curious expression on his face.

Sejris turned around. He unbuttoned his light jacket to slip it down just enough that Voronin could fasten the torc without his clothes getting in the way. It would reveal his seal, there was no helping that; all Sejris could do was hope that Voronin would get this over and done with quickly.

He swallowed; Voronin’s hands were around his neck. Voronin could strangle Sejris right now if he wanted. That would be one way to end the betrothal. But Sejris didn’t think Voronin would try anything. The betrothal ceremony was sacred to Iscans, a moment of such gravity that Sejris didn’t doubt that even a Krovian would feel something from it. He certainly did, though they were not feelings for this betrothal, but for the betrothal he could’ve had. The betrothal he was meant to have.

Sejris went cold as the gold torc met his skin. The brush of Voronin’s fingers against his neck; knowing Voronin’s eyes were on him; the soft click of the clasp closing, fastening his fate. Sejris wanted to throw up.

When it was done, he hurried to pull his collar up, doing up the button at his neck. He took a moment to breathe before facing Voronin again. The knot of betrothal sat heavy at Voronin’s neck. It wasn’t right, this fearsome Krovian soldier in a glimmering Iscan torc. They ought to have him arrested as a thief.

The King spoke: “With this betrothal, we seal the treaty between our nations.”

Sejris was caught on the hideous sight of the man he was going to marry; he couldn’t look away. He knew that the King would only have to wave a hand, and the assembled crowd would politely applaud. But the hall was silent.

Voronin turned to the ambassador and asked a question; she responded in his language. It was the height of disrespect to speak a language other than Iscan in the throne room; Sejris had seen Eburvolk and Mesembrian dignitaries thrown out for less. Speaking this bastard Krovian was certainly worse, and they had been doing it for far longer than was seemly, but the King did nothing. No matter how much this was a disrespect to himself and his court, the King would be able to weather it for the sake of the sleight against Sejris.

Voronin didn't understand court manners. Sejris doubted that he ever would — there was almost no point in trying. Sejris would not pay Voronin any more attention than he deserved; he made his way back up the dais to face his parents.

“Must you wear such a high collar all the time, darling?” the Queen asked. Her voice was soft; her words never carried throughout the hall the way the King’s did, but they were seldom any kinder. “You shouldn’t hide your beautiful torc. Your father picked it out himself, you know.” Slyly, she added, “Perhaps your handsome gentleman will want to see your seal, too.”

“Handsome.” The King snorted. He could talk quietly, too, when his words were intended for an audience of one: “He is something to behold, isn’t he? Still, a prize from the war is a much more suitable consort than a bureaucrat. You understand that.”

“Yes, father,” Sejris said, though it was not a question, nor had the King wanted an answer.

“And I have no doubt you’ll fashion him into a sensible sort of weapon.”

“Through the fire of the forge,” the Queen sang, “the fighter finds his fortune.”

“We will throw a feast, so that you can present Aleksey Asfornholt to us,” the King said. “Shall we say a week from now?”

The Queen had been humming to herself, but she interrupted her song to interject, “Marvellous!”

“He will not be one of us until we are wed.” Sejris curled his fingers into fists. “We will see you seven days from now. Do not expect our presence until then.”

As he walked away, he heard the Queen say, “Still as petulant as when he was a child!” Of course it was now that she chose to use her full volume.

Sejris found Voronin standing by his detail of Iscan guards like a toy soldier, casually discarded. The Iscan audience was beginning to disperse; the ambassador was already at the far door, with the other Krovian guard close behind. Voronin really was on his own now. Whether that would make him more malleable, Sejris had his doubts. But he had committed to this now. His father expected him to fail. Sejris would prove him wrong at any cost.

“You,” Sejris said. He pointed at Voronin, then at the doors to the left of the throne room, the gateway to the heart of Kongenvord. “Follow. Dinner. Do you understand those words?”

Voronin looked at him blankly, the ugly betrothal torc gleaming uselessly at his neck.

Sejris left. He knew Voronin would follow — he had to. He was Sejris’ problem now.

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avi-stella · 5 years

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Thinking of You | Asdis x Caron Writing-for-art trade with @virgichuu. Thank you again for trading with me!

There's a bounce in Asdis' step, a cheerful melody hummed through her lips as she makes her way over to Caron's tower. She doesn't know how many times she has sought him out now throughout all the time they've known each other, but it doesn't particularly matter. She enjoys his company, and seeing his face is one of the highlights of her day. That should be more than reason enough for her desire to see him.

It doesn't take long for Asdis to find the gatekeeper, and it seems as though he hasn't noticed her presence yet. A mischievous smile paints itself onto her lips, and she giggles quietly to herself, wondering if she might be able to sneak up on her friend and catch him off guard for once. Her footsteps are light, not making a single sound as she carefully approaches him; however, when she finally gets a better view of his face, she pauses in her tracks.

Caron's eyes are downcast, and his gaze looks to be far away, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Upon closer inspection, Asdis can see the way his shoulders are sagged and with a furrow between his brows, and she manages to stop herself from calling out to him out of impulse. Asdis' heart aches for him. She's seen this look on him before, but she can never figure out the reason for it, and whenever she asks, whether straightforward or not, Caron never gives her a definite answer.

Caron, unaware and unsuspecting of the woman behind him, exhales a quiet sigh to himself. There are times in which he's left alone with his thoughts for too long that they start to wander, and with that, the air around him darkens. He shouldn't be like this, he realizes, but emotions are difficult to deal with, especially when he refuses to share them with anybody else. It's his own burden to bear. Asdis and Janis... To think that those two sisters would cause him such inner turmoil—

"Care!"

Asdis manages to successfully sneak up on the gatekeeper, though it doesn't feel like anything close to a victory for her. She gives a friendly pat to his arm, and Caron immediately straightens himself up as he chases his previous intrusive thoughts away. He doesn't want to worry the woman before him with his burdens.

"Asdis," he greets her, a ghost of a smile making its way onto his features.

The knight-in-training returns his expression, but there's a tinge of concern hiding behind her eyes. Not wanting to push him into talking about whatever was making him uncomfortable, she attempts to start a conversation with him.

"The weather's really nice today, isn't it?" The moment those awkward words leave Asdis' mouth, she internally cringes. Of all the things to talk about, why did she choose that one?!

There's a slight delay in Caron's response, but he eventually hums in acknowledgement that he heard her, though he sounds distracted.

Asdis frowns ever so slightly. "...Spar with me," she suddenly demands.

Caron's eyes widen by a fraction at the sudden request—or rather, order—and he gazes down at her with an unreadable expression. He knows by now that the look on her face suggests she isn't going to let this go at all. His gaze subtly flickers down to her ankle where she had gotten injured in one of her previous training sessions by herself.

Asdis had never mentioned it to him, but he's aware of it. He had been in the area, watching over her without her knowing. He supposes he simply wanted to see her then, and he just so happened to catch her in the middle of her training. He had not wanted to interrupt, so he lingered in the shadows and simply observed.

"Are you sure?" Caron asks slowly. He highly doubts that her ankle has completely healed by now, but if this is what Asdis wants, then he'll give in and hopefully give her a lesson as well.

The woman answers with a resolute nod of her head. "Yes. Spar with me."

Caron doesn't know what Asdis is thinking, his eyes watching her figure as she leads the both of them to the top of their tower, their usual spot. They're each holding a wooden sword, and there's a heavy silence in the air between them. Usually, Asdis' voice would be ringing out in the area as she excitedly talks about the happenings of her day and the like, but right now, she remains wordless. Caron suspects that something might be bothering her, completely oblivious that he himself is the reason for her worries.

Both Caron and Asdis arrive at the top of the tower, and Asdis is quick to take her usual spot, getting straight to the point. She seems overly eager and determined. Caron follows suit, and the two fall into their respective stances. After going through the usual formalities prior to sparring, they begin.

Asdis is the first to make a move, exhaling a breath with her initial step as she rushes towards the experienced fighter. She tries to make a strike towards Caron's side, but he effortlessly deflects it, the dull thud of their wooden swords making impact sounding out.

Already familiar with Caron's fight pattern, Asdis leans back and retreats, managing to avoid the man's counterattack. She narrows her eyes, focused and unwavering, as she tries to return it with a tightened grip of her sword.

The two go back and forth with strikes, blocks, and parries, almost like a dance of sorts, neither one letting up. Caron keeps his gaze locked on the knight-in-training, making mental notes all the while easily keeping up with her. She's improved, he notes to himself, but he isn't surprised. It's the fruit of her efforts, and he realizes them, a feeling of pride swelling his chest at how far she's grown from the little girl she was before.

She's improved, he admits, his expression turning serious, however...

With both hands tightly grasped onto the wooden weapon, Asdis raises it above her head with the intention to deal a heavy blow when it lands. Caron takes a deep breath and, without even so much as breaking a sweat, knocks Asdis' weapon out of her hands.

The wood clatters onto the ground, the only sound to fill the air, and Asdis barely manages to register what just happened before she feels the tip of Caron's weapon underneath her chin. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, and she closes her eyes with a wry smile.

"You win again," she states, but there isn't a hint of disdain or dissatisfaction in her tone.

Caron lowers his weapon and nods in approval. "You've gotten better," he returns, his smile evident in his voice. "You have a more solid grip on your weapon, and your form is much better than it was before."

The knight-in-training grins at Caron's praise, her heart thumping no longer from the workout prior but something else as butterflies flutter in her stomach. Caron gives Asdis a fond pat on the head at the beaming smile she gives him.

"You still need to work on your footwork though," he continues as Asdis moves to retrieve her dropped sword. "Your footwork is uncertain, like you don't know how to proceed after you attack. You also favour heavy strikes too much, not giving yourself a chance to breathe and leaving you open."

"Right..." Asdis takes all of Caron's advice to heart, wanting to grow further and unashamed to admit her own shortcomings.

"...Do you know what you should keep in mind first and foremost?"

Asdis tilts her head to the side as she thinks about her answer. She isn't able to form one, and she shakes her head. "No. What is it?"

"Knowing when to fight," Caron answers her with a firm voice. "You injured your ankle before, haven't you?"

The woman's eyes widen, wondering how he could have known when she had intended to keep it a secret. "Oh, uh, yes..."

"You needn't strain yourself. Knowing when to fight, when to retreat, and when to rest are crucial. Arrogance and underestimating one's enemies are often the reason for defeat," Caron explains as though he were lecturing a child.

Asdis purses her lips into a small pout as she lowers her head. It's true that she understands where Caron is coming from, but the only reason why she had insisted on sparring with him was to help him get his mind off of things and hopefully cheer him up from whatever was bothering him. She exhales a dejected sigh, her eyes becoming downcast as her shoulders droop.

Caron notices the shift in Asdis' behaviour, and the corner of his lips twitch up into a slight smile. He's more or less figured out the reason as to why she had suggested the two of them spar by now, knowing how she is, and he's thankful for her. Admittedly, though, seeing the downhearted and disgruntled look on the woman's usually cheerful features makes him feel a bit guilty for having been the reason for it.

"Since you did well today, I can treat you to some cloud buns if you'd like," Caron offers up with a softened voice, his eyes holding warmth as he gazes down at Asdis.

Immediately, Asdis perks up, and Caron chuckles underneath his breath at the cute reaction. "Yes, please! I'd love that!" Asdis unreservedly grabs Caron's hand and practically starts to drag him away so that he can follow through on his offer.

During their descent from the tower, Asdis' excited voice fills the air as per usual. Her eyes are dead set focused ahead of her, determined to get those promised cloud buns. She's completely unaware of the fond look Caron is giving her as he ever so slightly squeezes her hand, his heart skipping a beat as she unconsciously squeezes it in kind.

#original story #other's ocs #literature trade #avisteliterature

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yekanemewha · 6 years

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fslkjfds I’ve been half-playing dead on this website for a while so I didn’t expect anyone to adress me lmao, thanks for the tag @iggiesca-asdy !

Rules: tag 9 people you wanna get to know better and answer the questions

Relationship Status: I’m married to bread and if you ever want to take it from me you’ll have to pry it from my cold dead hands

Favorite Color: Brownish green and beige hues are my aesthetic hhh

Top 3 Ships: IF THIs AIN’T A HARD QUESTION NOW,,, to this day I’m still a D’B’ trash and you can’t stop me also Bones studio x Reigen don’t @me. Can I also share about how I’ve shamelessly been reading some korean webnovels in the dark these late days so I’ll just throw Dokhyuk here with absolutely no context pls do not investigate

Last song: Basket Worm by MI8k!

Last movie: I re-watched Howl’s Moving Castle yesterday out of pure will not to study hhhd I forgot how fucking suave they made Howl look and that was honestly fucking funny

Doot doot I haven’t done a massive tag in ages so here: @chaotic-genius @lord-pigeon @javtskc @aelichan @alfariel @mademoisellemaple @vysalis @blue-mirrored-ribbon >:3c

Of course, don’t be forced to do it if you don’t feel like it haha

#tag game thingie #i already know the ship answer for two of you who will recognize yourself but yeet

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foxmain · 7 years

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fox’s dtilt can be a very effective tool against marth’s dash dance. marth is difficult to pin down while dash dancing because his hurtboxes move drastically the moment he changes direction, allowing him to instantly switch in and out of his opponent’s threat range. when done correctly, it’s as though marth suddenly disappears right when an attack is about to land. however, marth’s foot drags behind him when he turns his back, leaving him more vulnerable to low hitboxes. as fox, you can take advantage of this achilles’ heel by chasing a dash dancing marth with running dtilt.

because your opponent is dash dancing, they can’t crouch cancel and are unlikely to asdi down (note that it is possible to passively asdi down in dash dance with claw grip) so this can be a safe option even at low percents. also keep in mind that this is especially effective after marth has evaded a few of your approaches with dash dance and gotten punishes off of it - marth will start to expect running away from your approaches to lead to a conversion, and running dtilt is a good answer to that. of course, this is only one out of many options fox has against dash dance, and one major weakness of dtilt is that it is easily avoided by taking to the air. that being said, i’ve personally found it to be a reliable option against committed dash dancers.

#melee #ssbm #smashbros #fox #marth #it’s just one of the fastest and safest ways to close the horizontal space with a marth who’s running away from your approaches #it catches them even when they think they’re at a safe distance #which is also a good way to make them give you more space and help you control the stage

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quranreadalong · 7 years

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#10, Surah 2

THE QURAN READ-ALONG: DAY 10

Ten sections--ten!--and we are still not done with the second surah. It is just ridiculously long and tedious. But complaints won’t get us any closer to the finish line, thots. We’re starting today at 2:210, and we have less than 90 ayat to go, so probably three or four more sections, including this one, at most. Almost there!

Today we’re going to discuss Mohammed’s cousin murdering someone in broad daylight and Allah sending him a Get Out Of Jail Free Card. Let’s go.

Coming off last section’s last two ayat, in which Allah suggested that those who ignore the “clear proofs” (of Mohammed being a prophet) are going to hell, the whole punishment thought is continued. 2:210 simply reminds people that Allah is their judge, and he will judge the disbelievers by punishing them severely in 2:211. (Kuffar hell counter: 1!)

So a neutral and a bad verse, respectively, to start the day. 2:212 is an interesting one--I’d also classify it as neutral, but take a look:

Beautified is the life of the world for those who disbelieve; they make a jest of the believers. But those who keep their duty to Allah will be above them on the Day of Resurrection.

Islam, like some forms of Christianity, insists that enjoying worldly things is a sign of weakness, and true believers would gladly reject happiness on earth in favor of slavish devotion to Allah and following his commands in order to enter jannah after death. Disbelievers, according to the Quran (when it’s not contracting itself), are quite happy people. But they’re wrong to be happy, because they’re gonna be burned in hell forever, LOL!

We then have a brief Islamic “history” of religion, stating again that all people were originally of one religion (Islam) before going astray. But Allah chose certain people to be led back to “the straight path”--there’s that Calvinism again. Neutral, I suppose. Muslims are the latest such people, and they will not “enter paradise" until they, like Moses and his followers, endure “affliction and adversity” (see 2:49, wherein the Jews are “tested” by Allah having the Egyptians kill their children). Bad both there and here.

And just like last time, we have a juxtaposition of a very nice ayah with a terrible one. Is this Mohammed’s version of letting people down gently? Compare:

They ask thee, (O Muhammad), what they shall spend. Say: that which ye spend for good (must go) to parents and near kindred and orphans and the needy and the wayfarer.

Warfare is ordained for you, though it is hateful unto you; but it may happen that ye hate a thing which is good for you, and it may happen that ye love a thing which is bad for you. Allah knoweth, ye know not.

They question thee (O Muhammad) with regard to warfare in the sacred month. Say: Warfare therein is a great (transgression), but to turn (men) from the way of Allah, and to disbelieve in Him and in the Inviolable Place of Worship, and to expel His people thence, is a greater with Allah; for persecution is worse than killing. And they will not cease from fighting against you till they have made you renegades from your religion, if they can. And whoso becometh a renegade and dieth in his disbelief: such are they whose works have fallen both in the world and the Hereafter. Such are rightful owners of the Fire: they will abide therein.

Whiplash! A lot to unpack here. Let’s start with 2:215, the good one: give alms to the poor and take care of your family. Great! But now we have to deal with the appalling stuff that follows.

Quick summary of where we’re at: Mohammed and most of his early followers were from the Quraysh tribe in the trade city of Mecca. After spending a little over a decade ranting to the polytheists of his hometown, the leaders of Mecca made him leave. The incident that prompted his expulsion involved a bunch of Muslims from outside Mecca--mostly from the agricultural city of Yathrib--swearing an oath of loyalty to him, which included a declaration to stand behind him in battle. After leaving Mecca, Mohammed moved to Yathrib (called Medina), and most of his Meccan followers moved with him. The city became the Muslim base of power. Once he got to Medina, Mohammed began ordering his followers to raid caravans of the Quraysh. This led to some problems.

In 2:216, we’re told that some of Mohammed’s followers don’t really want to fight. But he tells them that they have to anyway; that Allah himself wants them to fight. And if they listen to Allah, they will be rewarded. Tafsir al-Jalalayn elaborates:

obligatory for you is fighting disbelievers though it be hateful to you by nature because of the hardship involved. Yet it may happen that you hate a thing which is good for you; and it may happen that you love a thing which is bad for you ... the soul inclines towards those desires which result in its destruction ... even if you are averse to it you will find much good in fighting as a result of victory, booty, martyrdom or reward; while if you were to reject fighting even if you would like to do so you will find much evil because then you may be subjugated, impoverished, and denied the reward; God knows what is good for you and you know this not so strive in what He commands you.

Remember how, in the last section, there was a command to slaughter disbelievers until “religion is for Allah” if provoked first? We are now told exactly what that means. See, when Mohammed said that his followers shouldn’t attack unless first attacked, he didn’t mean literally physically attacked. Turning people from “the way of Allah” (presumably by telling them that Mohammed is full of shit), kicking a Muslim out of Mecca (note that the Muslims bar Mohammed left Mecca for Medina on their own and were not kicked out), preventing Mohammed’s men from performing the pilgrimage en masse, and simply not believing in Islam are all acts of “fitna” that constitute valid reasons for Muslims to declare war on a group of people and kill them until they’ve accepted Islam. One must respond to this by killing them, since fitna "is worse than killing” in the eyes of Allah.

This is unavoidably bad as it explicitly calls for war against those who do not accept Islam or those perceived to be “persecuting” (fitna again) Muslims. Or those who are just members of a group that does such things.

Now why, exactly, are the Muslims being ordered to fight, even though they don’t want to? Why does Mohammed need to emphasize that this fighting can occur during the sacred months? That, friends, brings us to a rather appalling story.

Let’s look at what was going on at the time that made “Allah” send such a revelation to Mohammed. Al-Wahidi:

the Messenger of Allah, Allah bless him and give him peace, sent a military expedition and appointed [his cousin] 'Abd Allah ibn Jahsh al-Asdi as its leader. This expedition proceeded until they reached Nakhlah where they found 'Amr ibn al-Hadrami leading a trade caravan for the Quraysh. That day was the last day of the sacred month. The Muslims were divided in their opinion. Some of them said: 'We know for certain that today belongs to the sacred month, we are of the view that you should not violate it because of greed'. The opinion of those who desired the stuff of this world gained the upper hand; they attacked Ibn al-Hadrami, killed him and seized his camels. Ibn al-Hadrami was the first person to be killed in a fight between the Muslims and the disbelievers. The disbelievers of the Quraysh heard about the incident and sent a delegation to the Prophet, Allah bless him and give him peace. They said to him: 'Do you allow fighting in the sacred month?' As a response, Allah, exalted is He, revealed this verse (They question thee (O Muhammad) with regard to warfare in the sacred month…)

Let’s break it down. Mohammed sends a band of his goons out into the desert. (The early Muslim community engaged in lots of caravan raiding, which we will get to later on. When you’re a kid being brainwashed, you’re sometimes told that they were “recovering stolen merchandise”. Absolutely zero early histories or ahadith say this. They were just stealing shit. Other times you’re told that the Meccans were going to use the profits from their trade in war against the Muslims. Again, this is not true. The traders of Mecca were just doing what they always did and minding their business, and they didn’t attack the Muslims in Medina until the latter attacked them first.)

They come across some traders belonging to The Disbelievers. It’s during a peace month called Rajab. The guy leading the Muslims, Abdallah--Mo’s future brother-in-law--wants to kill the traders and take all their shit. Some of the Muslims explicitly don’t want to do this, not simply because it’s bad to kill people in order to take their shit, but because it’s the month of Rajab and “Allah” had specifically prohibited them from fighting during that period. But Abdallah says “nah fam I think I see a PS4 in there, I’m going in” and attacks anyway and kills the unfortunate Mr. ibn al-Hadrami. The Disbelievers, understandably upset at this blatant criminal action and violation of “Allah’s” own rules, go to Mohammed and demand answers. At which time “Allah” tells Mohammed that, actually, being a disbeliever is way worse than killing people during a truce month.

Now you know the “context” whenever people try to tell you that the Quran’s terrible verses require “context”.

Also: kuffar hell counter: 2!

Ugly stuff. Let’s go to more neutral territory. 2:218 says that Muslims who “strive in the way of Allah” in the form of fighting, emigrating from Mecca to Medina, or by simply being faithful believers will go jannah. 2:219 is the first of several Quranic prohibitions against gambling and drinking alcohol.

2:220 is a random good verse about treating orphans kindly. I picked that place to stop because all the jihad ayat made me depressed and I wanted a happy ending. Unfortunately...

NEXT TIME: Let’s talk about sex (and also restrictions for women’s behavior)

The Quran Read-Along: Day 10

Ayat: 11

Good: 2 (2:215, 2:220)

Neutral: 5 (2:209, 2:212-13, 2:218-19)

Bad: 4 (2:211, 2:214, 2:216-17)

Kuffar hell counter: 2 (2:211, 2:217)

⇚ previous day | next day ⇛

#quranreadalong #surah 2 #al baqarah

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mmf-cash · 7 years

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let’s talk about ice climbers vs jigglypuff

why do hungrybox and chu dat camp the shit out of each other?

let’s start more generally. why does any character camp another character at all? what does it mean for it to be optimal for one character to commit to not approaching the other?

we refer first to the landmark don’t approach:

not approaching is the biggest short-term improvement you can make to your game. this strategy is THE REASON most top placers at nationals are where they are; it's that good. i firmly believe that theoretical top level melee is a game of first hit wins, just because whoever lands the first hit never has to approach their opponent.

approaching becomes bad when it becomes difficult or impossible to ensure that an approach option will be “safe” against the diverse defensive toolkit available to the player getting hit in Melee (DI/SDI, CC/ASDI, fast OOS options).

we can optimally camp a certain character when all of this character’s “approach options” are one or more of the following things:

consistently slow or otherwise reactable to the point that “stuffing” their approaches can, with some amount of practice, be made into a matter of pure execution as opposed to interaction

excessively frame-negative on shield to the point that a blocked approach will always equate to a punish for the opponent

vulnerable to crouch cancel/ASDI down such that the character cannot effectively deal with a character holding both sticks down

now we have explained what makes camping possible in a particular matchup, but we have yet to speak on exactly why it works. the short answer is as follows: camping works because if performed correctly, the camping player will only ever need to win one neutral interaction to guarantee a kill.

to the vacuum theorist in melee, all interactions between characters can be reduced to the neutral/punish dichotomy. in this situation it is as clear as ever that there is a fundamental “trade-off” or deadlock of sorts between frequency of neutral interactions and magnitude of punishes (openings per kill).

when Puff is floating in the air, Ice Climbers’ “approach options” are limited pretty much to the aerials that can hit them with about a fullhop’s worth of distance. while these are not particularly slow aerials (nair/uair min f9) they involve a large vertical motion which is easy for Jigglypuff to recognize and react to for the same reason that Falcon’s nair across the stage on BF is typically easy to react to and stuff.

Puff’s “approach options” are not particularly weak to crouch cancels (bair breaks ICs CC at 76%) or shields (most of her aerials are -3 if performed late and lcancelled). However, for Puff, the very act of landing entails a rather significant penalty of around 10 frames of “down-time” in which she cannot put out a non-rest hitbox (4f normal landing lag + 5f jumpsquat, 5f before jab/dair hits, 6f before nair hits, 9f before bair/uair hit). if Puff runs out of jumps and must land during an approach sequence, she is therefore at a significant disadvantage (think about how annoyingly fast ICs can cover horizontal space).

in a “terminal case of campiness” such as this, the the goal of the game is no longer to reduce your opponents stocks to zero, but to reduce the clock to zero while you are ahead in stocks/damage.

ergo, hungrybox elects to spend as much time as possible (on PS) vs chu dat

ahead of chu dat in stocks/damage

unthreatened by a wobble

if hungrybox maximizes the amount of time that these two things are true, he should be most favored to win against chu.

do you need to ledgecamp with puff in every matchup? no. should you? no, actually. i actually think that ledgecamping against fox hurts you in the matchup. i think ledecamping against almost every character... maybe except falcon, but even that’s iffy territory... If you ledgecamp against Marth, it’‘s not good. ledgecamping against Sheik isn’t good. ledgecamping against Fox and Falco isn’t actually good... it’s beatable, and it’s not a full exploit...

hungrybox expanded a lot on his mindset against chu dat in grand finals of DreamHack Austin on his stream. on the one hand, we have chu dat hugging the space underneath side platforms, which hungrybox identifies as correct, since puff is easiest to grab and least safe when approaching from cardinal horizontal directions.

you see how whenever chu hits me he goes and retreats to the platform underneath it?... he’s forcing my approach because i’m losing and i am weak when i am on the ground...chu dat stays underneath the platform because when puff approaches, she’s weaker... she’s easier to grab. that’s exactly what you should do...

and then on the other hand, we have hungrybox playing to the timer by keeping sopo alive for as long as possible. this is not the first time that this has come up in the matchup, even in recent memory; any IC that has had the poor misfortune of running into Michael on netplay should be able to attest to this.

expect this aspect of the matchup to become even more prevalent at tournaments that experiment with lower game timers such as 6 or 7 minutes.

#ssbm #ice climbers #jigglypuff

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lal-ffxiv · 2 years

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[ 🏆 ] is your muse multitalented? what are their hobbies, and why did they pick up these hobbies? if they don’t have hobbies, why don’t they?

Luka is multitalented, because they don’t have anyone or anything to stop them from trying something new, so pick up odd hobbies and skills.

Luken doesn’t have time for hobbies, but if he has the time to enjoy himself then he likes to go night fishing, and cooking when he has the space and supplies.

Asdis don’t have hobbies, because her research is more her living, and gambling is an addiction not a hobby.

#asdis answers #luken answers #luka answers

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gottaenjoythelittlethingzz · 4 years

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Happy STS! Do your characters have any lucky trinkets or charms?

Interesting. Usually when I make characters I’m more focused on personality quirks or giving them tattoos/collections to hold onto rather than single trinkets. My characters especially don’t believe in blind luck (even those who practice certain faiths). The ones I mention below are not kept for luck but more for sentimental value.

I will say, that Beau has a specific circular tattoo on his right hand/thumb that connects him to his family/the family business. He rubs it when thinking through problems. And it was the first tattoo he got after his mother was killed.

And Schuyler (who owns a motorcycle) receives a “whip” with a keychain on the bottom end from one of her partners. The keychain is of a Scottish flag and is a gift that he places on the bike without her knowledge. She never acknowledges it nor does she remove it and it’s meant to be an inside joke that he dare give her something so “personal” in such a “public” way.

Svenja and Asdis (half sisters; different moms) each have a necklace from their mothers (as they both have died from natural causes). One is representative of land, the other water. And each was given to the children by their father at a coming of age time.

Thanks so much for the ask! I appreciate the interaction. Answering asks for Storyteller Saturday this week!!

#answered #storyteller saturday #writblr community #my ocs #ask me about my characters #writeblr event #writeblr games #tag me in stuff #lets interact #writers of tumblr #send me asks #invade my inbox

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lal-ffxiv · 2 years

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V - Visionary - Do they have a plan for their future? How imaginative or creative are they? Do they have vivid dreams? (for EVERYONE )

I’ve have answered this for Luken in a separate ask, so I hope it is alright just to answer for Asdis and Luka.

Luka doesn’t plan for their future, because they never know what this day will bring, so how can they. Luka knows the future is coming for them, and they are up for whatever challenge that comes with it. Luka is imaginative, but not creative in the sense that they can create what they have imagined. Luka might have vivid dreams, but they don’t believe they dream at all.

Asdis has grand plans for her future. She will rule the realm. She will destroy the realm. She will create a new realm, and then destroy that one. Asdis is not going to win any awards for imaginative thinking, but creation is something Asdis is passionate about, so she considers herself a very creative individual. Asdis has such vivid dreams, she doubts they are dreams at all. In fact, all of Asdis’s dreams are visions of the future unless they are memories of the past.

#asdis answers #luka answers

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lal-ffxiv · 2 years

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For Luka - take down, hyper beam, sky attack. Asdis - soft-boiled, substitute, pay day

take down — is your muse competitive? is this competitive nature specific to one activity (ie sports) or to everything they do?

Yes, when they are willing to compete seriously. Luka is energetic and will gladly take up any dares or challenges, but these need to be fun for them. There has to be some kind of ‘prize’ that will motivate Luke to enter a real competition that has strict rules and losers

hyper beam — does your muse have any paralyzing fears?

Luka doesn’t like the shut-in darkness or tight, closed spaces. This is why most dungeon diving tasks are daunting to Luka. Like sure they can go fight these monsters and cultists, but why do they have be underground all the time?

sky attack — is there something your muse finds attractive about themselves? does this extend to other people?

Luka doesn't put much importance on their appearance, but they do preen when they get compliments on their eyes, and then Luka takes special notice of other people’s eyes as well.

substitute — if your muse could be someone else, who would they be? Asdis would be no one else, but herself. One factor are delusions of grandeur that there isn’t anyone else that could be better than her. The other factor is vanity. Asdis has everything she could ever want, and doesn't need to be someone else to get or do what she desires.

pay day — if your muse had unlimited funds, what’s the first thing that they would buy?

Asdis is broke all the time and is in severe debt, but even unlimited funds would not be enough for her most likely as she likes to gamble. However, first things first, Asdis would purchase half of Ul’dah, and then a castle, then few libraries.

soft-boiled — does your muse have a soft spot for anything? if so, is there a reason?

Asdis in the present doesn’t seem to have a soft sport for anyone or anything. Of course there items important to her like her personal mammet and the grimoire, but these things can be called her research, not something she cares about personally. Asdis liked to believe she not attached to anything emotionally anymore, but Asdis cares so deeply, even obsessively one she does. In the past Asdis had only had a soft spot for her loved ones (her adopted parents, her fiancé, her tomato), but nowadays that is more sensitive than soft. Asdis doesn’t allow people to get that close to her anymore, she doesn't care for it.

Bonus:

Asdis' hands ached impossibly. Even the slightest movement was a knife cut to her nerves. She laid back and let her arms be dead weight at her sides. "AllR play recordings from 00O." The mammet hummed and the voices filled the room. Asdis closed her eyes and let her mind be eased away. The pain became an after thought and reality slipped away from her. Asdis was listening to the voice of her dead lover. His voice goes over measurements of outputs and potentials. Asdis sees him, sees them all together. Adanirus was tinkering with the inner parts of a mammet. The very beginning of AllR. Asdis could see her father too. He was very seriously reading in his chair by the window light. “Come here, read this with me. I can’t make sense of…”. Eventually the book would be put down for supper. Suela Susuela wasn’t a cook, but she would bake for her family. Asdis could smell it now the aroma of dough baking. The bread has been in for too long. This wasn’t right. Suela Susuela wouldn't allow the charred, blacked pretzel to be served to Asdis. Everything still smelled of burning, and the books’ pages were ashes, and Adanirus was cold and pale among everything black. Achlys’s voice seeped into Asdis’s conusiounes, “eromyna tsixe ton seod siht ekil Emoh.”

Asdis returned. She opened her fist to reveal her palm pooling with blood, glass and ether from the shattered ampoule.

#luka answers #asdis answers

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