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valandhirwriter · 2 months ago

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Story game

do-androids-dream-ao3acc hat gefragt: Ha ... you shoveled your own grave, miss "I am not good at writing Emralt"... now I want one. What-if. Go crazy. 😂

@do-androids-dream-ao3acc send me her wish - and here we go.

What if...

“No troops,” Geralt of Rivia said, his normally gravelly voice becoming stern as he spoke. Arms crossed in front of his chest, he was entirely unimpressed by the Emperor of Nilfgaard and entirely unmoved by their common history.

Emhyr var Emreis, Emperor of Nilfgaard and conqueror of a good portion of the north, was not a man who usually tolerated insults. And yet, he had to struggle to hide a smile at Geralt’s attitude. The man was magnificent and stubborn all the same. “You will need more than the last few witchers to fend off the Wild Hunt,” the Emperor replied, his voice a study in tight control. “You will need soldiers, the best there are in this world. And you are not qualified to command them.”

Geralt’s frown deepened, and his white eyebrows formed a steep V on his forehead. “I will not have troops under the command of some Nilfgaardian General in Kaer Morhen,” he repeated, and there was that stubborn glint in his eyes that told Emhyr Geralt would not budge.

He never did. If anyone knew what had truly happened between them in Stygga… No, Emhyr did not allow himself to think of that terrible, wonderful, embarrassing day. If the truth ever came to light, the bards would have a field day with it, and the salacious tales would cost Emhyr his hard-earned reputation as an iron-fisted ruler. But if there was one lesson he had learned that day, it was that Geralt could be manipulated if he would not budge. “So your objection is a General leading the troops?” he inquired.

“Yes,” Geralt replied, “he won’t know what to do and not listen to sense. We don’t need that when the battle begins.”

“I agree,” Emhyr replied, hiding even the hint of a smile that wanted to creep onto his face. “So the General would not be the person to give the final orders. That would be agreeable to you?”

He could see the startled glance of the Witcher. Geralt was a smart man, a very smart man even, but he was not good at manoeuvring. “Yes,” he said after a moment, then frowned again. “But who would be in command?”

“I will be,” Emhyr replied, and his heart leapt in a small triumph when he saw the sheer expression of shock on Geralt’s face. “That should alleviate your worry about a commander having no clue what monsters truly mean, would it not?”

He could see Geralt’s shoulders stiffen. “Yes, but… you cannot. It is too dangerous,” suddenly, a very defensive tone slipped into his voice. “We all will be risking our lives there, death will be certainty…”

“I am the Emperor of Nilfgaard; death is the one certainty I have daily on my throne,” Emhyr replied, “and if you agree that me being in command is acceptable to you…”

Geralt cast him a scowl, but before the Witcher could marshall his thoughts and argue, Emhyr had already turned his head to the man standing by the door, awaiting orders. “General, ready Impera Brigade to march come morning, being faced with a battle in an ill-maintained fortification, you are free to recruit whatever additional auxiliaries you deem useful from our forces assembled here in Vizima.”

The tall soldier saluted without talking back. Emhyr knew General Aeron Cadfael was unhappy with the choice but had known what Emhyr had decided on, and seen where this conversation was going.

Geralt harumphed, ready to speak up, but Emhyr ignored him for the moment and gestured to one of the soldiers standing guard at the other end of the room. “Captain, fall out,” the soldier stepping forward wasn’t as tall and muscular as the General; where the General was a formidable field fighter, the Captain was a fast rattlesnake. “Captain, assist the General in the preparations, you are free to find auxiliaries of your ilk if they can be useful.”

The Captain was about to protest Emhyr risking his life in a grandiose fashion. He was never shy to stand up to Emhyr, but Emhyr didn’t give him a chance. “General, Captain… this is it. What I told you, you were preparing for. You had ten years. Now prove you were worth it.” Emhyr kept his voice stern and aloof. He had to. They expected him to. Both saluted and left.

As they walked out of the audience room, Emhyr turned to Geralt. “You were saying…?”

***

The walls of Kaer Morhen were more impressive than Emhyr had expected. He had made a point of gathering any scrap of useful information about the school of the wolf, and the descriptions of the sacking of Kaer Morhen had made Emhyr assume that most of the fortress had been razed. Now, he saw that this was a misconception. The enemy troops may have slain the Witchers, but their fortress still stood. The towering walls had taken more damage from the ravages of time since than from the soldiers who had slaughtered the inhabitants. Emhyr’s lips twisted derisively; the Kings of Kaedwen had been fools like all northern Kings were.

Turning his head, he could see the long marching column of the Nilfgaardian forces making their way up the mountain. The terrain was rough, and the pass was ill-maintained, but they moved ahead steadily. Emhyr could see Geralt’s frown - the Witcher had taken to frowning a lot while they marched for Kaer Morhen. He had taken to all kinds of protests since they had marched from Vizima, beginning with the claim that the Nilfgaardian soldiers were not good enough to be of any use. A little duel between him and the General had put paid to that argument.

It had not been something Emhyr had enjoyed. While he knew Geralt was stronger and more robust than the General, who was fifty-six after all, he had also known General Aeron yet beat any of his younger officers on the training fields. What was worse, Aeron knew he was fighting a stronger opponent. Their duel had been a sight to behold, and deep down, Emhyr still hated seeing Geralt going toe to toe with danger. He could not bear it, not since Cintra, not since Stygga… not since knowing that nothing in their hearts had changed. Geralt had emerged unscathed but grudgingly admitted that Emhyr’s Impera Brigade was better than he had expected. He had sulked for two days after, and Emhyr had quietly enjoyed needling him a bit.

Other arguments had followed, until they finally reached the foot of Killer trail and Geralt had pointed out that the pass road was impassable for an army. Emhyr had expected that one, and coolly pointed the General towards the sloping path that had been used by the attacking army of Kaedwen decades prior.

“You had to insist on this, did you?” Geralt growled as their horses approached the stone arch that was the gate of the castle.

“I did, I do,” Emhyr replied, his eyes still surveying the mighty walls and shattered towers. They were in better shape than he had feared, which would be useful. His eyes went to Geralt, and like always, Emhyr had to try to hide a softer expression that threatened to slip onto his features. “Contrary to others, I have known since the night of Cirilla’s birth that this confrontation was coming. All I ever did, all my deeds, as dark as they were, was to prepare for that day.” He had hoped for more time, for another decade, before the inevitable was upon them, but Cirilla’s escape and her incessant hopping between realities had created a trail on which doom was following.

“Nilfgaardians,” Geralt shook his head, “I will never get you. You did away with all the trappings of the old world, the superstitions and false beliefs… and then you turn around and believe in prophecy.”

“All things happen but once, but one time, they have to come to pass,” Emhyr availed himself of a quote that he had picked up from another man. He did not feel ready to fully tell Geralt was driving him. Having lived with the full reality of the prophecy over his head ever since Emhyr had held his daughter for the first time, knowing what was to come was frighteningly real had reshaped the way Emhyr thought, the way he planned. Maybe one day, one day when all this was over, he could tell Geralt, tell him of the icy burden on his shoulders and of the harrowing fear that gnawed at Emhyr. Would his preparations ever be enough?

Luckily they were saved from further conversation by an old Witcher appearing in the gates of Kaer Morhen. He was almost as tall as Geralt, with steel grey hair and he walked like a man who knew no pangs of age. “When I said: bring allies, I did not say: bring the entire northern armies of Nilfgaard,” the older Witcher grumbled, his voice was as rough and gravelly as Geralt’s was, but he spoke with the firmness of command.

Vesemir. Emhyr concluded. This had to be the Master of Wolf school. Vesemir the Grimwolf. “Sir Geralt of Rivia asked for too little when he sought allies,” Emhyr answered, cutting into the conversation. He would not stand by and be ignored like an unwanted guest. “He asked for a few fighters, where even an army would hardly suffice. If I am to commit Nilfgaard to war with the unnatural, I will not do so on half-assed terms.”

The older Witcher turned around; his eyes were not golden like Geralt’s but a pale yellow, like a hawk’s. “Emhyr var Emreis of Nilfgaard, I take it?” he asked, his tone not leaving any doubt that he had recognised Emhyr at once, not a surprise; the armour Emhyr wore screamed the truth. And it did not intimidate Vesemir in the least. “If you are half the man your grandfather Torres was on the battlefield, you’ll do,” he announced before turning seamlessly towards General Aeron. “General, take your men around the castle, towards the east side, and enter by the shattered main gate. You will want to man those walls if I am to guess your plans…”

Emhyr had a hard time not gawking as the old Witcher approached a General of Impera and said something that indicated he knew not only Impera’s preferred strategies but also had read their lesser-known cookbook.

***

“What are they doing here?” Vernon Roche spluttered, shock twisting his face, eyes darting between Emhyr as he was standing in the Eastern courtyard of Kaer Morhen and another man as if trying to decide whose presence was the greater offence.

The other man, none other than Letho of Gullet, grinned broadly at Roche, clearly waiting for the man to lose it and attack. “You didn’t think that the Wolf wouldn’t bring my honourable employer to this little dance?” the Viper Witcher asked, adding a mock bow towards Emhyr. “I cannot serve with a satisfyingly slow end, your always-cantankerous majesty.”

In most situations, Emhyr would have barked a sharp answer, but seeing the Bluestripes Commander go red as a beet was way more satisfactory. “I expected Sir Geralt to bring all surviving Witchers,” Emhyr replied, like he had always known Letho yet lived, “it will be fascinating to compare your numbers to my list, to see whether he missed someone.”

Letho barked a laugh, his eyes betraying venomous amusement. “They are here, Emperor; if I were you, I’d not get into debates with the bears.”

Their barbed conversation was interrupted by Roche’s voice rising as he talked to Geralt. “You cannot let them stay. They smashed Temeria, enslaved Temeria… they are the ones behind those accursed elves…”

Emhyr studied the man coolly, his eyes hardening. “Either make yourself useful and show some of your vaunted military skill, Roche, or turn tail and run down these hills. Maybe you’ll find a hidey-hole with some squirrels in it.”

Geralt’s annoyed glare at Emhyr was worth it, Emhyr decided. There was nothing more formidable than a certain Witcher getting truly pissed and barking orders at people. Did Geralt even know that he had all the command a knight in the armies needed in him? Emhyr wondered. He could see Geralt easily leading men into battle and being formidable at it; he could be so much more than just a wandering monster hunter. Not that Emhyr would give up on that monster hunter any time soon.

Unfortunately, Vesemir came down from the wall where he had been plotting with General Aeron, and one glance of the old Witcher silenced all parties involved. “If you are quite done holding court with your freshly broken-in subjects, your Majesty, the General, and I have a plan on how to make use of all that liquid fire your armies brought along.”

***

Emhyr stood on the west wall of the castle as the night fell, a freezing chill had been creeping into the air during the last two hours, and there was something… something dreadful in the air, something he had not felt since his days as a cursed monster. A dread of something creeping closer and closer. He had to exercise all his discipline to appear quiet and collected, at least on the outside.

Along the battlements were crates with bottles of liquid fire stacked up for easy use. The green liquid inside the bottles shimmering like poison into the darkness.

Down in the main yard, he could hear Aeron address the troops; his powerful voice carried easily up to the main walls. They have told you that man cannot stand against the unnatural; they have told you we never had a chance, that we all are dead. Here’s your truth: we all will be dead. But until then, we stand! When the conjunction spit your forefathers out on these dark shores, they were faced with monsters tearing them apart. Until the Sun Knights drove them back, but until that day, our forefathers stood! When the mages brought the monsters back, our ancestors were bloodied until the Witchers came to put an end to the monsters again. But until that day, we stood on our own! And after all, they threw at us, we are still here! We stand!

Emhyr bit down on his lip, preventing himself from making a face, as a thousand voices answered from the battlements.

We stand!

The Emperor did not know where Aeron had to go in his mind to find another gutsy speech for the men he was to lead into another hopeless situation. He somehow always found the words and then some way to get them through the nightmare. He made it look easy. Emhyr knew the speech should have been his; he should have addressed Impera. Only he never had found the words to get them to that point: ready to tear apart any enemy that came at them, forgetting fear and pain, acting on sheer courage and desperation. It was not the man that Emhyr was - he was a thinker, not a fighter, and the only reason he was here, was to make Geralt accept the help that the Witcher so clearly needed.

Emhyr could not admit it to anyone: he was not here for his daughter, for the girl he had lost a long time ago. He was here for a certain white haired Witcher, wo stood ready between his brothers down in the east yard.

One of the Witchers - the grey haired Griffin - suddenly looked up to the skies. “The moon casts no glow…” the words made no sense, until suddenly a gust of freezing cold swept over the yard. Emhyr felt the cold coming, an icy chill that enveloped him, his blood freezing, as the ice encased him, freezing him on the spot.

From afar he heard noise, battle noise, voices, screams, explosions ripping through the air, the battle was erupting… and not reaching him. He was still frozen, the ice forming a barrier between him and the events. An explosion shook the west wall and shrieks rose, as green flame engulfed attackers, burning them in hot green fire. It all echoed past Emhyr.

Then, his eyes, still under the ice, saw a familiar figure down in the yard. Geralt. Faced with two… no, four, attackers, the Witcher had retreated into the yard below, his blade a silver arch, as he pushed back one opponent, ducking deftly under another hit, and coming up, he beheaded one of the Aen Elle attacking him. Another went down, Geralt’s blade in his chest.

But then it happened: as Geralt was yanking his sword free from the falling opponent, he was impaled from behind by one of the two remaining foes. The Witchers’ graceful movements suddenly broke, the power holding them cut like the strings of a puppet, as he crashed to his knees, his enemy’s blade in his back.

Emhyr wanted to scream, to reach out and pull Geralt away from the hunters, but the ice still held Emhyr in place, and so he saw Geralt on his knees and the Elle circling him leacherously. They wanted to play with their prey before allowing him to die. White hot anger rose inside of Emhyr, a bloom so hot he could not believe the ice around him still lasted. Those bastards wanted their pound of flesh, he could see that.

Reaching deep inside Emhyr found the dark spot in the recesses of his mind, that dark coil of fear and hatred that had laced his monstrous existence, the spark of despicable darkness that was his true self. Pulling on it, like he had not since his days as Duny, he brought it forth, feeling the pain surge through his body as the ice shattered, freeing his body from the cold encasement. Losing no time, Emhyr raced along the wall to the crate still holding some bottles of green fire. Taking them, he threw the first at Geralt’s attacker, ready to impale him again. Emhyr might not be a good fighter, but his aim was true - the bottle shattered on the shoulder of the Elle and exploded, green flame engulfing the warrior, who tumbled away screaming.

Emhyr threw the next bottle, hitting the second Elle in the yard, scorching him as well. Hastily he looked around, flames were engulfing most of the gate and the east wall, but the fighting clearly had moved towards the front gate, the attackers were being pushed back. Losing no further time Emhyr raced down into the yard, towards Geralt who had sunk in on himself, breathing shallow and erratic.

Hastening to him, Emhyr knelt down beside him, carefully cradling the wounded Witcher in his arms. Geralt’s breathing was laboured and painful, his skin had taken an unnatural pale tone and his eyes were glazed over. “Do you have any swallow left?” Emhyr asked hastily, he knew the Witchers had a draught that could get them back to their feet from almost anything.

“All gone,” Geralt rasped. “Shattered… you must let me go, ‘Mhyr,...”

The nickname sent a surge of pain through Emhyr’s heart. It was one of the few endearments Geralt had ever used, one that felt sweeter to him than any other. “You cannot give up, Geralt… not when…”

The words died on his lips. Not when what?

The story of their love had been nothing but chaos. Geralt had saved him in Cintra, and that night Emhyr had not wanted his newlywed wife but the Witcher who had saved him. If anything had made Calanthe hate Emhyr, it was his affair with Geralt. And when they had been pulled apart, Geralt taking on the father role for Emhyr’s daughter when they found each other again in Stygga… Emhyr had realised that after all these years, he still loved Geralt, and miraculously, Geralt loved him still. But again, fate, a pogrom, and death had torn them apart.

“I cannot let you die again,” Emhyr’s voice was rough as he tried to move Geralt into a more comfortable position. “I cannot. I mourned you once; I was ready to burn the entire North in punishment… I just… I can’t do it again.”

A small voice inside his head reminded him that he still was a monster, a worse monster even than Duny had been. He was cold, the blood on his hands was the blood of nations, and his love was all dark, tainted, poisonous. Geralt’s death, then and now, would be caused by Emhyr’s darkness.

A movement at the entrance of the yard made Emhyr startle. Another Elle had appeared there, sword in hand, and Emhyr didn’t need to see his face to know the wolfish smile on his face. He had no green fire left to fight the Elle off, either.

He let Geralt go and scramble to his feet, drawing his blade. His heart was racing against his chest. Emhyr had made a point of re-learning sword skills after he became the Emperor, it was expected of him. Aeron had been a patient teacher, trying his best to give Emhyr a good basis to defend himself. And Emhyr had hated every moment of it.

The Elle rushed him, the attack wild, powerful. Emhyr evaded, sidestepping him, blade raised before him, ready to block. The Elle came about, and a quick series of attacks followed. Emhyr parried, ducking under one, parrying the next. Steel crashing on steel, in the old song of war. He followed the Elle’s movements, blocking the next advance; his blade slid down his opponent’s, hitting the crossguard; he felt the pressure against his hands as the Elle broke free his blade in one powerful movement, sending Emhyr’s blade flying across the yard.

Emhyr panted; he could not even be shocked or afraid. This was it. The End. He would die here. And maybe… maybe if Geralt was free of Emhyr’s taint, he could live, be better for it. He raised his chin, daring the Elle to do his worst when a movement behind the Elle alerted him that they were not alone, and a huge blade cleaved through the Aen Elle, sending him down to the ground in two halves.

A huge witcher stood there, seven feet tall, with a grey mane of hair. “You injured?” he asked in a growling voice.

“No, but Geralt…”

“He’ll make it. I hear his heartbeat, and he is breathing alright - he’ll come around.” The Witcher replied. “Stay with him; we’ll clear the stragglers.”

Stragglers… did that mean the battle was done? Had they… had they somehow, impossibly somehow… won? Emhyr stumbled back to Geralt, who was trying to get up and stand. Knowing how useless it would be to tell him not to, Emhyr extended a hand and helped Geralt get to his feet and lean on him. The Witcher coughed, finding his footing. “Are you crazy going toe to toe with them?” he asked, rasping.

Emhyr cast him a glare as he guided him to sit down on the stairs of the battlements. “Should I have left them to you?” he asked tersely. He hated swordplay when he had to fight himself, but having protected Geralt made it worth the countless hours he had spent sweating in the training yard.

“Oh, shut up,” Geralt grumbled. Suddenly, Emhyr found a familiar warm hand at his neck and was pulled into a fierce kiss.

Wrapping his arms around Geralt, Emhyr let himself sink into the kiss, claiming the next when one ended. From somewhere behind him, he heard voices; orders barked as the troops moved across the fortress to clean up. Settling beside Geralt, Emhyr snatched a third kiss, not letting go of his Witcher. He spotted Aeron’s voice among the others. He lived. Good. He could handle clean-up and then come up with the next strategic steps along with the old Wolf Master - Emhyr did not intend to leave Geralt’s side anytime soon. Death had failed to tear them apart and Emhyr would not give it another chance.

#witcher fanfiction #ask game #emralt #emhyr/Geralt #Emhyr var emreis #emhyr var emreis x Geralt of Rivia #Battle of Kaer Morhen

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dirigibleplumbing · 1 year ago

Note

Would Cas be any good at DnD, with Charlie doing her best to shepard him, or is that perhaps a step too far for him? It took him 10 years to figure out Dean wanted him to wear a cowboy hat and he wasn’t very subtle

Jack would get there eventually. He might try eating his dice and he’ll forget the rules half the time but he’d get there

Actually, Cas would get the rules and know 49 different ways to break every scenario Charlie comes up with but he’s not RPing very much when he does this I imagine

(I also imagine at a certain point Cas and Charlie are still trying to make it work for Dean…’s character’s sake, yeah…his character who’s arc relies on Cas’ character that may or may not involve a bit of romance RP that’s plot NECESSARY ok????!??!)

Or perhaps Cas is a natural, he’s had to pretend to be human and he’s been so many different versions of himself he channels say his time as CrazyCas for his character who’s like the (sexy) Court Jester Bard. And said (sexy-yes Dean thank you) Sexy Bard knows the Royal gossip and has to relay this information to the (also sexy) Wandering Warrior Dean plays who is very much like a cowboy but in medieval times (but is secretly the lost heir??? And Cas’ character would know that dundunDUN)

((Am also assuming one of them is playing a female character at Dean’s repressed insistence if this is pre-slash lol))

Cas has read and memorized all of Charlie's DnD books, including the Dungeon Master's guide. He can tell what numbers dice will land on while they're still falling. He has listened to and watched livestreamed DnD.

And he absolutely sucks at roleplaying.

After some practice with Charlie, he figures out how to get by without maintaining a complex character persona.

His first character is a Kenku, who only repeats sentences that other player characters have said, phrased exactly how the character did, but in Cas’s voice.

Next he plays the sapient steed Dean’s paladin character rides. Cas’s ability to narrate his horse behavior aloud takes a big downturn every time Dean says (blushing furiously) something like “so then I saddle up--um--Cas--Cas’s character--and we--ride--”

Finally, Cas comes up with a humanoid who’s a real player character’s player character: a drow Aasimar cleric. Cas is great at knowing when to smite and when to heal!

And yes, his character is a woman. Sure, he’s familiar with Drizzt--maybe he’s even read the books--but he’s well aware that it’s more likely for a woman drow to be powerful. That’s just the rules.

Dean, who for this campaign is playing a multi-classed rogue x fighter who was just rescued from Malodomini by powers unknown:😳

#yay an ask!#anonymous #dnd #castiel #supernatural #destiel #spn

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victoria1676 · 3 years ago

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LEAVE ME ALONE AND LET ME BUILD MY S**T! Prologue Part 1: The Execution of the ‘Imposter’

Notes: Damn I didn’t expect a lot of you peeps to love my crossover Sagau preview XD But anyways I did say I wouldn’t disappoint and here’s Prologue part 1!! Legit had to change it a bit and this one was exhausting to write but worth it cause I wanna go to part 2 so that I can start destruction UWU

But Anyways enjoy the Prologue 1! ^^

Please comment on what you thought of this series, Like it and reblog it please!

(My drawing of what I imagine My Reader of this story)

(Second updated Version of Reader)

P.S: Reader here is a female so I apologize for those who expected it to be gender neutral TwT I'll try my best to make it Gender neutral in my other stories in the future! ^^

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(Preview) (Prologue Part 2) (MASTERLIST)

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PLEASE LIKE, FOLLOW AND REBLOG! IF ANYONE STEALS MY WORK WITHOUT PERMISSION PLEASE INFORM ME!

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DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN GENSHIN IMPACT OR THE DREAM SMP! THEY BOTH BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS AND I ONLY OWN THE PLOT! EVERYTHING HERE IS MADE FOR FUN AND NOT CANON ON GAMES AS THIS IS AN SELF AWARE IMPOSTER AU MIXED WITH VILLAIN AU OF THE SAGAU/SELF AWARE GENSHIN IMPACT!

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Summary: The Last thing you remembered was finally putting Dream to jail and then everything went black only to wake up in a world you don’t recognize. trying to find a way home you found yourself in a mob chase that you find irritating and once they are satisfied threatening and killing you who then respawn the in execution made them realize who they almost killed and just as they were about to fall from their knees and beg for forgiveness.

You destroyed their homes in Revenge.

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WARNINGS: SWEARING, MENTIONS OF BEING TORTURED, BLOOD, MENTIONS OF CHARACTERS GETTING ABUSED BY YOUR IMPOSTER, MENTIONS OF CHARACTERS THAT DIED, HEAVY GORE, HEAVY TORTURE, REFERENCES AND SPOILERS FROM THE DREAM SMP, DARK THEMES.

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Prologue Part 1: The Execution of the ‘Imposter’

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Click

clack

Click

clack

“Move it imposter” One of the guards pushed you.

You rolled your eyes and continued walking with a bored expression. The chains clicked together from your cuffed hands that are attached to a chain which the guards from each of your side are holding

‘Asshole’ You curse the guard in your thoughts but you maintain your poker face.

Wait till I get out of these and then I will sacrifice your body for the blood god.

blood

Not yet voices.

Not yet

Still why does it feel like I'm in Techno’s place when he had his execution?

“Our Grace will be at your execution to see the faker who copied her face” The guard in your side side said.

“Best not to annoy this prisoner”

“Hah?”

“Didn’t you know? Barbatos almost lost life from getting shot by those fireworks”

“Fireworks almost killed the Anemo god!? That’s some crazy tale I heard”

“I’m telling the truth!”

‘He is not wrong I didn’t expect my fireworks to almost kill that tiny bard who is actually a god’ You recalled using your unlimited Fireworks at Venti who kept chasing when you are in the middle of looking for a way home to the Dream SMP.

You remembered looking at your map while chatting your crows until you heard an arrow being fired as you tilt your head to the side before glancing behind on who had the audacity to shoot you after running away those angry cult like knights and angry mob only to find a tiny man in green with a Cecilia on his hat (Why does he feel familiar) with his hands holding bow that is directed at you.

“Imposter!” You groaned hearing him spat that word as your chat flew away while you turned around and face him.

“Let me guess you hear to kill me for your so called Creator?” You asked while raising your eyebrows making tiny man seething at you.

“HE IS A BARD FROM MONDSTADT!

“VENTI IS THE NAME I HAVE HEARD FROM THE LOCALS!”

“IS HE A TRAP?”

“I THOUGHT HE IS A GIRL”

PFFT!-

You released a huge wheezed hearing the chat as you could see Venti the tiny man stun in shocked before he snapped out of it and then started firing his arrows at your laughing figure to which you bring out your shield and flew upwards laughing.

You dodged and dodged Venti’s arrows before you pulled out your crossbow loaded with Fireworks and started shooting him with fireworks as you cackled hearing his yelp and kept firing.

Blood

No focus!

You shake away the voices before flying away leaving an injured Venti who then was found by the knights of his nation.

“HEY! Move it you-”

“If you keep talking I might actually make you bleed if I get out of these chains” You glared at the guard who keep pushing you as your eyes flashed red while the guard trembled at your glare.

The guard gritted his teeth before pulling harshly out of the prison. You huffed and compiled with the actions. You and guards slowly walked out of the prison as you closed your eyes seeing the harsh light from the sun before opening them as you saw a crowd of people, vision users and Archons from each nation (You noticed that Sumeru's God and people are not there including or rather surprisingly Snezhnaya's people and their God aren't there as well.) infront of a stage with a circle giant stone pedestal in the middle of it.

"Finally! The imposter has arrived”

You looked to the front as your eyes narrowed before blinking to see another person you don’t recognize-

Oh wait.

You know this person.

You narrowed yours eyes slightly seeing a familiar person you will kill first.

You remembered her watching you get tortured by the Electro Archon and Pyro Archon laughing like a little kid who got their bully punished while clutching Aether's arm who watched it all yet was uncomfortable being clinged like a toy. You screamed in agony as you glared at the Geo Archon who ripped your wings apart and threw it like trash as you felt your face being punched before spitting our blood.

“Hmphed at least they destroyed your wings” Your faker spat at you while you maintain your calm expression.

You remembered hugging poor Bennett’s cold dead body and seeing poor Razor’s dead as well with Fischl crying seeing her friends bodies. Anger, confusion and disgust ran through your throat as you hugged Fischl-no Amy in your arms as you glared at your Imposter who smirked but you also remembered her fear when she saw your blood red eyes.

(I will kill you once I get out of these chains)

'I prefer my death be killed without her presence' You thought, 'Being near her high ego and disgusting pride makes me wanna vomit and kill myself…'

(But if you do that then you won't see Tommy anymore)

(You promised yourself and Mom after all right?)

"Your Grace you should be in your throne instead of being near this-"

"You have no right to order me Morax!" Your imposter screeched (You winced along with the guards) at Geo Archon who quickly bow with the word 'apologizes' before giving you glare which you hummed at as he then order your guards to move you the place for you tube executed.

The guards bow with respect and dragged your body with the chains they have on their hands while your imposter clapped like a little kid until she suddenly starts yelling at Kaeya who then got slapped by her for touching her shoulders without her permission.

Kind, Benevolent and we'll mannered my ass. She just hit one of her best knights for nothing.

You wondered why hasn't the Archons or anyone realize something was wrong with their so called creator but then you saw people whispering before shrugging off like nothing however you did see Mondstadt's knights looked uncomfortable and sadden but didn't say anything.

You then stood in a big pedestal as you looked around curiously at the crowd who are glaring at you. It was then you saw your imposter in front of the crowd holding grinning like fool.

“PEOPLE OF ALL NATIONS!” She shouted, “MY CREATIONS OF MY WORLD THAT I HAVE CREATED IN MY BEAR HANDS! WE HAVE GATHERED TO ANOTHER EXECUTION OF THIS OUTLANDER WHO HAS MY BEAUTIFUL FACE THAT SHOULDN’T BELONG TO HER!”

Beautiful? That means you toke my beauty because your beauty must have been ugly like your ego and personality.

“NOW! WE SHALL SHOW HER WHY SHE SHOULDN'T HAVE MY FACE WITH HER!”

The crowd yell while vision users just clapped their hands as the imposter lifted up her hands stared at the crowd in excitement however both the crowd and imposter were unware that one of the building had a person wearing cloak. No one has realized there was someone up one of the buildings as that person stared at you who looked exhausted and battered with wounds along with your hair matted and damaged. Although your expression was a hilarious sight of you suddenly now falling a sleep of your imposters introduction.

"You never seem to be faze that you are gonna die…" He muttered before pulling out what it seem to a strange green like pearl, "I guess you have experience death before when you told me your adventures…"

"-AND NOW WE SHALL LET MY BELOVED ARCHONS KILL HER UNTIL SHE SCREAMED HER LAST BREATH!"

More Crowd cheering as all Archons (except two missing) summoned their weapons.

"Too bad nobody can help you right imposter?" Your imposter smirked knowing you are glaring at her in pain.

Snoreeee!…

Silence.

Everyone stopped shouting and clapping as the cruel or exciting atmosphere dissapeared in an instant as your imposter froze for 5 seconds only to turn around to see slumped down with your head looking down and your eyes were closed with your breathing slowly and steady.

Snoreeee!…

"What…"

Few people in the crowd let out tiny chuckles while others were holding their laugh and some we're in shocked that they didn't expect someone who is gonna be executed to fall asleep in the middle of the speech of the creator.

"Oh my…" Lisa blinked in shocked as she covered her mouth.

"Did…Did she fell asleep?!" Paimon exclaimed next to Aether who was in disbelief.

"Well…" Ayato shifted his stance as he covered his mouth, "Never expected the imposter to fall asleep in a execution from our divine creator"

In the crowd a building next to them, you could see something white trembling as people we're trying their best to stop that person from blowing their cover.

Snoreeee!…

"The audacity!!…" You imposter marched towards you as she was about to slap you.

Your eyes opened and spit on their cheeks causing them to screech before wiping off the spit and glared you who huffed with a smirk to tease them.

"Your speech was way to boring and if you wanted to have an proper execution do it with too many words in your execution" You told her off.

"HOW DARE-"

"For a so called creator you should be acting one who doesn't screech or suddenly get angry at your followers for touching you with out permission. The way I'm looking at is that you look someone who always get away and got what they always wanted like a child"

Your imposter fumed as you glanced at the crowd who are whispering but then went silent knowing the didn't want to face the wrath of their beloved creator with doubts about them.

Fools…I pity you guys for dealing this tyrant who is two faced and a bipolar ruler.

"HOW DARE YOU LECTURE ME!" You winced away the screech wishing she could shut up, " YOU MAY HAVE MY FACE BUT I KNOW WHAT I AM DOING!! DON'T LECTURE ME YOU IMPOSTER!!"

You spit on her causing her to screech until you got punched by the Pyro Archon as you spat out the blood before liking it as your eyes flashed red looking at the Archon who glared at you.

Just as you were about to speak you paused as you saw something flying towards the execution stage. It was very familiar and it was a shape of a circle.

"hm?"

Suddenly it hit the stage and revealed a person in cloak causing shocks and little yells in confusion before something was bring thrown by the crowd as screams and vision users are getting their weapons ready to attack the person.

"Bow before the Abyss!"

Two portals appeared revealing the Abyss heralds who then started attack them as the imposter screamed and hide behind Aether clinging on him like a child. The travel struggled to move since the imposter is like clinging his arms as it was hard for him to try to attack with someone clinging on him.

"IT'S THE ABYSS!"

"PROTECT THE CREATOR!"

"WE MUST NOT LET THEM TOUCH YOUR GRACE!"

"GUARDS PROTECT THE CITIZENS!"

You whistle lowly at the sudden chaos that just appeared as you could hear the voices in your head cheering in excitement.

"I should have Ender pearl to you before that Pyro Archon punched you"

The head of the cloak was shoved down revealing a familiar face of an alchemist-no someone who looked betrayed identical like the alchemist of Monstandt only they don't have a star on their neck.

"Ru?"

"Hello (Y/n)" Rubedo greeted you before going to your chains to get you out.

"How did you find me and are you with the Abyss" You whispered to him as you showed your cuffed hands at him as he tried to open it since the cuffs you have are made of power that no mortal.

"The Princess ordered her people to come with me in saving you"

"Behold!"

Another portal appeared behind Jean who jumped away from it as the one who appeared in the portal was an Abyss Electro lector.

"The Abyss has come!"

"Lumine?" You asked him who nodded as you and him crushed that the cuffs wouldn't break ignoring the chaos behind you.

"From the ashes…To this world anew"

Another portal appeared and this time it was a familiar Pyro Lector.

"It's him!" Paimon pointed at the familiar lector that both she and traveler encountered in Enkanomiya.

"Hear the inferno's call!"

Fire began to appear as the imposter screamed being pushed away from Aether who then dodged from being burned.

"Try my using tools maybe they could work?" You said as you watched your surroundings in case someone attacks Rubedo.

"It could-"

You eyes widened when you saw someone ready to kill Rubedo.

"RUBEDO BEHIND YOU!"

On cue he turned around and was face to face with Kaeya who smirked before both of them started to attack eachother.

'Damnit!' You cursed in your thoughts.

Just as your we're about to move you froze when a familiar chat box opening making you feel your heart race up whether in excitement or fear.

Is it-

STAB!

!!!

"(Y/N)!!" Rubedo screamed before kicking Kaeya away as he then used his powers at the Cavalry Captain who dodged.

"HAHAHAHAHAH KILL HER!!" You hear your imposter laughing, "KILL HER XIAO!! MORAX HELP HIM AND RAIDEN KILL HER WITH YOUR SWORD!!"

You spat out more blood as you felt another spear going through your body and twisted it making you gag out more blood.

Fuck I forgot how much getting stab hurts again.

"KILL HER, KILL HER!!"

You felt yourself getting burned and getting shot. More blood spilled on the stage. Pain filled your body once again knowing you are about to die again. You couldn't hear anyone as your vision began to blurry and your ears began to ring.

Ah…I'm…dying……again.

Ding!

TommyInnit was slain by Dream

W…h..at??

You slowly lifted your head up as your vision cleared but began to blurry as you could see Raiden getting her sword out but what you are focused on was the message on the chatbox that finally appeared

'TommyInnit was slain by Dream'

No…

Please…No

"(Y/N)!!"

(TOMMYISDEADTOMMYISDEADTOMMYISDEAD)

Please tell me its a lie…!!

MESSAGE BOX PLEASE DON'T LIE.

MY BROTHER IS NOT DEAD.

TOMMY ISN'T DEAD.

HE WON'T DIE.

TELL ME IT'S A PRANK!!

I PROMISED HIM!

------------------------------------------------------------

"I will prove to you Big (your first letter of your name) to Phil, Wilbur, Techno and you that I can be strong as you guys!" Your brother grinned.

You snorted as then grab him and gave him a noggie which your brother groaned and struggled on your grip.

"Sure Little Toms, sure"

"DON'T CALL ME LITTLE TOMS!" Tommy yelled at you, "I'M A BIG MAN! A BIG MAN BIG SIS-"

You froze and Tommy froze as well. Both of you didn't move before you quickly pulled Tommy in a bear hug which he yelped with a red face screaming insults.

"YOU CALLED ME BIG SIS AGAIN!! I'M SO HAPPY!!" You cried as your brother kept struggling in your grip.

"I DIDN'T CALL YOU THAT SHUT UP!!"

"LIES LITTLE MAN! YOU JUST CALL ME BIG SIS!"

"I AM NOT LITTLE AND I DID NOT!!"

You laughed with a big smile making Tommy looked at you angrily before looking away with a frown. Suddenly his frown and anger disappear and stared at the ground. You stopped laughing with your smile going away when you felt Tommy's mood changed as you release from your hug and he walked away from in 5 steps before turning around to face you as you looked away.

"Something wrong Toms?" You asked him.

He didn't say anything before pulling out Wilbur's beanie -You toke a sharp breath seeing your other half's beanie that he used to wear alot- and looked at it with a frown.

"Hey…You won't leave me right?"

You blinked.

What?

"I…" Tommy looked like he ate something bad before saying, "Did alot of bad stuff that pissed alot people right?"

"…"

"And your the only one who corrected and never give up on me being a child right"

"Tommy…What are you saying?" You walked towards him as he then clutched Wilbur's beanie tightly.

"You won't abandon me right"

You reeled back in shock hearing Tommy's words as you quickly lifted up his head and started pinching his cheeks making him wince and yelp from the pain.

"DON'T YOU SAY THAT!"

He flinched hearing your shout.

"I will never abandon you!! Not when I made a promise that day I saw you as a baby in mom's arms! That I will never let you die or be abandon when you are someone who I will place my life into!"

You remembered staring at your new baby brother who cooed at you and reached his small hands at you.

How small....

You let your finger be touched by your baby brother who let out a grin and a laugh as your wings shaked hearing that laughter you haven't heard.

"(Y/n)…"You heard your mom called your named, " This is your new baby brother. Theseus Minecraft"

You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at your mom who who chuckled at your displeased expression.

"You don't like the name baby bird?"

"I don't it doesn't fit him…" You rubbed your nose.

You baby brother continued laughing as your mom laughed at your expression.

"What do you want to call him?" You mother asked you as she handed your new brother in your arms.

You quickly made sure he was comfortable in your arms as your new brother then started biting your hair.

PROTECT!

CALL HIM TOMMY!

"…Can we call him Tommy?"

"I swear to you Tommy" You said as your cupped his cheeks and make him look at you.

"Over my dead body I will let you die not when I love you so much my little brother"

You saw Tommy's eyes glistening knowing after Wilbur's death he couldn't expect another family died again. Techno destroyed L'Manburg and left with Philza who looked at the destruction before shaking his head away as you watched in betrayal yet you didn't stop them.

Not when you basically yelled at Wilbur for making Tubbo the new president of L'manburg when he is still a young to be one.

Not when you didn't stop Techno started yelling at everyone for betraying him to make a new president of Wilbur's nation.

Not when you screamed your other half's name when you saw your father stabbing him as you could only focus on hugging Tommy from getting hit by the explosion.

"I swear to you Tommy. I will never leave you"

"Protect your family okay baby bird?" Your mom told you with a heavy breath.

"So please-"

------------------------------------------------------------

Raiden slowly began to pull out her weapon out of her cleavage as you continued to stare at the chat box helplessly denying the reality or what you have just received.

Suddenly-

You screamed the name of your little brother that you always speak and made sure he would grow up into a good man someday.

------------------------------------------------------------

"-Don't say I will abandon you when you are still my brother and my family"

Both of you and Tommy hugged as you could hear your brother letting out his vulnerability with a loud sniff and a sob coming out of him.

Tommy may have mistakes.

But it's also your fault for not teaching him or telling him what he shouldn't do knowing he will get himself hurt or even worse-

You shaked those thoughts away as you continued hugging Tommy with your wings covering his figure.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Thanks…Big sis…For not giving up on me"

------------------------------------------------------------

"TOMMY!!!"

------------------------------------------------------------

B A N G ! !

-------------------------------------------

The Whole Teyvat world or planet shaked as a massive light appear showing a totem that was on top of your body before digging into your body as you felt your whole bones and flesh quickly heal rapidly. Your wing bones appear in your back as the flesh and feathers regenerate quickly.

An earthquake erupted causing the crowd of people to scream in fear and panic. Your imposter to fall off her throne that exploded into debris. The Archons and Vision users tried to keep their balance while some went to save her citizens others went to the imposter who was crying like a baby. Rubedo watched your whole body suddenly come back to life and your crows head towards the place where you are supposed to be executed. A certain princess whole was riding your horse looked at the beaming light in shock before returning to her normal expression and glances at the floating island.

"It seems she has awaken her role…"

------------------------------------------------------------

"Hmm?"

Kristen saw the bracelet that was gifted by her daughter flashing brightly in the underworld.

"…It seemed he was right"

A flash of a familiar child with (h/c) hair grinned at her holding her hands out to be carried. Her wings flapped in excitement letting our falling feathers that made her coo while her husband laughed seeing the adorable sight before cooing with her.

"Mama!"

Kristen kissed her bracelet. She then frowned remembering the anger of her husband yelling at a certain God when he spoke of what her daughter's role will be in the future that left her and Phil in disbelief.

"In the future once your daughter is old enough she will become a God.

"But Not just any God"

"Or rather she will return to be the Creator of another world that is different from our world"

"…I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you or be with you baby…"

Kristen looked at the magic mirror that showed her husband and her second Son looking for something or rather someone who disappeared from the server.

"…I hope you will forgive your father and your brothers.…And I hope you could forgive me for leaving you and our family…"

A single tear fell from her face as she put her hand on Philza who looked genuinely worried and confused.

"Our daughter has fulfilled her role Phil…"

------------------------------------------------------------

Your imposter choked when your blood was finally revealed and everyone gasped.

Instead of red.

It was gold

“...Fuck it that hurt but thank god that totem saved my ass” You said.

The chains broke when you pulled it as skin began to bleed gold. You stared at it in confusion before shaking the blood away from your arms and stared at your new golden scars that indicate you used a totem.

This will probably last for a year to go away.

One moment you were killed by the archons and then suddenly a totem (Was it yours?) you had thought it was yours when you remembered using your totem and seeing this one suddenly appear before you the moment you saw Tommy’s death notification (HECANTBEDEADHECANTBEDEADHECANTBEDEADHECANTBEDEADHECANTBEDEAD) and revived your ass like a guardian angel or something.

TOMMYISDEADTOMMYISDEADTOMMYISDEADTOMMYISDEADTOMMYISDEADTOMMYISDEADTOMMYISDEADTOMMYISDEADTOMMYISDEADTOMMYISDEADTOMMYISDEADTOMMYISDEAD-

The archons on the other hand are trembling in shock realizing who you are as your imposter ran like a scared rat through the crowd of people who are frozen in shocked. You felt your wings again and stretched them as you could hear your chat ‘cawing loudly’.

You glanced up and see them circling above you indicating either someone died or something.

What a scary sight, “They sure know how to make this execution looked like death has appeared to kill them"

“Indeed but in my opinion I think they are more likely want to show off or frighten everyone”

You blinked and looked towards Rubedo who threw his cloak away as the Heralds and Lectors stood by him.

“I take it this is the power of that totem that only prevents your deaths easily once in your world?” Rubedo walked towards you and threw you a familiar crossbow that is loaded up with fireworks.

“You could say that…" You caught it and looked at your crossbow before opening your inventory to see your fireworks are still unlimited, "But I shouldn't have it with me since I already used it once before yet another came and revived me…"

"How peculiar…" Rubedo mused putting his hand on his chin into a thinking pose as you grab the stuffs he gave you.

Bless Rubedo for keeping your stuff but you noticed your sword or axe was gone as you looked at him who shooked his head that indicates he wasn’t able to get your weapons back or able to find it under the buried snow. He only found your pickaxe and crossbow with fireworks along with your TNT.

Shame but at least you have something.

(WEMUSTLEAVEWEMUSTLEAVEWEMUSTLEAVEWEMUSTLEAVEWEMUSTLEAVEWEMUSTLEAVE)

"Say Rubedo can you and the Abyss Order do me a favor?"

“Of course anything for you”

“Y-Your G-Grace...”

You ignored Ei’s words before you pointed your crossbow at archons and the crowd behind her. The voices appeared in your head again as you felt your (e/c) eyes turn blood red.

BLOOD!!

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!

STAB!STAB!STAB!STAB!!

KILL!KILL!KILL!KILL!

BLOOD!!

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!

MAKE THEM SUFFER!!

BLOOD!!

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!

CHAOS!!

KILL THEM ALL!!

MAKE THEM BLEED!!

“Spill some of their blood for me and for the blood god please”

“As you wished”

No one could say anything but scream in terror as fireworks went flying. Rubedo ran towards Albedo who quickly defended himself and the heralds began to attack. More fireworks were fired as you could hear Itto’s famous ‘Its showtime’ and suddenly people went flying in the air. You chuckled at the destruction before throwing some TNT to Rubedo who caught it and threw them at the crowd that went flying.

“My, what a colorful destruction you just did your majesty” Enjou floated beside you as you snorted.

“Please what I just did is just a baby destruction” You retorted at him, “Now if you could excuse me I need to head to Celestia ASAP”

Especially you just saw Tommy’s name show up in the chat (That finally appeared but in the wrong timing and wrong message you didn't want to see) dead by Dream’s hand.

PleasetellmeyournotdeadPleasetellmeyournotdead PleasetellmeyournotdeadPleasetellmeyournotdead PleasetellmeyournotdeadPleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePlease-

Before you could fly Enjou said something that caught your attention, "Your Highness is waiting is by one of the escape route caves you always used with your horse in hands that she currently taken care off”

You mentally thanked the Abyss Princess for keeping your horse safe along being in debt for her bringing her heralds to save you as you nodded at The Pyro Lector who then started burning the soldiers from the different nations who screamed in agony. You flew off to the direction to one of the caves as your chat suddenly appear beside you flying at you in happiness and other stuff.

“BIG SIS IS BACK!!”

"POGGGGGG!!"

“WELCOME BACK!!”

“YOUR ALIVE!!”

“TECHNO STYLE!!”

“(Y/N) NEVER DIESSS!!”

“QUEEN!!

“OUR QUEEN IS SAVED!!”

“RUBEDO TO THE RESCUE!!”

“IMPOSTER RAN LIKE A RAT!!”

“LUMINE IS WAITING!!”

“LETS KILL EVERYONE!”

“EYYYYY”

“TOMMY IS DEAD WHAT?!”

“LETS GO HOME!”

“TOMMYS NOT DEAD PLEASE”

“DREAM KILLED HIM WTF”

“HURRYYY”

“TOMMY NOOOO!!”

“LETS LEAVE”

“WE NEED TO SEE TOMMY”

"I know chat. I know" You quicken your wings as you flew faster to where Lumine and your horse is located.

A flash of a familiar blonde teenager with a stupid idiotic grin with a red scarf on his neck as he held the disk you gave to him for his birthday.

'I'm coming Tommy please tell me your not dead! I refuse to believe your dead by that Green Blob's hand!' You thought as you spotted your horse and Lumine in the cave waiting.

You didn't notice a certain someone glaring at Lumine in anger before heading to the cave as well.

------------------------------------------------------------

"The Mission is a success seeing you are still alive" That was the first thing you heard from Lumine.

“As expected you are still cold as ever your highness” You chuckled before cooing at your horse ‘neigh’ and snorted at you.

“Then I’ll be leaving since the mission is complete” Lumine said.

“Not gonna stay and chat? I definitely owe you for saving me with your Abyss Order and bringing the Rubedo safe to my failed execution.

“Unfortunately I am quite busy with my role in the Abyss and to destroy Celestia so I can't stay to chat with you" She explained as portal appear behind her revealing her Abyss Herald.

"We will meet again (Y/n) and you have a guest behind you that you might not like but something you could release your bloodlust"

The moment she said those words you turned around and blocked a sword with your pickaxes only to find yourself face to face your imposter who looked enraged making you groaned in irritation causing her to sneer at you.

“Of all people have to fight it had to be the one who can’t fight...” You sighed purposely saying that to make the imposter take the bait which she did as you smirked seeing her enraged expression.

“I”LL KILL YOU!!” She screamed, “IF YOU DIE THEN I CAN STILL CONTINUE THIS CREATOR WORLD AND MAKE AETHER ALONG WITH ALL TEYVAT MEN AND WOMEN MINE!!!”

You began to laugh as you put your hand on your face. Your laughed echo the cave as your imposter trembled in rage at you laughing at like she is a fool.

"Did you seriously think…" You placed your hand down as you cockliy smirked at her, "That you could kill me that easily?"

That was the last straw.

Your imposter let out a war cry as your eyes flashed red as both you guys began to attack one another with a sword and pickaxe clashing together creating a large noise that could be heard outside the cave.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

"YOU HAVE DONE SO MUCH FUCKING DAMAGE TO EVERYTHING I HAVE BEEN BUILDING AND SUCCESSFUL USED THE PLAN CELESTIA HAVE GIVEN ME IN REPLACING YOU!"

you dodged another swing from up and down before rolling underneath her as swing your pickaxe at her face before defended it with her sword.

"IF YOU HAVE NOT APPEARED I COULD HAVE EVERYTHING!"

Charged at you and you swing your pickaxes to defend all her attacks as she continued yelling at you.

"I COULD HAVE CONTINUE THIS ANNOYING ROLE JUST SO I CAN HAVE ALL THE PEOPLE I WISH TO HAVE UNDER MY FOOT!"

Another swing deflected.

"I COULD HAVE MADE THAT TRAVELER MINE IF HE WASN'T LOOKING FOR HIS BITCHYING TWIN"

You furrowed your eyebrows but still kept dodging and deflected another attack from her.

"I COULD HAVE BEEN THE QUEEN OF THIS LAND AND MAKE IT INTO MY OWN CREATION!!"

Okay that's enough screaming. Your ears are in pain but at least you know what her desires are and who is the culprit of making her take your identity.

Bending your whole body backwards along with your head avoiding the stab that almost hit your face as you then swing your pickaxes to the side of the imposter causing yelped in pain before getting her self hit by the side of the wall causing her to lose grip on her sword slightly as you then pulled out your crossbow that had one Firework in it before shooting at her face with it.

She screamed in pain as her ears were throbbing in pain, red blood came out of her nose and head as her eyes blurred. She felt another pain causing her to cry as she tried to move making the pain intensive she blinked and shaked away the running noise and once she got her vision not blurry anymore her pupils went small when you appeared crouched infront of her with your pickaxe downward.

"I have a pickaxe-"

She wanted to move but couldn't only to scream in pain realizing she dropped her sword as it stabbed through her to the wall on her arm making her cry out of pain.

"and I'll put it THROUGH YOUR TEETH!"

A scream of agony and pain echo the cave including the outside that is was so loud animals ran away from it.

Your horse neighed before eating as it was lucky it ran away from the fight not wanting to get hurt. While your chat with it either screaming or chasing each other while waiting for your fight to finish.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

WARNING: FOR THOSE WHO HAVE READ MY WARNINGS ABOUT THERE WILL BE A TORTURE SCENE HERE SLIGHTLY AND READER WILL BE LOSING CONTROL FROM HER BLOODLUST.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED BECAUSE THIS WILL BE HAVE HEAVY STABBING ALONG WITH GOREY PARTS SUCH US READER DESTORYING HER BODY AND REVIVING IT AND DOING IT ALL AGAIN TO MAKE THE IMPOSTER SUFFER!

IF YOU FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE YOU MAY LEAVE THE FIC OR PLEASE SKIP IT UNTIL YOU SEE THE WORD:

(END OF THE TORTURE SCENE)

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

THUD!

Everyone gasped saw they their 'grace' body fell and battered in the stage with their blood dripping down. Everyone whispered and gasp seeing the color before looking up at you with that is hovering before landing on the stage softly. You clicked your tongue as you kicked the body slightly that was shivering and bleeding in pain. Your chat land on each building cawing loudly.

"Sheesh she was a pain especially I had to damage her vocal cords since they irritated my ears"

Your imposter cried as she reached to the crowd who lean back in disgust causing her to cry even more but spat out more blood when you had place your foot on her chest. Putting pressure on your foot cause more tears run down her face as you leaned your foot glaring at her coldly with your eyes still red and your wings stretched menacingly.

"Look at you" You spoke, "What happened from getting so excited in killing?"

Your imposter couldn't reply but gag out of blood since you have ruined her face and vocal cords. Her right side of her eyes was skinned through and bleeding alot showing you have left a huge scar on her face that will never heal.

"And now you are under my feet with no power and revealing you are not a creator but a stupid mortal just like these people" You pointed your finger at the crowd who bow in fear and guilt but you were still staring at your imposter.

"You had so much fun torturing me and making your minions go after me when I just wanted to go home but NOOOOOOOO" you raised your voice at the end mockly in anger.

The voices were getting louder and faster in telling you to kill her but you ignored it and wanting to continue torturing her.

"You decided to make them go after me and kill me when I just wanted answers if where I was and what you do? You agreed with it and don't care for the people who are gonna help me so long I get killed"

Lifted up your foot causing the imposter to gasp in relief before gagging alot of blood as she saw you stabbing her with her sword grinning sadistically.

"How about I torture you?" You grinned madly, "That way you can feel what I feel but also feel what my friends I made feel that you have killed"

The imposter fell limped as you tut before lifting up your free hand as a message box/chat box appeared. Your glanced at it before quickly typing those words that will forever be embed through everyone in the execution including your imposter who will forever remember it.

"/revive…!"

"Enjou" You called out the Pyro Lector who bow and was floating behind you.

"Yes your majesty?" He said.

"What's the name of this imooster" You said.

"If I recall her real name is: Mei Mallory"

"I see"

You quickly typed that name.

"/revive Mallory Mei 10 times"

Click!

GASP!

Everyone watches the imposter come back alive but her appearance and your face shed off her revealing an older woman with short red purple hair and green eyes that are wide awake. The scar you left on her was still there on her face which may be permanent although that's a good thing since you want to leave a reminder of her biggest mistake.

And that was fighting you when she never stood a chance against you.

"I'm-"

She gasp realizing she could talk but in her original voice instead of your voice.

"Alive?!"

You heard Ei's sharp breath as you glanced at her.

It looks like she recognized one of the people of her nation as the heralds pushed her forward with the chains that are wrapped her body. Actually most of the Archons are all chained up with the same chain you had on you. Even the vision users as well but you could see Aether injured and bruised while Paimon was stuck in a jar that was about her size which was surprising as you glanced at Enjou who shrugged.

"Rubedo said to put her in a jar since we don't have chains for her size" He said without a care.

You looked at Rubedo who also shrugged making you snort. Before looking back at Mallory was struggling to pull out the sword as she is very weak at the moment.

You pulled your sword out of her chest making her cry a bit of the pain before letting out a scream as you stabbed her harder enough to hear it. Everyone in the crowd flinched while parents hid their children again from the sight by covering their eyes and telling them to cover their ears with their hands. You on the other hand still grinned madly as the voices became louder.

DIE! DIE! DIE!

BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!

MAKE HER SUFFER

LET HER SCREAM!

TORTURE HER!

BREAK HER ARMS AND LEGS!

MAKE HER FEEL IT OVER AND OVER AGAIN!

You followed the voices suggestions with nod as you then kept stabbing your former imposter who continued bleeding and screaming only to be revived again. You broke her arms and summoned a random Diamond axe and cut her arms with it making her scream and cry. Blood splattered on your face as you continued cutting her arms and then her legs as more blood spilled the stage.

People looked away in horror while some couldn't watch and crouched down covering their ears with their eyes closed. Some vomited at the gruesome sight. The vision users either looked away or watched the sight in horror. The Archons watched as they are used to the gruesome sight but mainly they are afraid now they realize who their creator is and what they are.

Mallory was revived again but this time you stabbed her face earning a scream from the crowd.

"This is for Razor"

She is revived again and her fingers her cut off and then her arm again. More blood and scream came from her.

"This is for Bennett"

Revived again. You slice her toes, her knees and her legs like a chopping board before slicing her head off.

"This is for making Amy cry"

You scratch her face.

"This is for killing Diona"

Pulled her legs out.

"This is for XiangLing and Guoba"

You based her head on the stage 6 times and then slicing her head off.

"For Xingqiu"

You stabbed her eyes.

"For Chongyun"

You broke her jaw.

"For Sayu"

Head cracked.

"For-"

KILL!! KILL!! KILL!!

Somwhere in the crowd you could see a familiar bough keeper walking to the stage and watching you torture Mallory over and over again before you began to laugh maniacally in excitement finally losing your clam exposesure and killing Mallory again and again.

Mallory continued to cry as she then felt her jaw snapped and crushed. She then got revived and her tongue as cut off along with skull getting crushed as you keep smashing her head on the stone floor as her blood splattered on you and your clothing.

BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD!

BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD!!

HAHAHHAHAHA YESSS SUFFER BITCH!!

SUFFER!!

DIE DIE DIE!!

FEEL THE PAIN YOU HAVE KILLED FOR NOTHING!!

BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD!!

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!" You screamed and and just as you were about to stab Mallory's slowly dying body that will be revived again your eyes were covered by a black hand.

"Calm yourself"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

(END OF THE TORTURE SCENE!)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

…Dainsleif?…

Another pair of hands stopped your hand that was about to continue stabbing Mallory with the sword.

"I think you lost control of your bloodlust (Y/n)…"

…Ru…bedo?…

NO CONTINUE!!

KILL KILL KILL!!

BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD!!

MAKE HER SUFFER!!

"Shhhh…calm yourself"

"Don't listen to the voices anymore…"

"…"

But the voices continued and just as you were about to break the grip you felt your whole body froze when you felt Dain talking.

"Your brother wouldn't like it if you keep losing yourself to your bloodlust"

!!!

"…"

Suddenly instead of seeing a black hand covering you saw yourself again in the Dream SMP with Tommy and Tubbo being knuckle heads at eachother. You could hear Tommy's laughter and then you felt a hand on your shoulder as you glance and saw Wilbur looking at you with a sad expression.

"Come back to yourself sister"

"…"

"You promised you wouldn't lose control"

You looked at your Mother who is beside Wilbur causing you to lose your composure.

You felt like you were back home.

And just like that you lost your grip on your sword as Mallory began to come back alive but is now crying in fear and in pain. Traumatized of what you did.

Rubedo releasing his hands and Dainsleif remove his hand on your face as you then opened your eyes revealing tired dull (e/c) instead of red. You got off Mallory before kicking her through the crowd as you then stood up wiping away the blood splattered on you. Your chat began to fly around again with many black feathers falling from the sky.

"…I want to go home…"You spoke as you felt a cloak wrapped around you.

"You will go home" Dainsleif said, "For now let's leave"

"…"

You allowed yourself to be dragged away by Dainsleif as the moment your back was facing the crowd you could hear them calling you back desperatly. Portals being opened and felt your back being rubbed comfortingly. Chain noises of being dropped or disappearing as you could hear a lot of footsteps but the Heralds and Lector the block their way to you who continue heading towards one of the portals of the abyss.

"YOUR GRACE WE ARE SORRY!!"

"COME BACK!!"

"I'M SORRY!!"

"PLEASE GIVE US A CHANCE!!"

"YOUR GRACE!!"

"ANOTHER CHANCE PLEASE!!"

"WE DIDN'T MEAN TO!!"

"WE'RE SORRY!!"

"It's too noisy.…" You muttered tiredly.

Suddenly you felt your body picked up in a bridal style and you could hear the chat laughing or teasing you but you didn't care as you were too tired to care properly.

You just want to be with your baby brother again…

"Sleep your grace"

With those words you press your head against Dain's shoulder while closing your eyes and ignoring the sounds behind you. Trying to relax and get some energy since you used it all up for the torture of your imposters.

All you could hear was the screams of anger of Tommy and the laughter of your other halfs making you feel like you are back in the SMP instead of this unknown world that you found yourself in.

You could see Tommy waving at you before running towards his home, Tubbo and Ranboo behind him, Wilbur playing his guitar as he looked at you in happiness-like he hadn't gone crazy or didn't destroy L'Manburg- You then saw your Mother and Father walking with each other as you felt your head being patted looking to the side to see Techno nodding at you before pulling out an axe scaring the boys who screamed in excitement or fear.

The sight was a home for you.

"…I miss you…"

------------------------------------------------------------

SHEEEEESH WELP THAT'S A WRAP HAHAHAHAHAHHA

OKAY SO LIKE I THOUGHT I COULD FINISH THIS ON WEEKENDS BUT NOPE I LEGIT FINISHED IT TODAY HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

ANYWAYS YEP THIS IS PRETTY LONG AND DEFINITELY A HUGE PROLOGUE AND ITS STILL PART 1 BECAUSE THEIR WILL BE AN AFTERMATH AND AS I MENTIONED DESTRUCTION!!

I'M SORRY IF THIS CHAPTER WAS VERY DARK AND GRUESOME I WENT OUT WITH A BANG SORRY TAT

BUT TELL ME IF THIS STORY IS OKAY SINCE I'M VERY MUCH RUSTY IN WRITING AND WILL BE EDITING STUFF HERE IF I SEE THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH GRAMMAR AND MISSING WORDS.

ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE PROLOGUE AND PROLOGUE PART 2 WILL COME OUT NEXT MONTH!!

Fun fact: back when @willowedwisteria had her old account I was inspired by the SAGAU x Philza Reader to create this except instead of Reader being Philza I made her his child and one of the SBI. Plus I had to tweak and change stuff while listening to this song that kept me going to make this prologue: 👇

But anyways I hope you like this and please do comment, like and reblog! ^^

No hate comments or I will block you and report you since it has been awhile I have made a long prologue like this.

Welp Imma rest now and do Prologue part 2 next month XD

You can message me as I am online sometimes due to being with school! ^^

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sheriff-caitlyn · 3 years ago

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I started this blog in 2014, as the first Caitlyn on tumblr, and obviously I’ve been through a lot of retcons and changes myself, not only adapting to Riot’s own public retcons (from the minor, like her aesthetics, to the major, like the removal of the Institute of War as an integral part of their lore) but also to my own. That’s the thing about playing a character as complex as this, is that you learn more as you go. In your interactions with others and the creation of backstory, history, and other bits of worldbuilding to better understand the world you’re in, a character goes from a handful of images and some in-game voicelines to a fully-fledged person with a complex narrative. Sometimes things change, and that’s fine. But there are some changes which... aren’t.

For all the fingerprints I’ve put on her, she is still not my character. But I care. Sunk-cost fallacy, maybe, but I care about this character I have been involved in and I care about the direction she has been taken. So, without further ado, I’d like to delve into:

The Recent Caitlyn Update In Piltover’s New Context or, We Gotta Fetishise Police Violence, I Mean, Look At Her, She’s So Hot

Back in August 2015, I went, ‘Oh No, they’re going to try to turn Piltover into Gotham City, aren’t they?’, and lo and behold, suddenly we have Poison Ivy now. But I will get back to that, later. In this particular thread, I noted that many of the characters in Piltover seemed destined for a revamp that would rob them of what originally drew us to them in the first place, and that Piltover seemed destined for a rework that would wash out much of their character. Piltover and Zaun were always meant to be polar opposites, but suddenly we were seeing glimpses of Piltover being ‘not as good as everyone thinks’, which hinted that Piltover and Zaun were destined not to be polar opposites in the future, but indistinguishable from each other. It worried me that the only thing telling these two fascinating cities apart would be the sunlight.

So, when we have so much potential for a clash between Zaun and Piltover, between ‘Science No Matter The Cost’ and ‘We Must Advance The World With Care’, why change Piltover to some murky middleground, turning peace and security into wartime capitalism? A world where the people are shitty, where weapons and profit come first, and the only ones making a stand are the ones who are so embittered they have nothing better to do?

Because it has to be ‘interesting’. We’re going to lose bits that we like, that we’re familiar with. And that’s why I’m concerned.

This was before Piltover and Zaun were squished together in an ugly - and utterly ham-fisted - method of showing How Complex The Future Is. There’s layers, guys! Literal layers to this one single city! That means it’s deep! But when I say ‘bits that we like, that we’re familiar with’, I’m not clinging to a fanon interpretation. I’m saying the things that drew us to the world and to the characters to begin with. I could adapt from Caitlyn turning from brown-haired and brown-eyed to black-haired and blue-eyed, because even through I had been doing art, at that point, the change gave me an opportunity to express and discover more about her character (her eye colour being influenced by her mother’s magic, for one). But some of the more stark changes - to family, to job, to personality, to the city of Piltover itself - these result in a character changing completely. I was worried that the cool detective who literally made the world a better place would be chopped and changed into something unrecognisable. I even expounded on my concerns in November 2016, where I could see some of the ways the writers at Rito might make adjustments in the direction of their lore updates.

All this to say, I’ve been working on her for a while, and I was bracing for some bad news. This? This is kind of the worst.

Caitlyn has always been the Sheriff of Piltover, an authority figure, a representative of the law and order that Piltover is famous for. Piltover’s peace and financial prosperity has been directly linked to Caitlyn’s concerted effort to eradicate crime (not criminals, crime! Which, as I have mentioned particularly in this post from 2014, means she upended and reformed the justice system, from the legal process to the prisons to how people are treated as citizens). The city is safe, people have greater access to personal wealth and development, classism is erased, society is flourishing. Zaun, as Piltover’s polar opposite, is a corporate nightmare, with ‘do as thou wilt’, private bodyguards for the rich and powerful while the poor scramble to survive in a system that barely treats them as human. Vi, as a Zaunite, brings a lot of her ‘violence as a problem-solver’ methodology to Piltover’s law-enforcement, though she seems to have no intention of returning to Zaun and seems to have bonded with Caitlyn (‘teamwork!’) to Get Shit Done. And, apparently, there is still shit that needs to be done, though nowhere near as much as there had been in the Bad Old Days.

Vi was, at the time, the awkward-grit-teeth-grin-ha-ha-um-yeah representation of police violence. ‘Resist arrest’, she cries gleefully, as she beats people and breaks down buildings, and we are supposed to go ‘ha, isn’t that funny’ with varying degrees of sincerity. Of course Piltover is going to have problems: anywhere that has wealth and stability is going to be targeted by the envious and the needy. Peace needs to be protected. The problem lies in how that protection is enacted.

So now we have the recent Legends of Runeterra update to Caitlyn, an update which looked at the context of Piltover needing protection, as well as the modern context of Riot’s California location in the Years of Our Lord 2020-2021, and then decided ‘you know what we need? Police violence, everyone loves police violence’.

MAN I thought the stripper-cop skins were bad but here we go!

Her Yordle Snap-Traps (which I envisioned as from the Yordle Military, rather than a racially-profiling weapon as, y’know, they work on human-and-larger-sized people as well) have now been replaced by electroshock grenades, the intent gone from incapacitation and observation to outright paralysis and destruction. Her net-short is now apparently electro-conductive (admittedly, I have had one (1) single RP where that happened, but it came at both a cost to Caitlyn and to her weapon’s efficiency as a result, a last-resort against a dangerous opponent). Caitlyn’s cards in LoR take her from being a detective coordinating ideas and people and putting together a case to a SWAT team leader. This might be the biggest problem in working for a non-combat-oriented character in a MOBA, or in any fighting game: the game needs to find rationalisations for all of their characters being there, being combatants, being able to kill (even if, as Riot says, the lore is separate from the game). We have monsters and soldiers and ancient powers who of course they know how to spill blood and relish in doing so. But pacifists, like Karma or Bard? Explorers like Ezreal? And a sheriff, a peacekeeper, a law-keeper, someone mindful of responsibility and the importance of saving every life possible, like Caitlyn? They’re stripped of that depth and complexity in-game, but there was always the lore that backed them up. But they’ve done away with that completely. Caitlyn was never special operations. She was never military. But now she is, because she had to be changed to fit better into a fighting game. They had to make her violent, and as a result, they have undermined not only everything about the character that made her interesting to begin with - turning her now into a representative of police brutality, but with long hair, pouty lips, and a thigh gap - but they’re also re-writing the context of Piltover. It was bad enough to squish Piltover and Zaun together. But now, Caitlyn’s update is proof that Piltover has gone from a steampunk utopia to a violent, oppressive and cynical post-industrial world. The depiction of Caitlyn as a SWAT team leader (complete with special-forces beret, because hat! Caitlyn wears a hat! Nevermind the fact that she’s no longer wearing a distinctive tophat but instead a symbol of extreme state-sponsored force!) shows us that Piltover’s ‘army’ is not designed as a defence against outsiders, but as an offensive force against their own people. Caitlyn is supposed to be the representation of how peace and order is maintained in one of the largest factions in League of Legends, and if her method of maintaining order is straight-up police violence against their own citizens, then it’s not really peace and order. It’s authoritarianism at best, and facism at worst.

Piltover was different from every other nation in Runeterra because it didn’t have a military. It had defenders, and it had a powerful economy, and it had a democratic political system. But the Piltover update retconned Caitlyn’s hard work. The gangs were back - though now they’re big powerful families like Clan Ferros - and Caitlyn has been de-aged so that she’s still new to the force, that she hasn’t even had her chance to change anything. Her importance to Piltover is minimised... and why is Vi even there? (Oh boy I guess you’re going to have to watch Arcane to find out! Coming to a Netflix near you soon!) With a younger Caitlyn in a violent society, she has no choice but to be violent herself... even if that undermines everything previously established about Piltover and about Caitlyn. This update has made Piltover just as ugly and oppressive as Demacia, Noxus, and Zaun. It’s just another army equipped to do violence, but now that violence is turned inwards. This isn’t protection, it’s control. It’s fear. It’s oppression. Caitlyn is no longer a peacekeeper. She’s a monster. Chopped and changed, as I feared, into something completely unrecognisable from how she began in a world that no longer looks like what it had been... or should be.

It’s hard to tell what came first, the change to Piltover or the change to Caitlyn. Either way, the changes are inextricably linked. Caitlyn was integral to Piltover’s modern state, and Piltover is integral to Caitlyn as a character. Her (original) drive was to make the city and all its people better; Piltover was a utopia because of the effort of Caitlyn, and of people like her, people who wanted a better world. This new iteration of Piltover - full of fear and violence and hypocricy, layered over Zaun in such a way that makes ham-fisted commentary about the wealth/class divide - undermines the value of the individual. It removes agency. It removes hope, which had been integral to Piltover. Piltover is no longer the CIty of Progress... it’s the City of ‘you better be rich and pretty if you want to progress’. And Caitlyn is no longer a force for good or a representative of responsibility, because those things don’t exist in Piltover anymore. Legends of Runeterra has turned Caitlyn into a bitch, someone to hate. She has a marked lack of respect for people, as demonstrated in her new character traits of ‘casually-racist’ (her lines to Veigar), ‘condescending’ (her lines to Viktor), with some added pride in her violence (’here’s my calling card *shoots gun*’ and ‘I aim to win and my aim is excellent’). She is a representative of her city, and she is a terrible person now. Piltover is terrible. Piltover is ugly.

But Caitlyn avoids that last part. And she’ll get away with it, because she’s a hot twenty-something.

In 2015, I drew Caitlyn-as-Swain, as an AU for what might have been. The overwhelming response at the time was ‘aaa she’s so hot I’d follow that leader of Noxus’, prompting a good friend Swain RPer to comment that Swain - who was, at the time, the withered man in green and gold who needed a cane - was just as smart as Caitlyn if not more so, a proven capable leader, but when it comes down to it, sex-appeal will always trump characterisation and storytelling, and that’s disheartening for someone who puts so much work into stories, to context, to something deeper than ‘Just another MOBA’. And here I am, in 2021, looking at how Caitlyn has been stripped of her fascinating and complex characterisation while maintaining her long legs, long hair, and corsetted figure. Now, I do appreciate the fact they’ve given her a better costume than miniskirt and boobtube. She deserves so much better. I even commissioned back in 2015 for a Better Look for Caitlyn; Tom aka FaerieFountain went on to make her new look canon. But she’s supposed to be a detective. She’s supposed to be careful and methodical and mindful of her status and power. Instead, she’s been made gleefully violent, leaving a lot of depth behind in order to become just Hot Cop With Gun. (As an aside, was anyone else uncomfortable with Caitlyn’s high-school skin? Especially when the writer actually tweeted ‘step on me’? Hello? Ma’am? That is a high school student, that is a CHILD you are talking about? But Caitlyn is hot so it’s fine! Sexualise a child! it’s fine, she’s hot, it’s fine!) Almost everyone who has contacted me about Caitlyn’s LoR cards has been excited to see her. Good! She’s a great character! Or, she was. But the enthusiasm about her is tied to how she’s so violent, how she uses her power to abuse those who don’t conform. But she looks great, smoking hot, you know? And when she’s smoking hot, her dangerous and abusive behaviour and attitude are completely excused. An update to a character needs to take into account characterisation as well as the visuals. Her update, sadly, has focused on the all-too-prevalent problem of the viciousness of state-sponsored violence, rather than the complexity of detective work, of puzzle solving and intellectualism, but because she looks hot and speaks in that British accent, no-one’s going to care. Hot ladies can get away with so much, because legs and pouty lips, but I guess she’s also a cop or whatever.

And, as a momentary aside, why is an eco-terrorist suddenly Caitlyn’s longtime foe? It makes zero sense for Piltover and for Caitlyn that someone who plant-based powers is her biggest rival and the city’s biggest threat. Zero sense, until you take into account that Piltover has been stripped of its character and made into something more aligned with modern authoritarianism than the hopeful vibes of steampunk. Environmentalism? Not on my watch! Deploy the police (the good guys!) to silence the protesters (who are obviously the bad guys becase they’re protesting)! Because Piltover and Zaun are one city now, and therefore indistinguishable, we have a fucking Poison Ivy character causing enough trouble in Piltover to warrant entire fucking SWAT teams opening fire within the city limits and around peoples’ homes! Not Zaun, which is the environmental nightmare, but Piltover! With its fresh air and open skies! Yes, that’s a great place for an eco-terrorist to blame and/or try to fix! The whole thing is honestly so backwards! Like they’ve decided to make a cool character in the form of Corina and just shove her into the story, rather than finding a place in the narrative that suits her. The idea that Corina is C makes no sense. Caitlyn vs C is supposed to be Sherlock versus Moriarty, Ganimard versus Lupin, ACME versus Carmen Sandiego, world’s greatest detective against the world’s greatest thief. It focused on the intellectual battle, the need for self-improvement, and - most importantly! - that this was a fight that didn’t result in gunfire or people being put in bodybags. But we can’t have that in our fighting game! We can’t have people thinking, because that’s not the kind of game we have, it’s left-click-shoot out here on the Rift or in the cards. So now we have a woman with plant powers bombing Piltover, and a policewoman kicking down doors and opening fire. And she’s right there, in Caitlyn’s new splash art, within reaching distance of the sheriff!

She’s right there! In hot pink with a flower in her fucking hair! And Caitlyn doesn’t even notice? Looks like one of my major gripes about Caitlyn being updated - Incompetence - is rearing its ugly head. She cannot even see someone not five feet from her. Oooh, look out, Piltover, no-one can figure out why this single eco-terrorist is causing problems for years, but Caitlyn will figure it out! With her gun! Because she’s a cop with a gun, and cops with guns never cause more problems than they solve, right?

Look... I know. I know she’s not my character. I know that everything I’ve done is fan-interpretation. But I’ve worked for so long and hard and done so much research, and things I’ve done have even been seen by - and used by! - the company itself (not just in the ‘oh what a coincidence’ sense, either, I know my link on Hextech as a form of magic made it to several of the writers, some of whom later contacted me). I might be too jaded by all the disappointment to take it personally anymore, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still happen. We know Riot Games could be and should be better. So many people in this community - and people who have since moved on - put so much love and effort into the characters and the world, building up from scraps and guesswork and extrapolation. It wasn’t our world, but we enjoyed playing in it. We enjoyed struggling in it, because it pushed us to be thoughtful, creative, to be engaged and interested. Critical Theory doesn’t have to be negative... but this recent update to Caitlyn’s character and to Piltover as a whole is... it’s a step backwards. They’ve gone for the ‘ooh isn’t this gritty and dark’ approach, and swept away so much of what made the original so interesting, creative, engaging to begin with. They’d rather have controversy than people genuinely enjoying the thing that they’re opening their wallet for.

Caitlyn was a detective who focused on responsibility, intellectualism, and care. What she is now is not the same Caitlyn they started with, and expresses a set of values that I do not support. This blog will continue to be focusing on the old lore, on what Piltover has been and what it should be: a hopeful utopia, a place for people to grow and be responsible and thoughtful and mindful of their place on the world stage. It’s not going to be perfect, but there’s hope, and there’s people here who want the world, and everyone in it, to be better than it is. I hope you join me, no matter who you are.

#oops I essayed again #Not Your Piltover #caitlyn #riot please #character development #piltover

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maxparkhurst · 4 years ago

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April 30th

Eight Years Ago

A jar of fireflies casted their blanket fort in a whimsical glow reminiscent of summer’s encroaching warmth. In tune to the flickering light, two shadows danced across the walls late into the evening. As is the case with most parties, the guests had drunken themselves silly from apple juice and ginger beer, getting lost in the revelry. Amongst the cluster of half-finished board games were bowls laden with cracker jacks, licorice ropes, and sweets cakes procured from Stillman's Candy Shop. The remnants of which clung to the floorboards and the walls of their fort.

The esteemed soldier and proud patron of regency, Sir Reginold, sat with perfect posture at the end of the gathering. His painted eyes surveyed the game of Chess with both amusement and skepticism. By his side was Lady Thistle of Fox Hollow. Despite being almost twice his age, she still maintained an air of beauty with her overstuffed belly and vibrant, velveteen coat. She leaned heavily on Sir Reginold, humming along to the tune played by the bard. Rutherford J. Peachworthy, the seven armed octopus, sat in the corner with all his instruments as his one-man band played sea-shanties and ballads.

I do wonder how he lost that eighth arm, whispered Lady Thistle to Sir Reginold.

Lost it in a harrowing accident with the dog next door. Don’t bring attention to it, warned Sir Reginold, He’s quite sensitive about it.

Not bringing attention to it. Just...Admiring.

Well, quit your star-gazing and pay attention. Ol’ sport’s got the lass cornered!

Only the most important people were invited to the Midnight Celebration. An exclusive - and o’so secret - party that celebrated the final hours of the year. Aside from the Knight and Lady, only one other person received a formal invitation written by the hand of the Honored Guest. That person had been the same to procure the venue, snacks, and music - Max Parkhurst.

Max sat cross-legged on the black side of the chess board. Lip pursed and brows furrowed, she made a show of scouring the board for options. There was a lot on the line. The praise of Sir Reginold, a kiss from Lady Thistle, and a whole box of cherry filled chocolates would be gifted to the winner. Max swallowed hard, feeling the pressure weigh on her shoulders, and adjusted her party hat. It seemed almost as if Peachworthy was matching the music’s tempo to the rising stakes. She stole a glance up at her opponent. And couldn’t suppress the smile which crept on her lips.

Augustine beamed on the other end of the board. He wore his favorite overalls- the one with the faded foxes embroidered on the pocket- and a slightly askew crown on his head. His pale cheeks, deeply freckled from the Kul’tiran sun, were flushed with excitement and sticky from melted candy. A handful of cracker jacks laid clenched in one hand while the other hand thumped his knee. Just a touch of pink poked out from between lips as he kept licking at his absent tooth. He kept stealing nervous glances at his Rook stationed in-line with her King, as if he were praying for the piece’s success in regicide.

Hurry up and finish it!

Hush, you! It isn’t his turn. A gentleman must NEVER cheat.

The young boy stuffed his cheeks full of cracker jacks, wiping the residue caramel on his overalls, and nodded for Max to make her move. A sly smirk played on the older sibling’s lips. Slowly, her hand hovered over the board until it rested just above her Bishop. Augustine held his breath as he bounced in his seat.

Oh. Not that one!

Max canted her head. Thought over her choice before selecting the Pawn just next to the Bishop. Augustine and his guests all breathed a sigh of relief.

“Pawn to C4,” she mused, flashing a smarmy grin.

What a blunder she’s made!

All too enthused, Augustine reached over and crashed his Rook into her King. “And I take your King!”

Max hitched back her chin with a faux gasp. “Well… It appears you’ve won again.” And in the same motion, she leaned across the fort to Sir Reginold. “Good show Ol’ Sport!”- she donned her best gravel tone as she maneuvered his arms- “Right, Good Show!”

She then picked up Thistle and brought the plush’s muzzle to his cheek for a smooch. “M’aw! I knew you could do it, Lord Parkhurst. Simply knew you could do it!”

Augustine curled into himself and giggled. “It is all thanks to you, guys!” He reached for the box chocolates. Unwrapped it from its foil paper and plucked a candy for either guest. “So, to show me appr- appre… My thanks! I give each of you one chocolate.”

“Oh, Lord Parkhurst,” -Max flopped a paw over Lady Thistle��s muzzle- “You are far TOO kind.”

“And one for you as well.” Augustine held a chocolate out to Max. “Because you played a good game.”

Max accepted the treat with a warm smile. She plucked the candy from its wrapper, watching from the corner of her eyes as her brother gestured to the plush octopus- “Music!” She began to whistle a tune as Augustine scooped up Lady Thistle. They spun in lazy circles, stepping over empty bowls and cups still rimmed with juice, until the clock in the parlor struck twelve. Delight danced in Augustine’s eyes as a sudden realization dawned on him. He turned to Max, flashing her a gapped tooth grin.

“It’s my birthday…” he squeaked.

“Indeed.” Max pushed herself to her feet, gesturing to the jar of fireflies. “Come on. And bring those.”

She held up the blankets as Augustine shimmied out of the fort with jar in hand. They both blinked into the mist of dust that coated their shared attic room. Cold and ominous it felt compared to warmth in the blanket fort, only a sliver of moonlight drifted in from the port window. Max lifted Augustine onto her shoulders so he could reach the window’s lip. He waited a moment, head bowed over the jar in silent gesture, before releasing the fireflies out into the tepid, summer air.

“Wish for something good?” she breathed, setting him on his bed.

Max listened half-hearted as she began to disassemble their fort. Her brow furrowed upon being met with silence. She turned back to find Augustine perched on the edge of his bed. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing.” His nose wrinkled. A pause followed. “I just...Wish tonight wasn’t over already. It was a lot of fun.”

“Well, we’ll have more fun tomorrow.” She shook crumbs and candy wrappers from the blanket before throwing it over him. “With plenty of cake and presents.”

Augustine flopped down onto his pillow, looking up with a ghost of a pout. “I suppose… Though, Auntie will want to make it all proper. Have me wear a suit and sit at a table full of people I don’t know…”

“You mean our relatives?” She rescued Sir Reginold and Lady Thistle from the party’s aftermath. Placed them on either side of Augustine and tucked the trio in. “Come on. You know exactly who they are.”

“Well, doesn’t mean I like them!” He crossed his arms with a huff. “And doesn’t mean they’ll be any fun. I want to continue the Midnight Celebration all the way until the sun rises! Then we can have cake for breakfast. That would be a good birthday.”

“How about this,” Max mused, sitting on the edge of his bed, “Once I’m eighteen and we’re living on our own, we’ll spend all your birthdays like this. Full of treats and laughter and fun. And only the closest of our friends will be invited to our party. Does that sound fine with you?”

Augustine nodded.

“I would like that very much.”

“Good.” She ruffled his hair. “But for now, you get some sleep. You’ll need plenty of rest now that you’re nine.”

A yawn escaped Augustine as he sunk further into bed. “I thought...You needed less sleep as you got older.”

“Quite the opposite. Now… Less talking. More sleeping.”

She waited until his eyes fluttered shut and his breathing grew heavy and warm with sleep. Her jovial grin melted into a disquiet smile as she brushed back his hair. “Happy Birthday, Augustine.”

#Dribble #Drabble #Fun fluff #Tomorrow's Auggie's IC Birthday #catch these two hooligans causing mischief in the city tonight #Midnight Celebration

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imagitory · 5 years ago

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Woo! So Carewyn’s buddies had a bit of a tiff. Let’s break down this fight in the library, shall we?

Carewyn at this point agrees with you, Tulip, but...

...yeah, she adores Bill to pieces and she’d never say something like that to him. Jacob’s Carewyn’s big brother, but in his absence, Bill has sort of filled the hole he left behind in Carewyn’s life and heart. And no matter how much Carewyn doesn’t trust Rakepick and thinks she only wants to use her, Merula, and Bill for her own purposes, she doesn’t like the thought of putting down Bill’s dreams in the name of “protecting” him from Rakepick’s manipulation.

...Like that.

Oooh! Rowan! Not cool blaming Ben for being under the Imperius Curse! I know you suspected Ben might be R, but...OW.

OW AGAIN, ROWAN! Although yes, in game, Jam City has been making Rowan less front and center, and I’ve justified that by Carewyn and Rowan kind of unconsciously moving apart due to their extreme focuses on the Vaults and academics respectively, this seems like kind of an unfair thing to accuse when it’s not something the player actively chose. Yes, Carewyn didn’t select Rowan to go on various adventures with her (mainly because she thought each friend would have talents better suited to that particular adventure), but even if she had, wouldn’t that fall under “coming around when she wants [her friends’] help?” We don’t have much of an opportunity in game to decide to do fun things with our friends, excluding things that build up our friendship levels like Gobstones, drinking Butterbeer, or eating lunch, and we need those levels at certain places to unlock answers and such, so it doesn’t benefit us to do those things with friends we’ve already maxed out. And for Carewyn and Rowan specifically, the way I see their friendship becoming more distant is largely because Rowan over the last five years has stayed very much the same, while Carewyn has changed dramatically, picking up many friends along the way and becoming the confident, courageous leader that the school needs to protect them from the Cursed Vaults. Carewyn doesn’t resent Rowan for staying the same, as she wishes that she had been as bright, ambitious, loyal, and mature as Rowan was from the start and admires how resolute and unapologetic she is in being herself, no matter what -- but from my writer perspective, I can see Rowan staying stubbornly static while her best friend grows and changes as a flaw. She doesn’t want things to change -- but they are changing anyway.

Okay, so in the game, I had Carewyn respond like this --

But I personally imagine the heart-to-heart going a little differently. While with the group, Carewyn would say that exact thing, but would be unable to look Rowan in the eye, and would change the subject back to the task at hand rather quickly. Then, that night, in the Slytherin common room, Carewyn would wait for Rowan to finish studying in the common room and come up to bed...

Rowan hadn’t seen Carewyn for the rest of the day. Such a situation hadn’t been too out of the ordinary, but this time, it left a rather tight knot forming in Rowan’s stomach.

Why had she said that? She hadn’t meant it at all -- she’d even said so -- but Carewyn had brushed her rationale aside and never looked her in the eye once. Someone who didn’t know Carewyn could’ve seen the lack of response as cold or indifferent, but Rowan knew better. When Carewyn was uncomfortable or upset, she always tried to make herself smaller somehow. Her shoulders would fall, she’d go very quiet, she’d move away, and she wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. It was like she subconsciously wanted to disappear.

After finishing up her Charms essay, Rowan slunk downstairs to the fifth year girls’ dorm, holding her copy of Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five under her arm. When she arrived, she already found the curtains on Liz, Ismelda, and Merula’s four poster beds drawn, and Merula’s light snores carried across the silent room. But Carewyn’s bed, right next to Rowan’s, was empty. Instead Rowan noticed a shadow huddled up on the window seat, looking out at the Black Lake beyond the glass.

“Carewyn?”

Carewyn looked up as Rowan approached. She had a book in her lap, and although she gave a smile, it didn’t quite touch her eyes.

“Hi, Rowan.”

Rowan stood in front of her for a moment, suddenly feeling a loss. What should she say first? Should she try to apologize again? No, Carewyn had said it was okay, even if she didn’t mean it, and she’d probably say it again. Should she ask if she was okay? No, Rowan knew that Carewyn would just say she was fine...

Carewyn looked down, unable to maintain eye contact.

“Rowan...” she said very quietly, “...would you sit with me for a bit? Just for a few minutes.”

Her voice sounded strange to Rowan’s ears. It was much quieter and less bodied than usual -- almost like she was speaking from a couple hundred acres away.

Despite the unease thumping at the back of her chest, or perhaps because of it, Rowan responded very quickly.

“Of course!”

She sat down next to Carewyn on the windowsill, putting her textbook down in her lap. Carewyn didn’t look up, but her shoulders did faintly relax.

Rowan glanced from her best friend’s face to down at the book she was holding.

“...What are you reading?” she asked.

Carewyn held up the patterned yellow paperback so she could see the tiny title squeezed into the upper left corner of the cover: The Complete Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

“Dad gave this to me for Christmas one year,” she explained.

Rowan’s eyes lit up curiously despite herself. “It’s a book of Muggle children’s stories, then? Like The Tales of Beedle the Bard?”

“Yeah.”

Carewyn passed it to Rowan so she could flip through it.

“Cinderella -- Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs -- Little Red-Cap -- I didn’t know Muggles knew about Red Caps!”

Carewyn couldn’t fight back a laugh. “They don’t! It’s about a girl who wears a red hat, or a hood, depending on the version...”

Rowan suddenly felt like all of the gloom she’d been feeling had dissipated away like breaking storm clouds as she looked up at her best friend. To hear her laugh again, even if it was only a little one...Rowan had had no idea how much she’d missed it.

“You said your dad gave this to you?” Rowan asked. She couldn’t remember a time when Carewyn had ever talked about her father before.

Carewyn nodded, her eyes once again drifting downward to rest on the book now in Rowan’s hands.

“I was only two or three, I think...but Mum says she’d encouraged him to find a book that he could read to me in the evenings, and he picked out this one. Next year Dad left, though, so Jacob ended up being the one to read it to me instead.”

Rowan’s smile faded. “I see...”

Carewyn seemed to be fighting with herself about something. She kept taking long breaths and she closed her eyes several times before she finally looked Rowan full on in the face.

“...Rowan...I’m really sorry.”

Rowan was taken aback. “What?”

Carewyn’s gaze kept flickering away to the window, but she tried to keep her focus solely on Rowan.

“I’m sorry if I...if I’ve hurt you. I know I haven’t spent as much time with you, and -- “

“You’ve been dealing with the Vaults and trying to find your brother!” Rowan interjected. “I know -- I know that, I -- I never should’ve said those things -- “

“But it’s not just my brother and the Vaults -- I’ve been spending so much time with the others -- “

“I know why you do -- they’re nice people -- cooler than me -- “

“ -- I wanted you there, I just -- I know how much you want to become the youngest Hogwarts professor ever, and I just -- “

“ -- You’ve become this ‘great Curse Breaker’ now -- I just feel like you don’t need me anymore, and I -- “

“ -- don’t want to hold you back.”

The two friends had been fumbling over their explanations, stepping on top of each other constantly with Rowan’s voice growing louder and Carewyn’s voice becoming lower...but in the end, they had settled on the same sentiment in broken unison.

Rowan and Carewyn both stared at each other, kind of dumbfounded. Rowan was startled to see something that almost looked like the ghost of a tear in the corner of Carewyn’s eye, but it could’ve just been a trick of the light, as it was gone when Rowan tried to look more closely .

“...You...don’t want to hold me back?” asked Rowan, confused.

“Well, sure,” said Carewyn as if it were obvious. “You’ve dreamed of being a professor since you were a kid -- I would never want to distract you away from that.”

“But you’re the popular one!” said Rowan. “You’re the one with all of the friends, I’m just -- “

“You have friends,” argued Carewyn.

“I have your friends,” Rowan corrected her. “I wouldn’t have met Ben or Penny or anyone if it hadn’t been for you. I probably wouldn’t have been brave enough to say a word to Bill Weasley if you hadn’t encouraged me!”

She wasn’t angry, but...she just didn’t understand Carewyn’s thought process. And this was her best friend! How could she not understand her?

Carewyn’s gaze had drifted again toward the window and her knees had come up closer to her chest.

“I became popular because of the Cursed Vaults. You think I wanted to be a Curse Breaker, to risk my neck every week, to get my friends in trouble constantly? You think I want people admiring me for that?”

“But...but you told me in first year that you wanted to be a great witch -- someone people could look up to -- ”

“I wanted to be looked up to for being me!” Carewyn burst out at last. “I’m not like you, Rowan -- I can’t just be who I am! I can’t just live my life however I want! Maybe I want to — sometimes I want to — sometimes I want to so much that I think of just saying ‘forget the Cursed Vaults! Forget about R and their death threats and the fear and the not-knowing-what’s-coming!’ But…I can’t. As long as Jacob is out there — as long as I don’t know whether he’s alive or dead — whether he needs my help or not — how can I put myself first?! How can I justify chasing the Quidditch Cup, or joining the Dueling Club, or singing in the Frog Choir, when anything great I might do won’t mean a thing, without my brother there cheering me on whether I win or lose!? How can I fight for my dreams…while not knowing if Jacob will be able to share them with me? What sort of person would I be? What sort of disgusting — selfish — cowardly — terrible person would I be, if I abandoned him!? How could I face my mum again — face myself again — if I just threw my brother away?!”

As soon as the words had finished rushing out, Carewyn clearly regretted all of them. Her eyes, which had been filling with tears, grew very wide upon Rowan’s face -- then she shut down, turning away and leaving the window seat entirely.

Rowan was completely blindsided. She had never seen Carewyn so upset, so frustrated, so...raw as she appeared now. Even when they were younger and Carewyn was quieter, less articulate, and less confident than she was now, Rowan had always seen her as a very strong person, but she’d seen that strength in how Carewyn didn’t seem to care when Merula bullied her, or in how she stood up for others, or in how she fearlessly pursued the Cursed Vaults. Never had Rowan considered that Carewyn’s strength masked something more fragile.

Carewyn flopped down face first into the mattress of her four poster bed. She reached up a hand as if wanting to pull the emerald green curtains shut, but because she was trying to hide her face, she had trouble figuring out where the pull rope was, blindly reaching around in the dark.

The sight could’ve been funny, but right now, Rowan didn’t feel like laughing. She got up, leaving both her textbook and Carewyn’s book of fairy tales on the window, and sat down on Carewyn’s bed next to her, pulling the curtains shut around both of them.

“...I’m sorry, Carewyn,” she said very quietly. “I’m sorry you haven’t been able to do those things.”

Carewyn didn’t reply or even look up.

“But you know,” said Rowan, smiling weakly, “just now -- you talking about putting all of your dreams aside, so that you could make sure your brother’s in them? ...I reckon it made me admire you even more than I ever have...ever since the day we met.”

Carewyn gave something of a flinch. Rowan couldn’t see her very well, but she thought she heard a quiet intake of a breath like someone trying not to cry.

Rowan took Carewyn’s hand and squeezed it tight. She sat there for almost an hour, holding her friend’s hand as she silently cried.

Carewyn’s outburst had awoken the other members of the Slytherin girls’ dorms, but neither Liz, Ismelda, nor Merula ever got up out of bed to investigate the commotion. Ismelda had been startled to hear Carewyn sounding so distinctly imperfect, but rather than finding satisfaction in it, she found it so disconcerting that she tried to shut out everything she heard and force herself back to sleep. Liz, whose bed was next to Rowan’s and therefore closest to Carewyn’s, sat awake only long enough to make sure Rowan had calmed Carewyn down before going back to sleep. Even Merula, who under any normal circumstance would’ve been delighted to see Carewyn broken and defeated, found herself lying awake for the next hour too, turning over Carewyn’s words in her head in something she didn’t want to admit was sympathy.

Even though Rowan eventually went to bed after making sure Carewyn had fallen asleep, Rowan’s leather bound copy of Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five and Carewyn’s paperback copy of The Complete Grimm’s Fairy Tales sat on the window seat together, the eerie light of the lake rippling green over their titles.

#carewyn cromwell #jacob's sibling #hphm #hogwarts mystery #my writing #my fanfiction #fanfiction #rowan khanna #bill weasley #tulip karasu #charlie weasley #ben copper #patricia rakepick

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gamesception · 5 years ago

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@retphienix said:

I gotta thank ya for the @ because I struggle to keep tabs on tumblr with all the updates bricking my addons etc x.x Not that I was particularly on top of things before that lol.

god, same, yeah. no problem.

Also thank you for reminding me that Hollow exists, downloading now because I’m more or less juggling games to see which I intend to sit down and marathon a lot of and that’s a good idea for a title!

I really cannot recommend it enough. Easily the game I’ve played the most over the last couple years, and probably the game I’ve enjoyed the most since Undertale. That includes Dark Souls, which I first played during that period, and I *really* liked Dark Souls.

I would love to hear your take on it, when and if you end up getting around to it. It’s also nice to recommend a game to you that isn’t, like, bad in more ways than it’s good, with the great aspects that do peek out at you through the jank only serving to taunt you with the actually great game that might have been.

I do maintain that a game that’s bad in interesting ways can be a more compelling experience, and make for more interesting analysis, than a game that’s just good, but Hollow Knight isn’t *just* good. It’s fantastic, in a dizzying myriad of compelling ways that are all interesting to discuss, from the way it builds its tone and atmosphere to the way it highlights the best of what the classic 2d metroidvania has to offer while also sidestepping a lot of the genre’s pitfalls.

I don’t know what it is lately with various games I enjoy or try to keep tabs on suddenly and arbitrarily making difficulty spikes that don’t fit the game? I mean, it’s hollowknight, it’s a souls like and all that jazz, but you’d know better than me in this scenario since YOU PLAYED IT

It’s not all that bad, since it really is quite overtly segregated from the rest of the main game, and isn’t necessary to get what otherwise feels very much like the actual canon ending. Honestly, though, I think there was maybe an over reaction on Team Cherry’s part to what seemed to be a relatively common complaint about the base game, one that I would have shared honestly, in that it didn’t feel like there were enough difficult late game bosses to take advantage of the knights full move set.

This is something of a natural consequence of the open design of the game. It starts out pretty linear, but once you get a couple movement abilities virtually the entire map opens up and you can go almost anywhere, finding meaningful progression pretty much wherever you go. As a result, though, the devs are almost never sure of what upgrades you already have when you reach a boss, so they couldn’t really include any in the main game progression that required you to have particular upgrades to effectively fight them.

I think the trade off in favor of exploration is worth it, but it does leave a bit of a gap in difficulty for those who are old hats at 2d platformy action games.

But it seems like what the devs heard was “Hollow Knight is a baby game for little children”, and their response was basically

The first three content pack updates added several new and much harder endgame bosses, most of which are a ton of fun and have fantastic presentations. They even went back and ramped up the difficulty of some of the lackluster bosses in the base game, in particular one boss in one of the few late game areas that does need more of the knight’s move set to reach now calls on the use of those abilities in the fight itself.

And people loved it! All these expansions went over great. People loved the Grimm Troupe in particular, in part because of the legendary difficulty of its final boss. So it’s perhaps not surprising that the devs pushed even further in that direction for the final DLC, one that revolved entirely around bosses, and it’s not surprising that they ended up overshooting the mark for a fair portion of the audience. And given that there are many players super invested in the lore of the game that found themselves gated out of new endings by an absolutely brutal slog of an overlong boss rush capped off by a much more difficult version of the one boss in the main game that most players already thought was impressively hard?

I really do think the Godmaster DLC is worth trying even for those who go in content that they’ll never beat it. Some of the fights that can be accessed much earlier in the DLC are really cool and worth experiencing in their own right, but I have nothing against anyone who takes one look at it and just nopes the heck out, and I can’t disagree with those who point to it as one of the few noticeable flaws in what is otherwise a truly majestic game overall.

Some of it probably comes down to that “souls like” moniker. Hollow Knight really isn’t a souls like. Its a classic 2d metroidvania action-platformer, that just happens to have a similar tone, story structure, and method of lore delivery that are all heavily inspired by Dark Souls specifically. And the game really benefits from that influence. But where the game tries to parrot souls-like mechanics, whether in super hard bosses that the player is meant to throw themselves at repeatedly until they ‘click’, or in the corpse run mechanic, which is overly punishing in the early game when money is hard to come by and some progression paths are gated behind expensive purchases, but means nothing at all in the late game since HK doesn’t have a leveling system like DS does, so once you’ve purchased the stuff you want there really isn’t any cost to losing your cash on hand any more? That doesn’t work so well.

Worse, it’s actively detrimental to the idea of exploring wherever you like, by pointing the player back in the same direction every time they die, when players in the early mid game might be better served by taking death as an indication that maybe they stumbled into an area that’s a bit much for them right now and they might be better served by trying another path first.

There’s one clear example early on of a particularly tough optional boss fight against multiple opponents. If the player dies to this boss, the game even puts a friendly npc on the path back who heavily implies that the boss is maybe too tough for them, and the player should look for a way to upgrade their weapon before coming back. But that npc shows up /before/ the player reaches their corpse, which happens much closer to the boss itself, and by the time you get there to get your money back - again, this is still relatively early game so loss of your money really stings - and by the time you reach your corpse you’re right outside the boss door, and taking another crack at it can feel less daunting than climbing all the way back out of the area.

If you do beat the boss, ... actually, no I wrote a fair bit but no, cut that. I've got more to chatter on about that but I don’t want to spoil more than I already have. The point is, while it’s really cool you can beat this boss and the area behind it “early”, and I love that the game lets you do that, the corpse run mechanic pushes players who are less comfortable with the game mechanics to keep throwing themselves at the fight when they might be better served by trying another progression path.

monhun

I haven’t played the the new Taroth or however that’s spelled. Heck, I haven’t fought master rank jiva either. The most recent thing I’ve tried is the raging brachy. I actually found that fight pretty fun. Reminded me why I like Monster Hunter. But after seven runs in a row without getting a single reactor drop it also reminded me why I don’t like Monster Hunter nearly as much as you & Bard do.

Still, we should do a few runs together again at some point.

Man, what a thing to type when discussing a souls like, asking to martyr myself mentioning difficulty spikes or difficulty modes/options heh.

Honestly, I kind of share the criticism some people have made of the souls-like genre overemphasizing difficulty. Mechanical challenge is a key aspect of the games, but Dark Souls 1 in particular is really Not That Hard. It’s obtuse more than anything else, but once you know what the stats mean, know how to upgrade your weapons, and have a feel for the mechanics, it’s not that bad. Especially if you take advantage of the summoning / multiplayer mechanics. I know purists can get uppity about getting help, but those mechanics are part of the game for a reason. Dark Souls is probably the easiest of the souls-like games I’ve played so far once you know how it works. I’d also say it’s probably my favorite, and I don’t think that’s a coincidence.

The over-emphasis on difficulty alone when people discuss souls games can get in the way of enjoying them. For instance, it leads to situations like new players trying dark souls for the first time bumping into the skeletons at the start of the game and thinking “wow, dark souls really IS as hard as they say” instead of “these guys are clearly too tough, I must be going the wrong way”. It can also lead to developers focusing too much on challenge, and on a particular /kind/ of challenge, and missing out on the other compelling aspects of Demon’s Souls and Dark Souls, including the way Demon’s Souls in particular emphasized delivering a variety of game play scenarios, or how it understood that a well placed deliberate anti-climax of a boss can sometimes be more engaging than yet another straight forward test of reaction time and pattern recognition.

>final achievement BIG CONGRATS, THAT’S SICK! I know what going over the edge on a game renown for challenging gameplay can do to ya, and that’s quite the darn accomplishment!

Thanks! I’m quite proud of myself, even if there are harder things that I still haven’t done in the game yet, and probably won’t ever. Stuff not tied to explicit achievements, but that still have little in game rewards or markers that you’ve done them. I certainly wouldn’t say I’ve mastered the game. But I’ve probably gone as far as I’m going to go, and I’m quite content with how far that turned out to be.

Not that I’m done with the game. I’ve played it all the way through three times already, and I can already tell it’s a game I’ll be coming back to replay fairly regularly.

>no thanks, I think I’m good I’m probably projecting since I’ve said the same thing 100 times (or thought to) on this very blog, but I ‘assume and apologize if I’m wrong in doing so’ you say this because you feel some sense of guilt like you didn’t ACTUALLY do all you could and you must put on airs for the blog and let me say, screw that noise.

Oh, no, not at all. Yes, there’s stuff left that I’m not able to do, and there’s people WAY better at the game than I am, but going by steam achievement records less than 3% of the people who beat the first boss go on to beat the final pantheon, so by that metric I’m in the top 97% of rattatas Hollow Knight players.

So yeah, I feel pretty chuffed with myself.

>Can’t promise it’ll suddenly be my next game, and even if it was it wouldn’t sadly get much showing I suspect because my pc is more or less down. I DID get replacement equipment so MAYBE? But I haven’t sat down and attempted to get my old setup running again.

So it goes. Again, if and when you do play it, I’d love to hear your thoughts on it. Even if I can’t, like, watch you stream it or whatever. Honestly, I’d like to be able to just blather on about it to you at more length without feeling like I’m spoiling stuff.

#retphienix #redphienix #hollow knight #hollow knight spoilers

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maydaymadier · 4 years ago

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party line-ups because I feel like rambling sometimes

The Cool Patrol (level 14), current location: The Shadowfell

- Thrain Brokkrson, dwarf druid (circle of the moon), moral compass/tired dad, wants to be the very best (crafter/blacksmith) like no one ever was, from Jorheim (specific location unknown)

- Fannar Morthos Freyr, devil’s tongue tiefling warlock (archfey, The Good Fellow), stole all the bard horny from the bard and wants to become an archfey himself so he can break his pact while keeping his power very endgame though, for now he’s cool with maintaining his pact, youngest prince of an elven kingdom, from Jorheim (Kolbak/The Frozen North)

- Odaviing Stormfang, platinum dragonborn sorcerer (divine soul), his dad is the President of Bahamut and he McSucks my guy, just, a lot of Bahamut stuff with this guy, from Tutapul (holy capitol of the world)

- Norman Alfred Hubert Mann, human* bard (college of swords), Just A Normal Human Man Nothing To See Here Aside From The White Feathers For Hair And Glowing Golden Wings He Summons And The Lairon He Summons To Crush Things With The Fall Damage It Inflicts, from Elysia (specific location unknown)

- Isorropia, half-elf ranger-cleric (revised, horizon walker; grave domain), demigod child of Hades, takes it upon herself to hunt down undead, this is non-negotiable, has an uncanny, inhuman presence to her, from Elysia (presumably, specific location unknown)

- Dratini, gold dragonborn fighter (battlemaster), fought in a war and started adventuring after that (we killed his ex from that war, we didn’t realize who he was but we got in big trouble for that bc he turned out to be the Champion of Nemesis), STRONG BOYYYY!!!!!, has a ruby demon arm, currently missing, from Elysia (presumably)

The Amen (level 5), current location: Camelot

- Thing, half-elf cleric (tempest domain), raised by wolves, taken in by a shitty Odin Temple, killed them/ran away and wears their tattered robes over her armor, retains some of the wolf habits, hates organized religion, just here vibing with Thor, doesn’t like High Priest Stormfang from the Bahamut temple, prefers to work with High Priest Talrin from the Pelor temple.

- Gawain, revenant half-orc fighter (eldritch knight), yes that Gawain of Arthurian fame, died in a crusade bc he got wrecked by Rhongomyniad and was brought back 20 years later, is trying to find the dude that killed him, DEVOTED to the Lady of the Lake, only one of the party that’s interested in converting people, highest INT score of the whole group

- Reverence Langstrom, tiefling paladin (oath of redemption), has died twice before and brought back his mysterious god no one else seems to have ever heard of, *slaps Reverence on the head* YOU CAN FIT SO MUCH GUILT IN THIS BAD BOY!!!, married to another (now retired) adventurer, no memory of his past before waking up from the second death, still feels guilty about the shit he did before though (why he took redemption oath)

- Crow, elf rogue (homebrew subclass with warlock spells), She Stab, She Sneak, She Obliterates That Poor Hooligan, got in league with The Clasp, dug up a bunch of dirt on High Priest Stormfang, very creative with her use of Minor Illusion, currently missing

Barnes and Nobles (level 3), current location: on the road in Elysia

- Tactum Barnes, tabaxi bard (college of lore), only child, parents worked with white collar businesses to help them expand, travelled a lot growing up, inspired by the stories they heard while travelling to become a bard, wants to make accessible/widely available books, very well-dressed to give a good first impression, met Nobles in back in Celestial 101 (and thought he was cute), has the cart and mule we use to get around, is very particular about who is allowed to drive the cart.

- Tarot Nobles, tabaxi wizard (school of enchantment), youngest of six, casually religious bc grew up worshipping Iris with his family, enthusiastic, earnest, and frequently socially oblivious, was a teacher’s pet and didn’t realize it, inspired to become a wizard when he visited a magical shop (Morpheus’s Mystical Mercantile) at a very young age and was so blown away it stuck with him, went back to the shop when he was accepted to the school to tell the proprietor (Mr. Morpheus Devries) that he inspired him and they ended up striking up a friendship/mentor-tutor type prelationship, his hat is his a Hat of Wizardry, he can use it as an arcane focus.

#my post #tal plays dnd #the cool patrol #the amen #barnes and nobles

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gifts-of-heimdall-runes · 5 years ago

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Gods & Goddesses of The Norse Pantheon

These images and text are copied from:

http://www.wizardrealm.com/norse/gods.html

The gifs feel almost feel like old friends. They were first found while developing art for 'Gifts of Heimdall' website in 2004. The Heimdall gif in particular was developed in a number of ways to provide a decorative link between pages and I grew rather fond of the way Heimdall is depicted.

It seemed fitting the images share the spotlight on this blog and have copied the text of each image from the original website out of respect and sincere appreciation of the source material.

Odin (or, depending upon the dialect Woden or Wotan) was the Father of all the Gods and men. Odhinn is pictured either wearing a winged helm or a floppy hat, and a blue-grey cloak. He can travel to any realm within the 9 Nordic worlds. His two ravens, Huginn and Munin (Thought and Memory) fly over the world daily and return to tell him everything that has happened in Midgard. He is a God of magick, wisdom, wit, and learning. He too is a psychopomp; a chooser of those slain in battle. In later times, he was associated with war and bloodshed from the Viking perspective, although in earlier times, no such association was present. If anything, the wars fought by Odhinn exist strictly upon the Mental plane of awareness; appropriate for that of such a mentally polarized God. He is both the shaper of Wyrd and the bender of Orlog; again, a task only possible through the power of Mental thought and impress. It is he who sacrifices an eye at the well of Mimir to gain inner wisdom, and later hangs himself upon the World Tree Yggdrasil to gain the knowledge and power of the Runes. All of his actions are related to knowledge, wisdom, and the dissemination of ideas and concepts to help Mankind. Because there is duality in all logic and wisdom, he is seen as being duplicitous; this is illusory and it is through his actions that the best outcomes are conceived and derived. Just as a point of curiosity: in no other pantheon is the head Deity also the God of Thought and Logic. It's interesting to note that the Norse/Teutonic peoples also set such a great importance upon brainwork and logic. The day Wednesday (Wodensdaeg) is named for him.

Thor, or Donnar, also known as the Thunderer, was considered to be a son of Odin by some, but among many tribes Thor actually supplanted Odin as the favorite god. He is considered to be the protector of all Midgard, and he wields the mighty hammer Mjollnir. Thor is strength personified. His battle chariot is drawn by two goats, and his hammer Mjollnir causes the lightning that flashes across the sky. Of all the deities, Thor is the most "barbarian" of the lot; rugged, powerful, and lives by his own rules, although he is faithful to the rest of the Aesir. The day Thursday (Thorsdaeg) is sacred to him.

Freya is considered to be the goddess of Love and Beauty, but is also a warrior goddess and one of great wisdom and magick. She and her twin brother Freyr are of a different "race" of gods known as the Vanir. Many of the tribes venerated her higher than the Aesir, calling her "the Frowe" or "The Lady." She is known as Queen of the Valkyries, choosers of those slain in battle to bear them to Valhalla (the Norse heaven). She, therefore, is a psychopomp like Odhinn and it is said that she gets the "first pick" of the battle slain. She wears the sacred necklace Brisingamen, which she paid for by spending the night with the dwarves who wrought it from the bowels of the earth. The cat is her sacred symbol. There seems to be some confusion between herself and Fricka, Odin's wife, as they share similar functions; but Fricka seems to be strictly of the Aesir, while Freya is of the Vanic race. The day Friday (Frejyasdaeg) was named for her (some claim it was for Fricka).

Freyr (Fro Ingwe) is Freya's twin brother. He is the horned God of fertility, and has some similarities to the Celtic Cernunnos or Herne, although he is NOT the same being. He is known as King of the Alfs (elves). Both the Swedish and the English are said to be descendents of his. The Boar is his sacred symbol, which is both associated with war and with fertility. His golden boar, "Gullenbursti", is supposed to represent the daybreak. He is also considered to be the God of Success, and is wedded to Gerda, the Jotun, for whom he had to yield up his mighty sword. At Ragnarok, he is said to fight with the horn of an elk (much more suited to his nature rather than a sword.)

Tyr (or Tiw, Ziw) is the ancient god of War and the Lawgiver of the gods. He sacrifices his hand so that the evil Fenris wolf may be bound. At one time he was the leader of the Norse Pantheon, but was supplanted by Odin much later. There is nothing to indicate how this occurred; one assumes that he simply "stepped back" and let Odin assume the position of leadership. Tyr is excellent in all manners of Justice, fair play, and Right Action.

Loki, the Trickster, challenges the structure and order of the Gods, but is necessary in bringing about needed change. He is also known as the god of Fire. Neither an Aesir or a Vanir, he is of the race of Ettins (Elementals) and thus possesses some daemonic qualities. He is both a helper and a foe of the Aesir; he gets them out of predicaments, but spawns the worst monsters ever seen on the face of the Earth: the Fenris Wolf and Jormurgandr, the Midgard Wyrm. His other children include the goddess Hel (Hella, Holle), and Sleipnir, Odin's 8-legged horse; these beings are at least benign, if not somewhat terrifying to behold.

Heimdall is the handsome gold-toothed guardian of Bifrost, the rainbow bridge leading to Asgard, the home of the Gods. The rainbow bridge seems to be a common symbol in many religious traditions other than Norse Heathenism. In the Vedic tradition, it represents the Antakaranha of humanity (connection between the body and the soul). Other traditions see it as a message from the Gods, or a Bridge between the Gods and Mankind. This would tend to indicate that the Norse/Germanic people were aware of the presence of an overshadowing Soul for each individual, as well as a group or tribal intelligence. It is Heimdall who is to sound the signal horn to the Aesir that Ragnarok, the great destruction (or transformation?) is beginning.

Skadi is the Goddess of Winter and of the Hunt. She is married to Njord, the gloomy Sea God, noted for his beautiful bare feet (which is how Skadi came to choose him for her mate.) Supposedly the bare foot is an ancient Norse symbol of fertility. The marriage wasn't too happy, though, because she really wanted Baldur for her husband. She is the goddess of Justice, Vengeance, and Righteous Anger, and is the deity who delivers the sentence upon Loki to be bound underground with a serpent dripping poison upon his face in payment for his crimes. Skadi's character is represented in two of Hans Christian Anderson's tales: "The Snow Queen" and "The Ice Princess."

Frigga (Frigg, Fricka), Odin's wife, was considered to be the Mother of all; and protectoress of children. She spins the sacred Distaff of life, and is said to know the future, although she will not speak of it. Some believe that Friday was named for her instead of Freya (see above), and there is considerable confusion as to "who does what" among the two.

The Norns (Urd, Verdande, and Skuld), are the Norse equivalent of the greek Fates. It is they who determine the orlogs (destinies) of the Gods and of Man, and who maintain the World Tree, Yggdrasil.

The goddess of the dead and the afterlife was Hel (Holle, Hulda), and was portrayed by the Vikings as being half-dead, half alive herself. The Vikings viewed her with considerable trepidation. The Dutch, Gallic, and German barbarians viewed her with some beneficence, more of a gentler form of death and transformation. She is seen by them as Mother Holle; a being of pure Nature, being helpful in times of need, but vengeful upon those who cross her or transgress natural law.

Odin's son, Baldur, the god of Love and Light, is sacrificed at Midsummer by the dart of the mistletoe, and is reborn at Jul (Yule). Supposedly his return will not occur until after the onslaught of the Ragnarok, which I see as a cleansing and enlightenment more than wanton, purposeless destruction. Baldur's blind brother Hodur was his slayer, whose hand was guided by the crafty Loki. He is married to the goddess of Joy, Nanna.

Other Gods and Goddesses include Sif (Sifa), the Harvest Goddess; Forseti, the god of Law and Justice; Bragi, the bard of the Gods and muse of Poetry; Weiland (Weyland), the Smith of the Gods, Idunna, the goddess of Youth and Beauty; Vidar and Vali, the sons of Odin who will survive Ragnarok; Magni and Modi, the sons of Thor; Eostre, the goddess of Spring and of fertility, Hoenir, the messenger of the Aesir; Sunna and Mani, the Sun and Moon; Ullr, the God of the Hunt; and Nerthus, Goddess of the Sea and of Rivers.

#norse gods #norse paganism #norse mythology #norse gods gifs #gifts of heimdall runes #gifts of heimdall

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abadmeanman · 7 years ago

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Secret Santa! @do-the-fandom-mash!

Merry Christmas and happy holidays, @do-the-fandom-mash! I’m your secret santa! My Adrien/Rose fic is below, and I’m going to post it on AO3 at this link, too: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13088808.

Title:

Not That It's A Competition Or Anything

With a flash of lightning, and a clap of thunder, the akuma struck Ladybug with a jolt of electricity. Her pigtails briefly stood on end and her skeleton briefly become visible, cartoonishly. She blinked, shook herself, swung out of the way on her yo-yo as a thin plume of steam rose from her head.

“I can’t believe Aurora got akumatized again! I didn’t even know that could happen!” she shouted to Chat Noir, as he pole-vaulted Rose Lavillant away from the park-cum-crime-scene. “And as basically the same akuma!”

“And same park! It speaks to Hawkmoth running out of ideas, my Lady,” he said, as Rose’s floppy sun hat and picnic basket flapped in the akuma-related turbulence. Juleka had already been safely spirited away by Ladybug, pre-zappage. “How else would he land on Stormy Weather 2: Electric Bugaboo?”

Ladybug paused, mid-swing. Which is to say, she kept swinging, but turned to stare at him, incredulous.

“How long were you waiting to use that pun?!”

“ALL DAY,” he shouted over his shoulder, alighting on a rooftop and setting Rose down gently. “There you are, Ro--I mean, citizen with whom I am unfamiliar.”

“Chat Noir, haven’t we met like, seven times?”

Chat Noir simply grinned and shrugged, turning back to re-enter the fray.

And then he made a little cringing sound as he saw that her picnic basket had tipped over during his landing. He scrambled to set it back upright and replace the no doubt delectable confections therein, except…

“Hey… is this picnic basket just full of flowers?”

“Of course!” said Rose, chipper despite the mortal peril. “It’s a romantic picnic date, after all!”

“Uh, very good, citizen,” said Chat Noir, batonning off back into the fray. “Carry on! Stay safe!” He threw her a wave with one hand, which she returned with a smile and a blown kiss.

And meanwhile, in his own private monologue, he kept repeating to himself: Damn. That’s romantic.

--------

Once Stormy Weather 2: Electric Bugaboo had been defeated (using same lucky charm, it turned out), Ladybug and Chat Noir went stealthily back to the Louvre to detransform.

“Hey Marinette… if I were, to, say, ask Rose out…”

“Do I think she’d go for it?” replied Marinette. “Oh definitely. She’s just about the only person who could manage to out-romance you, I think.”

“Part of me wants to take that as a challenge, but my heart is aflutter regardless.”

“Well don’t use up all the magic,” said Marinette, slipping her hand into his. “But I doubt anything could beat when you learned how to bake for me. You are my king of romance, after all.”

“So sweet, my lady,” he said, pulling her up into a kiss. “Put in a good word for me in the girls’ group chat?”

“Oh babe if you think she doesn’t already know all your tricks you’ve got another thing coming.”

----------

The date was off to a promising start as soon as both Adrien and Rose brought flowers.

It went like this:

Working up to it, Adrien was a little nervous about bringing roses to a date with a girl named Rose. But what can you do--romance traditions are heady things, after all, and what was an impressive first date without roses.

He went with one dozen, pink. A little off-brand, as you’d expect the color red to do the heavy lifting in the romance department, but bonus points for being her favorite color, Adrien thought. And given that Marinette’s favorite color was also pink, he already knew a guy who could get him the good stuff, and by good stuff he meant pink roses.

And so he found himself, hand-on-the-back-of-his-neck nervous, holding a dozen pink roses, standing in front of Rose’s door, blushing.

Rose, for her part, practically bounced in her pumps as she opened the door, one dozen red roses in hand, with a blush almost exactly matching the pink of Adrien’s bouquet. Nice, Adrien thought to himself. Nailed it.

“We match!” said Rose, leaving to the interpretation of the viewer whether she meant the flowers, or them both blushing, or her blushing matching his flowers, or what. It worked on multiple levels, but then again, so does… rrrromance. And nothing is more romantic than matching your bouquet to your date’s blush. He’d picked that trick up with Marinette on like, date two.

Not that it was a contest or anything, but Rose: 0, Adrien: 1.

-----------

“Oh Adrien! These seats are perfect!”

What’s an evening on the town without some theater? Adrien had managed to score some primo matinee seats at the (AUTHOR’S NOTE: look up a famous French theater and put it here) (EDITOR’S NOTE: this omission was intentional, as a gag). Front row, center, with plenty of legroom. One could practically high-five the comic relief.

“Oh!” said Rose, folding down her theater seat to find yet another bouquet of flowers decorating the velvet. Red, this time--Adrien had figured he’d cover all the romance-color bases. Rose picked them up with a grin, and read the note aloud.

“My dearest Rose,” she read. “I hope that a gift of more of your namesake will bring you as much joy as I have in accompanying you. Oh you scamp!” she said, slapping his arm lightly. “Double roses! I am impressed.”

“I can’t get enough rose in my life, I suppose,” he said, smirking. At last. The five days of puncrafting pay off in this moment.

Rose made a sound somewhere between a squeal and a squeak, and kissed him on the cheek, sweeping up her new bouquet and settling onto the cushion. “You scallywag! What a line,” she said. “Well don’t just stand there! Join me! I’ve got all of these knees, and no free hands to squeeze them with.”

Adrien obliged.

-----

The play that evening? A romance, of course.

Well, a romantic comedy. Twelfth Night was technically one of the Bard’s comedies, but it carried its weight in raised eyebrows and kissing and innuendo and what-have-you.

The perfect kind of play to see while holding hands with a lovely young fashion model, or an adorable young parfumier. And if Rose’s foot happened to slip up Adrien’s calf a little bit during the final few acts, and if Adrien’s hand squeezed a bit northward of the knee, well, that’s no problem at all. After all, Shakespeare was a dirtybird, as we know.

Adrien did, however, receive the start of his life when, after the cast had done the curtain call and taken their bows, “Viola” stepped forward and announced that the performance was dedicated to the most striking man in Paris, who happened to be in the audience that very night: Adrien Agreste.

Not that it was a competition or anything, but Rose: 1, Adrien: 1.

------------

Adrien was very proud of himself for his next trick.

Modern restaurants are generally equipped with electricity, for a variety of reasons--candle-only illumination had gone the way of the dodo back when France had an emperor. But, if one happens to be the scion of the Agreste fashion empire, it’s a simple matter to reserve an entire restaurant for a night, and have the whole place lit with candles.

Rose gasped, putting a dainty bisexual hand up to her lips. “Oh Adrien! So romantic.” She reached to her left (daintily shifting her many bouquets to the crook of one arm) and pulled on a velvet rope that Adrien hadn’t noticed. “It matches the chandelier!”

His heart skipped a beat, with a surge of anticipation making his fingers buzz. Directly above their table, a panel opened in the ceiling and a glittering glass chandelier, illuminated by dozens upon dozens of pink candles, descended to light their meal. The flames danced in the shape of a heart.

Adrien, for his part, gawked. Now that was romantic.

“Thank you,” said Rose, and kissed him on the cheek, gracefully accepting Adrien’s silent compliment. “Now, what did Monsieur Agreste select for the wine pairing?”

Not that it was a competition or anything, but Rose: 2, Adrien: 1.

-----

The problem was (and it wasn’t really a problem) that Rose was incredibly, unbelievably, dramatically romantic. She was an elite, and Adrien had never before been truly challenged, in the romance department.

He was sweating under his cravat (blue--matched her eyes), and dabbed lightly at his temples as his next romantic maneuver was wheeled out. It already seemed so weak, so tawdry compared to the various glories of romance that Rose had devastated him with.

The waiter placed the chocolate fountain on their table, and Rose clapped excitedly. That was simultaneously the best and worst part. She was soundly defeating him in romantic firepower at every turn, and yet she also sincerely and earnestly enjoyed and appreciated every gesture he made. No matter how she’d outdone him.

By god, she’s gracious in her victory, he thought. And I’m just getting competitive as Kim trying to keep up. I should… I need to live in the moment. And with that, he picked up a fork, speared one of a curated assortment of tidbits to envelop in liquid chocolate, and began to truly enjoy the decadence of the chocolate fountain.

… Until he unfolded his napkin and discovered a small, folded piece of paper under it, which contained a poem that she had written for him.

And it rhymed.

Adrien sat back, eyes drifting to the glimmering chandelier above. I am absolutely destroyed.

Not that it was a competition or anything, but Rose: 3, Adrien: 1.

--------

But Ladybug never gave up and dammit neither did he.

Adrien thought he had Rose on the romantic ropes when an attendant wheeled over the grand piano. Nothing is more romantic than playing a song you wrote for your lover true.

“I was so happy you said yes when I asked you out, Rose, that I couldn’t help but compose a little song. If you’ll indulge me, I’ll--wait.” He looked around. Where had she gone?

“Oh Adrien,” said Rose, reclining slinkily atop the grand piano, flower clenched between her teeth. She somehow maintained perfect diction with a mouthful of stem. “How you do go on. I’d love to hear your song!”

How did she… damn, thought Adrien. There is nothing more seductively romantic than a woman draping herself over a grand piano, or at least that’s what all the midcentury black and white movies implied. But… I haven’t unleashed my art yet.

He grinned as rakishly as he could up at Rose, who beamed around the flower in her teeth, and fingered the first chord of his--

And someone had put a note reading “I hope that chord isn’t the only thing getting fingered tonight” in the middle of his handwritten sheet music.

He played, because there was absolutely nothing to do but serenade her. Even if she’d absolutely devastated him, romantically. Even if he was helpless silly putty against her powers of seduction. How had she even gotten to his sheet music?

Rose stretched languorously, or as languorously as a very short French girl can stretch, arcing her back up from the piano, as the perfect aperitif to the last resonant notes of Adrien’s song. She removed the rose from between her teeth, and, holding it at arm’s length, prodded him on the nose with it.

“How did you even…” he began, but couldn’t continue.

“I’m exquisite,” said Rose, by way of explanation.

And she was.

Not that it was a competition or anything, but Rose: 4, Adrien: 1.

But Adrien mentally rolled up the sleeves on the romantic leather jacket of his imagination. He wasn’t nearly done romancing Rose.

-----

Red velvet carpet muffled their steps up the stairs as the doors to the Agreste mansion parted, and the string quartet started playing. Rose gasped, and Adrien felt her hand (which he was carefully clasping as he led her up the portico) squeeze his, in an involuntarily clutch of delight.

One of the advantages of being filthy rich (or as they would say in France, crasseux riche), is the fact that the atrium of your mansion becomes a ballroom if you simply add an orchestra. And oh, Adrien knew a great orchestra.

After all, if you’re going to take the most romantically inclined gal in Paris back to your place, one simply must do it in style.

He might not be able to outdo her at romance activities in a restaurant, but something must be said for having a private ballroom at one’s disposal. And so they laughed, and spun, and Rose found out just exactly how much she could feel like a princess all in one night. Adrien had nailed it.

Not that it was a competition or anything, but Rose: 4, Adrien: 2.

-----

As Adrien and Rose made out on their way to the boudoir (which is French for bedchamber), bouncing off of the walls at irregular intervals and giggling, a corner of Adrien’s mind was congratulating himself for absolutely and literally romancing the pants off of the most romantically-minded girl in Paris. She had been sneaky--romantically sneaky--during their dinner and during his piano recital, but oh, a ballroom dance is a pièce de résistance before which no romantic heart can fail to melt. Or, as the French would say, a pièce de résistance before which no romantic heart can fail to melt.

In anticipation of this eventuality, Adrien had made some preparations. The pathway to the bed was lined with candles, a cheery fire glowed softly in a fireplace he’d had specially installed, and he’d done some decoration on the bed itself.

Just in case.

(It was more rose petals)

… But how the fuck had Rose managed to scatter rose petals in a pathway to the bed?

… And how the fuck had she managed to surround the bed with candles in the shape of a heart?

… And how had she managed to install a hidden reservoir of rose petals which would gently shower over two people in a bed when you pulled on a velvet rope?

“How did you--” he began, surrounded by a cascade of petals. Because he had to know. But before he could complete the thought, he was interrupted by the soft plap of a pink tulip plapping against his lips.

“Shhhhhh, shhh shh, my darling,” said Rose, raising one hand to cup his cheek as she whispered. “Let the romance find you.” She tugged him gently, but insistently, to sit upon the bed.

Aha! thought Adrien, who had also prepared for this eventuality. He plapped an orange tulip of his own against Rose’s lips, even more gently, shushing her, but in a romantic way.

“Shhhh, quiet my love, let the emotion overcome you…” he whispered, around the tulip, delicately cupping her chin, and reclining further on the bed.

“No no no, shhhhhh,” replied rose, plapping him in the eyebrow with a second tulip, red this time. “We need no words.”

“But I must express what I feel,” said Adrien, who felt like he had just aced that delivery. Pure rom-com dialogue, right there. He stroked his second tulip (pastel yellow this time) down the line of her cheek and lips as they lay down on the bed.

“Shhhhhhhh,” said Rose. “Our love is so much more than we could ever say,” she said, as she plapped a third--

Wait a minute.

Adrien took a quick inventory: One tulip plapped against his lips, another against his eyebrow, both of which Rose was still holding in her dainty, pinkly manicured hands. And a third tulip plapped against his nose, held by…

He looked down his and Rose’s reclining figures, to see an appealingly bare length of Rose’s leg extended from her hiked-up dress and bent up towards his face, the third tulip daintily clutched between her toes, plapping it onto his face. Adrien turned back to her, phenomenally impressed.

There is nothing more romantic than softly holding someone’s face and plapping them with flowers. And Rose had done it thrice.

His admiration must have shown on his face, because Rose blushed the perfect amount, averted her eyes a tiny bit, then brought them back to gaze full into Adrien’s own extremely fucking emerald orbs, and giggled softly.

“I’m very flexible.”

And at a certain point on a date, that is one of the most romantic lines you can say. Rose had undoubtedly, unbelievably vanquished him with romance.

Not that it was a competition or anything.

And, cinematically speaking, the rest of the night gently faded out on a soft-focus shot of the fireplace.

--------

“What’s the final score?” asked Marinette, cuddled up with Juleka under a blanket in front of a horror movie.

“Looks like Rose: 23, Adrien: 2, from Alya’s latest update.”

“Sweet. I beat the spread,” said Marinette as she popped another piece of popcorn into her mouth, and fed another one to Juleka.

“Honestly, I’m surprised he scored at all,” said Juleka around said popcorn. “Rose is phenomenal.”

“What can you do? Bringing flowers to the door is a power play, and so is a ballroom dance. Those were his aces in the hole,” said Marinette. “Plus, I think we both knew he was going to… score.” Marinette emphasized her extremely mature joke by elbowing Juleka in the ribs. Juleka giggled, and elbowed her back, which started a brief elbow fight that ended with them getting yet snugglier.

Juleka sighed, and tilted her head into the crook of Marinette’s neck. “It was awfully sweet of Alya to spy on them for us. How extra do you think they’re being right now?”

“At least extra extra, we’re in 2X territory absolutely.”

“Maybe even extra extra extra?”

“Oh definitely possible we’ve hit 3X.”

“Well, I for one know that Rose was definitely hoping for it to get a little triple-X at the end.”

They giggled at that for almost the rest of the movie.

When the credits were rolling, Juleka got a little smirk on her lips, and ran her hand up the back of Marinette’s neck, very gently. She whispered into Marinette’s ear:

“I’m, uh… a little scared after that movie. Maybe you could… escort me back to my room?”

Marinette smiled and nodded, walking back to Juleka’s boudoir still wrapped in the blanket. After all, who said Adrien and Rose got to have all the romance?

#mlsecretsanta 2k17 #miraculous ladybug #do-the-fandom-mash #my writing #ao3 #secret santa #Adrien Agreste #Rose Lavillant

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anneway-nitheliniel · 7 years ago

Text

Demands

(Continuing from “Life in a Pack”; anyone else who did not like Saheila and her mother?)

Had they not saved Saheila from the grip of the Lone Wolfs? Were no the elves blissfully happy? Had they not only stayed alive but were also, at least for the moment, save and sound? Lohse could not help the feeling that the past day and its actions had largely been very successful. Why then had the night taken this awkward turn?

Sebille still stood plastered to the place where Ifan hat left her, rigid and unmoving, her arms protectively wrapped around her body. She was biting her lower lip and when her eyes met Lohse’s she looked at her imploringly. Lohse’s heart reached out to her in her apparent loneliness.

“Come!” She stretched out her right hand, grasping the other woman’s elbow. “Sit with us, Sebille! Are you well? What happened to you after you left us?”

But when she started to lead Sebille towards the fire, Saheila interfered. The seers words, as usual, soft spoken but firm.

“Sebille, it is important we speak!”

Lohse felt the tension that had only just started to recede return into Sebille’s body. Irritation rose within her. – Hardly a feeling she appreciated, as irritation strengthened the lodger. Someone was chuckling in her head at this thought.

“It is also important, that she rests,” Lohse snapped rather uncharacteristically. Ifan had had it right. They were a group, a team, a pack. They looked after each other. She felt shaken by the sudden rift that had opened between Ifan and Sebille, although it had not been hard to guess at its cause. With Ifan gone, Lohse felt responsible for keeping things together.

“Sebille, please! Tomorrow you may want to leave. Today we must speak,” Saheila insisted, touching Sebille’s other arm and the elf yielded. She send Lohse a half-hearted but grateful smile before letting herself being led away by Saheila towards the place were her mother was seated at the rim of the camp.

“I do not like this!” Lohse exclaimed, in lack of a better option, looking at Fane for help. The undead did not give away much of what he might be thinking, but to Lohse’s surprise he bowed his head in agreement.

“I agree. How did you put it so profanely but aptly in Driftwood? There is something fishy about this.”

Lohse gaped at him.

“Fane, was that… a joke?”

Besides her concerns she could not help a grin spreading over her face as the undead, lacking mimic ways of expression, shrugged.

“We will keep your eyes on the situation,” he continued, leaving Lohse behind speechless when he turned to find a place to sit closer to where the elves were talking, while still maintaining enough distance to not appear obtrusive.

After a moment, Lohse joined him, but it took a while before the two found back into their own conversation. Fane was studying his notebook intently, turning pages back and forth, stopping here and there to read a passage. Lohse suspected his thoughts were frowning as he seemed unsatisfied with his findings. Finally, he let the book sink in exasperation and turned to the singer.

“I lack information,” he conceded.

“On what?” She was intrigued.

“Human interaction. Or, more precisely, human-elvish interaction. My notes are not sufficient and I cannot recall that any of the books I read in the past had the issue of inter-racial relationships.”

Lohse’s eyes widened, then she chuckled.

“Are you referring to what was passing between Sebille and Ifan?”

Fane nodded, seeming embarrassed.

“I think you might want to consult books on relationships in general. This has nothing to do with humans and elves. - Or, …” At this point she laughed. “… you could just ask me. No-one better than a bard to unravel the mysteries of courtship and love.”

“Or shroud them even more,” Fane commented sarcastically. But he was listening, and Lohse, appreciating the opportunity to shift her focus away from Saheila and Sebille, who sat cross-legged facing each other, did her best to inform Fane on the subtleties of love between those who still had flesh on their bones and a beating heart. She was not sure, whether her elaborate tales satisfied the scholar at all or whether he was only trying to be polite – something that Lohse and Ifan had recommended he should try from time to time whenever he felt that blunt honesty and a display of superior knowledge could be mistaken for arrogance by those of inferior intellect. It had made living with Fane so much easier, especially since practice seemed to be giving him the knack of it. She ended with the only just beginning tale of Sebille and Ifan, telling him about the almost-kiss in Effie’s Emporium that Ifan had not been able to keep a secret, when she had prodded him the next day about why Sebille was acting so weird – staring into nothingness for minutes on end before bustling about aimlessly.

“I assume, they did not yet take the time to talk this through,” she analysed the current situation.

“Or find it,” Fane concluded. He was right, they had been rather busy emptying the landscape of Reaper’s Coast of basically who- or whatever crossed their pass and did not get out of the way in time.

“So what you are saying is, that while they are both aware that they care for the other they are unable to act on it because the convention of romantic love amongst the living has it that they need to drift apart before they can finally admit their feelings? Tell me, with your experience as a bard, are your tales and songs build upon the analysation of tangible examples, or have they become the reality so that lovers cannot move outside their borders?” He had taken up his notebook again, pen at the ready, and seemed so excited at the prospect of learning something new, that it pained Lohse to admit that she had not yet thought about the connection of love and lore in such a philosophical way.

“I will, though,” she promised, taking a mental note.

It was only when they fell silent that they noticed that the conversation among the elves had increased in volume – single words and sometimes even bits and pieces of sentences floating over to where they were sitting. The discussion, though not yet heated, had apparently grown in intensity. Lohse frowned, Fane turned his head, both struggling to decipher what was going on. Saheila was still maintaining close contact with Sebille, while Sebille was clearly trying to regain her personal space: the seers face looking intent, Sebille’s defiant turning towards angry.

“I… was forced to,” they heard Sebille counter a charge by the blind seer, whose hand now rested on Sebille’s scarred cheek. Saheila answered, talking about fear and faults, concluding that “If all elves die, the fault is yours!”

Lohse wanted to protest, to run over, pull Sebille away, and to scream at Saheila to mind her own business. But that was probably what the seer was doing: Minding the elves’ business. So she remained seated, though on the ready. She felt more then saw Fane getting up on his heels next to her and she fervently wished that Ifan would return, with his greater knowledge about elvish history, to explain to them what was going on.

Sebille had stopped struggling. Instead she looked compelled into Saheila’s murky white eyes, her own self no longer present but lost somewhere far away. She kept talking, though, and Lohse and Fane kept listening closely, no longer keeping up appearance.

“… death and domination…” Sebille told the seer and her mother. “I hated…, fled from her!”

“We demand… heart!”Saheila implored.

At that, Sebille was finally able to pull away. She removed Saheila’s hand from her face and struggled to her feet. Her next words, shaking, but decisive, carried all the way to Lohse and Fane.

“The Mother, the Master… We’ll see. It is not a decision for today.”

She had already made some halting steps towards her friends, when Tovah started to assist Saheila in her plea. By now, Lohse had gotten to her feet as well, Fane at her side. They reached Sebille when the elf turned around one more time. Since their own movement had made them miss Tovah’s words, Sebille’s poisenous answer did not make much sense to them.

“To be the heart, or to be heartless, is that it? I wouldn’t count your chickens just yet...”

And that was when Sebille’s own anger finally failed to keep her on her feet. Under her touch, Lohse felt the last of her friend’s strength and resolve drain away, felt her stumble, faint, and sink to the ground. She caught her just in time, sinking on her knees with her, softly securing Sebille’s head before lowering her into the grass. She realised how Ifan must have been feeling before, when concern and anger made her want to leash out at the elves. At Saheila’s and Tovah’s concerned questions, she just glared at them with black, darkly ringed eyes, stopping them immediately from coming any closer.

“We will take it from here!” Fane told them icily, ignoring their protest.

Fane and Lohse did not have to speak with each other to agree on their course of action. They bedded Sebille in her bedroll, Lohse spread hers next to her, Fane seating himself on the other side of her. He quickly checked her for injuries, only mumbling to himself how she had managed to run so far with a sprained ankle. When he was satisfied that nothing was severely wrong, Lohse lay down as well, drawing close to Sebille and wrapping an arm protectively around her waist.

“We’ve got you!” she mumbled reassuringly, weariness finally overwhelming her too. Her last thought went out to Ifan. “Come back, chief! We need you here!”

#dos2 #ifan ben-mezd #sebille #divinity original sin 2 #they are my favourite couple

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projectshakespearia · 7 years ago

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Two Gentlemen of Verona: The World of the Play Part I

Sedona Garcia, Forest Gilpin, Kyle Stockdall, and Stuart Ashenbrenner rehearsing in the Quad.

Introduction And just like THAT another year has passed and we’re diving in head-long for Bard in the Quad 2017. We face a new set of challenges, and as always, an energetic cast is at the ready to bring to life a story of lovers, clowns, and many misunderstandings.

The selection process for this summer’s title began with one of our first faculty meetings in the Fall of 2016. There were several new faces around the table including our new Technical Director, Chad Rodgers, acting instructor, Nate Bush, and Don Naggiar, now in the role of Scenic/Lighting Designer and instructor. While Bard is not a part of our regular season, it is consistently one of OSU Theatre’s most popular productions. Chalk it up to the unique atmosphere or the a general “Shakespeare obsession” among Corvallis audiences, but Bard remains a beloved fixture on campus twelve years on.

As what has perhaps become part of our tradition, I seem to kick off the selection process by floating the idea of staging a tragedy. The last one we did was Julius Caesar in 2012, and while I have a vision of some day presenting a lush and sexy version of Antony and Cleopatra on the steps of the Memorial Union, I ultimately decided that 2017 wasn’t yet the right time. The other tempting title was The Tempest. I have a grand and magical vision for that production, but didn’t feel I had the right available actor to take on the meaty role of Prospero, and therefore, went back to the drawing board of a crowd-pleasing romantic comedy. Our production history includes Much Ado About Nothing, Taming of the Shrew, As You Like It, Twelfth Night, Love’s Labour’s Lost, Comedy of Errors, and two productions of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. There are only so many comedies in Shakespeare’s canon, and even fewer “great” comedies. Quite frankly, we’re running out of viable titles. Although titles such as The Merchant of Venice or Measure for Measure are technically “comedies,” they are problematic in our venue due to a lack of overt physical action and other thematic issues that are difficult to work out while maintaining the breezy and fun experience we want to offer our audiences.

Ultimately it came down to wanting to do a show that hadn’t yet been staged in the Quad and one that offered a variety of comic possibilities. Two Gentlemen of Verona is by no means a “perfect” play, but while out on one of my runs in the middle of winter, it clicked: Two Gents = Wild West Melodrama. The play and characters are ridiculous and the broadly physical style is well-suited to the cartoonish personalities that populate Verona and Milan. It didn’t all come in one moment, but over the weeks/months between devising Upward-Beating Heart and casting Two Gents my concept solidified into a cohesive vision.

In this first post about The World of the Play, I’m going to discuss the concept and some of the reasoning behind the choices. In next week’s blog, I will delve into the text and the play a little more deeply and write about some of the choices I made in adapting the script for the concept.

Shakespeare’s “Worst” Play When I began my dramaturgical research for Two Gents I ran into a frequent statement from high-minded Shakespeare critics that this was one of the Bard’s earliest plays (likely his first) and, therefore, one of his “worst” plays. Keep in mind, we’re talking about the greatest English language dramatist . . . so “worst” is a relative term. This is the work of a developing writer and while the plot lines and characters are not all entirely developed, there are moments of charm and hints of comic genius to come in the boldness of cross-dressing Julia, the clownish antics of Launce, or the besotted foolishness of the scheming and inept Proteus.

Thematically, Two Gents gets at one of Shakespeare’s most enduing themes: love makes fools of us all. From Romeo to Orlando to Benedict to Orsino, Shakespeare frequently pokes fun at the conventions of courtship, the inconstancy of men, and the power of love. While the love stories between the pairs of lovers in Two Gents are problematic, they are inherently funny and do dig into deeper truths about the lengths to which some go in the name of romantic pursuits.

Proteus (Kyle Stockdall) meets his best friend’s love interest, Sylvia (Sedona Garcia) for the first time.

The plot of Two Gents begins with the relationship between Proteus and Valentine. While Valentine is ready to leave small-town Verona to seek his fortune in Milan, serving in the court of the Duke, Proteus is resolved to stay behind for the sake of his relationship with Julia. Valentine chides Proteus for his foolishness:

Love is your master, for he masters you: And he that is so yoked by a fool, Methinks should not be chronicled for wise.

Proteus admits that Julia has “metamorphosed” him into one that will leave his friends, neglect his studies, and mope around “heart sick in thought.” And thus, Valentine leaves his friend behind to better opportunities.

The tables quickly turn, however, when several scenes later we see Valentine, now consumed with his own love for Sylvia, the witty and sophisticated daughter of the Duke. Valentine, too, has been transformed, as is pointed out by his servant Speed, into one frequently exhibiting the behaviors he so chided Proteus for having. The relationship between Valentine and Sylvia is complicated by the fact that her father wishes her to marry a foolish fop named Thurio. This is even further complicated when Proteus arrives in Milan and finds himself immediately drawn to Sylvia. (Got that?)

Even in our early rehearsals, it’s hard not to completely write Proteus off as a cad, more than that later. But implausibly brash behavior is one of the key factors that led me to this conceptual approach in the first place.

Melodrama in the Theatre There are two major classifications of theatre. It is either presentational or representational. Representational theatre attempts to represent “real life” in some way. This requires a naturalistic acting style and characters that are somehow psychologically motivated to grow or change. Consider plays such as Death of a Salesmen or A Doll’s House. These chestnuts of the modern stage want audiences to feel as if they are peeking into the living room windows of ordinary families simply behaving.

Presentational plays, on the other hand, have a more distinct style and are in no way attempting to show “real life” on stage. Consider the conventions of musical theatre or Japanese Noh theatre which embrace the theatrical, the symbolic, and the suggestive. Melodrama falls into this presentational category and is well-suited to our outdoor venue.

Melodrama lives in a world of comic archetypes or stock characters. Villains wear black hats and twist their mustaches while reveling in their wicked plots that are unmotivated by any internal psychological impulse. Villains do evil things because that’s what they do. Heroes are similarly reactive and jump from one emotional high point to the next. In many ways, this is the world that Shakespeare presents in Two Gentlemen of Verona, one where Proteus can be deeply in love with Julia one moment and Sylvia the next. A world where he can be completely dedicated to his dearest friend until the very moment he hatches an overly-complicated plot to have Valentine banished so that he can steal away his girlfriend. For the most part, when directing Shakespeare, I try to embrace the madness rather than attempt to “fix” it. Melodrama in this case is an appropriate playground to poke fun at love and lovers.

In addition, I found a lot of inspiration in imagery of the Wild West, in particular, cartoons from my childhood depicting comic exaggerations of Western icons. I grew up on a steady diet of Disney and Loony Tunes and probably my first introduction to the “Wild West” was the image of Yosemite Sam,

I mean . . . right?

The hot-tempered, tiny-footed gunslinger is all bark and no bite, terrorizing the Wild West in his attempt to . . . defeat Bugs Bunny? I’m not entirely sure of his motivations, but he does parody the swaggering cowboy character in a way that seemed fitting for this production. Other iconic characters such as Pecos Bill and Slue-Foot Sue come quickly to mind when I think of the Wild West.

I don’t think cartoons can get away with characters smoking anymore.

I remember these characters as bright, optimistic, and easily identifiable - all in line with the tone I wanted to take in developing this show. I see this production as casual and family-friendly. Perhaps a little reminiscent of the madcap melodramas we would see at the Golden Horse Shoe Revue at Disneyland.

Another reason we chose this concept with this production was a necessity of one of our physical limitations this year. The Memorial Union is getting a face-lift this summer and the facades of the plinths are being repaired making them inaccessible for our performers. Rather that have elements of the architecture that we couldn’t use, I decided to stage the production at the center of the Quad with the MU as a grand back-drop. The center is a little smaller and much closer to the audience. I wouldn’t exactly call the center an “intimate space,” but without the steps to use for dramatic entrances, the world is a little closer and more casual. Melodrama lends itself to direct audience address (maybe even interaction) and stylistically will help us tell a fast-paced and physical story in a way that makes sense in the space.

The statement I made to the designers in approaching the concept was, “Imagine that this is a group of actors putting on a place in a barn.” This way we can get away with goofy low-budget special effects, rustic music, and a lighthearted atmosphere.

We are beginning our fourth week of rehearsal today (hard to believe) and things are coming along. I’ll give a rehearsal update and some background about the script itself in my next entry.

For now . . . it’s time to head to the Quad!

#bardinthequad #shakespeare #alifeinthetheatre #directorslife #Coolvallis #summertheatre

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dancing-dagger · 7 years ago

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Night Rose Crew Roster, part 2

(excerpts from the notes of Captain Leila O’Palom of the Night Rose.)

SURGEON: Treats the sick and wounded, distributes medicines, and keeps an eye on the crew's diet.

STAFFED BY: Hamish. One of Angus' boys, and another beloved holdover from Captain Jaggery's time. The man's hulking, glowering visage belies a soul of mercy, though his former career as a butcher can be off-putting as well. Doesn't talk much, nor does he need to. The best damned white mage we have on board.

STATS: Age: 29. Height: 6'9". Weight: 350 lbs. Hair: None, save for a short red goatee. Eyes: brown. Figure: Mountainous.

NOTES: Still answers to "Butcher". He's as surehanded a medic as we can get, but I never get tired of the look on lubbers' faces when they hear me call him that.

STANDARD TAKE: 1 share.

NAVIGATOR: Plots the course of the ship, draws and stores maps, and monitors weather conditions.

STAFFED BY: Murdoc. A lifelong wandering bard, who's spent his days relying on the stars for both inspiration and direction. I originally brought him on as a musician, but after one of his songs correctly identified every constellation surrounding the North Star, I put him to work as my navigator. Alongside myself, of course.

STATS: Age: 32. Height: 5'7". Weight: 160 lbs. Hair: Black and wavy. Eyes: blue. Figure: A little pudgy.

NOTES: I've never once seen him not strung out on grass, opium, or booze. I'm almost afraid he'd lose his freaky recollection of the skies above if he were ever to sober up.

STANDARD TAKE: 1 share, plus double booze rations.

MASTER GUNNER: Maintains cannons and powder, conducts artillery fire in a battle, and manages ship defenses the rest of the time.

STAFFED BY: Pauline. This gorgeous, heartless creature rose through the ranks of the Palamecian Navy, and was on the fast-track to captaining her own vessel. Then, not long after the Palamecian invasion of Fynn, she deserted, taking with her a massive supply of black powder. She resurfaced as a mercenary once the war was over, and from there, I hired her to manage our defenses. She has yet to breathe a word about why she went AWOL, or what she did during the rest of the war.

STATS: Age: 26. Height: 5'10". Weight: 130 lbs. Hair: Blonde, tied back into a ponytail. Eyes: Gray. Figure: Like a bronze statue.

NOTES: Occasionally, ex-Palamecian soldiers will come across her, and attempt to strike her down with the a god’s own vengeance, while shouting treason. Seriously, what did she do??

STANDARD TAKE: 1 share.

SECOND GUNNER: Assistant to master gunner, performs her duties in her absence.

STAFFED BY: Graeme. Angus' other best mate, and a right dangerous bastard he is. He carries a sharp tongue, a vain attitude, and will flip his kilt at you at the drop of a hat. He's a hothead and a smartass, but he's never once done wrong by Angus or myself. Has likely had the most sex of anyone on this boat.

STATS: Age: 28. Height: 5'9". Weight: 200 lbs. Hair: Red, short with full beard. Eyes: brown. Figure: SMOKING.

NOTES: Credits both his fighting and fucking prowess to the teachings of a man named "Seamus Finnegan", though nobody else I've found has ever heard of anyone with his name and description.

STANDARD TAKE: 1 share.

GUNNER TEAM: Subordinates to the master gunner, under her direct command.

#1.: Jennie. This hellcat of a woman has got an unbreakable chip on her shoulder. She once was a security officer for the Maxwell Company merchant fleet, before what was apparently a long, painful falling-out with its owner, trade baron Maxwell Malone. Tensions with him boiled over to the point where she took the helm of a high-priority shipment and sailed it right into my clutches, in exchange for a spot on my crew. How could I say no to a deal like that?

STATS: Age: 24. Height: 5'7". Weight: 140 lbs. Eyes: Green. Hair: Red, long and straight. Figure: Hellcat.

NOTES: Second only to Graeme when it comes to winning fist fights. I'm considering sending them both to Salamand to train further in unarmed combat. DO NOT USE IN OPERATIONS INVOLVING MAXWELL CO.!!

STANDARD TAKE: 1 share.

MASTER MAGE: Controls and manages the ship's supply of magical restoratives, teaches spells and prepares magical assaults and defenses.

STAFFED BY: Desdemona. A seer and shaman, rendered homeless after the Cyclone attack. Blind from birth, she sees using her skills as a mage and a medium. She doesn't like to talk about her past, but the late-night crying fits I sometimes hear from her quarters tell the story.

STATS: Age: 20. Height: 5'6". Weight: 170 lbs. Hair: Black, long and flowing. Eyes: Blank. Figure: Stocky and curvy.

NOTES: Having never been able to see with her eyes, Desi is fascinated with the idea of color. That it's such a hard thing for her to grasp only spurs her curiosity further, and it's a common subject of her idle chatter. I think it's how she stays glued together when her emotions get the best of her.

STANDARD TAKE: 1 share.

ENTERTAINERS: Keep things lively during long stakeouts, and generally make the ship a better place to be.

#1.: Seth ( @kerosene-cats ) This kid found us during our stay at Lamya's farm in Ivalice. At first, we let him stick around because he didn't beg for anything, and his music was rather nice. By the time we were ready to raise the anchor on the land of the Lions, the smart-assed little bastard had grown on all of us, so we held a vote. 9-1, with Murdoc being the only nay-vote. Murdoc does not take criticsm well. But, we all were getting kinda weary of his ongoing magnum opus about Eris, Goddess of Chaos. Seth's tunes were a badly-needed breath of fresh air.

STATS: Age: 21. Height: 5'6". Weight: 160 lbs. Hair: Gray, cut short. Eyes: blue-green. Figure: Middling.

NOTES: Has had a fucked-up relationship with his pa, even by our standards. It's a sore spot that we don't often touch on. Whatever happened, it was bad.

STANDARD TAKE: 1 share, plus tips.

#headcanon #meet the crew #yes this means your character can possibly join up too #but you gotta pull your own weight #and be at least a little trustworthy

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jakeander11 · 4 years ago

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Tumblr’s full of writers that are better than me, anyone want to weigh in on whether this optimizers gales this seem like a story worth reading?

“Gareth brushed sweat from his eyes, and tucked some damp, sandy curls behind his ear. The sun beat down from the cloudless sky, baking the streets of Greyport beneath it. Gareth shifted slightly, and felt another line of sweat run down his back beneath his yellow doublet. The slight ocean breeze coming in off the harbor only served to move the hot, humid air around, instead of cooling anyone down. It was not an ideal day to stand around and sing to crowds, but that was Gareth's role today.

He was standing on the raised edge of the white marble fountain in the center of the market district. The fountain was old, and much of the intricate carvings that adorned the sides had become soft and blurred from the wear of time, but the carved dolphin that formed the central spout was still easily identified.

The fountain’s lip was a good three feet off the ground, which would have given most street performers a commanding stage above the milling bodies of the market. Gareth, who stood a mere three-foot-two, was only placed a mere head’s height above the small crowd of market goers that had stopped to listen to the peculiar halfling in the brightly-colored clothing.

He hit the last note of his song, and allowed the final chord to carry into the air for a moment before he silenced the strings of his lute. The small crowd gave a slightly better than polite round of applause, and a few even whistled. Gareth smiled. It was always nice to have his talents appreciated. He wiped the back of his neck and smiled at the crowd. Gareth may not have been allowed to call himself a real bard, but he had been trained by one, and could perform as well as any of the official members of the guild.

"Thank you, my friends, thank you!” He bowed at the waist with a flourish of his free hand. Dirk frequently accused him of being unnecessarily dramatic, but as Gareth always thought, why not add a little flair to things when he could?

"Now, my throat is getting a bit sore, and it’s rather hot out, so my next song will be my last. I hope you enjoy it. Before I begin, however, I have a request to make. This is, after all, how I make my living.”

Which was more or less true, from a certain perspective.

"If you’ve been entertained here today, please consider making a small contribution, if only a few coins. After all, where else will you spend your copper sheaves, silver acorns, or even, dare I suggest, gold crowns today? Will you buy a cheap meat pie stuffed with gods know what beasts? A flimsy wind-up dragon that will break the very second you get home? Perhaps a ‘genuine’ elvish necklace made of tin, glass, and lies? No. I am your best spending option, and I thank you for it,” Gareth said.

As he spoke, he swept the faded yellow hat off his head and tossed it onto the cobblestones below his perch. It landed with a puff of dust, and Gareth launched into a spirited rendition of the Ballad of the Rose and the Thorn. It was a well known tale, filled with love and loss, betrayal and revenge. Gareth's old master had said it was the ballad that he could perform the best, and the earnings of previous performances had proved that statement correct. Gareth hoped that this audience would also consider it worth loosening their purse strings for.

He needn’t have worried. As he sang, he saw many of the people in the crowd pull out their purses and come forward to drop a coin or two into his hat, which quickly filled with a modest pile of coins.

Gareth glanced down, and saw that most of the coins were copper sheaves, with a couple silver eagles glinting amongst them. Cheap bastards, Gareth thought. From the amount of silk and velvet draping the bodies in the crowd, he had expected more silver, and perhaps even a gold crown or two.

From his vantage point on top of the fountain, Gareth could see the edges of the square relatively clearly. As he sang, a form slipped out of the darkened alley across the square. Dirk was right on time.

Dirk was a wiry man somewhere between twenty and thirty five years of age, as far as Gareth could tell. He was only of middling height, perhaps a few inches short of six feet tall, with dark hair and calculating eyes. He could be considered handsome, in a dangerous, disheveled sort of way. Usually, he maintained a few days worth of stubble over his sharp-edged features, and his face often sported some form of a mocking smirk. His regular choice of clothing was almost exclusively dark grays and blacks.

Today, however, Dirk was dressed in what he referred to as his “hunting clothes”. He’d disguised himself as a member of the prosperous merchant class, and Gareth barely recognized his partner.

Dirk's hair had been combed back and tied with a red silk ribbon into a tidy ponytail at the base of his neck, and was freshly clean shaven. He wore a crimson doublet embroidered in gold thread over a white silk shirt, and his black velvet breeches were tucked into shining leather boots. In short, he looked about as far from a thief as a civilian could be.

Which, of course, was the point. As he liked to say whenever Gareth asked him about his fancy clothes, "After you’ve mastered the skills, the most successful pickpockets are always the ones that don’t look the way thieves are expected to look. "

Dirk slipped into the crowd and began to slowly wind his way through it. He carefully chose a route that brought him near the most wealthy of the crowd, and he happened to bump into most of them as he gently pushed his way past. The men and women didn’t give him a second glance. None of them suspected that the purses and pouches they had just taken out to throw a coin or two into Gareth's hat were no longer on their person.

As Gareth sang, he watched the crowd closely, and kept an eye out for guards. After a while, he noticed a man on the edges of the small crowd that seemed to be watching Dirk.

He was a small man, dressed in the same undyed linen and wool clothing as many of the poorer shoppers in the square, with a dull brown cloak loosely draped over his shoulders. His brownish hair was cropped close to his head, and he had a short beard of the same color. Overall, Gareth thought he was a man of profoundly nondescript appearance. After a moment’s thought, Gareth decided that the man reminded him of a field mouse. Gareth couldn’t quite tell, but the man seemed to be following Dirk’s progress through the crowd out of the corner of his eye.

Dirk made it to the other side of the crowd, and continued on his way down another street. A few seconds after Dirk was out of sight, the mousey man turned and left the square, and walked quickly northwards.

Gareth didn’t like the timing. He finished his song, bowed one last time to the crowd, and collected his hat. As he started to walk down the narrow streets towards the inn that he and Dirk were staying at this week, Gareth found himself thinking about the mousey man and his unnerving behavior.

He made Gareth very uncomfortable. There were only so many explanations for what he had noticed, and the only one that wasn’t bad news was that Gareth was just being paranoid, attributing meaning to nothing. Everything else suggested that the man had caught on to the scam Dirk and Gareth had set up. If the man had, and if he decided to go to the city watch, the lives of the partners were about to get far more interesting than either would ever want. Gareth mulled over the problem, and decided that he should probably bring up the mouse man with Dirk that evening. He nodded to himself, and hurried down the street towards what passed for home.

"Look at all that copper. Not bad for a whole afternoon of performing. You could almost buy half a shoe with that.”

Gareth scowled at Dirk across the wooden table, and Dirk twisted his lips into a mocking smirk.

They were sitting at a scarred wooden table, in the corner of the tavern the pair had chosen as their base in the city. The room was full of people drinking and laughing their cares away, and the air was thick with the smell of ale and pipe smoke.

Dirk had changed out of his merchant costume, and was now dressed in his usual dark clothes. He wore a sleeveless black leather jerkin over a grey, rough-spun shirt, and his grey trousers were tucked into the tops of his worn, black leather boots. Dirk's heavy leather belt was festooned with a variety of small bags and pouches, with a dagger on each hip.

In broad daylight, Dirk’s regular clothing, coupled with his overall appearance, had a tendency to make people look twice and secure their purses. Under his preferred cover of night, however, nobody saw him coming until it was far too late.

Gareth shuddered and forced his thoughts away from the memories they were heading towards. Dirk was a consummate professional, and they got along reasonably well in their partnership, but sometimes, when Gareth thought too hard, Dirk scared the living hell out of him.

“Alright, fine, yes. I know. Honest street performing isn’t about to make us rich anytime soon. You don’t need to rub it in. I’m guessing you did better?” Gareth asked.

Dirk’s smirk shifted into a gloating, self-satisfied smile, and his eyes glinted.

“Oh yes. Much better. They may have been cheap sons of whores, but they sure as hell weren’t poor.”

Dirk glanced around the crowded room, then lifted a large leather bag from where it had been sitting on the floor next to his chair and dropped it on the table. It landed with a heavy thud, and the clink of precious metals.

“Forty-seven crowns, twenty-six eagles, and seventy-nine sheaves for only eight good minutes of cutting purse strings.” Dirk sat back in his chair and crossed his arms smugly. “I love this city.”

Gareth stared at the bag on the table. This was the largest prize from their scheme that they had ever collected, by a rather wide margin.

“That’s… That’s a lot of money," Gareth said.

Dirk laughed softly. “Yes, Gareth, it is. We do this for a month, and we'll be rich.”

“Or, we get caught and spend a while in the dungeons. Or lose a hand, depending on how lenient the magistrate is feeling that day.”

Dirk’s smile soured, and he scowled at Gareth.

“We won’t get caught. Nobody in that crowd gave me a second look today," Dirk said.

“I’m not sure that that’s entirely true, actually," Gareth said.

"What?"

"Well, earlier today, when you were collecting all that," Gareth gestured at the bag of coins on the table. "I thought I saw a man watching you. I couldn't be entirely sure, but it looked like he was following your progress through the crowd, and he took off towards the citadel as soon as you left the market."

Dirk frowned.

"You're absolutely sure he was watching me?"

"I didn't say that, but it seems a little too much of a coincidence, doesn't it? Maybe we should move on again, not press our luck here tomorrow. This was a good haul today. Maybe that's enough here?"

Dirk glanced around the crowded tavern, then leaned in over the rough wooden table.

"Gareth, we made more today in this city than we've made in the last four towns combined. Think of what we could walk away with after a couple days of this! Tell me, where else are we going to do this well?" He asked.

"I don't know, Dirk, but what if they're on to us here? I like coin as much as the next guy, but I like my hands and freedom more."

Dirk sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair, his face calculating. After a moment, he spoke.

“All right, Gareth. How’s this: We go back to the market tomorrow and do it again. If you see the man again, signal to me, and I can follow him down an alley and cut his throat. Problem solved.”

“Dirk!” Gareth quickly looked around the tavern, fearful that someone had heard his partner. Fortunately, the sounds of general carousing were loud enough that nobody could hear one small conversation amidst the din. He turned back to Dirk and scowled fiercely at him.

“We are not going to murder a man just because he might, perhaps, possibly be on to us. That not how this works. We’ve talked about this. Murder is never our go-to plan.”

Dirk smirked.

“Not your go-to, at least. But yes, fine, I remember the terms of our agreement. How’s this for an alternative. Remember when we were in Bansbury?”

“Yes, we nearly got caught in Bansbury. Because you wanted to try a second day. Like right now,” Gareth said peevishly.

“Exactly! But we didn’t, because you gave the signal that we have agreed on, the story about the Lucky Thief. It worked, and I got away clean. We do that again. If this mysterious gentleman was actually onto to us, and an informant, and there are extra guards in the market, tell that one. I’ll be listening, and can slip off into the shadows. If he wasn’t, we get to make a lot of money again. Fair?”

Gareth pursed his lips, but couldn’t find any particular reason to object to Dirk’s plan. They did have a signal, and after all, he wasn’t even positive that the mousey man had really been watching Dirk. It could’ve been a coincidence. Gareth looked at the bag of coins on the table. It had probably just been a coincidence. He would just keep a closer watch on the crowd, and be ready to warn Dirk.

“Yeah, alright, that’s fair. We’ll go back again tomorrow,” Gareth said.”

#my writing #writers on tumblr #excerpt from a story i'll never write

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