#honor: a less nebulous concept that to be believed

[purplekoop]

Koop Talks About (#1)... Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves A 9th-Level Pleasant Surprise!

So the first of the movies I watched with my dearest partner during our thanksgiving meetup trip was the D&D movie, which... I'll be blunt, I didn't really expect much from. As much joy as I've had with DnD over the past few years, I don't really give much credit to DnD itself as a "brand". My memories come from the primarily homebrewed campaigns and thoroughly original PCs, saturated with house rules and whatever the hell I convinced my partner would fit in a DnD game. I even started a campaign of my own with an original setting, though it sadly didn't last long due to personal motivation. But all these memories I associate more with each game as separate entities from the nebulous basic concept of DnD, so an original story relying entirely on established official DnD monsters, locations, and characters didn't have much innate appeal to me.

Fortunately, Honor Among Thieves doesn't rely on pure DnD iconography and fanservice to be a solid film. It instead is a solid film on its own right, a fun and satisfying fantasy film that uses the props of established DnD material to tell a good story just as any Dungeon Master would. I have next to no complaints with it as just a movie, and the context of it serving as a big screen adaptation of a plausible DnD adventure smooth any gaps in its score for me. (Not that I'm scoring these things, don't expect THAT much from me.)

So let's start the in-depth topics where any DnD game does: the cast of characters.

What'd be of concern in a true DnD game but is more excusable in the context of a mainstream motion picture is the fact the movie has a clear main character: the questionably named Edgin, played by one of the Hollywood Chrises of all time, Pine. Pathetic as an alleged Bard (doesn't cast a SINGLE bard spell, he just sings a couple times, coward), Edgin is the cornerstone of the story, serving as the focal driving force of the plot and the (eventually assembled) party. We meet him and his longtime adventuring cohort, the barbarian Holga (played by Michelle Rodriguez), at the very start of the film, and follow their story throughout, from dramatic backstory retelling to the end. It's Edgin's story, which feels a bit skewed in focus for a DnD context, but I understand and agree with giving the story a definitive focal character for the sake of being a simple and cohesive film. It helps that his story is effective, with his character being charming yet flawed in a way that I thankfully think adds up to being likeable. Fortunate also that the overwhelming majority of this movie's "MCU dialogue" is confined to him, which I was personally unbothered by here. It contrasts a bit with most of the cast speaking in believable enough fantasy speak, but it fits for his sort of "scheming quick-witted bastard" persona, plus I guess also makes him a grounding point for an unfamiliar broader audience to attach to. The more modern speaking patterns are generally contained to the main cast of the four "player characters", so again, it's fair enough they don't keep the act quite as well as the "NPCs". I can see it be a bit grating to some, but personally I thought it was fine.

Oh yeah, I glossed over Holga. As great as she is, there's not much to say on her. Barbarians are usually pretty simple but great, lady barbarians are even better. She's not too "whimsical" of a barbarian, she doesn't say "I would like to rage" verbatim, much less do anything that looks like an active "rage state", but frankly it doesn't bother me too much. She's not too complicated, but she has some great moments, and has a subtle but solid performance.

Third of the four is Simon the sorcerer, played by Justice Smith of Detective Pikachu fame and also probably other things. He's the character with the second most "MCU dialogue", but his weird semi-accent he plays the character with hides it a little better. He's also the only one of the party's three casting classes to actively cast spells, but like. It'd be annoying to conveniently explain to a general audience what makes this magic different from this magic and this magic, so I get minimizing who actually gets to do casting. You could argue even that DnD has the problem of relying on casting as a mechanic a bit too much, but hey that's a different opinion ramble. Anyways Simon. He's fun too. He has the second most prominent story arc of the party, which while simple is still satisfying to see to its fruition. It's also fun to see an adaptation of wild magic specifically, which I do wish was extrapolated on further but again, I get keeping it simple.

Last up is Doric, the tiefling druid played by Sophia Lillis. Unfortunately she's also the least up, at least in screentime. She joins the story a significant portion after the rest of the main party, and while around for most of the ride she still feels a bit disconnected from the plot. After being shakily convinced to aid in the quest, she does get a really fun action scene to show off her wild shape abilities. While very much bending the technical rules backwards for most of her scenes with the ability (in some cases even impacting the official game, I believe the rules on what you can turn into were altered for the next major edition specifically to allow for turning into an owlbear like in the movie), I'm willing to ignore that for how fun they get with the gimmick. Again, slightly weird how her druid magic is limited to just wild shape, but again, it's fine, we're keeping it simple and approachable, I get it. I also get the choice to not give her the more conventional bright chromatic skin tone most players associate with tieflings. With the horror stories for how full-body painted live action characters have been on the actors (Drax being a notably egregious-sounding example), I don't blame them for keeping the demonic details restrained. The tail is cute at least, got that much. Her performance is also a bit low-impact, but she has her moments in the group dynamic, even if somewhat sparse.

The side characters meanwhile I have no complaints for. The hyper-competent temporary paladin party member Xenk (played by the eye-pleasing Regé-Jean Page) was a delight, both in the incidental comedy he brought and also the genuine sincerity he grounds the plot with.

The antagonists meanwhile are minor spoilers (though fairly obvious and short-term) so skip this next paragraph if you want to dodge those:

The glorious scheming bastard Forge Fitzwilliam (played by Hugh Grant, the glorious voice of the Pirate Captain from Pirates: Band of Misfits/In an Adventure with Scientists and nothing else possibly as important) is an absolute delight of a scheming love-to-hate villain, whose lack in actual threat besides financial power is made up for by the less entertaining but thoroughly menacing Red Wizard, Sofina (played by Daisy Head). They balance each other out nicely, and I feel like the movie's lineup of antagonists is both enjoyable and functional as a result.

Moving away from the characters themselves to how they're presented, the effects in this movies are faaaaaanTASTIC. The highest praises I heard sang for this movie in advance were towards its use of animatronics, suits, and other practical effects to depict some of the forgotten realms' more fantastical yet mundane inhabitants. About every other scene features a dragonborn, tabaxi, or aarakocra, which is brought to life with real, physical, classic effects. It adds such an element of richness to the world and makes the film feel so much more sincere. The more typical modern big-budget CGI effects are of course here in spades as well, but their presence feels earned and reserved for just the effects that like... yeah no, you're not doing that with modern physical technology. Helps that these effects also look good, which, yeah, they do. There's an effect or two for a gag that feels a little "modern" or otherwise out of place, but these are pretty sparse and still entertaining enough to pass as a suspension-bending bit that any DM with a sense of humor would allow.

I think that brings me to the last big thing that I think I need to give credit to this movie for: it works great as a movie, but it also feels right as a DnD movie. It's a well-told fantasy story that sets up and pays off a solid story with a solid cast in a beautifully depicted world. But just as much, it feels like DnD. The superficial references, like the specific array of iconic monsters the movie draws from and the names of locations and such, even the mechanics of certain spells and items, those are all great, and my partner especially adored some of the more niche references. But like I said earlier, DnD to me is just as much an energy, a feeling, as it is a set of rules and pre-built assets. It's the subtleties of how the party makes their plans and talks about their backstories, the way the world and adventure is framed, even the staging of the final fight scene, all bends conventional action film etiquette in favor of feeling authentic to the experience of playing DnD in a way that works shockingly well, all without shirking the film's duties as a film released in theaters for a mainstream audience. There's not really any moments where I think I'd need to explain something to my mom or anyone equally clueless on DnD's mechanics, they could just watch it as a solid fantasy adventure flick. It's two exceptionally well done layers of enjoyment, which I think is even more exceptional on its own.

So yeah, even to someone who literally knows nothing about DnD, I can recommend this one pretty comfortably. It's a fun action movie that doesn't fall into every pitfall of modern action movies, keeping a sincerely enjoyable solid story to the end. It's not groundbreaking, but it's still great. To someone who does know DnD... well uh, honestly my glowing review wavers a bit depending on how picky you are. If you're willing to excuse the mechanical inaccuracies and oversights for the sake of making the film a more accessible watch to broader audiences, then this film is even better than it is to those audiences. If you're not though, then... well honestly I think that's just as much a "you" problem as it is an issue with the movie. Yes I know nothing short of a level 20 druid can wildshape that much without a rest, just shut up and watch the lady turn into animals a bunch in this cool action scene, it's fine.

On a similar note to adaptations, the next two are also adaptations of game franchises: one that still thoroughly confuses my tiny brain, and one that I think I can confidently say I know a little more about.

[flowerflamestars]

Shoreless Sea snippet

Helion was not the only one waiting for Nesta’s return.   It said something about the dragging euphoria of her tiredness, of her skin still singing with Tarquin’s touch, that she managed to ignore so long what was outside her own front door.   A place sometimes an almond orchard, a Day meadow bursting with light, or days like this- white marble and Daystone, an orange tree shrouded courtyard that lived alongside Helion’s palace.   Pale stone, pale blossoms blooming enchanting, and blackened half-dry Illyrian blood smeared by the wings of the shadowsinger patient under the noonday sun.   Like dropping into icy water, a neat wound to run her straight through, Nesta froze. Nesta stopped- breathing, thinking, smiling.

All she could smell was blood, iron-rich taste a ghost on her lips.   Not Azriel’s- not all Azriel’s.   Who turned gutted black eyes on hers, three syllables ground between her teeth that Azriel had the grace not to wait for her to say. Ask. Unnecessary, and they both knew it.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 11: Plummet

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Eleven: Plummet

Note: I loved hearing your comments as always! Glad your all enjoying the fic so far! I think there will probably only be one more chapter of this arc after this. Maybe two. Then we will be returning to the one we were in before this. I need to come up with a name for it. Maybe the Island Arc? No, that’s lame. Give me your ideas lol! And check the endnotes, please. I have something special for you today :D

(-~-)

It felt like a lifetime since the young teenage girl had clambered on board the van, the cramped confines of the interior of the vehicle and the number of strangers she was forced into close contact with only heightening her level of dismay and disillusionment. A thousand and one things were running through her head at every second, dragging the short time that she’d spent in transit to safety into what felt like hours. Never before had she felt so helpless against an opponent who might very well take the life of someone she cared about, not even when her grandparents had fallen dead at her feet. At least she could say that she had tried to save them, bashing one of the strangers who had attacked them in the back with a wooden log that had been laying nearby.

But when V had told her that he wanted her to leave, she had frozen. And in her panic, she had honored his request. That was something that she was going to have to live with for the rest of her life, and something that she didn’t know how she would cope with. There was a certain level of expectation that people had towards the possibility that their family would at least try and protect them, but for a stranger to risk everything time after time to help someone that they had only met that day? Unheard of. Despite her young age, there was a part of her that genuinely wanted to do something about what had occurred that day, a deep, buried part of her crying out for the justice that they both deserve.

“He didn’t even know me, and he still was willing to die to save me. And I just left him behind. What does that say about me?”

Morgan hadn’t noticed that she’d said that out loud until one of the other people in the vehicle with had shaken their head and shrugged nebulously. “Well, if you didn’t know each other, then why are you beating yourself up about it? Why do you care so much?”

The statement was enough in of its self to make her get out of the car and walk the rest of the way. A feeling of profound disgust rose up in the pit of her stomach, the entire van suddenly being far too hot for her liking. If she was willing to guess, and she was, the passenger that had spoken to her just now was far from the type who would have willingly pulled over their car to assist her. And while there was a part of her that understood their viewpoint and the concept of self-preservation at any cost, she couldn’t help but feel abject horror at the thought of being so selfish. But that didn’t mean that she wasn’t smart enough to stay quiet about it lest she risk being kicked to the curb. She didn’t know these people, and she had no idea what they were capable of.

“Ge, I don’t know, because he cares about me, ya know? Because he saved my life more than once today! Because I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him!” Morgan huffed in frustration, trying to hold back the frustrated tears that were trying to escape her eyes. She refused to sit there and cry in a van with a bunch of strangers like a little kid, no matter the context. “You don’t have to know a stranger to help a stranger. He’s proof of that. I mean, if you saw a kid about to get hit by a car, wouldn’t you try and save them?”

The stranger shrugged. “Can’t say that I would. I’m not trying to get hit by a car. I have a family, too. Maybe I’d call the ambulance afterward or something, but I’m not running out into the street for a stranger. It’s not like I don’t care, I just care less about them than I do myself. Nothing wrong with that. And besides, they probably wouldn’t even appreciate what I did for them, knowing my luck. That’s just how it is.”

Morgan sighed sadly. “I don’t need them to feel thankful to know I did something right. I just need to know that I did my best. I can live with that.”

It occurred to her at that moment that maybe she wasn’t as good at hiding what she truly thought as she had thought she was. There was a part of her that was deeply frustrated by the fact that her newfound companion had stayed behind to buy them time, and that some of the people in the car could have such a devil may care attitude about it. “Better him than me” they were probably thinking. And she couldn’t abide by that. As soon as she made it to town, she was going to find the police, and she was going to do her very best to get help for her friend. That was all she could do now, and she knew that regardless of how much she didn’t want to, she was going to have to live with that reality for the rest of her life. 

Deep down she wanted to believe that she had done the right thing, but she couldn’t be sure, and the not knowing about what had become of him was probably the worst part. After all, it would be pitch black outside in a short while. It would be cold and desolate, and he was alone against everyone who was out to get them both. How on earth would he contend with such staggering odds on his own? He didn’t come off to her as the survivalist sort.

What on earth was V going to do now?

(-~-)

Once the unfortunate reality of the situation that he’d gotten himself into truly set in, so did the panic. But thankfully, so did the instinct to turn that insurmountable fear into something that he could use against his opponents. He was moving through quick-drying cement, and he knew it. Now his best course of action was to try his very best to get out of it before he was locked into place and couldn’t escape.

In a strange mixture of initiative and calm, especially given the dire situation that he found himself in, V decided to get to work coming up with a solution. The authorities had already been contacted. Now what he needed to do was make it somewhere somewhat safe and stay out of the realm of detection of his enemies. The fact that they were armed and fully willing to kill him did make that considerably more difficult, but that was just something that he was going to have to deal with accordingly.

“Morgan said that the bag was somewhere over here,” V said quietly under his breath as he dug through the pile of snow nearest to where he and Morgan had fallen down the mountain. Despite the fact that he had literally never been in the town before that day except when he’d passed through to move to Lympha, he understood the layout somewhat. It was a tiny place with mostly log cabins, and the hill that they had come down held a domineering position behind the place. When they had said that they had been living in the shadow of the larger town for as long as they could remember, he had to believe that they meant that literally. And he’d feel bad for them in that respect if they hadn’t just tried to kill him.

What kind of desperation and madness drew people to commit the kinds of acts that these people had decided to commit? He hoped that he would never understand. He didn’t want to. That would mean that at least once he would have to stand in their shoes and think as they did. V liked to think that he had more dignity and self-respect than to lower himself to that kind of level. He liked to think that he would never do something like what they had done, and although he was nearly certain that he wouldn’t, he had never been put in such a situation. But at the very least, he wouldn’t have done so willingly, and he would have done so as a last resort. From what he could tell, they had been more than happy to go along with the demands of their adversaries for whatever reason.

To his satisfaction and relief, a moment later, V located the bag that he’d brought with them and sifted through it. There would be a time and a place to bring it back with him, but this wasn’t it. At this point, it would only serve to slow him down. No, he would leave it there, hidden in the snow until he returned. But he was going to bring one thing that he’d seen Morgan slip into the bag during their trip.

It seemed that the knife might be a good idea after all. 

He hoped that he would get the opportunity to tell Morgan that.

As soon as he rounded the corner and stepped into the middle of the intersection again, an all too familiar vehicle rounded the corner from the top of the hill and came barreling at him. It was the truck that they had escaped earlier. The instant they saw him, the driver floored the gas, barreling at him at top speed. From what he could tell, they were planning to hit him, apparently so angry that he had managed to escape that they were fully ready to just kill him and be over and done with the entire situation. Things had just escalated to a degree that he hadn’t expected them to.

With a level of reaction time that he didn’t know he possessed, V dived across the street into the snow and out of the reach of the truck, the old vehicle hitting the breaks a few seconds after passing him, but sliding on the ice instead. The sheer momentum caused by the speed that they were going send them sliding sideways at a dangerous speed, the truck flipping onto its side and rolling before making impact with one of the buildings nearest to the road. From what he could tell, it was a bar of some sort.

Shards of wood rained down and the truck tore a massive hole through the side of the well-worn building, eliciting shouts and curses from its passengers. One could only hope that the building was empty at that moment, but he couldn’t’ find the mental energy to care that much. He was torn between waiting to see if they were still alive and running for his life, the logical center of his brain not so subtly reminding him of the fact that the men in the truck were not the only ones hunting him down.

Just then, one of the doors to another building close to them popped open, a hooded head sticking out followed by two others. While the first two ran over to the truck and attempted to force the truck doors open on the side that was still accessable, the other taller individual looked directly at him. For a moment, they stared at one another, V’s breath coming slowly as it threatened to catch in his throat. The only sound he heard was the dull doubled up rhythm of his heart beating in his chest as he stared down a man that he knew without question or hesitation wanted to end his life. And despite the fact that he couldn’t make out the individual’s face, he could see their eyes.

And he could feel their hate.

In a strange turn of events, they both acted at the same time. It was as if they were both on a starting line and the gun that signaled the start of the race had been fired, sending them both into a flurry of activity. Without much thought as to where he would land, V instantaneously overcame his fear of heights for a moment and tossed himself down the snow-covered hill, knowing somehow deep down that he could roll down the hill much faster than he could run down it. After all, he had done so earlier that day. It would put much-needed distance between him and his pursuers, even if his sore cut and bruise covered body didn’t exactly appreciate it at that moment.

Enough adrenaline to kill a humpback whale flooded his bloodstream as he clambered to his feet at the bottom of the hill, his heart hammering in his chest as he rushed forwards towards nothing in particular, hoping that he would be fast enough to make his escape. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that the mysterious man had yet to even reach the edge of the ridge, a strange and intriguing thing coming to mind as he considered the fact that he had covered much more distance in that short time than he ever had. V decided to simply pin it on the fact that he was most likely running faster than he ever had in his life, but the distance still seemed impossible to him. He had cleared at least three hundred yards in the time that it took him to register that he’d managed to get up and keep going, and he wasn’t going to complain.

Maybe greater speed and perseverance were granted to those in pearl, much like those in dire straits were sometimes able to lift egregious amounts of weight in order to save those that they loved. That was the only thing that he could think of. After all, he’d been athletic, but not in that kind of way. The only thing that years of ballet had probably imparted on him that would be helpful at this moment was endurance and balance. The ability to push himself to keep going beyond exhaustion, reason, and rationality was something that he’d always had to some degree, his mind working in microcosmos. If he looked at the entire situation as a whole while he was still in it, then he would more than likely falter due to the sheer magnitude of the existential horror that he’d find himself within the grips of. And in a situation like this, there was no time for that sort of thing. No time for anything aside from clear and decisive action at all costs. That was the only way that he was going to survive this.

Bruises would heal. Cuts would heal. His burning lungs and aching bones and feet and legs would be able to rest and he would recover. But he had to make it through this first. That kind of single-minded focus was the only thing that would keep him alive in this kind of situation. Whatever gods there were only knew that it sure as hell wouldn’t be his combat prowess. That was nonexistent, to say the least. No. He would run and run and run until he either escaped or dropped dead trying. Then their intentions for him wouldn’t matter in the slightest.

No, if they wanted him, they would have to kill him first. That was all there was to it. He utterly refused to go quietly. He would go kicking and screaming and hopefully take them with him. Because as full of pain and suffering and misery as his young life had been, he wasn’t willing to take his with the same level of silent acceptance that he had taken every other injustice that he’d been forced to deal with thus far. He’d been a child, incapable of doing anything meaningful about his situation then. There had been no recourse to try and alter his position. But he wasn’t a child anymore. He might barely be an adult, but that didn’t change anything as far as he was concerned.

V had no idea how long he had been running. Time was irrelevant to him at the point. He was beyond exhausted and cold and tired and hurt and all he wanted to do was stop. But if he stopped, then he was dead. The snow stung then he inhaled it, and his eyes burned as he tried to blink away the burning sensation that came from the bitter winter’s air. It was dark now, and he was certain that they were closing in on him. He had to be slowing down. There was no way that he had been able to upkeep that kind of relentless speed. But a quick glance over his shoulder told him that that wasn’t the case. His pursuers were barely visible behind him, meer black dots in a sea of white. And yet, somehow that only made him want to run faster. He was certain that he probably could if he wasn’t dredging through at least two feet of powdery snow.

And then he heard the crack followed by the echo, and dread hit him.

It didn’t take much to be able to tell that he had just been fired upon. He wasn’t that dense. The distinct crack of a rifle was something that he had heard many times before. The locals used them frequently to keep whatever came from the forest at bay. That and fire seemed to be the only things that warded of their fears. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he’d had to worry about little things like that. What a shame that it had come to this. Things had been so quiet once, even when they weren’t. And now he could never go back to that.

The open nature of the sprawling space that he found himself within meant that he had little in the way of cover. Running side to side was an obvious choice, but it caused extra leg work that he didn’t have time for. Maybe he could get lucky and they would just hit one of their own. But as he continued forward, the dull thud of something hitting him from behind took him off guard, tripping him up for a moment and nearly causing him to fall over. V inhaled sharply, mind discomfort numbed by the freezing air and the blinding snowy wind. He had no idea what to make of his situation, but he knew that it probably wasn’t good, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stop to see how bad he was hurt. No, he would just tell himself that it was a simple graze and keep going. That was all he could do, and at least it didn’t hurt yet.

In a sudden and unwelcome turn of events, he happened through a small smattering of half-dead trees, the thin spindly branches serving as nothing but a barrier when he needed it least. As he passed through them, he suddenly found himself stuck, his coat having become snagged on one of the branches. As he attempted to pull free, he remembered his knife, pulling it from his coat pocket with what little mobility he could muster before attempting to use it to cut himself free. To his shock and dismay, the black-hooded man had finally caught up with him. Although the others were nearly a mile off in the distance, he knew that this wasn’t good. But at least they were on somewhat equal standing.

“You put up quite the chase, but you should have saved your strength. We need it for what is to come.” The hooded man reached out towards him, gripping the space between his neck and his shoulder. “Now stop. Were running late, and we are not the sort to be kept waiting.”

As if from nowhere, a second wave of energy hit him and he pulled away as hard as he could, crying out in fear. No, he would not go with him. Absolutely not. As if his hand were guided by a secondary source, he plunged the blade forward, catching his opponent dead center across part of their face. The blade hit against the tree behind him, snapping like a cheap lock as it embedded itself deep into the wood, nicking V’s hand in the process. The young white-haired man simply shrugged off his jacket at that point and ran, unwilling to try any longer to pull himself free. His momentum would hopefully be enough to stave off hypothermia. Anything was better than allowing this man another chance to take his life. As the man screamed and gripped his face, doubling over in the snow in pain, V gathered what remaining strength he had left and bolted forward into the unknown. 

From what he could tell, there was a ridge up ahead. He could hear the sound of rushing water, something that he hadn’t noticed before in his haste to escape. There were several things that he hadn’t noticed, like the fall leaves mixed in with the snow and the tall trees that bordered him on either side. This would be beautiful if not for the circumstances surround them. Another sort of terror gripped him as he tried to remain calm, his composure slipping. This was all too much at once. How on earth had he ended up in such a dire situation? There was no way that he could escape with rushing water in his path. A waterfall could be the end of him. Had he come this far just to drown at the very end in the freezing water? Was that all he could hope for? A better worse end?

The air held its chill in silent occupation as the light breeze kissed the powdered snow below his feet. Between his eyes, his hair stuck to his face. How uncharacteristic of him to sweat in the snow, especially with no jacket. The tall cypress trees proved to be a lively contrast to the towering evergreens that the shared space with, gently scattering leaves in every direction. They had been falling, much as he would be soon enough. It would either be here or at the hands of his pursuers.

During the time preceding this waking nightmare, everything had been silent. Simplicity and serenity had been all that he had sought out in this place in the first place, and much to his elation, he'd found it. But after a brief honeymoon period during which he'd grown quite fond of this little hamlet, everything had come crashing down around him like it always did. In the place of silence, there had been a sudden rush of sound. He hadn't been able to hear it from where he'd been, but he had seen it, and the growing guilt that he now felt as he stood at the precipice of his likely demise consumed everything inside him. He had been spared their fates only to meet his at the bottom of the rocks.

He told himself that it was thin ice. It was rushing water, after all. Somewhere beneath the surface was a small glimmer of hope that perhaps if he only dared to take the plunge he would have his liberation. He had to for the rest of them. After all, that was why he was standing there in the first place. Their sacrifice had been profound and selfless, and now he had a responsibility as the only one left to bring justice to those who had paved the path before him with their very blood.

With a last tentative breath, he glanced back fearfully, and then felt air rush past him. His descent had begun. As he approached the glowing white below him, everything went black. He hoped for the chance to open his eyes just one last time. He’d promised Morgan as much. But as his feet broke through the ice and a rush of blisteringly cold water engulfed him knocking every last ounce of air from his lungs, he was granted just enough time to wonder if he would ever get a chance to fulfill that promise before he lost consciousness.

(-~-)

Well, at least this is a prequel! I’m sure V will be alright *cries*. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter! See you all next week and in the comments where I’m happy to answer any questions you might have! Also, I’ve decided to do something fun to lighten the mood and because I love interacting with you all: A STORY IDEA SUBMISSION FORM!

I’ve gotten so many cool ideas for side stories for Saudade from you guys that I’ve started to lose count! Feel free to go to the link below and add your suggestions. If I can find a way to fit them in, then I’ll be happy to do so! Also, they don’t have to be for that story. I’m still planning to go through the comments and see if I can find most of the requests, but if you’ve made one before, I’d love it if you added it here so I can find it easier. You can also put your username if you’d like so that I know who to gift/credit it to, but that’s up to you! Please check it out. It lakes about 2 minutes and only has like 5 questions. Thanks, everyone!

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1qCTCUvavsjnrOsnpWG_tahlX4FOZtDsR5p_q213FQ7o/edit?usp=sharing

[counterintuitivecomics]

Power and Uselessness in Ariel Ries’ Witchy

In her webcomic Witchy (2014-present), @arielries​  crafts a universe where your hair length determines your magical ability, and where she explores the complexities of living under an authoritarian regime in peacetime. Her teen protagonist Nyneve (pronounced Nin-eev) must conceal her long hair or risk either conscription or death at the hands of the Witch Guard. But exams are coming up and there’s only so much her capable mother Veda can do to protect her from the outside world - or to protect Nyneve from her own reckless decisions.

She must dig into the history of her kingdom and of magic itself, and to learn to understand the many forms resistance can take, if she’s going to survive...but can she keep believing that resistance is worth it? And can she learn how to trust those who can help her escape from the oppressive system she’s always known? Ries’ deceptively simple concept and writing style builds into an unusual and emotionally affecting story that’s willing to complicate black-and-white perspectives and to head in unexpected directions.

As of this article’s publication, @witchycomic​  currently stands at 6 chapters (and 316 pages), and continues to update. This review will contain some spoilers through chapter 3, but no further, and I will avoid revealing later major plot points.  

Page 6. Nyneve’s father bids her farewell.

Ries begins Witchy with a short, sharp introductory chapter depicting the moment where Nyneve’s father is taken away by members of the Witch Guard (led by someone he calls an “old friend”). In a sequence of mounting horror, we learn alongside young Nyneve that her father is never coming back. Black captions above the scene dispassionately intone the rules of Hyalin, where “those with hair judged too long are pronounced enemies of the kingdom, and annihilated,” and conclude over smoky skies with the simple, brutal statement, “this is called a witch burning.” This compact opening efficiently sets the stage for the “present day” narrative of Witchy, establishing this pivotal loss in Nyneve’s family and the high stakes of life under the military regime, without wallowing in the moment of trauma.

   Ries prepares us with this introduction to view the comparatively lighthearted Chapter 2 with wariness, as a now 18-year-old Nyneve rushes off to school. The lovely twinkling moment where Nyneve magically disguises her long mane of hair into a short braid is undercut with our knowledge of what could happen if she did not do so. The dark truth of witch burnings prevents the reader from getting entirely carried away with the pleasant “adventures at magic school” tropes at play as we’re introduced to key classmates. Once their teacher Idra announces their upcoming conscription tests for the Witch Guard and starts running them through magic drills, Nyneve’s subtly depicted expressions and posture describe her ever-mounting anxiety for what the future holds.  

Page 4 (excerpt).  Nyneve conceals her hair with magic.

Witchy’s core metaphor of magical abilities linked to hair length can be read not just as about the degree of control and impact a person can have on the world around them, but how society commodifies power and skills. Nyneve’s disguise of short hair – and therefore assumed low magical ability – exposes her to bullying and disdain from nearly all her classmates and greatly isolates her. But, as we soon learn, her magical abilities themselves are truly sporadic and uncontrollable, not as “strong” as her real hair supposedly indicates. As she puts it, “my hair’s just as much of a burden as it is useless.”

In a society like Hyalin that’s focused so strictly on a person’s “use” for their kingdom, the treatment of “useless” witches like Nyneve also demonstrates how such systems often view disability and difference. After Nyneve accidentally destroys the practice arena, Idra takes her aside in a conversation that might feel all too familiar to anyone who’s ever tried to voice their need for disability accommodations at school or work. When Nyneve describes how the school’s equipment makes it harder to control her magic, Idra scolds her for making excuses, and tells her that the sooner she accepts her limited abilities the sooner she can “find her place.” While facing and accepting limitations can often be constructive, the context of this advice is crucial – her teacher is denying the possibility that the current system of magical use could impose any of these limits on Nyneve, refuses to find alternative methods to make focusing easier for her, and essentially counsels her to accept being a person unworthy of conscription.  

Page 32. Nyneve’s teacher Idra brushes aside her concerns about her unfocused magic.

Idra does not seem to intend to be unkind here, and indeed offers to recommend Nyneve for the career in magical study she desires, once (Idra assumes) she fails to pass conscription. But we are led to wonder how differently this conversation might have gone if Idra recognized Nyneve’s true hair length, even though her magical abilities would have been exactly the same – would she even consider letting her avoid the military to study academic magic? She may sincerely want to find the best path for her students where their talents can flourish. But since their society exploits people’s skills in order to perpetuate the power of the authoritarian government, and as Idra seems to completely buy into that structure of power, then even her best intentions towards her students will further their exploitation.

One of my few criticisms for Witchy is that while it’s possible to read an exploration of ableism in these thoughtful scenes on Hyalin culture’s treatment of variations in magical ability, it’s hard to determine any intentional depiction of disability on Ries’ part. After all, Hyalin magic can be viewed simply as a kind of nebulous “talent,” with most people being more or less “talented” in different areas. And while I’d argue that Nyneve could be described as a disabled witch due to her erratic magic skills, nothing has been stated in the narrative, and there has yet to be any characters introduced with non-magical disabilities either.

As it stands, there’s plenty of story left for Ries to tell, and Nyneve is just beginning to explore the fundamental relationship of humans to the spirit world that “lends” them their magic. I’d love to see disability continue to be depicted alongside it in more concrete way, as well as the question of what “normal” people’s lives are like if they’re aren’t powerful enough to qualify for either conscription or execution – I think both could potentially enrich Witchy’s themes of how a person’s perceived “strength” and “usefulness” are treated by society.

Nyneve’s experiences at the academy with “useless” hair are set in stark relief against those of her classmate Prill, the haughty star pupil who whole-heartedly buys into this system where magical strength rules over all. She’s “been dying to join the Guard” since she was five, and passionately describes how being conscripted into military servitude is an honor and protecting their kingdom “a privilege.” Not knowing Nyneve’s family history, and not seeing her pain, she perceives her as simply unworthy of this honor and accordingly treats her with condescension.

So when Nyneve reveals her true hair to Prill and their mutual friend Batu, Prill gasps in awe and declares it to be the answer to all of her classmate’s fears. “If everyone knew they wouldn’t even think about–“ she exclaims, then stumbles as she finishes her thought, “Uh…bullying…you...” Perhaps she realizes the cruelty in her essentially saying “weak” witches deserve bullying, or perhaps she only feels ashamed for contributing to Nyneve’s widespread bullying. Either way, she still asks Nyneve, “why would you hide it?” because from her position at the pinnacle of recognized magical potential, Nyneve’s rejection of her ideals is utterly baffling. She can’t understand why someone who could have power and use in the military would want to opt out of it, just as she can’t yet see that she herself is being exploited by that same system.

Page 67. Prill and Nyneve share a moment after Idra intercedes on Prill’s behalf.

Later on in Chapter 3 we witness Prill in a sudden, very public moment of vulnerability, that reveals the coldness beneath the Knight Guard that she holds so dear. As the students wait for medical exams prior to their conscription exam, a medical soldier thoughtlessly outs Prill as a trans girl and denies her entry to the correct medmage. Though Prill is a young woman, administrators categorized her as a man because of her “official documentation,” and so the soldier skeptically refuses to deviate from her list regardless of what the flesh and blood human in front of her says. While their teacher Idra steps in quickly to pull rank, support Prill, and punish the soldier, we can see from Prill’s expression that damage has been done.   The soldier’s concession that “maybe the third gender doctor can see you. They’re better equipped for this sort of thing,” suggests even further limits of trans rights and acceptance under Hyalin military culture. While it may seem good that the government recognizes a third gender, the way in which it’s brought up reveals an underlying oppression against people who fall out of a strict system of categories. To this presumably cis soldier, Prill expressing anything that deviates from her documents makes her a troublesome disruption of categories, and so should be shunted into what she sees as general miscellaneous group for “this sort of thing.” It does not matter that Prill is neither a boy or a third gender person but a young woman; according to the official system she is denied the reality of her gender – that is, until a suitably higher ranked person like her teacher steps in to grant her an exception to the rules. And while Idra seems to genuinely care for Prill’s wellbeing, her concern can’t be divorced from the fact that she sees Prill as a powerful asset to the empire.

Without Idra’s protection, what would have happened to Prill? As she reveals to Nyneve afterwards, her parents have refused to change her documents due to their clan traditions of property inheritance, so she has to enlist in the guard to use their transition program when she comes of age. If she was not seen as worth looking out for at school and of conscription into the military system, what would happen to Prill? Would she have ended up shunted into another category she didn’t belong in, or even be punished for her anger towards the soldier denying her gender? What kind of future would she have?

After Nyneve muses,“I never thought that the guard might actually be good for someone,” and attempts to apologize, Prill immediately admonishes her: “Don’t start throwing away your ideals because you suddenly empathize with me ...There’s a legitimate reason you feel the way you do about the Witch Guard.” This moment of mutual empathy both brings a great deal of nuance to Prill’s character and her idolization of the guard over all else, and suggests increasing layers of complexity to the empire they both live in. Ries uses the conclusion of this scene, where Prill swallows her pride and apologizes for the past, to show how Nyneve’s risky decision to reveal her hair to Prill has already changed the both of them for the better and brought them closer.  

Ries’ deft writing skills are one of the many great joys of Witchy, and her willingness to use the full language of comics is a big reason why. Ries builds her scenes on the bones of well-crafted page layouts, each one dynamic and inventive without becoming flashy. Her cohesive coloring style joins realistic lighting with thrilling bursts of magical powers and jolts of emotion expressionism. Riel stages her scenes smoothly as well, balancing simple, clean panels of character expression and quick action with beautifully depicted settings rich in detail. Her pleasingly rough, curvy lines vibrate with an energy that erupts in moments of action and emotion, but becomes delicate in moments of quiet. Ries’ efforts create a world for Witchy that feels very real and lived in, and makes for a fluid, engaging reading experience.  

Page 60. Veda expresses her love to Nyneve before the conscription exam.

Ries uses the language of her pages this way to express not only the actions taking place but impact of those moments on the characters. The above page 60, where Nyneve prepares to leave her mother Veda on the fateful morning of her conscription exam, is an excellent example of this. We move from a tight image of Nyeve’s finished breakfast plate (big enough to not even need panel borders) to three panels in the warm, close intimacy of Veda’s embrace (her mother’s dress matching the plate these panels overlaps almost exactly), which together evoke a final lingering feeling of safety. But the moment of their parting happens in a single, distant panel nearly surrounded by cold white space. The previous green backgrounds spill into a cloudy sky that frames their figures as they separate and clasp each other’s hands, the distance between their bodies making them seem suddenly fragile.

Ries ends this emotional sequence not on Nyneve, as you may expect, but on a single, wordless panel of Veda watching her go while she bites her knuckle in uncertainty, framed in a muted but deepening green. We sense her limitations as she floats isolated in the whiteness of the page, and her worry that she won’t be able to protect her daughter as she has promised her. This page succeeds in getting across the complexity and depth of their relationship from both sides, and shows how much each of them need and love the other.

Ultimately, Ariel Ries’ Witchy is far more than a story about a one true hero needed to defeat the Dark Evil Empire and its heartless stooges. People hurt each other and look out for each other in many intersecting ways, and everyone thinks they’re doing the right thing from where they stand in Hyalin. Nyneve is not a savior the ancient prophecies spoke of, though her story has that familiar and eternally compelling narrative of being a special person who has to hide their specialness and powers from those who want to destroy them (I ate those tropes up as a child and still do!). Instead, it's her position as an extreme outlier from the system in two seemingly conflicting ways (long “strong” hair combined with unfocused “weak” magic) along with her father’s murder that puts her in a unique position to analyze how the Hyalin government functions, and why it’s hurting both humanity and the spirit world that lends them magic.

If Nyneve can survive her adolescence, she may become a person whose insights and sense of justice can help find a way to make things right – but only if she’s willing to see past the limits of her own experiences, and reach out to connect to people both inside and outside of the corrupt system. I look forward with great interest to where Ries will take @witchycomic next and how she will continue to question the ideas of “strength” and “uselessness”, and highly recommend giving it a read.

This article was originally published online in November of 2017 on ROAR Feminist, which is now shut down because - surprise!! - the founder Anna March is a scammer who targets marginalized creators in the literary world. So it goes! Now this article lives on my tumblr, with some small revisions. - Laurel Lynn Leake, March 2019 

[fairypilled]

Perhaps the Greatest Nonexistent Book Ever Written

Ok so, I just more or less finished my English final writing about this delightful little novel called the Nonexistent Knight in which the dashing, charming, and CHRISTIAN PRINCIPLED Agilulf has a grand time in a never ending crusade. Only, the problem is, he doesn’t really exist persay, BUT SINCE WHEN HAS THAT STOPPED ANYONE FROM TAKING BACK THE HOLY LANDS!?!

Madness and shenanigans ensue. Gurdalu the existent man who doesn’t realize he exists proceeds to unravel the mysteries of the universe and be our good Knights squire, and the whole novel concludes with perhaps the most tragic anime....death? maybe, of this or anyone universe.

Holy Lands Below (And also my essay, in the clutches of the unnamed and very ambiguous infidels)

((FEEL FREE TO CRITIQUE OR LEAVING PASSING THOUGHTS, THE MORE INCOHERENT THE BETTER))

Pastiche and Honoring Literary Movements in the Name of the Holy Grail

In much the same way that The Nonexistent Knight by Italo Calvino is a story that conjures a fantastic past of a nonexistent knight on a quest for an equally ethereal honor, pastiche, the recreation of other literary movements’ styles and tropes, delves into the very concept of fiction itself. Questions such as the purpose of fiction, its relationship with the reader, and even just the mere ridiculous premises that compose many knightly stories of valor come to mind as the reader embarks on a hero’s journey, not just with Sir Agilulf but also through literary traditions and styles. All of these aspects of the novella synergize to create something more than the sum of its styles of Fairytale, Romanticism, Comedy, and Modernism. That something is a pastiche that both idolizes and parodies. This duality, the flamboyant styles, and meta self awareness make The Nonexistent Knight pastiche a crusade to enlighten the reader that in its whimsy, its ideals, its humor, and its traditions (ironic or otherwise), the knight’s tale deserves, at the very least, to be honored.

Before one can even begin to understand the implication of either of the 4 styles represented by the pastiche, the nebulous concept of a metafiction needs to considered. If someone only read the first page and then cast aside the book without proceeding any further, this poor soul would assume that the narrator was just a faceless literary entity like many of its of kin. But as the story progresses it soon becomes apparent that the narrator interrupts the narrative or eagerly elaborates in certain parts in a manner more reminiscent of a character. Early in the story, the narrator even reflects upon the surreal nature of the world of how the willpower of the time came together to form the novella’s valiant protagonist considering that “It was a period when the will and determination to exist, to leave a trace, to rub up against all that existed, was not wholly used since there were many who did nothing about it...and so a certain amount was lost to the void,” (33). These passing thoughts only pave the way for the narrator to become a clearer and clearer entity. Often the philosophical implications of a nonexistent knight would be left to the reader to discern, admittedly with a legion of symbols along the way, but that is no limit for meta fiction. Instead, the narrator is the author themself, or herself as it is later revealed. This narrator eventually comments to the audience, whatever form she considers that to take, that “Each nun is given her own penance here in the convent, her own way of gaining eternal salvation. Mine is this writing of tales. And a hard penance it is,” (71). Beyond this narrator being a character in the story, and a nun at that, she is also the author, someone consciously writing a story of her own fantastic adventure. The distinction between the writer and the character vanishes, and a unique self awareness is achieved, or an enlightenment as the nuns would be like to call it. Suddenly, style, diction, themes, and symbols are not just contributing to the story, they are part of it. This narrator nun, who in the closing pages of the book is revealed the be the Pariwinkle Knight, believes writing to be a divine act. But at the same time she is so inextricably connected to what she is writing that it is intimately personal as well. Thus, the meta fiction that is the Nonexistent Knight sets the stage for a pastiche to be more than just an imitation of styles and ideas, but a reflection upon them, an aspect that is essential for the complicated relationship with its original works of knight's tales.

Choosing which pastiche to analyze first is not a simple matter, as few things are in this novella. There is no chronological progression from one style to the other, or even a predictable one. Instead, subtle changes in tone, or fantastic events suddenly shift the style. Some can even be seen as forming togethering in some scenes, such as Agilulf's exploration of a romantic love with some hilarious undertones all throughout their peculiar and questionably knightly courtship (95), or Torrismund's encounter with the arguably fairytale like, romantic, comedic, and certainly modernist though not to their knowledge, Knights of the Holy Grail (118). Thus, the place to start is the style most pure and connected to the knight's tales of yore, which would be fairytale. From the first chapter onwards, Agilulf’s interesting existence already creates an idea of magic and wonder that is the lifeblood of fairytale (6). Later on, it can be seen that knights are casually discussing the slaying of dragons, a subject, like many, that Agilulf is well versed in. This entire world of magic, knights, honor, and concepts painted with the surreal. The pastiche of fairytale not only acknowledges the whimsicalness of many tradition knight tales, but embraces it, creating a universe where beings like Agilulf can join the crusade and fight for the holy lands with just as much fervor as any other.

Connected to the idea of fairytale is a Romantic view of the fables and legends that compose the basis of The Nonexistent Knight. Not every story of fantasy and heroism ends with a noble christian hero triumphing in the end, just look at Lord of the Rings and all the chaos Sauron brings to the world. But in The Nonexistent Knight the idea of idealism and heroes fighting against evil, fate, and prevailing is conjured in the mind of the reader, even if it comes about in unexpected ways. In the narrator's summary of the her story to the point of chapter 9, she shows that many of the romantic archetypes are present in the perilous and quite capricious they all embark on as seen by ¨Agilulf and his squire's intrepid journey for proof of Sophronia's virginity, interwoven with Bradamante's pursuit and flight, Raimbaut's love, and Torrismund's search for the Knights of the Grail,¨ (105). Each character is pursuing something that has consumed the minds of many a Romantic artist. The pursuit of honor, an impossible love, another rather impossible love, and a lost identity. This novella is beyond a doubt humorous and satirical at every possibility conceivable and not, but among the main characters, admirable and noble quests still remain. Even the closing words of the novel in the question of ¨What unforeseeable golden ages art thou preparing-ill-mastered, indomitable harbinger of treasures dearly paid for, my kingdom to be conquered, the future...¨ (141) create an abstract vision of glory. This conclusion, an epic struggle for some unfathomable beautiful future embodies the very essence of romanticism, and the idea that Calvino truly believes in the knight's tale. Some would argue that the best way the mock something is to make a faithful recreation of it and then obliterate it, but the whimsy and authenticity of the characters even in their satirical world make the reader appreciate them and feel connected to even someone/something as unfathomable as an empty suit of armor as opposed to them being mere effigies of  pompous knights, hypocritical priests, and endless crusades to lampoon and dishonor.

Finally, comedy and modernism are the last two styles on this grand pilgrimage to the true purpose of The Nonexistent Knight. As for why these two are together, it is because in contemporary pieces they are often entwined. Comedy and being able to laugh at things even those as holy and immutable as the Crusaders and Raimbaut's true love are intimately connected to seeing things in a different light and questioning tradition which oft ends in slaying with satire a knight's tale or legend on the field of battle. Modernism also revolves around the this questioning and doubt, just as The Nonexistent Knight makes fun of tropes that have been accepted as the norm for entire ages. One need only look at the antics of the Knights of the Holy Grail to see the comically ridiculous take on Agilulf's world Calvino takes (118). Yet it is in this ability to laugh at, to question, and even to mock Knight Tales while simultaneously romanticizing them reveals that Calvino actually appreciates them on a much deeper level than he may appear.

Pastiche is undeniably an essential aspect of what makes the The Nonexistent Knight more than just a parody of medieval European lore and legend, but also a contemporary interpretation of it. As seen from the complexity of its styles, its metafictional self reflection, and portrayal of characters so fantastic as to be ridiculous yet also utterly sympathetic, this reveals that Calvino sees knight's tales as more than something to merely mock, but as a story in its own right. Something that can be appreciated, read critically or without a care in the world, and still be enjoyed all the same. That is the sign of literature worth reading and an honor worth fighting for.

Word Count: 1495

Works Cited

Calvino, Italo. The Nonexistent Knight. Translated by Archibald Colquhoun, Random House, 1962.