#battle of the last alliance

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Snort

What if oropher didn’t die in the battle of the last alliance but just used the opportunity to fake his death and escape with his wife and go on an extended honeymoon and leave all the damn paperwork and diplomacy with the noldor/sindar to his poor son.

Thranduil, when his father is finally waking up after getting many fatal injuries during battle: Ada!! Everyone thought you were gonna die!

Oropher, pausing when his son’s words registered: Everyone?

Thranduil, as he watches in disbelief as Oropher bolts away from him with a few supplies: Ada WAIT! DON’T LEAVE ME TO DEEL WITH THEM!

Oropher: don’t worry son, i’m sure you’ll do great!

————————————

Gil-galad: where is king oropher?

Thranduil, a petty lil bitch that will get back at his father: unfortunately, my my father king passed after suffering many grievous injuries during the last battle.

———————————-

Oropher, coming back from his long vacation in the third age: i’m dead? Nobody told me.

Thranduil: that’s what you get for abandoning me to those elves.

Thranduil: suffer

[thranduilofsmirkwood]

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"...HE WROUGHT HIMSELF A NEW GUISE, AN IMAGE OF HATRED AND MALICE MADE VISIBLE..."

PIC INFO: Spotlight on an illustration of Sauron, the Dark Lord and Enemy of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, as he appeared during the Battle of Dagorlad in Peter Jackson's "Lord of the Rings" film trilogy (2001-2003). Artist unknown.

"...his spirit arose out of the deep and passed as a shadow and a black wind over the sea, and came back to Middle-earth and to Mordor that was his home. There he took up again his great Ring in Barad-dûr, and dwelt there, dark and silent, until he wrought himself a new guise, an image of malice and hatred made visible; and the Eye of Sauron the Terrible few could endure."

-- "QUENTA SILMARILLION," "Akallabêth," written by J.R.R. Tolkien, published 1977

Sources: www.pinterest.com/pin/488218415837584309 & www.henneth-annun.net/events_view.cfm?evid=1060.

[theworldsoftolkein]

[self-destructinganimal]

A Song in the Darkness

A Rings of Power/Lord of the Rings fanfic

Characters: Gil-galad, Elrond Peredhel

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, depictions of war and suffering, cannon character death explored

Gil-galad stands alone as all is lost at the battle for Eregion. Dark indeed is the end, and it should not be faced alone

Gil-galad stood alone. Surrounded. A snarling circle of uruks had closed around him, but the mound of bodies lying at the feet of the king caused them to hesitate. Instead they hemmed him in. So skilled he was in wielding his spear, that even with their overwhelming numbers, none of their blades had yet found their mark. 

But though there was no pain in his body, he gazed in agony past the orcs as the last of his warriors fell around him. He thought of despair then, and he remembered the stunned eyes of his herald, on his knees in the mud, exhaustion and despair pressing him into the earth. 

“Durin will come” 

He had not come. The king thought grimly, and he thought of death, the loss of life, of saying goodbye to these shores. Such had been the path of other elven warriors before him, such seemed to be his own path now, surrounded by foes far greater in number then even he could overcome. And suddenly he felt a twinge of the agony he had seen  in the eyes of Elrond take hold of  his own being. Dark indeed, was the end, and it should not be faced alone. He looked for his herald. Saw his body flung down into the earth, his head fall back into the mud. Saw the greedy hands that reached out for him as their Adar stared at his prize. With a great shout he leapt over the wall of surrounding foes, slashing Aeglos with swift and unyielding fury. 

When he reached them, though, the Uruk father had hidden his prize and stooped to claim another. Adar stood waiting for him. His hands gripping dark, blood-stained curls, holding the collapsed form up against his own body as a shield. Gil-galad looked on the face beneath the blood and bruises and saw that it was white. For one moment his agony overwhelmed him and robbed him of breath, nearly drove him to his knees. For a moment he thought he was dead. For a moment the grief was too much. 

Adar saw the suffering in his eyes as their gazes met. 

“He lives yet” 

Gil-galad saw that it was true. 

“Even I, gifted as I am, have no desire to face the wrath of your spear High King Gil-galad. Lay it down and I will not slay him before your eyes.” 

“Slay him now or later, death shines her face on both of us, Adar. Tell me why I should not instead ensure you join us in her arms?” 

Adar brought the limp body closer to him. His fingers cupped the lolling head almost gently. 

“You forget High King, that I am also counted among you. I know the desires we hold are the same. The desire to preserve and protect that which we love. My quarrel was never with you or your kind. It is with Sauron. For him alone, have I come.” 

He looked down at the body he held and for a moment sadness touched his brow and Gil-galad saw a flicker of light in his eyes, and just as quickly it was gone, and they glittered like stones. 

“I will defeat Sauron. I will spare you as a token of goodwill. When the other elven kingdoms hear of my mercy, they will come to you, and you will persuade them to leave my children and I in peace.” 

Gil-galad opened his mouth to speak, the bitterness of his position overwhelming him. Pride and the pain of agreeing with the twisted fallen elf before him. He rebelled against it. And then he saw the hands on the beloved face and he thought of Sauron, still barricaded in Eregion and the foolishness of one individual thinking he could defeat him when his own mind was riddled with the diseases of hate and anger. 

“The others will be spared with me” 

He said only. 

And Adar smiled but his grip did not lessen. 

“I will defeat Sauron first. Then we will discuss terms. But for now, I will honor this.” 

And he let go of the herald, who dropped bonelessly into the slog beneath him. 

Gil-galad watched as the orcs picked up the other wounded and his friend and only then, did he lay down his spear. 

...

“Elrond.” 

“Come back to the light. To sun overhead, to sailing moon. To flower and blossom, tree and root. To all good things in Arda, come back.” 

I bid you, return. 

He held Elrond in his arms, wiping away the mud from where he had pitched forward when dropped. 

To his side Vorohil and Arondir sat, grimacing in pain. He had used his hidden ring to relieve the pain of their injuries, warily, so that Adar might still be deceived, might still be ignorant of his carrying it. Their injuries had seemed the most severe, and so when they had been thrown into the stables under guard and chained to the walls he had turned to them first. Now he crouched beside Elrond, checking for his hurts. 

Arondir crawled to his side. 

“My King, he was swiped by the troll before you arrived. I saw the blow catch his skull. Perhaps that is why he does not wake.” 

Ai Elrond! 

Gil-galad cupped the left side of Elrond’s head, turning it gently so he could see the damage. A long slice bled red over his cheek, but true to Arondir’s warning, of greater concern was the wound half concealed by the limp, blood-matted curls. Streams of blood curled down over the ear and as Gil-galad gently probed he found the abrasion there, found the flesh swelling into a hard lump, saw the the blow had also caught his shoulder. 

How Elrond had risen to help deliver the final blow was beyond him, now he understood why he could not leave his knees when the only thing keeping him on his feet had been ripped away. 

Rage filled his soul. Rage that the darkness had won. That goodness had been so abused and trodden down. That light had been chased from Eregion, crown jewel of the realm. That innocence and delight in all things pure had been stamped out forever. That here he sat in a stable, chained, the high king, helpless to what had been done. 

Vilya was screaming from where he had concealed the ring. A sort of heartbeat, thrumming in his being.

“A favor I must ask from you soldier” 

He said, and watched as the elf nodded. 

“Keep a watch on the guards, make sure none cast their foul gazes here for a time.”

The elf nodded his assent. Eyes meeting in understanding, and Arondir raised his bruised and wounded body to maintain a vigil. 

Vilya slipped on his finger as if she wanted to herself. 

When he brought the ring to Elrond’s body he felt a surge of response. He felt a stream, like a gust of air on a torrid summer day, or the gentle wind on an autumn evening. She was singing breath back into his lungs. She pulled, she coaxed, he bent forward his head in a sigh over his fallen herald. 

...

He was on another battlefield. 

He was on fire. 

Burning, scorching fire. 

It consumed everything. 

Some evil flame, flickering down his body and taking dominion over his mind. 

He was alone, and the darkness overwhelming and the pain too great. 

Cool ray of starlight, gust of wind, softness of grass, glory of tree, beauty of song, quiet understanding of love. 

They were no longer. 

Only ash. 

Smoke. 

Burning banners and stacks of bodies. 

Flame. 

Only flame. 

It was consuming him. 

The end was dark indeed. 

It was painful to face it alone.

But lo! A  song came from the darkness. 

Faltering, as if the song itself came from deep pain. 

A song of silver starlight, and cool pools of water beneath them. A song of breeze on a torrid day, or salve on a throbbing wound, a song of wind to bend the trees and to whisper through rocks on high mountains. 

And suddenly there was breath. A cool wind on his scorched face. 

He opened his eyes, and saw another battlefield. Saw a beloved face. A face that had almost been a son to him and was now a friend, fired together in pain and loss, and a refusal to surrender the light. 

But it was no longer he  that held Elrond’s body, it was Elrond that held him. His face was older, deeply lined, agonized. He was singing, gasping as if the song took his own breath, gasping as if in pain. And the song came out silver starlight, and healing breeze and deep, deep cool pools rippling over his burnt flesh. 

“Come back Ereinion.” 

Come back to me.

Light of day 

Glory of night

Caress of goodness

Carried on beating wing 

And dancing feet 

And song of the child 

The light is

The light is here 

The light is given me to give to you 

Come back to me

On his neck Vilya burned, a cool flame. She reached out for the song of the half-elven and she joined it, and it became even more powerful, it swept over him, encloaking, enveloping him. The two joined songs became one, became a powerful current, and it flooded over and swept into his lungs, and a gentle breath came back out. 

They were both mourning. 

And Gil-galad knew they knew what he knew. That the flames had taken too much of his body. 

Yet still Elrond, trembling from wounds of his own, had pulled him into his own bloody arms, to sing healing cool over him, so that his passage might be in peace. 

“Is he destroyed?” 

He heard the scorched voice come crawling out of his throat, it hardly sounded his own, so raspy and horrid, but Elrond wept over it. 

“Yes, high king.” 

“You have bought a great victory for all good today, Ereinion. It is you that have preserved the light.”

He felt Vilya flicker around his neck. She was reaching towards the bowed head of Elrond, her light flickering in the tears on his cheeks. She was bidding goodbye and she was reaching forward. 

His hands found her. Clasped her and tore her off. 

His hands gripped his herald, his brother in arms, his son. 

“And it is you who shall continue to preserve it.”

“Ever you have been grace even in suffering Elrond Peredhel. Since first you came to me with your brother, through loss and pain, even those who had taken all from you, became loved by you. How much dark did you coax the light into? How much healing into pain? How much love into where had only been sundering?”

He looked to the smoldering world around him. Saw broken bodies and weeping survivors. Saw a son bent over his noble, fallen father, shouting his pain to the sky. 

“Ever shall the world need this grace.”

“Ever shall you continue to give it to them.” 

Elrond’s hands closed softly over his own. 

“Ever did you give all this to me, my father.”

And he could speak no further, for his own throat filled and no words came between them, only love, and it swept over them and carried them to the place of departure. And only love remained. 

Go towards goodness

Namarie. 

Namarie 

Namarie

...

Vilya sang over Elrond’s body. Sang songs of breath and cool wind. 

And Gil-Galad knew peace. 

In the midst of the crumbling city. Chained and bloody. There would be more crumbling cities, and more pain, and more darkness. 

But there was goodness. 

Goodness to be bought for the rest of Middle Earth. 

And those to preserve it still. 

And Elrond breathed beneath his hand.

[transsexualhamlet]

"lotr remake" "gollum movie" "rohan anime" WARNER BROS DIRECTOR. THERE IS A GUN TO YOUR HEAD. HERE IS THE LOTR APPENDIX. YOU HAVE 20 MINUTES TO FIND SOMETHING MORE INTERESTING TO MAKE A MOVIE ABOUT. IT SHOULDN'T TAKE LONG

[acourtofquestions]

Hearth to hearth, the Flame of War went.

Over snow-blasted mountains and amongst the trees of tangled forests, hiding from the enemies that prowled the skies. Through long, bitterly cold nights where the wind howled as it tried to wipe out any trace of that flame.

But the wind did not succeed, not against the flame of the queen.

So hearth to hearth, it went.

To remote villages where people screamed and scattered as a young-faced woman descended from the skies on a broom, waving her torch high.

Not to signal them, but the few women who did not run. Who walked toward the flame, the rider, as she called out, "Your queen summons you to war. Will you fly?"

Trunks hidden in attics were thrown open. Folded swaths of red cloth pulled from within. Brooms left in closets, beside doorways, tucked under beds, were brought out, bound in gold or silver or twine. And swords-ancient and beautiful—were drawn from beneath floorboards, or hauled down from haylofts, their metal shining as bright and fresh as the day they had been forged in a city now lying in ruin.

Witches, the townsfolk whispered, husbands wide-eyed and disbelieving as the women took to the skies, red cloaks billowing. Witches amongst us all this time.

Village to village, where hearths that had never once gone fully dark blazed in answer.

Always one rider going out, to find the next hearth, the next bastion of their people.

Witches, here amongst us. Witches, now going to war.

A rising tide of witches, who took to the skies in their red cloaks, swords strapped to their backs, brooms shedding years of dust with each mile northward.

Witches who bade their families farewell, offering no explanation before they kissed their sleeping babes and vanished into the starry night.

Mile after mile, across the darkening world, the call went out, ceaseless and unending as the eternal flame that passed from hearth to hearth.

"Fly, fly, fly!" they shouted. "To the queen! To war!"

Far and wide, through snow and storm and peril, the Crochans flew.

[coaz-photography]

[eglerieth]

Been thinking about Elrond and Halbarad, and the role of herald.

In the waning of the Second Age, Elrond had the honor of being herald and banner-bearer to Gil-Galad, last of the Noldorin kings. He bore the flag of the elves in the Battle of the Last Alliance. Afterward, he went on to become one of the greats, a lord of elves (and men) and forge deep connections between peoples.

In the waning of the Third Age, Halbarad had the honor of being herald and banner-bearer to Aragorn Ellessar, first king of the Men of the West in a thousand years. He bore the flag of Gondor and Arnor in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. He died there, and his king went on to forge a new age for Mankind, dominant in a world inherited from Elvenkind. I think this truly shows the differing roles of elves and men, especially at that point in time. The elf lives as a wise, renowned, lord of a waning household rich with history, and the man dies for the cause of a new, prosperous age ruled by those that survive him. Elrond leaves Middle Earth at last shortly after, leaving it in the hands of a descendant of his brother- the two lines of the choices of the peredhil fulfilled at last, through heralds.

[the-kipsabian]

just finding it very interesting that every time they use footage in these videos where oc talks about his struggles and the next challenge hes facing they are using clips of kip specifically...

[valar-did-me-wrong]

5 Minutes Crafts would have killed him

I love that canonically Sauron is an arts and crafts enjoyer like RIP Sauron my king you would've fucking loved the hot glue gun

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Legolas’s Age

Ok, so i know that everyone has their own hc for how old he is, especially considering that we are never told his age, however-

I strongly reject the common notion that legolas is more than a few years younger than elladan and elrohir.

And just to clarify, you can hc what you want, i’m not saying it’s incorrect, this is simply my opinion.

But for me, it makes no sense to send a legit really young elf on the quest, so that already eliminates the idea of Legolas being really young or the youngest elf in middle-earth.

Furthermore, some people might point out that Legolas’s attitude is very carefree and lightharded and seemingly young, to which i point at book!thranduil and say “yeah, so is this one, and he’s probably the same age as elrond”. The wood elves that we have seen in the hobbit act pretty lively, they like to party, and they know how to enjoy themselves even with the looming shadows encroaching on their forests. Is it really that surprising that Legolas has a similar attitude throughout the quest?

If anything, the way we are shown how the wood elves live, how thranduil is, gives Legolas’ own light hearted and joyous attitude a rather solid foundation, and it is a shame that foundation is ripped away by the hobbit movies. (The mis representation of the woodelves is probably my biggest pet peeve of the movies)

Now, you’re probably wondering “ok, well than how old do you think he is?”

To which i answer that he was probably born sometime during the 2nd age, where exactly i don’t know, but here is my reasoning for this time line.

Legolas refers to himself as a silvan in the books, which likely indicates that he was born and grew up in greenwood after Oropher’s people fleed there after the sack of doriath, and that most likely his mother was a silvan.

I’m fairly certain that we can all agree on at least that.

However, the reason i say he was probably born before the 3rd age is largely speculation on my part, and it actually has to do with The Last Alliance.

Now, we know that Oropher and Thranduil and a good chunk of their military rode to join this battle, which eventually killed Oropher and resulted in Thranduil being king.

Someone had to hold down the fort in greenwood, and seeing as we know literally nothing about either of the two’s wives or where they were, i’m inclinded to believe that at least one of them remained. Now, you could argue that it was Oropher’s wife that remained, which leaves me to my next point-

Why would thranduil, the heir of the woodland realm, ride out with his people to his possible death, when Oropher was still alive and kicking?

My guess?

Legolas was already born, and probably even already an adult by elven standards. That way there would have been an heir kept safe that could lead the people should both Oropher and Thranduil fall.

I don’t think that, with his experiences in doriath and it’s sacking, Oropher would have been ok with his heir riding alongside him to his possible death unless there was someone in place to take over the crown should the worst come to worse, someone who would already be old enough to also take up the duties of the crown and have the experience of leading (albeit only some of) the people that were left behind when the army went to fight.

Now i’m not saying legolas has to be old-old, he could have simply been born only a century or so before the last alliance, but i do think that, due to the reasons i mentioned above, he was born during the second age.

You are, of course, free to think whatever you want, but this is what makes the most sense to me.

[bet-on-me-13]

The Ambassador

So! It was finally happening. After Years of Pleading with the Guardians and other Ruling Bodies of the Galactic Community, the Justice League had finally gotten then to agree to create an Alliance with Earth.

With an Alliance, Earth would gain the Protection of Multiple Empires and The Guardians, which would mean an end to the Constant Alien Invasions they faced. There was also the legal opening of Trade Routes between Planets to exchange Technology and Resources on the Galactic Scale.

Of course Earth would return the Favor, legally being able to defend it's Allies with its unusually large population if Superheroes and quickly advancing Tech, while also trading Tech and Resources between Planets.

Of course the battle was not entirely won yet.

They still needed to begin Negotiations to see if both sides would even agree to the Alliance in the First Place, as well as decide on the specifics of the Treaty. The United Nation's would decide on Ambassadors to represent the different countries, while the different Alien Governments would send an Ambassador Each.

When the Ambassadors arrived, they asked to be introduced to the Representatives of the Planet. Except, they claimed that there was a missing Member.

They claimed that there was one more Major Kingdom on the Planet, the most Powerful One, which they felt must be at the Negotiations.

When asked who this missing Ambassador was, they simply replied, "King Phantom of the Infinite Realms, he and a Shard of his Kingdom reside on this Planet, do they not?"

Now they are working around the clock to find this missing Kingdom, because the Alien Ambassadors refused to negotiate without the most powerful Kingdom at the Table, and they woud not wait forever.

Just who was this "King Phantom", and why had he not revealed himself yet?

...

Sam and Tucker sat on the Couch in their apartment, staring at the TV as the Chosen Representatives for America finished their Speech. Apparently the Peace Talks had been put on Hold for a few more days as they did some last minute preparations. Something about making their Guests more comfortable before they began discussing politics.

"Hey Danny, they're delaying the Negotiations for a few more days." Sam called over to the Kitchen.

"Aw, what?!" Shouted Danny from the Kitchen, sounding extremely disappointed, "I just finished making all the Popcorn!"

"I know Honey, its too bad." Tucker comforted his Partner, "Let's marathon Star Trek instead, how about that?"

Danny slumped out of kitchen and into the Couch between them, steaming bowl of Popcorn in his Lap, "I guess. We can make good use of all this popcorn at least."

Sam patted him on the arm, "Hey it's okay, the Talks will just take a few more days."

Danny shrugged, "Yeah, you're right. Man, what I wouldn't give to be in that Room."

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"....TOWERING ABOVE MAN AND ELF ALIKE, THE DARK LORD IS A HIDEOUS FIGURE OF TWISTED, BLACKENED METAL..."

PIC(S) INFO: All shots at 2000x2600 -- Spotlight on the incredibly accurate and highly-detailed Sauron, the Dark Lord 1/6 statue by Weta/Sideshow Collectibles, released in 2021 to celebrate the 20th anniversary of "The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring." It was digitally sculpted by Fabio Paiva with references from the 2001 movie costume.

MINI-BIO: "Seeking nothing less than dominion over all Middle-earth, Sauron wages war against a Last Alliance of Men and Elves. Though the allies of the West have fought their way to the very foot of Mount Doom in the land of Mordor where the Dark Lord reigns, his forces are vast and formidable.

Waves of vicious Orcs break again and again upon the lines of Elven King Gil-galad and Elendil of Númenor. Outnumbered and weary, the armies of light might yet prevail, but for the power of the One Ring, for striding out of the gloom beneath the Mountain of Fire is Sauron himself.

Towering above man and Elf alike, the Dark Lord is a hideous figure of twisted, blackened metal with a tall, spiked helm. In his iron grip is a cruel mace, but the greatest weapon he wields is the magical Ring upon his gloved finger.

Fiery runes flash across its golden surface and power surges from it through the looming warrior, for within the Ring the Dark Lord has woven ancient and terrible magic, suffused with his own vile spirit. No soldier can stand against Sauron’s advance so long as the Ring remains his, for in it lies the power to dominate all life, and from it only death can come."

-- WETA/SIDESHOW COLLECTIBLES

Source: www.specfictionshop.com/products/the-lord-of-the-rings-trilogy-sauron-the-dark-lord.

[tadc-harlequin-au]

New Puppet Unlocked: Pomni, the Last Harlequin!

Pomni's character description:

I actually finished this about three days ago, but I didn't wanna post it because I haven't started on the others yet. I eventually decided that fuck it, we ball.

Pomni is the most recent and last model of a Combat Harlequin; P-1210. She doesn't have any remembrance of her life before becoming a Puppet, only the fact that she has an itch in her head that tells her to keep fighting.

After hunting down The Puppetmaster and a duel ensues between the two, it ends with the Harlequin and The Puppetmaster forming an alliance in order to fix the destroyed City.

Now, Pomni spends her time sparring, sharpening her sword, bantering with the Puppetmaster, hunting down bosses and eliminating manic Marionettes.

Fun facts about Pomni:

She likes sandwiches. Specifically, salmon.

She REALLY hates it when someone eats it. (It's Bubble)

She finds some things annoying in other Puppets, and will be blunt about it.

But that doesn't mean she doesn't care. In fact, far from it.

Pomni may come off as cold and jerkish due to her hot-temper, but in reality, her emotions simply have ahold on her more than anyone would ever really think.

Caine thinks that a therapist would benefit her. (honestly though)

She hasn't explored any hobbies outside from anything involving combat.

Pomni occasionally gets glimpses of visions when she dies; she is unaware of what they mean.

Pomni rarely gets drunk; she'll only indulge in alcohol when there's an occasion. Aside from that, she tends to limit Caine's alcohol intake (reasoning that he smells like booze), much to the Puppetmaster's dismay.

She shuts down any form of philosophical advices, thinking they're "typical" and "unnecessary".

She tends to be careless and rude in battle.

When push comes to shove, Pomni can and WILL use her sharp teeth to her advantage.

Pomni initially disliked Ragatha. She found the doll's positive demeanor eerie, and even uncanny, borderline inhuman. Thankfully, a few interactions and heart-heart conversations later, she's changed her mind since.

Bubble usually accompanies her when she's out on missions, a condition she had to agree on just so Caine would let her fight overburdened Puppets. Even though she hates the blimp's nonsense, she knows that his presence is out of necessity, since Bubble is the only way keeping in touch can be possible.

She rarely ever apologizes.

She once stole Caine's cane to try and figure out how his attacks work. She immediately lost interest once she found out it's just a plain, and boring metal cane.

She unlocks the first stage of enlightenment after the first boss.

Battle quotes:

"Yeah, yeah, shut up."

"I didn't come here just for you to act like a wuss!"

"You. Me. This sword. In your head."

"That was pretty stupid of you to do."

"Between you and me, I prefer still having my head on my shoulders."

"This is getting annoying!"

"I've had it with you idiots!"

"I'm gonna celebrate with a Puppet head kebab once I'm done."

"I like the sounds of a sword slashing, and heads bashed in."

"Keep (talking/screaming), and I'll crack your skull open."

Hurt in battle:

"Ah! What the fuck!"

"You're gonna pay for that!"

"Eye for an eye, motherfucker!"

"I normally wouldn't mind... Actually, I always mind."

"When I'm done, you're gonna be unrecognizable."

"Fucking marionettes!"

"Useless scrap!"

"I really, really, REALLY wanna hurt you right about now."

"Ohohoho, you're picking the WRONG fight, BUDDY."

"Asshat!"

"Who do you think you are!?"

Dying:

"This... wasn't supposed to go this way..."

"God.... dammit."

"Agh... fuck."

"That... fucking... hurt."

"I still...! Got fight...! Left in me..."

"This... isn't... over..."

"I'm... not... done..."

[astrowarr]

actually im not done because the martren thing is CRAZY. martren is controlled by martyn's DNA, and through the session, martren comes forward to protect ren. it's written into martyn's very DNA to protect ren, to devote himself to him.

both of them believe that alliances are the core of strength, and the key to survival; so every time ren approaches a team to pitch himself for an alliance, martren takes over. one of martyn's ways of keeping him safe by securing alliances for him.

when ren attempts to kill other players throughout the session, martren is the one holding the blade. in the last part of the session during the final battle, martren never once relinquishes control over their body: he's fighting for ren, he's dying for ren, he's doing what it takes to just protect him. good god this is HEINOUS