#folly the barbarian

[loxosceleslolo]

Another First Step

or: my mind has been utterly consumed by an AU where it was Ansbach who met the Tarnished at the First Step (and one where the Tarnished bends the knee to Miquella at Enir-Ilim) so here's another one-shot. crossposted to AO3 as always, if you prefer to read there.

Folly stood before the imposing doors, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She took a deep breath, the musty air of the tomb filling her lungs one last time. A sliver of sunlight, golden and inviting, peeked through the gap beneath the ancient doors, a tantalizing promise of the world beyond.

Her mind raced, conjuring nightmarish visions based on her harrowing experiences since arriving in the Lands Between. She steeled herself for the grotesque – perhaps a monstrous abomination with too many limbs and not enough sanity. Or maybe a relentless warrior, blade already singing through the air before pleasantries could be exchanged. Most likely, she grimly mused, it would be both.

What else was there to do? She couldn’t molder in this damned tomb forever. She’d died three times since she arrived in the Lands Between and she would prefer to not spend an eternity dying of starvation and waking back up with hunger still gnawing at her insides. No, no. The only choice was to push through those doors and hope for the best. 

Gritting her teeth until her jaw ached, Folly summoned her courage and heaved against the unyielding doors. They groaned in protest, years of disuse evident in their reluctance to yield.

Suddenly, a flood of blinding sunlight assaulted her eyes, forcing her to throw up a hand in defense. The fresh air rushed in, crisp and sweet, filling her lungs like the first breath after nearly drowning. As her vision slowly adjusted, the world outside began to take shape.

The first thing she saw was a mesmerizing pool of golden light, swirling and pulsing with an otherworldly energy. It danced before her, hypnotic and alluring and unsettling in its ethereal beauty.

Then her gaze fell upon a figure, tall and imposing, draped in robes as black as a moonless night. They stood facing away, their attention fixed on the path ahead. A cascade of silver hair flowed down the figure’s back, shimmering like a veil of starlight. Folly couldn’t discern where the hair ended and the gleaming silver helm began, as if the two were one continuous, ethereal entity.

With practiced caution, Folly tightened her grip on her trusty axe, its familiar weight a comforting presence. She took a tentative step forward, her footfall barely a whisper on the ancient stones.

The figure turned at her approach, revealing more of that lustrous gray hair peeking out from beneath the helm. It gave the impression of a long, snowy beard, evoking images of sage elders and timeless wisdom.

To Folly’s surprise and mild relief, the figure made no move to draw a weapon or conjure a spell. This single act of restraint, in a land where violence was the common tongue, was enough to spark a flicker of trust in her wary heart. She ventured another step closer, the golden light pulsing at the edge of her vision.

“Tarnished, I presume?” The man’s voice was unexpectedly gentle, a stark contrast to his imposing presence. Yet it carried the unmistakable weight of age and authority, each word laden with hidden meaning. Golden eyes, bright and knowing, regarded her from behind the curious silver helm.

“So I’ve been told,” Folly replied, her own voice rough from disuse and the tomb’s dry air.

“Do you intend to seek the Elden Ring, young Tarnished?” The question hung in the air, heavy with implications Folly couldn’t begin to fathom.

“The what?” Folly cocked her head, confusion furrowing her brow. In all the chaos and confusion of her journey, no one had breathed a word about any ring, Elden or otherwise. “Boss told me I couldn’t stay with the company no more. Said I had to sail across the fog. So I did.”

“Why?” The old man’s question was gentle, but probing.

Folly shrugged, the weight of her ignorance settling uncomfortably on her shoulders. “Dunno. Best I can figure is that I got back up after I got a wound that shoulda killed me. And I kept seein’ this golden light—”

“No one explained?” A hint of surprise colored the old man’s tone.

“I mighta been drunk and seasick when the captain explained everything to me.” Folly admitted, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

The old man sighed, a sound filled with centuries of weariness. “Well. Maybe you not knowing is for the best. I noticed you aren’t accompanied by a Finger Maiden. You won’t be able to turn any of your Runes into strength without one.”

Folly rubbed her temple, frustration building like a storm behind her eyes. “Old man. I don’t understand anything you’re saying.”

A pregnant pause stretched between them, filled with unasked questions and unspoken truths. Finally, the old man stroked his beard, the gesture slow and thoughtful. “You said you can see a golden light.”

“It’s bloody annoying,” Folly grumbled, her words laced with exasperation. “I can’t get rid of it.”

“I believe,” the old man said, his tone measured and confident, like a scholar imparting ancient wisdom, “That you are seeing the guidance of Grace. This light, does it seem to arc in a specific direction from time to time?”

Folly nodded, a spark of recognition flickering in her eyes.

“Which way is it pointing now?”

With a groan that seemed to come from the depths of her soul, Folly focused her attention on the pool of golden light nearby. Her gaze followed its graceful arc across the sky, tracing an invisible path to some unseen destination. She raised her hand, pointing towards a looming structure in the distance. “Up there. Toward that big castle on the cliff over there.”

“Hmm.” The old man stroked his beard again, turning to follow Folly’s indication. “It seems that you are being guided toward Stormveil Castle, young Tarnished. Though I know not why—you’ve no name, no maiden, no seat at the Roundtable Hold…” His voice trailed off. “Surely Queen Marika would not have called you here just for you to die in a ditch.”

Folly winced as if struck, the name landing like a physical blow. “H-hold on, mate. Did you say Queen Marika?”

“I did, yes.” A hint of amusement colored his tone, though whether he smiled beneath that imposing false beard remained a mystery.

“You’re tellin’ me that the whole reason I keep dyin’ and standin’ back up is because God Herself picked me to get this Elden Ring? Me?” Disbelief dripped from every word, Folly’s voice rising with each syllable. “Mate, I’m a no-name sellsword from the Badlands. Is she out of proper champions or something?” Folly hadn’t believed in gods at all until this moment, yet now divine intervention seemed the only explanation for her stubborn refusal to stay dead.

“A tiny pebble, when dropped into a still pond, can make the greatest ripples,” the old man intoned, his words hanging in the air like a prophecy.

Folly’s head swam with the implications of all she had learned.“I need a drink,” she grumbled, her voice a mixture of exasperation and barely concealed fear.

“There’s a nomadic merchant in that old church just ahead. Maybe he’ll have something.” The old man’s tone was neutral, although Folly was sure she heard the tiniest hint of a smile in it.

“Thanks,” Folly replied, gratitude warring with wariness in her voice. She started toward the old church, then stopped again. A new thought occurred to her, borne of the lonely terror that had been her constant companion. “Are you gonna be camping here for a while? I might have more questions later and you’re the only person I’ve met who didn’t immediately swing a sword at my face.” The words came out in a rush, vulnerability bleeding through the cracks in her tough exterior.

“I may.” The old man’s response was cryptic, neither a promise nor a dismissal, leaving Folly to wonder if he too would vanish like smoke on the wind. “I don’t believe I caught your name, Tarnished.”

“It’s Folly.” She steeled herself for the barrage of questions that usually followed, only, the old man said nothing for a moment, his silence a balm to her weary soul. “Nice to meet you.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Folly. I am Sir Ansbach.” His words carried the weight of nobility, of battles fought and won, of wisdom hard-earned through countless trials.

“See you around, I hope.” Folly’s farewell carried the weight of her uncertainty, her fear, and the tiniest spark of hope.

[potatochipflavor]

It's been almost two weeks and I'm still not over my DM giving my AC monster artificier one rage a day. Sure, I can't cast spells DURING the rage, but there are so many spells that aren't concentration on the artificier spell list. *checks spell list and there's only one* yep so many! Forreal though Freedom of movement is a good spell to cast on a tank with 22 ac at level 5, more soon after. I think this class RAW has a 27 ac max, before any extra magic items given by the dm. What I REALLY want is to be able to wear two cloaks at the same time, of protection and displacement, because that would just be mean honestly. 27 ac AND disadvantage? With a +17 to hit (Fighting Tiamat she has the highest to hit bonus) that's STILL a 1/4 chance to hit.

But then giving me access to HALF damage for physical attacks? That DO manage to hit me? Fucking insane. And this is all from the complex backstory my character has lol

[axeknee]

All my Baldur's Gate 3 characters to start off were just recreations of characters I'd already made, but I've finally made some new ones! Starlet, Tiefling archery warlock entertainer (fame for weekly song offerings which vanish from the world) and Folly, Tiefling barbarian noble (parents made a devil pact for power in exchange for firstborn). What can I say? I love a good Tief.

[communist-ojou-sama]

Lets make one thing very clear because people, even now, still don't fucking get it:

If those of us in this world who are civilized, who believe in peaceful development and respectful coexistence of all peoples of the world, are faced with brutal, cruel, animalistic savages, such as the Zionists are, who find glee in death and do not hesitate in killing children, the infirm, innocents of all stripes, this naïve notion that, for the sake of saving a few lives in the short term, the civilized should surrender and submit to the barbarian, is nothing but folly.

To claim that the Palestinians should surrender to the Zionist murderers in order to (supposedly) end the bombings is to say that all good and civilized people should, as a rule, cower before and surrender themselves to the rule of whoever is the most violent, whoever is the least moral, whoever is the most depraved and shameless, it is to pervert the law of man into the law of beast. This vein of execrable defeatism should indeed be the most unacceptable and self-evidently false narrative within the conversations of civilized people.

[ilions-end]

okay i'm finally reading euripides' andromache, the tragedy i've been delaying the longest because I KNEW it would all be so so awful and intense and upsetting

HERMIONE: [...] You must cease those rich, proud thoughts you once had and cower in humility, fall at my feet and sweep my house, and know where in the world you are. There is no Hector here, no Priam or his gold: this is a Greek city! Yet you, unhappy creature, are so far gone in folly that you bring yourself to sleep with the son of the man who killed your husband, and to bear children to a family that has killed your kin. That is the way all barbarians are.

i'm tearing at my hair like STOP!!!! LEAVE ANDROMACHE ALONE!!

[queer-ragnelle]

Oh, no, what happened in The Altar of the Legion? 😭

It was a very good book, 5/5 stars from me! But it's Arthurian, it's a tragedy. It was very satisfying though and I highly recommend it. Full spoiler break down and review of The Altar of the Legion by Farnham Bishop and Arthur Gilchrist Brodeur below. It's gonna be long.

It all takes place post-Camlann. King Arthur has been defeated and Owain mab Urien is now an old king of North Wales/Rheged. The story follows Owain's two children, Princess Gwenlian, a brave and courageous girl whom the court believes would make a great sovereign, and Prince Meriaduc, a jolly kid who fears the sight of blood and would rather be a minstrel than soldier and heir to the throne. The people of Wales require help from the last remaining Roman city in Britain as Owain's Ravens, his black-leather wearing fighters, have been reduced in numbers and can no longer combat the Saxons alone. However when Gwenlian falls ill, Meriaduc dons her gown to take her place as ambassador for Wales. During this time Meriaduc, as a princess, seems to develop complicated feelings about gender and the role a prince is supposed to play.

Every one loved the merry prince. But Meriaduc was fifteen, and at that age in King Owain's land a man must be a man. But this man, a king's son, chose to be a woman, and in that guise was even now about to enter Legionis Asa. All in the service of his hard-pressed country, it was true; and there was no doubt that a beautiful, high-spirited princess would have more influence than a prince who could not fight.

On top of that, Meriaduc doesn't merely enjoy the time spent passing as a woman, but fully embodies it, and seems to fall in love with Roman-Briton Drusus, a prefect of the last Roman city in Britain, although there are some half-hearted attempts to deny/prevent it.

Meriaduc, in the midst of his mischief, was feeling that sense of security and fraternal content the presence of Drusus inspired in him. The young prince did not want a love affair on his hands, messing up his more serious business.

This romantic nature of attraction is observed from multiple outside perspectives, including Niall, the Irish captain of the Ravens and the princess's escort, the only one aware of Meriaduc as Gwenlian.

Niall of the Sword, picking his teeth with a dagger, watched the two with open satisfaction. He saw and understood the prefect's ready sympathy, his interest in the pretended Gwenlian's beauty, touched to radiance as it was by the fire of patriotism. He saw the quick response of eye to eye, of smile to smile, of serious mood to serious mood; the spontaneous friendship of two young, wholesome souls.

This mutual romantic interest is so pronounced that Tullia, Drusus's cousin, becomes openly jealous, and teases him about the whole situation. His aunt Sophonsiba also doesn't like Gwenlian!Meriaduc flirting with her nephew. All of this Meriaduc noticed, found hilarious, and continued to exploit throughout the story.

The elf of mischief, never far from the surface of Meriaduc's soul, chuckled ever so softly. Was Tullia jealous of him?

And Drusus, for his part, defends Gwenlian!Meriaduc, even when she isn't there. He's a good guy! Calling out his aunt's racism!

He forced a patient smile. It was little use, he knew, to argue with Aunt Sophonisba. "The Princess Gwenlian is scarcely a skin-clad savage," he answered kindly. "But her eyes!" exclaimed his aunt. "And her manners! The girl is a little barbarian, affectedly trying to live up to her new surroundings. And I do not like the way she looks at you, Drusus. She is playing with you, twisting you about her finger, for the sake of your influence with the Senate. And you why, this very morning, the little Welsh flirt kept you so engrossed that Tullia spoke to you thrice without receiving an answer. You will break the child's heart." So that was it? Square chin raised, Drusus met his aunt's eyes almost angrily. "This is folly !" he exclaimed.

At last the honest and honorable Drusus decides to aid the Welsh even if the political powers and his family won't. Tullia argues against him, accusing Gwenlian!Meriaduc of bewitching him. Drusus won't hear it.

But Drusus, carried away by his own eagerness, was not to be checked. "The Quæstor dares not arrest me," he answered. "If he did so now, the troops would march on the city. I am no traitor, Tullia. I am a Roman Briton, one who loves his country and would see her follow the honorable course. If the Senate refuses to let me call for volunteers, I will proclaim myself dictator, seize the city, and form an alliance with King Owain." The curtains parted, revealing the supposed enchantress, flushed with excitement, in the doorway.

It's at this point Meriaduc completely loses the plot and the lines between the role of princess and truly embodying a woman in love begin to blur.

"I am sorry," said Drusus simply. He shrank from trying to understand his emotional cousin's conduct. "Tell her I will bring back a Saxon standard for her," he added. "That is a proper gift! " exclaimed Meriaduc, all Gwenlian again. "I wish you had made me such a promise." "I shall bring you a sword, red with Saxon blood," Drusus responded gallantly. It came so suddenly, Meriaduc staggered a step backward, caught Niall's glance with its message of "You see!" On that he straightened proudly, and smiled gratefully at Drusus — every inch a princess.

Anon they are simply in love I don't know what else to say. Just look. At this point the story finally gives us an Owain pov chapter. He misses his kids. :^( And tragically, he never gets to see them again, as he falls in battle with his men, unaware of Gwenlian's illness or that Meriaduc has succeeded in the mission too late to save their father.

However this is where things get really interesting because Gwenlian, recovered well enough from her illness, is now dressed as Meriaduc in an attempt to make it to the city and complete the mission she has no idea her brother has already followed through on. The group does catch word of this though, telling Meriaduc!Gwenlian that his sister, Gwenlian!Meriaduc, has made it safely to the city and rallied troops.

Deep was Gwenlian's wonder. Meriaduc? How could that be? Yet anything could be if Meriaduc were concerned. She decided to keep her own disguise till she met the pseudo-Gwenlian.

While Tullia continues to complain about Drusus and Gwenlian!Meriaduc's budding romance...

It irked her almost beyond endurance to live in the same house with the British girl, whose manners were so un-Roman, who seemed to take perverse pleasure in speaking of Drusus with familiar affection.

There’s toxic yuri potential here. By the way. Anyway Meriaduc!Gwenlian finally makes it there and the siblings reunite!

With cries of joy, the brother and sister were clasped in each other's arms. Tullia considerately withdrew. "Gwenlian!" breathed the one in woman's gown. "Meriaduc!" sobbed the one in mail. The disguised lad laid a finger on his lips. "Not so loud," he warned her." Here I am Gwenlian. And you, it appears, are Meriaduc! Let me look on myself." He held her at arm's length. "Not bad, Gwenlian; but I do you greater credit, I think." And he walked a few paces away from her, trailing Tullia's gown of blue and white across the green carpet of grass, with simple and entirely feminine grace. He turned, expectant of his sister's admiration. She tried to smile, but was too wrought up by the situation. "What shall we do? " she implored. Meriaduc returned swiftly to her, and took her protectingly in his arms. Gwenlian submitted, though the experience was new to her. But laughter had come again into her brother's eyes. "Saints, what a jest!" he whispered, against Gwenlian's hair. "Owain's son comes as Owain's daughter, and plays his part so well that Tullia Marciana is jealous! Owain's daughter comes as Owain's son —“ "But I cannot play the man, as you have played the woman, neither do I like it. I but did it for greater safety on the road. Why are you here at all, Meriaduc, and not with our father?"

I could write an essay about this page alone. The contrast of the evidentially cisgender Gwenlian, sobered by the gravity of impending war and unhappy living as a man, with the potentially transgender Meriaduc so euphoric from passing as a woman that it's somewhat overshadowed the original intent. Now you'd think here they could switch back. But Meriaduc insists it's safer for Gwenlian if they remain swapped. There's a creepy senator Ventidius who's been trying to hit on Gwenlian!Meriaduc that Meriaduc wants to protect her from. But considering the events that unfold later, I don't know that it really mattered, but the prince got to stay a princess just a bit longer than was strictly necessary.

"Gwenlian!" he said, and for a moment could say no more. "Gwenlian, for once you must be guided by me. I must still be Gwenlian; you must remain Meriaduc." "I will not I cannot," she replied. "We can explain to our friends here." "Blessed Saints!" replied Meriaduc, overcome. "We cannot, Gwenlian. We must go on as we are. I understand the situation. There are considerations. Oh—" desperately — "Ventidius is in love with you — with me — that is —" He collected himself. "You must be protected from him. That can be best done if I am Gwenlian."

So from here some political/battle stuff happens that is all interesting but less so to me than Gwenlian’s and Meriaduc’s storyline so in summary the politicians had been plotting with the Saxons and selling people into slavery (shocker) which Drusus and Niall uncover. One of the other British kings, a redhead like Drusus, is struck down so it gets back to the city that Drusus died although he didn’t. Fast forward to Drusus attempting to reenter the city, and the evil older politician Ventidius has is forcing Gwenlian!Meriaduc to marry him in exchange for men to supply Owain’s army. All of this culminates in Drusus riding his horse into the chapel and crashing the wedding.

Down toward them bounded a huge horse, backed by a tall rider in faded cloak and rusted mail. Beneath the raised visor of his helmet his eyes glared with unearthly fury. Awed and frightened, the crowd drew back to yield him room. They breathed the rider's name in running whispers, instinct with the horror of living men for the ghosts of the dead.

"Drusus!" "Drusus!" "Drusus!"

Then immediately after this…

"In the name of the Holy Trinity," [the bishop] called boldly, "I conjure you, if you be ghost of hell, go back to the fiend who sent you! But if ye be living man, then speak, Marcianus Drusus, and cease to perturb the holy sacrament of marriage!"

No sooner had the prefect's name rung out upon the startled ears of the group before the altar than they turned with one accord, to meet the blazing eyes of Drusus himself. Sophonisba shrieked. Tullia's proud, beautiful face turned white. But the graceful figure in the white linen of a bride, ran to meet him with a joyful cry, deep-throated and rich, and looked up at him with eyes which spoke unbounded relief and trust.

Drusus took the bride's hand and looked over her head at the bishop.

"I live," he answered, "by the grace of God and my good men! I live, to restore the honor of my people, and to prevent this unholy marriage!"

Chat Drusus came back from the dead to rescue Gwenlian!Meriaduc. I LOVE ARTHURIAN GHOST CHARACTERS/UNKILLABLE MFS!!!!!

But after this a battle ensues as Ventidius has the city police try to arrest Drusus for this. He and Niall start retaliating with swords but there are too many of them. Drusus is about to be killed when…

Niall had met his man with the edge; but before Drusus could disengage, the third was on him. Caught between the point and the pillar behind him, Drusus could only await the blow. As the short sword stabbed upward, the prefect thrust out one foot, dashed the blade aside with his greaved ankle, and drove his heel into his enemy's stomach.

A tense, slim figure in loose-hanging policeman's mail, clutching a policeman's short sword, hovered about Drusus, never striking with his weapon, but seeming ever ready. It was Meriaduc.

…….Meriaduc overcomes the fear of blood and changes back into the clothes of a man to rescue Drusus in return. And what does Gwenlian think of this?

Oh, why was the gay, the brilliant Meriaduc born under the necessity of being a soldier? She whose courage made her the darling of her people now trembled, and all but wept, in the grip of imagined terrors, and in despair of the helplessness of women.

Wow. It’s literally a tragedy that Meriaduc has to be a solider. It’s not something the prince takes any joy or pride in, and the princess knows this too. And only Niall knows they switched places, so after this, when Gwenlian dresses as herself, and Meriaduc resumes the princely role, it means that Drusus has effectively become a stranger. The little romance abruptly cuts off. Devastating. Worse still, after all that, Ventidius kidnaps Gwenlian and tries to flee by ship to Brittany only for Saxon pirates board the ship, kidnap the kidnapper and hold Gwenlian as hostage, but they burned the ship too. So by the time Drusus, Niall, and Meriaduc arrive, they have nothing but a handful of half-drowned men to fish out of the water. Winter is coming and they have no choice but to turn back.

"What will you do?"

"Put back to Bellerium. It is all we can do. But when the spring comes — then woe to Wessex!" The despairing eyes of the two Welshmen, tender youth and hardened soldier, strained across the dark waves to the burning Cygnus. Meriaduc wept.

"See, Niall," he said, "what comes of my trying to be a soldier! Would that I had not changed back into myself!"

Drusus overheard and thought the boy daft with grief.

All this and Meriaduc can turn to no one for comfort. I’m unwell. Drusus doesn’t know. He doesn’t know!!!

So Gwenlian and Ventidius are prisoners of war over the whole winter. They even have Owain’s sword kept on the wall as a trophy. It’s so messed up. Ultimately Drusus, Niall, and Meriaduc are able to make it to the Saxon kingdom, sinking a bunch of ships along the way, and Gwenlian is brought to the top of the castle and an exchange is arranged of her life for the Saxon prince’s. That part was crazy because Gwenlian was shouting down that the security of Wales was more important than her life, kill the enemy! But they didn’t rescue her and return to Britain.

After that, Gwenlian essentially assumes the role of Wales’ sovereign. Meriaduc is there here, but not as good at it as Gwenlian.

"Their homeland lies east," insisted Meriaduc.

Gwenlian was on her feet, asking to be heard.

"I remember," she said, "the words of Ceawlin to Ventidius, just before I was taken to Sorbiodunum. The traitor urged the king to move against Bellerium by sea, but Ceawlin refused, thinking he could crush you in the field. Now that they have taken ship together and sail west, there can be no doubt but that Ventidius has prevailed. Beaten in open battle, the Saxons have but one hope: to overwhelm Legionis Asa in your absence."

"You should have been a man and a soldier!" Drusus complimented her. None observed Meriaduc sigh at the dictator's words.

Meriaduc my darling that sigh speaks a thousand words. This lovesickness continues as they all return “home.”

The two bronze lamps still glowed at the portal of Drusus' house; and, with a gulp, Meriaduc regarded the façade with the affection of one who returns to his own loved home.

Goddamn Meriaduc. So from here, plans are made to combat the Saxons who are riding on the Roman town. Things turn extremely bad very fast because an earthquake happens and ruins all the plans of everyone. Gwenlian and Tullia are at home and buried under the rubble of the house. Gwenlian finds herself alive but trapped, and can feel blood seeping into her little alcove. Straight horror novel scenario.

Gwenlian awoke with a sense of strangling, to find herself in the dark. She was lying with aching shoulders on a mass of broken cement. Stretching out her hands, she felt about her and her heart sank. She was imprisoned, closed about with heaped-up timbers.

Her fingers groped about her prison. The house had fallen in upon her in such a way as to pen her in without crushing her. She was in a sort of tent of piled-up woodwork.

Tullia! Where were Tullia and Sophonisba? Had they too survived, or were they crushed under the ruins? She called again and again, but no answer came to her. Her fingers, fearfully exploring the peaks and hollows beneath her, touched something warm and wet. She screamed in horror.

As if she hasn’t suffered enough!! Meanwhile Drusus is trying to hold the bridge with the help of Niall and Meriaduc. Drusus is losing and pulled from his horse. He passes out right before the Saxon strikes and… this happens…

Drusus saw a dim vision of the Saxon's dagger hanging above him, and then saw and heard no more.

When his senses began to clear — he was being held and lifted in mid-air. His outstretched right leg touched something smooth and familiar — a saddle! They were lifting him on to his horse. Instinctively his knees gripped and his body straightened. The two who had helped him turned and sprang on their own mounts, as Drusus opened his eyes.

He looked to the left and saw that the wagon barrier had been burst apart and bent inward. Through the ever-widening gap poured the triumphant Saxons - and facing them, single-handed, stood the stripling Meriaduc! Niall of the Sword lay wounded unto death a few paces away. Meriaduc's shield was split, his crest shorn away, all his armor red with the blood that revolted him so. Yet he had held back an army long enough to save his friend, who in turn would save Wales — Britain.

Such was the thought in Meriaduc's heart as he stood there, fighting tensely, blindly, wildly — killing — hating it even in his frenzy, but doing it for Drusus and Britain. One instant Drusus saw him standing there, saw Niall struggle half to his feet and then sprawl, helpless, arms outstretched toward his prince, across a heap of dead and wounded Saxons. Then the barricade was swept utterly away by the onrushing heathen host, and the Captain of Ravens and Meriaduc of North Wales were no more. Drusus' heart heaved so that he could hardly breathe.

I knew it was coming. Of course it was. But… it still hurts. Sick and twisted authors!!!!!! I was really hoping Meriaduc might come back, but it didn’t happen. Ultimately Drusus ends up fighting Ventidius AGAIN because Venti pulled Gwenlian out of the wreckages of the house and is trying to kidnap her AGAIN but finally he dies for good.

Gwenlian and Drusus end up fleeing the city as the tsunami/flooding that comes as a result of the earthquake wipes out all the Saxons and the last of the town. They’re stuck on the peak of a hill with only a handful of people for days until a random boat comes along and rescues them. It ends on a slightly hopeful note as Drusus vows to retreat to Wales with Gwenlian and pick up Owain’s cause once more.

Anon I’m devastated. It was a very enjoyable read but I’m fantasizing about an alternate version in which Meriaduc and Drusus at least kiss. I might even write it who knows. ;^) So yeah life changing, I’m so glad I read it. I hope more people do and tell me there thoughts, especially since I cut down the plot quite a lot, entire characters omitted. But all of them were interesting so any thoughts subsequent readers have, I’d love to know! Okay that’s it. Have a good day anon.

[thelanterneattorney]

An address to the citizens

Citoyen,

It is, in truth, needless to introduce myself to my own countrymen, since all already know me for my services to the patrie in the memorable July of 1789, Year of Liberty, when I called the people to arms and to liberty in one fateful moment; and for my energetic and ceaseless use of my pen in their defence from then until my tragic martyrdom. But as my reputation has been grievously diminished owing to the barbarism of future generations (I fear, indeed, that mankind has entered a decline equalling if not surpassing the fall of Rome to the barbarians), I shall give a brief account of myself - with due warning that my own ideas of brevity and other people's do not always altogether correspond.

You must know, then, that I have been almost since my infancy a republican - fed upon Cicero in the colleges, I was always passionately fond of liberty. I was taught at the schools of Rome and Athens. What mad government, to think that we could be enthusiastic about the fathers of the Roman Republic without being horrified at the man-eaters of Versailles, that we could admire the past without condemning the present! Since our splendid revolution, I have consequently dedicated myself to liberty, until my life was tragically cut short by the guillotine at the age of thirty-three - that, notably, of the sans-culotte Jesus.

I will here reflect upon these events, and others of the revolution, sometimes in a serious humour like the present, but more frequently in my light and witty style, which aims to amuse as often as it moves the reader. I am aware that I have been accused by many of my contemporaries of a somewhat sharp and libellous tongue, and a predilection for slander and blackmail. I cannot pretend to have entirely altered in this respect in the intervening centuries, but if any complain to me of the fact, I would beg to draw their attention to the contents of Pro Caelio, and other speeches by that most elegant of republicans, Marcus Tullius Cicero himself (who I have so often embraced in imagination with tears in my eyes). If they find my 'slander' more objectionable than his , then I shall conclude that I have not phrased it in so witty a fashion, and shall rearrange my clauses to improve the effect. If that still fails, I shall then presume that the latin of the complainant is poor, and that they have failed to comprehend Ciceronian innuendo.

The universe and all its follies shall be included in the jurisdiction of this hypercritical blog. I may also, on occasion, mention the fact of my wife's being an angel upon earth, as it is true, and should be often repeated, until it is as plain to the minds of all men as other true facts, such as the orbit of the earth around the sun etc.

I shall not accept challenges to duels; an outdated and aristocratic custom, in an age when we all should all have ways of dying more useful to the patrie. However, if rogues and imbeciles wish to send me threats and challenges, as they always seem to, I shall answer with my pen, and shall rapidly make them wish the missives unsent. Any other letters are more than welcome, especially those related in any way to Livius, Cicero, Tacitus, Ovidus or Catullus.

[unluckyshinyhunter]

be gay do crime

be bi make people die

be trans throw hands

be ace spray them with mace

be lesbian be barbarian

be aro eat their bone marrow

be poly make your enemies folly

be enby hurt them plenty

be pan hit them with a van

[dujour13]

Thanks for the tag @kaleido-scope-lady! 💕 This was highly appreciated for procrastination purposes.

Tag game: Give your KC’s first impression and final opinion of each of their companions!

Siavash's (not spoiler-free) hot takes:

First impressions

Seelah – A paladin with a party spirit. Now this is someone I can really get behind. (wink)

Camellia – Not even a smile? How about a little half-elf solidarity? ...Not that either? Give it time. I’ll find her angle. She can’t be as bad as she seems.

Lann – Weird combination, and not just the body parts. Pessimism and determination. Seems like a reliable guy and since that’s one thing I’m not, he’ll be good to have around. Also – perfect straight man for my routines.

Wenduag – Tough as Hell. I wish she didn’t beat Lann up about his idealism because that’s the one thing that might save him. I wonder if she has any idealism left to save herself.

Woljif – Dreamboat. I do look like the kinda guy that would work on, don’t I? He’s got my number already. …and he can have it.

Ember – Dreamer, this poor child. The things she says are so crazy they’re almost inspired.

Daeran – The folly of feudalism: exhibit one. Surprised nobody’s slapped him yet.

Nenio – Curious, for someone who knows so much trivia I don’t think she knows how funny she is.

Ulbrig – This towering barbarian calling me warchief is excellent for the bit

Galfrey – Exhibit two. No, that’s uncharitable. She’s had a lot on her plate, and for longer than most people could stomach. She needs to lighten up. Maybe I can show her running a crusade doesn’t have to be soul-crushing. It can be fun!

Sosiel – I think this kid is tougher than he seems, coming all the way here from Carpenden. I sure hope so, because I’d hate to see that freshness turn sour.

Regill – Who invited this guy?

Trever – This is what happens. Dreamer, don’t let it happen to me.

Arueshalae – This is one of those times when Desna tests you – gives your heart the choice of Cynosure or cynicism. I’m going to believe in her if it kills me.

Greybor – You know what, I’m just gonna prove him wrong. “Professional” doesn’t have to dress sober.

Aivu – Best. Friend. Forever.

Final opinion

Seelah – Biggest heart in the world. And after everything - party spirit intact. Dreamer I’m lucky I crossed paths with this woman. Wouldn’t have made it without her hugs. Well, also without her as body shield.

Camellia – How could I have been quite that blind? Only saw what I wanted to see. It’s hard to admit but I’m not sure there was anything that could have been done for her. For all his faults Horgus did try. Even setting her free to find her own way would have ended badly for her, because it wouldn’t have been freedom.

Lann – Love this guy. I’ll never forget that moment, seeing him look up at the starry sky and see possibility for the first time.

Wenduag – Ironic how trying to claw her way up is what brought her down. Probably because she never looked up far enough to see the stars.

Woljif – My love, forgive me if I ever doubted that your heart was stronger than your shadow.

Ember – What was it Lann said? A saint or insane, or maybe both? Both. She doesn’t believe mortals can save ourselves, so all we can do is be kind to each other. I have so much to learn from her.

Daeran – You know what I admire most? This man knows what he wants out of life – and fiercely, unapologetically pursues it. I count myself lucky that true friendship is one of those things because it turns out he's great fun and I'm surprised how fond of him I am now.

Nenio – I think she cited me in her entry on “Friendship.” By name. Sometimes I regret taking my pants off that one time. But actually no.

Ulbrig – I can really relate to having two more-or-less incompatible halves pulling opposite directions. I’m glad he let his guard down with me eventually because behind all the stubborn bluster the poor guy really felt lost, and commiserating with someone helped us both. Second only to Seelah for great hugs.

Galfrey – The best thing about her is her humanness. I wouldn’t like her nearly as much I do now if she hadn’t had indulged in a little spite. Just kinda wish it hadn’t been directed at me. No no, we're good. It's fine. Would you guess she can be surprisingly funny?

Sosiel – He did turn out to be tough. Strong enough to face terrible things, temper his idealism and still keep his heart. That portrait… (he starts to tear up) …if that’s how he sees me there’s no greater compliment.

Regill – The thing is, I trust him with my life. Because even if there’s a perfectly logical reason why he ought to kill me he’ll be three chess moves ahead with an even better reason not to. One thing I resent about the lawful types is the arrogance in thinking they’re following some universal order when it’s really just their heart all along. Yeah, you can tell him I said that.

Trever – When I visited the Vaenics in Carpenden after the war I saw him with his lathe, and as he worked there was such peace in his face and hands. Scarred as they are. He made me the most beautiful rosewood writing desk, a true work of art. There’s so much hope in that.

Arueshalae – One of the strongest people I’ve ever met. I have an idea what it’s like to try to keep your eyes fixed on an impossible star even with the claws of the Abyss pulling you under. Where we connect is that we both want to be better people, and to do that you sometimes have to look back and face what you’ve done wrong.

Greybor – Is he happier now? I like to think so. Being an assassin was easy for him. Being a father, not so much. He needed a new challenge.

Aivu – Best. Friend. Forever.

Tagging no pressure: @the-raging-tempest, @dragonologist-phd, @arendaes, @yunessa, @bite-the-bloody-hand

Everyone please take a free tag if you want one!

[sloanesmortuary]

Art heavily referenced Daphnis and Chloe by Elizabeth Jane Gardner! First time pairing up some writing I did with an illustration :'3 Apologies if there are mistakes...I don't usually share my writings...I get embarrassed...Also the story is a lil spoilery

comm info

Devotion

Greanthir always strived to please Gale. Loving the wizard was not an easy feat, yes, of course! That human had an omnipotent deity as an ex-lover! At times, the barbarian thought that he's not enough. He couldn't compare to the soft caress of a goddess Gale once indulged in. It also didn't help that Gale used to sing praises to her so awfully often, seeking her forgiveness to the point that he's keen to blow himself up to smithereens. That's absolutely outrageous, Greanthir thought. It's the same opinion as his other companions would have when Gale brought up the matter. Oh, how such devotion would make even the most intelligent of mortals turn into a goo with no way of thinking for themselves.

The tiefling never held a strong belief in a certain deity. He was completely aware that there is just no way and no end to pleasing a god. He kept telling Gale that he loves him as the man he is. For his wits, his looks, his heart, his laugh…for all of him and not simply because of his skill in harnessing the weave. Not just because he is useful and/or amusing to him. Gale, at some point believed him…but the sight of that crown sitting on the top of the Brain flipped a switch in his own brain. Afterwards, he strived for a better—no, perfect self.

Despite all that, the barbarian was a hypocrite. There is no end to worshiping a god, yes, but the wizard was his god. Oh, how he loved him. When Gale took him to the illusion of The Outer Planes and asked him…pleaded with him…to take the Crown of Karsus for themselves and ascend so that there will never be a need for a god ever again…Greanthir said yes. Yes, he loves Gale as he is, but no, he can never refuse the man who holds his scarred hands so gently…the man who stares so lovingly into his infernal eyes, soothing any flames that burn in them. Greanthir had tolerated his ramblings about the crown, he even hesitated, but in the end...he gave in to his lover. But he could not say it. It felt wrong to agree to this. "I'll accept a kiss," Gale said, so Greanthir kissed him. If there's anything to learn from this long, laborious journey, it is that there is nothing good to come out of usurping powers meant for a god. Maybe Gale was desperate. Tired of being used and thrown away. Similar to Astarion—or most if not all of their companions that is—but Greanthir had prevented Astarion from being like Cazador...why couldn't he turn down Gale's request? A request that if agreed to might only end with bards singing about Gale's Folly. Karsus's no more.

[sulfurousdreamscapes]

Torùn wasn't a prisoner - she could leave any time she wanted. Instead, she stayed out of spite, despite all the pleading the gods could muster. Tears were shed across the world of mortals for her, and advocates of her freedom wailed in her name on the day that marked her supposed imprisonment. Torùn would not budge.

She remained in her tower, cheeks sticky with ever-flowing tears, as she confronted her memories in her mind again and again. A childhood mischief, a little hand over a god's eye, and that had been enough for the Goddess of the Sun to rise in rage and push aside this god-born child.

"She's just a child," the other gods wailed, but the Sun's Goddess was fierce in her judgement. Dignity soured is dignity soiled. She flung Torùn into the tower, into the room with no windows and no doors, where she was to repent for the rest of her life.

Torùn said nothing in her defence. She stood alone, in the middle of the room for aeons. And then, when her feet could not hold her up any longer, she sat on the floor. Her thoughts bounded from the walls, attacking her like balls in a game of pool. Her eyes dreamed up vistas and visions, projected onto the walls, in search of a window.

Torùn remembered colour. She remembered shape, and size, and she remembered things that existed beyond the floor, the roof, the walls, and herself. Did 'herself' count? She spun around. She beat her immortal head on the walls. She screamed, whispered, and conversed with the spirits she had dreamed up, which would fill up the room like vapours forming a mist.

One day, the mortals succeeded in slaying the Sun's Goddess. This was not expected. This was not wanted. Nonetheless, the folly-infused race of humans killed the spark that they once worshipped, and plunged the world into a darkness that was only alleviated by an artificial sun.

This was no god, of course, but the machine sought its place among the gods nonetheless. A lesser Sun. A more tolerant Sun. It was no ruler, but it sought to free Torùn nonetheless. It looked down on the natural-born immortals, branding them a race of irresponsible barbarians, who would go along with the persecution of a little girl for a moment of mischief.

And so the room's walls fell wide. The roof was flung away, and the floor dropped beneath Torùn's feet. She was made free, but she stayed put. Despite the pleadings of both mortals and immortals, she stayed put. The prison was gone. The prisoner remained.

When the God of Polaris approached her, he offered her a chance to become a child again, to live the life that was robbed from her. Torùn refused.

"The Sun's Goddess would revel in the sight of my freedom, and I will not allow her that," she said.

And so the floor returned, nuzzling beneath her feet, and the ceiling returned, hanging over her respectfully, and each of the walls slid into place. Torùn sat, for aeons more.

[enkisstories]

The wrecking of the Steadfast

I just published Chapter 4, in which

…Finn must come to terms with his undiagnosed force sensitivity

Hux corrected the tugboat’s course to avoid collision with a large piece of scrap metal from the Steadfast that came tumbling their way. Then he took up the conversation again:

“Damn… Why didn’t Ren ever say something this useful! You’d think he’d be capable of doing the same things an untrained force sensitive can? But, no, all he ever contributed was swordplay to achieve victories a blaster wielding unit would have scored just a minute or so later. That, and keeping the maintenance crew busy.”

“Venturing a guess, I’ve heard tell that the Dark Side dishes out quick and easy power, but exerts a heavy price later. The more Ren lost himself in it, the more he might have lost an idea of the big picture, too, and forgot all the small ways to nudge things into the desired direction.”

“Makes sense.”

The way I’m paying the price for my folly now. Let’s face it, for all practical purposes I’ve become what I’ve been fighting: a rebel, the distinction between having joined the Resistance and acting as its ally being near meaningless in our situation. I really need to take care not to get too comfortable in this role.

…the rebels dismantle a Star Destroyer

Rose yanked a control panel off a console and gave it a little momentum. The panel soared towards the navigation station, where Hux had removed the remains of that one’s destroyed panel. He caught the replacement and slammed it into position with a little more force than was advisable, unable to correctly judge his strength or lack thereof in the vacuum of space. Losing no time, BB-8 plugged it in. When the computer lit up again, Hux pulled up a navigation software and maps of New Harvest. Unfamiliar with working in a zero G environment he lost his footing a few times, until BB-8 spat out a liquid cable, that he subsequently tied loosely around the human’s hip. “I can’t tell whether that was supposed to be help- or spiteful…” Beeping the equivalent of an impish giggle, BB-8 went to help Rose re-establish the connection between the navigation computer and the systems that received their instructions from it.

…Hux becomes housetrained

“Wait, are you saying that we are something like noble barbarians to you?” Rose uttered.

“With an innocent charm. Those last few days I felt… sheltered. But it cannot last. It’s cute, just not sustainable. The Resistance is doomed to fail same as the republics failed.”

“Then help us create an environment in which our way of life will be sustainable! Even if only to scoff at each of our ideas, prompting us to improve them just to shut you up!”

“That would be the day, wouldn’t it?”

“Armitage…”

“Let’s finish this mission. And stop being so damn paranoid about me killing you guys left and right already! It’s irritating!”

…and Poe struggles with the aftermath of his concussion.

“I take it as a tactician you rarely leave your bridge? This is going to be rough! I need a co-pilot, especially one who understands what each of the screens is trying to tell me.”

It wasn’t just that everything was arranged completely different, although still making sense, as there were only so many ways one could put the different panels and still be efficient. The damn First Order font, that was so similar, yet different, irritated Poe to no small degree. He had no muscle memory to apply to the Upsilon, and additionally would have to waste precious split seconds just deciphering the unfamiliar letters. No, he definitely needed a co-pilot now, and something primeval and ancient within Poe insisted that this co-pilot being Armitage was a huge bonus.

Five minutes later Hux once again knew what Poe had meant when he had said things would become turbulent. The world was spinning way too fast, with far too many opponents coming at them (or the same opponent appearing to be in several places at once). He held fast to the console and kept focusing on the numbers, for the first time in his life grateful to be the second row player only. Keeping track of all the information and relaying the most important bits to the actual pilot was the co-pilot’s main task, as expected, but equally important was to snarl “Breath!” regularly, whenever Poe started looking a bit too green around the nose. The last thing they needed now was him retching all over the cockpit.

“Too many… too fast…” Poe gasped, painfully aware that no enemy craft would be left by now, were he sitting in his trusty Freitek T-70.

Also: the first kiss!

“Yes. Pondering where to go from here, I think I’d like to extend this alliance until I can see Ren’s corpse with my own eyes. That, or sufficient proof of his passing.”

“Still that obsessed…”

Hux shrugged. Poe suspected that the General had practiced even this oh-so natural looking gesture in front of a mirror a lot.

“Clinging to that obsession is the easiest way to retain my sanity right now. My head is spinning, differently from yours, though. Nothing’s quite fitting into place anymore.”

“How so?”

“Ever since we joined forces, I felt liberated. As if an invisible whip in my back just wasn’t there anymore. The prospect of going back from that to my old life too soon is unpleasant.”

The good news is that you wouldn’t go back to your old life, but to prison, the moment you called the alliance off, Poe thought. Out loud he said: “We’ve gotten used to have you around”, then his eyes went wide. “Bucket!” he cried, followed by a gurgle.

“Well”, Hux commented while handing the bucket back without looking at it. “It was worth a try.”

One vomiting fit later, Poe raised his head.

“I once had a near-boyfriend”, he said, feeling silly for withholding the name, when the whole galaxy knew who that man had been. “But I was too indecisive, or maybe took things to be for granted too much, so nothing came from it and now he’s spoken for by another. I don’t want that to happen again. I… Uh… somebody hold that bucket for a spell? It kinda gets in the way of the message.”

And with these words, he slung his arms around the other man, looked up and kissed him. Given what Poe had spent his time with before, the contact could have been more pleasing. A lot more.

Why, Hux wondered. Why does this keep happening? I have the skills, the determination and the patience, but something in the universe must be against me. Every time I get what I want, it gets delivered in the worst fashion imaginable.

“One day, little rat, you’ll be the end of me. And I of you.”

Read it here: Chapter 1-4 or only Chapter 4

[real-live-human]

Trick or treat!!

trick! plutarch, kimon 11-12.4

[11.1] The allies continued paying tribute but failed to provide men and ships according to their assessment, and were already refusing to go on campaign and did not man ships or send men, on the grounds that there was no need for warfare and that they wanted to live quietly and farm, since the barbarians had been removed and were not causing trouble. The other Athenian Generals applied compulsion to make them do this, put those who failed on trial and by their punishments made Athenian rule grievous and hard to bear. [11.2] But when Kimon was General he went in the opposite direction, and did not apply force to any Greek; he accepted money from those who were not willing to campaign, and empty ships, and he let them be enticed by leisure and spend their time on their own affairs, turning themselves from warriors into money-makers and farmers not fit for war through luxury and folly. He put many Athenians on the ships in turn and made them labour on the campaigns, and in a short time used the money and pay from the allies to make the Athenians masters of those who paid. [11.3] As a result of their own shyness of warfare, the allies became accustomed to fearing and flattering the men who were maintained and trained, and were always sailing and handling arms; they failed to realise that they were turning themselves into subjects and slaves.

[121] No one did more to humble the Great King and abase his pride than Kimon. He did not let him go when he departed from Greece, but following hard on the Persians' heels and not letting them pause for breath, as it were, he ravaged and destroyed some of their territories and made others revolt and come over to the Greeks, so that he completely cleared Asia of Persian arms from Ionia to Pamphylia. [12.2] When he learned that the King's generals were lying in wait in Pamphylia with a large army and many ships, he set out from Knidos and the Triopion peninsula with 300 ships, with the intention of inducing such fear as to make the sea this side of the Khelidonian islands an area they would not sail into or trespass upon. These ships had been made by Themistokles to be very swift and manoeuvrable, and on that occasion Kimon made them broader, and gave them a gangway on the decks so that they would carry large numbers of hoplites and so be more effective at fighting the enemy. [12.3] He sailed to the city of Phaselis, whose inhabitants were Greek, but they did not receive the fleet or wish to revolt from the King, and so he began to ravage their territory and attack their walls. [12.4] The Khians, who were part of his fleet, and had long enjoyed friendly relations with Phaselis, induced Kimon to be more gentle and shot pamphlets attached to arrows over the walls with messages for the people of Phaselis. In the end this brought reconciliation on condition that Phaselis pay ten talents, join the League, and take part in the campaign against Persia.

[wispythreads]

This is the most powerful I’ve felt in a Legend of Zelda game in a while. As we should all know by this point, I’m incredibly stubborn, and really wanted to find all the rest of the Twilight armor pieces as soon as I learned that the set was in Tears of the Kingdom, seeing as how Twilight Princess was my first and still is my favorite of the Zelda series. Bear in mind I’ve maybe played this game for about five or six days total, being busy with real life stuff that didn’t really leave room for playing it, and having to compete with all my other siblings that all usually want access to the one switch in the household.

I don't even have a complete row of hearts yet, and my stamina wheel is still the same as when you start the game. I haven't gone through any of the major story beats of the main divine-beast-esque questline. Only one set of my armor has been upgraded by a great fairy, to two stars, which is the usual basic Hylian outfit you can get from the start. And I refuse to really mess with any of the zonai tech unless it's absolutely required.

So, what do I do when I find out that the last piece of the armor set, Link's signature cap, is guarded not only by a Gleeok, a large boss-worthy monster that's been reintroduced to the series, but a King Gleeok, each of its three heads harnessing the power of the elements of ice, fire, and electricity, its thick hide covered in gloom? A devastating creature that is required to be defeated before the chest containing my sought treasure will relinquish its boon?

Well I throw myself at it, obviously.

Its not total folly for me to try, after all. While I lack in actual game progression, I have plenty of stuff.

I have the chest piece and legs of the barbarian armor.

I have enough ingredients to make food and elixirs that grant me a x3 bonus to my defense or attack, to restore hearts temporarily locked by gloom, and to not only fully restore my health, but grant a meager increase of temporary hearts as well.

I have fought and won against a stalnox, black bokoblins, moblins, horriblins and boss bokoblins, and obsidian froxs.

I've upgraded my weapon, bow, and shield stash a decent amount, and have several high damaging bows and high durability weapons with fast charge.

And I have so many Keese eyeballs.

It would've been better if I had more elemental keese eyeballs, as I had about 10 flame and ice ones and only 2 electric ones, but when you've got 53 normal ones and it only takes two hits to take a head out, I wouldn't worry too much on that front.

Did this take multiple tries? Sure. Did it suck when I almost had it dead but the sheer amount of chaos hurling around me during its second phase managed to catch me in its periphery and instantly one hit kill me? You bet.

But that final attempt only had me break one of each type of weapon, one of my two golden royal bows and one black lizalfos horn fused to a Knight's halberd, which had been saved from the decay claiming so many like it. That final attempt only results in me getting hit once, and that creature stalled from its second phase by shooting it down before it could reach that height impossible for the keese eyes to follow.

This is what a boss fight should be. This is on par with how I felt after finally defeating Ganon from my favorite game. This feeling of accomplishment and triumph is what should've been there after defeating the Ganon blight in Breath of the Wild, a fight that had been sorely lacking in providing any challenge at all.

My armor set is complete, covered in wolf hair though it may be.

Now all I gotta do is figure out how to farm stars, as getting enough topaz shouldn't be too difficult.

[sunlessea]

< i think i’d miss you even if we never met. > kin me

interaction prompt ... / @reapcrbunny.

she's resplendent, and so confident! against itself, oft so intimidating and angry to the eyes of london : the masters of the bazaar are not missed in their absence, and more than that, are never craved. most would think her positively insane, and it is not entirely sure, quite frankly, whether or not it could count itself out of said populace. few flock at the sides of the masters, even the beautificous mr pages and its poetic tongue. never so eager to catch their attention are kine, when that oft means death or worse. the ones who do tend to be daft at best or have a death wish at worst, and so tiring is it to constantly shoo away unwanted affections from the barbarians of its others.

she speaks such romantic, honeyed sentiments that only her kind are capable of. never could another master make it trill so, bat-like ears perked at attention, smile 'pon its face. one would think pages the bashful sort, were it not such a deceptively dangerous and cruel creature underneath it's bright-eyed, fascinated, nymphlike counteanouse.

"such lovely romantissence, little star...! your kind and their words, are so very beautiful. we kindred are not so capable of such hauntingly intimate connections, and yet..." it circles her, just enough to reach her side. with gentle touch, its hands reach out to trail its fingertips along her arms starting from her shoulders, until they meet her palms : in doing so, it holds them up, guiding her forward as it walks behind her, hands in hands, albeit strangely. it, of course, does not expect this to last : she, after all, needs to speak, yet it is but a passing moment. "such words as yours are expressions of fancy, are they not? splendificent. you and your heart, are intriguing to me, so audacious where others would be killed for expressing such romantesque sayitudes in my presence. i believe, despite the folly of my kind, i would miss you too, ravitching warrior of stars."

[soullesssinews]

okay i'm bored and was going through the trying to translate everything too when i found this so here's my additions (in white italics, page numbers ofc might differ)

à moi. l’histoire d’une de mes folies (to me. the history of one of my follies or my turn. the tale of my madness or mine. the story of my madness) - page 7

- quod erat demonstrandum (it can be shown)

cubitum eamus? (will you sleep with me?) - page 33

consummatum est (it is done) - page ??

hoi polloi. barbaroi (the many/majority/the masses. barbarian (person who doesn’t speak greek)) - page 147

bei nacht und nebel (at night and in fog) - page ??

deprendi miserum est (it is wretched to be found out) - page 173

je me sens comme hélène keller, mon vieux (i feel like helen keller, old man) - page 175

khairei (hello) - page 183

bakchoi (initiates (bakchoi were the branches that elusinian initiates swung along the ground traveling the pilgrimage)) - page 183

cuniculus molestus (annoying rabbit) - page 190

dunque-dunqued (so-soed) - page 191

arrectis auribus (attentively/ears peeled) - page 193

dormir plutôt que vivre (sleep rather than live) - page 197

dans un sommeil aussi doux que la mort (in a sleep as sweet as death) - page 197

frisson (a thrill (of excitement or of fear)) - page 211

requiescat in pace (rest in peace) - page 220

n’est-ce pas (isn’t that so) - page 221

amor vincit omnia (love conquers all) - page 223

consummatum est (it is finished) - page 276

- raison d’être (reason for existence)

nihil sub sole novum (there is nothing new under the sun) - page 296

quel plaisir de vous revoir (what a great pleasure to see you again) - page 323

genis gratus, corpore glabellus, arte multiscius, et fortuna opulentus (smooth-cheeked, soft-skinned, well-educated and rich) - page 325

dénouement (outcome) - page 337

salve, amice (hello, friend) - page 429

valesne? (are you well?) - page 429

quid est rei? (what is the matter?) - page 429

benigne dicis (i thank you) - page 429

bureau de tabac (tobacco store) - page ??

Χαλεπά τά καλά (beauty is harsh) - page 544

mais, vrai, j’ai trop pleuré! (oh, truly, i have wept too much!) - page 548

les aubes sont navrantes (the dawns are heartbreaking) - page 548

hinc illae lacrimae (hence those tears) - page 555

sic oculos, sic ille manus, sic ora ferebat (such eyes, such hands, such looks) - page ??

The Secret History Translation Masterlist

i was going to put this on a spam account but then decided to put it on a public one. who knows, maybe someone will benefit from it! if i’ve made any mistakes, do let me know

à moi. l’histoire d’une de mes folies (to me. the history of one of my follies or my turn. the tale of my madness)

quod erat demonstrandum (it can be shown)

cubitum eamus? (will you sleep with me?)

consummatum est (it is done)

hoi polloi. barbaroi [the many/majority. barbarian (person who doesn’t speak greek)]

bei nacht und nebel (at night and in fog)

deprendi miserum est (it is wretched to be found out)

khairei (hello)

bakchoi (initiates)

cuniculus molestus (annoying rabbit)

arrectis auribus (attentively/ears peeled)

dormir plutôt que vivre (sleep rather than live)

dans un sommeil aussi doux que la mort (in a sleep as sweet as death)

requiescat in pace (rest in peace)

n’est-ce pas (isn’t that so)

amor vincit omnia (love conquers all)

raison d’être (reason for existence)

nihil sub sole novum (there is nothing new under the sun)

quel plaisir de vous revoir (what a great pleasure to see you again)

genis gratus, corpore glabellus, arte multiscius, et fortuna opulentus (smooth-cheeked, soft-skinned, well-educated and rich)

dénouement (outcome)

salve, amice (hello, friend)

valesne? (are you well?)

quid est rei? (what is the matter?)

benigne dicis (i thank you)

bureau de tabac (tobacco store)

Χαλεπά τά καλά (beauty is harsh)

mais, vrai, j’ai trop pleuré! (oh, truly, i have wept too much!)

les aubes sont navrantes (the dawns are heartbreaking)

hinc illae lacrimae (hence those tears)

sic oculos, sic ille manus, sic ora ferebat (such eyes, such hands, such looks)