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defire · 2 months ago

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Chapter 33: I Feel So Wanted

Content: slavery, conditioned whumpee, suicidal, death threats, slapping, manhandling, isolation

[my attempt at injury art below the cut]

"I said I need her." Nife overheard Striker and Lady Wry arguing as they went down the hall. "Don't you care about the fate of the city?"

"You can't beat my slave in the square." Lady Wry said. "Do you realize how uncivilized that would make me look..."

As Nife continued to clean, she grimaced at the way things were going. She was painfully aware that Striker could easily use his new blackmail material against Luster to get his way, or even worse–

"Nife." Nett, Lady Wry's personal maid, appeared in the kitchen. "Come."

Nife sighed and dried her hands on a towel, then followed Nett, who squeezed her arm tightly in a way that reminded her of Gaylord.

"You're forgetting–"

"Yes ma'am." Nife snapped. Nett turned on her angrily. "Sorry." Nife cringed. "...Yes ma'am?" She said it more submissively the second time, hating herself a little bit.

Nett returned to her hurried pace down the hall, bringing Nife all the way up to Lady Wry's private sitting room in her chambers, and coming in with her.

Lady Wry was sitting in a plush chair, legs crossed properly under her skirt, and Striker was leaning back confidently, arms covering the whole couch he was sitting on.

[here's a picture of Nife that I drew, I am VERY new to digital art, this is like my 3rd ever try, but I love illustrations so here]

Lady Wry's furniture matched her clothing–white couches and drapes on the massive windows, bordered with gold trimmings, just like her multitudinous golden necklaces, hiding her slightly wrinkled cleavage. Everything was cushioned and upholstered, even the blazing tea table.

Nife remembered last-minute to bow and put her hands in front of her, feeling her arms tingle as if they were about to be struck again for her negligence. But as quickly as it came, the fear dropped back into the black hole of apathy she carried around in the pit of her stomach these days.

"Nife," Striker smiled at her. "Come a little closer, why don't you?"

Glancing at Lady Wry, Nife walked closer, keeping her eyes on the ground and watching the others out of her peripheral vision.

"What is this all about?" Lady Wry asked them both.

Nife bit her lip, saying nothing as Striker unfolded his long legs and walked up to her.

"Why don't you tell her what you found in the late Lord Wry's bedroom the other day?"

Striker was going to blackmail Lady Wry to get possession of Nife. But why wouldn't he just tell her the proof he'd found and blackmail her that way?

Suddenly her eyes widened as she realized what this was about. Coming from the next inheritor of the Wry household wealth, Striker's evidence would be a little dubious. However if Nife was the one who knew the secret, it would be in Lady Wry's best interest to have her killed, rather than keep her as a slave indefinitely. In that case, she might hand Nife over to Lord Striker to do exactly that, probably after that public beating he had been talking about earlier...

"Nife." Striker said, putting a hand on her back and pushing her forward into the room. His hand slid down in a way that made her cringe. Her back was still bare because the beaded chest piece only covered the front of her torso, and his fingers were too warm and uncomfortable.

She stepped forward and to the side to get away from his hand, keeping her eyes down.

"Go ahead." Lady Wry said. "Nife has only been here for a month. What could she know?"

"So if I tell her, she's going to kill me." Nife said, not looking up.

Luster stood up quickly on hearing that.

"What?" She said.

Striker let out a little laugh and pinched Nife's cheek.

"You're a smart little bitch, aren't you?" He said, wiggling her cheek and then letting go.

Nife just stared at the floor, not sure which option sounded better.

"You have nothing." Lady Wry said, sweeping up to confront Nife with her hands on her hips. "If I know anything about Nife Raizden, it's that she is a liar. Aren't you, girl? You know I can have you whipped for lying to me, even if Striker told you to. Don't you?"

"Luster, look at her." Striker said, tilting Nife's head back by grabbing a horn. "She's just scared to speak."

Nife winced and looked at the ceiling.

"For the last time, it's not a handle." She said through her teeth.

"I thought you were planning your suicide, Nife," Striker said. "If you're so sure you'll get killed, isn't it in your best interest to tell her?"

"...You have a point." Nife said.

Striker released her.

But if Nife let Striker kill her, he'd find a way to humiliate her and demoralize every proponent of her political beliefs. All of this would be for nothing. Not that it was for anything much as of yet.

"...I think I'd rather kill myself." She said finally.

"Fine." Striker huffed. "I'll waste a command." He took a deep breath and said, "Nife, tell her what I showed you in the late Lord Wry's bedroom."

The compulsion to do exactly what Striker said filled Nife and her lips moved before she could even think about it.

"We have clear evidence that Lord Wry was murdered, and that it was you who did it." She said the words in a disinterested monotone. It was magic; she was sure he'd used magic on her, but how exactly, she didn't know.

There was a heavy silence.

Striker was beaming victoriously. He didn't seem in the least upset that his own older brother had been murdered by his sister, who was standing unrepentantly before him.

"That I did it?" Luster repeated slowly.

"The signature of the suicide note is your handwriting, done in your left hand." Nife replied. "I mean, seriously.... If you're getting away with murder, at least put some effort into it next time."

"He had messy handwriting." Luster objected, flaming up hot in her head and chest.

Suddenly she grabbed Nife by the beads across her chest that she was forced to wear, and pushed her backward toward the wall. It was too far to the wall, so Lady Wry stopped and slapped Nife. The lady’s hands were small, but she used a ring-covered backhand that left a scraped bruise across Nife's cheek. Nife fluttered her eyelashes at the floor, hiding her hurt cheek behind her shoulder.

"You will withhold your comments on my efforts." Lady Wry said, then turned on her little brother. "Exactly what do you want, Striker?"

"Either you legally allow me to publicly execute Nife for her crimes, or I will command her to announce her witness statement at the public address on Sunday."

Lady Wry groaned.

"Fine. Blazing take her. She made a terrible slave anyway."

"Thanks for that." Nife muttered under her breath.

Lady Wry raised a hand to slap her, but Striker interrupted.

"Stop." He said. "She's mine now." He grinned at Nife, turning her to face him and stroking her under her chin. Nife clenched her teeth and closed her eyes. "Time for plan C, I guess."

"Fool me twice." Nife said through her teeth.

Striker's grip on her chin tightened. She could practically feel him fighting the urge to crush her teeth in. She wasn't sure if he could actually do that, but she was still afraid that he might try.

"Sorry." She hissed through squished lips. “Your lordship.”

He released her.

"Oh good." He said. "I was beginning to worry I had underestimated you."

Nife slumped at the insult, which was probably accurate. Striker's guards took her away to a dungeon cell.

Nife was manhandled and kicked into the jail in the enforcer station, shackled at the ankles and left alone with a loud clang of the barred door.

The cell was tight. She checked, trying to wiggle the bars on the window when the guard wasn't watching, and twisting at her shackles. They'd already begun to hurt by an hour in from the sheer weight and tightness.

Nife sat down on the bed and hugged her knees up, leaning her head onto her arms so the guard could stop watching her face and making Nife anxious. She didn't want that guy to come in there, as he kept threatening to do, especially not with how he kept looking at her.

She was so blazing alone, she almost wanted to go back to slavery, even if it meant getting caned and kicked, just to be near Iridiss again.

[btw, I made theme songs for many of my characters, and this is Nife's :) ]

As the sun set, blue miasma curled up in wisps that were pierced through by shafts of golden light. The night shift guards came in silently; Nife noted that they weren’t told who she was. Soon all she could see was a dark blue outside, with a faint nearby glow from a lamp on the building across the alley outside.

She was going to die, and nobody could stop it–if there was anyone that cared enough to try. Her face twisted up and she muffled her sobs against her grubby arm. She was scared.

After a few minutes of sadness that only increased instead of calming, she realized she was hearing a weird shuffling and grunting under the window outside.

"Ah–blazing–horizons–" She recognized the voice. It was Kit.

She looked up to see a puff of ruffled orange hair, then Kit's whole head appear just at the bottom of the high window, eyebrows raised so that he could look inside. When he saw her, his eyes crinkled in a mixture of joy and worry. It was so childish and random that Nife found a tiny chuckle escape her.

"Hey, you okay?" Kit attempted to whisper.

"Splendid." Nife replied, masking a wince with a smile. The smile didn’t work. "You?"

Kit frowned.

“Blazes, I thought they’d use rope.”

He grabbed one of the window bars, his head disappearing for a minute. The next thing she knew, a tiny knife was hurtling through the window and she lunged forward, deftly catching it before it clattered to the floor. Her heart warmed when she recognized her own moth stiletto. The attempt at keeping it quiet was pointless, though, because when she moved the bed squalled like it was being tortured.

Nife had the stiletto under the pillow in half a second and jerked around to face the door when the bars clanged. The guard was standing there, baton still raised as if he thought he might need to hit the bars again to get Nife's attention.

"Okay enough of that," Nife said, eyes down. She didn't dare look back to see if Kit had hidden fast enough.

"What the hell is going on in there?" The guard asked, eyes running greedily over Nife's body once, then again.

"That noise was the bed, sir." Nife said. "Word to the wise, when the bed screams, it's about time to replace it."

That might've been the wrong thing to say.

The guard was fumbling for his key, hot in the face with anger. Nife got off the bed and put her bare feet on the floor, dragging the chain across the stones as she walked to the door.

She watched the guard getting out a key with big eyes.

"What?" The guard said. "Think you can scare me away with those bugged-out skank eyes?"

Nife shook her head, pulling hair back behind her ear to reveal the two earrings as she submissively stepped back. The guard stopped with the key in the lock, giving Nife a look-over like he was thinking twice about coming in.

Then he looked around behind him like he was thinking about getting backup.

"Sorry for the noise." Nife said.

The guard looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then blew his breath out his pursed lips.

"I'll let you off easy this once." He said. "But no more noise."

"Yes sir." Nife nodded. She didn't even have to try to look submissive anymore. She was so dejected, all she had to do was stop pretending to be fine.

She watched the guard walk away. With her nightsight, she saw Kit pop back up in the window behind her. She turned, dragging the chain with the step, and gave her friend a thumbs-up with a smirk.

His eyes wandered over her bruised arms and the shackles around her ankles, then met Nife's darkened eyes with a level of compassion she wasn't used to.

"I don't have a lot of time." He whispered–even his whisper was uncomfortably loud. "I'm standing on Warren's shoulders."

Nife covered a chuckle at the picture that that created in her mind, and her heart warmed to know that Warren was out there, actually trying to help her.

Nife heard the guard stomping back toward her cell.

"Go!" She flapped a hand at Kit.

"We're going to rescue you." Kit said, then disappeared as the guard showed up at the door again.

Nife backed up to the wall by the head of the bed, where she could grab the knife if it came to a fight.

The guard was staring in, and he was the one that looked crazy as Nife narrowed her eyes and waited.

"Did I not just fucking tell you not to make any noise?"

"If I tell you the truth, you have to promise not to laugh." Nife said, managing to make a flush come up hard enough to make her face go purple.

The guard sort of stopped in his tracks emotionally and frowned at Nife.

"Okay, you can't tell anyone about this," Nife said gravely, covering her face with a hand. "I was going to take a piss."

"Then why did I hear speaking?"

"I... my wiener needs a little encouragement sometimes."

The guard struggled to hold in a chuckle, then burst into laughter.

"Stop it..." Nife pretended to protest, turning away completely as if to hide her face. Relief washed through her as she found that Kit and Warren were gone.

"Wiener!" The guard was wheezing. "...Encouragement!" Then he grabbed a bar and peered through. "Blazes, I thought you were a girl."

Nife did her best to look disgusted. She was flat-chested enough to pass for either.

"Fucking what made you think that?" She said offendedly, and the guard burst into laughter again. "Are you saying I look like a girl?" She egged him on, and the guard swallowed the bait, laughing and walking away, hitting his stick into his palm all the way back.

Nife swallowed and breathed out. She’d better go ahead and use the chamber pot. If she made a single other noise that night she'd have hell to pay.

First chapter: next chapter:

Taglist: @tildeathiwillwrite @mimostic @fleur-a-whump @a-n-j-a-maria per Tumblr's content policy, this is the non-nsfw version, but you can find the canon Dance of Death on Amazon and ao3 (which I'm updating shabbily as fast as I can). Also if you want, it would mean so much to me if you leave a review or comment while you're there.

#slavery whump #suicidal #death threats #slapping whump #manhandling #isolation whump #whump writing #whump novel #whump #conditioned whumpee #defiant whumpee #yes she is both ok

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chocochipbiscuit · 3 months ago

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10, and potentially 3 for A Most Edible Thistle if you like 😊

10) What is something you really want to write but haven't written yet?

I always have more ideas than time!!! The current longfic idea that has been sitting in outline form for a while (and which I'm continually plinking away at) is a FONV/FO4 crossover where the Legion's destroyed Jacobstown, leaving Keene to flee across the wasteland with the rest of the nightkin and mutants. He's the last survivor, holed up by raiders...and then Preston Garvey and the Minutemen come blazing in for a rescue.

Basically: a prickly and traumatized asshole slowly learns to deal with survivor's guilt, grief, and learning to trust again. He ends up BFFs with Marcy Long (another survivor of a massacre) and falling in love with Preston. There's some specific scenes I have in mind for it (like accidental sex pollen while exploring a vault, because I desperately want to write them fucking WHILE pining!) and eventually culminating with Preston getting kidnapped and Keene rescuing him at the end. Something something. Raiders. Guilt. Grief. Recognition that we can always change for the better. Red Tourette blaming the Minutemen for her sister Lily's death. Keene blaming himself for grandma Lily's death.

...basically it's a big emotional stew right now and I need more time to figure out the narrative chain that links to the final scene. I'm confident I'll write it eventually, but it's still in the planning stages. Gotta get my writers' mise en place...well, en place.

3) What is something you learned/researched while writing a fic?

For A Most Edible Thistle, most of the lore was stuff I already knew! I listen to a lot of podcasts about food and love reading stuff, so I was already thinking about food as a way of showing culture, trade, and political influence, so most of the 'research' was just refreshing things I had already aware of.

I was trying to lean into Thedas food cultures, and that Antiva was inspired by Spain, while Rivain was inspired by Morocco, which was my thought process in having halva and preserved lemons as part of Rivaini cuisine, and the shift from the broad cultural feast at the beginning of the book to something more specific to what would be Josephine and Vivienne's home cuisines. (Even if Vivienne doesn't necessarily remember this as a child herself, it's more about her being willing to eat this in front of other people rather than making herself as Orlesian as possible.)

And while this wasn't research for this fic in particular, I was also listening/reading a lot about Chinese-American food traditions and the way 'American Chinese' food is as much as distinct cuisine based on historical immigration trends as well as more 'traditional' Chinese foods, and how inheritors of 'tradition' still end up adjusting to locally available ingredients and tastes. (Ex: my mother made chow mein with spaghetti while growing up. I still do it sometimes even when I have access to 'real' chow mein noodles because it's a taste of childhood. Just the other night I made a cacio e pepe variation using Korean chili flakes and gochujang instead of black pepper because it was what I had in my pantry and I liked the flavors, never mind that I'm not Korean or Italian.) Except I decided that having Chef Robin explain all this over cooking lessons or discussing recipes would be far too anvilicious and distract from the actual romance arc or food crime plots!

And not 'research' as in reading a how-to per se, but I did read a lot of romance novels, and was thinking in terms of commonalities and beats I wanted to hit in this fic. So in that sense, reading romance novels was research for writing my own romance novella!

Thank you for asking, I had a lot of fun answering! :D

(Self-indulgent asks from this ask game!)

#choco answers #ask games

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therwriter · 1 year ago

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This is sort of a tangent to this excellent analysis, but I feel the main story has two major flaws that generate that apathy for me personally

The first is that it feels like it's pulled in two different directions by its conflicts being between the existing power structure and various factions of the oppressed. Now, this is a problem for a lot of stories (most superhero movies, for instance) but a story with the moral "war is hell" rings hollow to me when the other half of your story is a keenly observed portrait of the suffering of the oppressed under the status quo.

The second, related problem is the story's, and by extension, our heroes', commitment to that status quo. The gameplay, and story, almost always has us putting down resistance groups. And we are always portrayed as right to do so. Blaze questions it in chapter 6 in a throwaway line of dialogue in chapter 6, but that's it. In the story at the moment, we're fighting to put Siege on the throne and take back reign of the Sarkaz for the rightful (?) inheritor of the King of Sarkaz title. In the first arc, we literally advertise our services as anti-infected counterterror experts ("only the infected can fight the infected"). And sure, it always turns out that those groups have done terrible things that make it okay that we're doing this, but this is fiction, not real life, so we must ask why the writers choose to always write them this way. Perhaps the moral is that dehumanisation makes you inhuman, but it still rubs me the wrong way that, for example a huge part of the story is about how the Sarkaz are unfairly stigmatised as devils, and then the other half is about about the Sanguinarch chasing us around Londinium like a horror movie monster while his colleagues commit acts of barbarism. And it'd be one thing if that was part and parcel of the world, since real conflict is often a very grey area with no real good guys. But the problem is that RI is always getting involved and actively trying to put these groups down. In the main we spend most of our time in the main story on fighting our fellow infected or oppressed, rather than helping them.

Taken together, it ends up feeling like the moral of the story is less ambivalent and more actively oppressive. It's all well and good, even right, to say war is stupid, and quite another say so while painstakingly laying out the reasons why someone may be driven to war. This warps the intended moral of the story, and instead makes it appear to be "resisting your oppression is as bad, if not worse, than that oppression itself".

I’ve seen a few posts expressing apathy towards Arknights’ second (and current) main story arc, and to some extent I can see why. It’s a different tone, a murkier tone, and it leads to a sense of ambivalence. However, I think this sense of ambivalence is (at least partially) intended, based on the sort of story they’re trying to tell.

I think they’re trying to tell a story about how war is stupid. How all its justifications and manoeuvres become so pathetically unforgivable in the face of the horrific human cost it entails.

Can you do this while still making a dramatic story with superpowered duels and ancient entities? What happens when you make half your cast wholly contemptible? I don’t know. I want to see.

Chapter 12 gets pretty explicit on this, with Ines rejecting all claims that war can "mean" anything other than people killing each other, and Manfred approving this as Paprika’s answer. But this sense of meaninglessness extends to the wider plot threads, too.

Chapter 9 was a horrific slaughter, but nothing comes from it. Dublinn played Victoria into committing atrocities then covering it all up, just to clear out their own corrupt lieutenants. Bagpipe is left collecting clues for people who already know the truth.

Chapter 11 builds up Siege’s role as the returning heir, then Chapter 12 sets it all on fire. That sword and crown make no difference when her home is is besieged to starvation. Only the Dukes care about her, and what good are they? They were willing to let all this happen to fuel their power struggles. The Duke of Caster just spent two chapters (and an event) causing problems, and she’s neither gained nor lost for it.

Then the Sarkaz, who are motivated by the pressure of generations of literally accumulated hatred moreso than any explicit outcome… it’s not exactly subtle.

(Funny how the Dukes and nations will happily sit fast as long as they can pretend they don't know of the suffering in Londinium, but as soon as Theresis flashes some superweapons they're all over it.)

This is something I’ve struggled with before. How do you tell a realistic (top-level) story of a war, when the story of war is invariably one of banal evil that simply doesn't value (certain) human lives? How do you make that compelling when its all so stupid? I look forward to seeing Hypergryph’s full answer, even if they struggle with it.

#arknights #It's an excellent replica of real world politics in that sense but not a particularly endearing one #The historical inspiration for the setting doesn't help - putting down the Irish independence movement in chap 9 really turned me off #Sorry for the rant op #I've been thinking about this for a while

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alzaeemadel · 2 years ago

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In the name of God, the most gracious, the most merciful There is no god but God, the King, the manifest truth, there is no god but God, justice and certainty, there is no god but God. God is our Lord and Lord of our first fathers, glory be to you that I was one of the unjust, there is no god but God alone without partner, to Him belongs the kingdom and to Him be praise, and He lives and dies, and He lives and does not die, in His hand is goodness, and to Him is the destiny, and He is over all things. There is no god but God in recognition of His lordship, glory be to Him God, in submission to His greatness, O God, O Light of the heavens and the earth, O pillar of the heavens and the earth, O Giant of the heavens and the earth, O Judge of the heavens and the earth, O inheritor of the heavens and the earth, O Owner of the heavens and the earth, O Greater of the heavens and the earth, O Knower of the heavens and the earth, O Sustainer of the heavens and the earth, O Most Merciful of this world and Most Merciful of the Hereafter. Oh God, I ask You, that. Praise be to You, there is no god but You, the tenderness and the grace, the Creator of the heavens and the earth, the possessor of majesty and honor, with your mercy, O Most Merciful of the merciful. There is no doubt about it, and that God will resurrect those in the graves. Praise be to God, who does not hope for anything but His grace, and there is no provision other than Him. O Allah, I ask You that You are God, who there is no god but You, the One, the Eternal, the One who was not begotten, was not begotten, and had no one equal to Him. O Allah, I ask You that You are God, who there is no god but You, the One, the Eternal, the One who was not begotten, was not begotten, and had no one equal to Him. I ask you to answer my prayers for my brother

O Allah I ask You of Your mercy that You guide by it his heart and gather by it his affair and bring together that which has been scattered of his affairs and purify by it his actions and inspire him by it with that which contains his guidance and protect him by it from that which he seek protection and protect him by it from everything . O Allah give him faith and certainty after which there is no disbelief and mercy by which he may attain the high level of Your generosity in the world and the Hereafter O Allah I ask You in order to him him success in that which You grant and relief in the Judgment and the positions of the martyrs and the provision of the successful and aid against the enemies O Allah he leave to You his need and him actions are weak. O Allah whatever my opinion has fallen short of and his intention has not reached it and my request has not encompassed it of good that You have promised to anyone from Your creation or any good You are going to give to any of Your slaves then indeed I seek it from You in order to him. and I ask You for it by Your mercy O Lord of the Worlds O Allah Possessor of the strong rope and the guided affair . and he is in need of Your mercy, so I ask You, O Decider of the affairs, and O Healer of the chests, as You separate him from the punishment of the blazing flame, and from seeking destruction, and from the trial of the graves. O Allah, whatever my opinion has fallen short of, and my intention has not reached it, and my request has not encompassed it, of good that You have promised to anyone from Your creation, or any good You are going to give to any of Your slaves, then indeed, I seek it from You in order to him and I ask You for it, by Your mercy, O Lord of the Worlds. I ask you give it to him This is mercy yarab alealamin. O Allah Possessor of the strong rope and the guided affair. I ask You to give my brother for security on the Day of the Threat, and Paradise on the Day of Immortality along with the witnesses, brought-close, who bow and prostrate, who fulfill the covenants, You are Merciful, Loving, and indeed, You do what You wish. O Allah, make him guided guiders and not misguided misguiders, an ally to Your friends, an enemy to Your enemies. he love due to Your love,those who love You,and hate,due to Your enmity those who oppose You.O Allah,this is the supplication(that we are capable of)and it is upon You to respond,and this is the effort(that we are capable of),and upon You is the reliance. O Allah, appoint a light in his heart for him, and a light in his grave, and light in front of him, and light behind him, and light on his right, and light on his left, and light above him, and light below him, and light in his hearing, and light in his vision, and light in his hair, and light in his skin, and light in his flesh, and light in his blood, and light in his bones. O Allah, magnify for him light, and appoint for him a light. Glory is to the One who wears Glory and grants by it. Oh God, rejoice him as you rejoiced Zakaria Yahya. And he took him out of the throat of distress. Yunus was also taken from the belly of the whale. And the inspiration for him of patience by patience with calamities You also inspired your servant Ayoub. Blade a path for him to safety. As I split the sea for Moses And make for him the fire of the world and the hereafter cold and peace .As I made it cold and peace for Abraham. And lame him to your satisfaction. As I ascended to your beloved Muhammad ﷺ Oh God, make his heart happy and give him something better than what he desires or desires, make his eyes happy with what he loves and is pleased with, and never take away from him a blessing, perfume his chest with faith and the Qur’an, and grant him eternity in heaven

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unwaveriinghearts-a · 6 years ago

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hector vc: your name is Eliwood "Fluffy Innocence" of Pherae now B]

“.....did I miss something?”

#Inheritor of the Blaze (Ask)#Turning the Heck Up to Eleven ;; Fatedcomrades(Hector)#[I... have not been on the dash last night]#[Can only imagine it's related to dash shenanigans but Eli and I have NO context for this XD]#fatedcomrades

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oddnub-eye · 3 years ago

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The Eyes of the Wily

Emer is my favorite character in the Ulster Cycle, and I had a very wacky joke theory about Tochmarc Emire, which you can read here. A lot of the other details here that aren't based from Torchmarc Emire are headcanons regarding Emer's family. Obviously, this will not be 100% accurate to the story its mostly based on, but I did try and remain mostly faithful, outside of the things altered to fit the overall nature of this story. That being said, I hope you enjoy.

Also gonna put this under a read more because it turned out to be pretty long.

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Scibar was the oldest of his siblings, by a rather significant margin. He had his father’s dark hair and his mother’s blue eyes. When Scibar was only a lad, his father first told him, “He does not have the eyes of a tricky man. Those are the eyes of a man too hard and too soft at the same time. He shall be raised as a warrior. He may not be a great one, but he shall be one.” Scibar, whether consciously or not, started studying his father’s eyes after that. What did his father have that Scibar did not?

When Fiall was born, Forgall ignored his first daughter. “We’ll marry her off at the first opportunity. With Scibar to inherit the Dun, we need not worry about an unworthy heir inheriting this house.” Scibar’s mother did not respond. Scibar was used to this look from his mother, this look of passivity. As if she was dead to the world around her. Her eyes were not the eyes of his father, or the eyes Scibar saw staring back at him when he gazed into the clear water of a calm river.

Ibor was the next born, and Scibar could swear it was the happiest he’d ever seen his father. “The eyes of a wise man!” Forgall had cheered, “We may have a worthy inheritor to this house yet!” It was not until years later that Scibar realized how casually his father had toyed with the idea of disinheriting him. But, as with all of Forgall’s other children, Ibor ended up disappointing him. Ibor didn’t take to his father’s talk of tricks and plans, cunning and schemes. Ibor preferred to spend his time learning the blade with Scibar, or using his gift with words to sing songs and tales.

Cat was born next and with him came a surprise. Cat was the first child Scibar’s mother was allowed to name. Forgall saw Cat and instantly turned from him in disgust, brazenly telling his mother to name him. Cat’s eyes were the same color as Scibar and their mother’s; blue. The blue of Cat’s eyes shone like a blaze light, completely unlike the colors of the sky Scibar’s eyes invoked. It was to the surprise of no one that Cat took the blade like his eldest brother, showing the most talent and passion for it.

But then, Forgall’s last child was born, another daughter. However, with the birth of this one, tragedy came into the house of Forgall the Wily. Scibar’s mother passed away giving birth to this final child. Forgall, as Scibar expected of him by now, remained distant even here, simply handing this final child off to Scibar to hold before carrying his wife’s body off to prepare for burial. Forgall later named his final daughter Emer. Emer hair was unlike her father or her mother’s; the golden locks of her mother appearing dirty with strands of interwoven browns.

Emer was talented, talented behind even her father’s wildest expectations. In all seven gifts of womanhood, she surpassed Fiall, surpassed even her late mother. Young as she was, her voice was like the gods, and she carried wisdom beyond her years. By her seventh year, she was even teaching the girls surrounding Forgall’s dun.

Scibar didn’t actually remember the day the love of his youngest sister’s life appeared very well. He remembered the basics, sure. The blazing young warrior, with his tri-colored hair and seven pupils, appeared in his chariot. Scibar distinctly remembered laughing trying to watch this small, young boy leap out of the chariot. Despite his intimidating chariot and the talons upon his fingers and toes, he was merely a whelp. He could have only been Emer’s age, and he was certainly small for his age.

Scibar didn’t bother to watch the young love blossom. Ibor did, and Scibar didn’t make much not. Ibor was a poetic soul, the blossoming of love was right up the ally of something he’d want to watch.

Emer skipped into the dun later that day, a silly smile plastered on her face, singing a little song about how she was going to marry Cú Chulainn, how he would fulfill her marriage conditions and she would go to join him in Ulster. Forgall shot up from where he was sitting, saying, “Fiall has not been married yet, you cannot be married. Besides, that boy is too wild, he shall bring about our ruin.”

Scibar had known his father long enough to know that “our ruin” meant “my ruin.” The silly smile fell from Emer’s face and the light retreated from her gray eyes, replaced by a more passive look. No, that wasn’t quite right, Scibar decided. There was...something underneath that passive glare.

That night, Forgall donned the disguise of a gaulish king, telling his children he would deceive Cú Chulainn into a fool’s errand, to keep him from marrying his daughter. Emer was present in the back of the room, and Scibar noticed it once more. That passive glare with something beneath it.

Cú Chulainn arrived the next morning to say his goodbyes with Emer, and she warned Cú Chulainn of her father’s attempts to destroy him. The young hero acknowledged her words, and he set off for Alba.

One week later, Emer innocently asked her father if she could move her room into the dun’s treasury. “You call me your greatest treasure father, may I not sleep surrounded by the others?” The request seemed innocent enough, and Forgall dismissed it as a woman’s vanity. Ibor raised an eyebrow but ignored it otherwise.

A month later, Emer met with her brother’s and convinced them that they should start guarding their parts of Forgall’s three walls separately.

“You are father’s most trusted. It is best not to put all your eggs in one basket, your prowess should not be focused on one wall.”

The logic checked out for the three brothers, although Ibor once again seemed to know something. Scibar didn’t think it was important, so he didn’t bother asking.

Midway through the year, Forgall tried to marry Emer off to a man named Lugaid. Emer rejected the man, speaking of her love for Cú Chulainn. Lugaid backed off, not wanting to experience the wrath of Cú Chulainn.

Cú Chulainn returned from his training, and Forgall sent a guard to keep him from marrying Emer. They kept the Hound at bay for a season, until Cú Chulainn’s anger finally boiled over, and he stormed the dun with his full strength.

Scibar was standing at his post in the walls, within the group of nine men, standing at its center. The young Hound of Ulster descended upon them, and Scibar braced himself for conflict. Scibar almost felt bad, that he’d have to kill the lad who made his sister so happy.

Of course, in the time it took Scibar to think that, the men standing next to Scibar had been felled in one blow. Cú Chulainn leapt away, to the next wall, and then the next. Soon Ibor stumbled towards his brother, unharmed, but deeply, deeply rattled. Scibar walked over to his brother, but Ibor smacked his hand away.

“I’m leaving, brother. I’m going to become a bard.The path of the warrior is not for me.” Ibor slurred out quickly, mind clearly abuzz with thoughts. Cat came next, clutching a shattered spear in his hands, a quiet grin upon his face.

“I blocked a hit.” Was his youngest brother’s only words. Scibar only nodded, looking at the path of warriors who had fallen. Anyone who hadn’t directly engaged Cú Chulainn had lived, but the three brothers had engaged the Hound, so why did they still breathe?

Scibar was knocked out of his thoughts by a shout, and the brother’s turned to see their father’s body crash into the ground, his old bones shattering with the impact. The three pairs of eyes that Forgall had rejected when he first saw them, could now bring themselves to feel nothing at his fate.

Scibar looked up and watched as the Hound of Ulster soared above them, performing a great feat of leaping, Emer in his arms and Fiall clutching to his tiny form. The treasures of Forgall’s dun also were held. Emer was laughing as she soared through the sky in his arms.

Cú Chulainn and Emer were married later that day, after Forgall’s allies had ambushed the couple at the fords between Scenmenn and Banchuing, the young Hound fought off all of them, killing many. Cat would later follow his sister and new brother-in-law to Ulster, with hopes of one day joining the Men of the Red Branch. For now, he settled for joining the boy troop. Ibor followed through on his promise to become a travelling bard, visiting his brother’s and sister every now and then to share his stories. Scibar, however, stayed at the dun of his father, inheriting it.

The dun’s new owner would be lying if he said he didn’t smile when he replaced the bed his father had rejected his children upon with his own.

…

It was a family reunion, a banquet and a feast. Scibar’s family, his sisters and his brothers, surrounded him at the table, drinking and eating merrily. Emer had brought her husband, of course, and she looked so happy laughing next to him as the duo partook in the feastivities. It had been so many years since Scibar had become the owner of this dun…

Ibor leapt onto the table, and decided to sing the tale of how Cú Chulainn had joined their family. Scibar largely toned out of the beginning of the story, he was there for most of it, after all. Until something Ibor said got his attention.

“And our beloved sister told the hero, “No man may travel these plains unless he has gone from Samhain til Imbolc without rest, killed 100 men at each ford between Scenmenn and Banchuing, performed the feat of the Salmon’s Leap while carrying twice his weight and gold, and struck down 3 groups of 9 men with one strike each, leaving the middle man of each group alive.”

Ibor smiled his smile, the smile of a bard, “Isn’t that right, sister?”

“Yes, it is!” Emer laughed, confirming Ibor’s account, “Those were the conditions I layed for Cú Chulainn in order to become my husband!”

“And I succeeded!” Cú Chulainn laughed, throwing an arm around Emer’s shoulder, joining in with her laughter. Cat followed soon enough, almost as if he didn’t remember, or didn’t care, that he had been so close to not being the man in the middle.

But that was not what Scibar focused on. For what felt like the thousandth time in his life, Scibar took a hard look at his sister’s eyes. The passive light was gone...no, no, it was never there, was it? Only a fake light, a facsimile of passivity that had fooled Scibar all these years; a facsimile that fooled their father his whole life.

Scibar finally burst out laughing with the rest of his family, but not because of the song being sung or the drink running thick or the memories everyone was spending the night recalling. Scibar laughed at the irony that the one pair of eyes his father may have accepted were the eyes of the one who was the first to reject that man.

#oddnub writes #emer #cu chulainn #ulster cycle #celtic mythology #interpretation #reimagining #putting those tags for old times sake

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 5 years ago

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I promise I’m working on posts about today’s issues but I was informed of the events of Superior v2 #11 and felt I should chime in.

It’s...stupid.

Okay so I was planning on doing a post about this, but Gage in his Superior run has floated the idea that (the mind clone of a mind clone of a mind clone of) Otto is good now because in his new body he’s free of the mental disorder that made him evil.

Ya see the explosion back in ASM v1 #3 gave him brain damage and THAT’S the reason he’s been evil this entire time. But now he’s got a new body free of that brain damage he’s good!

And that is...complete horseshit.

Doc Ock wasn’t evil because an explosion made him evil, Doc Ock was evil because he was bullied by his school peers, bullied by his father, smothered by his overbearing and clingy mother, under appreciated by his peers as an adult, had to give up the love of his life because of his toxic relationship with his mother, felt betrayed by her when she exhibited a double standard, said betrayal led to a heated argument that gave her a lethal heart attack and THEN all this emotional/mental turmoil led to him making a mistake that gave him super powers.

In other words he wasn’t evil because an explosion rattled his brains. He was evil because his life had shaped him into an evil person, the explosion just gave him the final push over the edge. You could easily argue he might’ve turned evil without it altogether.

Plus if you have the memories and emotional connections to someone with brain damage does it really make much of a difference? Like you remember trying to nuke NYC and remember how you felt about that and that hasn’t changed so would having an undamaged brain even matter by that point? Psychologically wouldn’t it reach the same ends via a different means?

Now in fairness in this issue Gage has Mephisto bring up the notion that the whole brain damage thing might be bullshit so we are setting up for the possibility that Otto was full of shit...but we might also be setting up the idea that in actuality Otto was only evil because of a knock to the head which is dumb silver age writing we can forgive because it was actually made in the silver age.

The ball is in Gage’s court on this one but I don’t trust him at all.

Especially when one considers he kicked off Spider-Geddon #1 with Otto threatening the lives of innocent people merely to apply leverage to Count Nefaria. And he used the Inheritors’ cloning tech. And he joined fucking HYDRA! Brain damage my ass, he’s just an asshole!

There are other problems though.

Quite apart from proving further that spider-Geddon was one big set up arc for Gage’s solo series (thanks for wasting our time if we didn’t want to see that Gage), Otto’s logic here is faulty.

As Doc Ock he’s routinely had his ass kicked by Spider-Man, a highly intelligent, 2 armed super hero who typically uses restraint in battle, refraining from killing opponents 99% of the time.

And NOW he’s up against Norman Osborn as Spider-Man. Who has all the power of Spider-Man but is frankly even more intelligent, has SIX arms that can bench press at least 5 tons a piece, DGAF about restraint because he’s a sadistic asshole, has high tech gear that Peter didn’t usually use, has back up from another Spider-Man and has access to a lot of information on Otto.

So...how precisely is being in his original body with his original merciless mentality going to win this for him?

616 Norman Osborn, who was way less powerful than this version, already gave Doc Ock trouble back in Superior Team-Up #11-12 and as far as I know this Spideriffic version of Norman doesn’t have an easily exploitable chest wound that Otto can target.

Similarly 616 Norman owned Otto hard back when Otto was the Superior Spider-Man, which surely this version of Otto has researched.

Basically as Spider-Man Otto lost to 616 Norman and as Doc Ock he only really won against him because there was a huge weak spot for him to exploit.

This version of Norman lacks that weakness and is way stronger so how the Hell is being Doc Ock going to make a difference here realistically?

Couldn’t he just solve this problem by asking for back up from the Avengers or Peter or whoever? Hell he’s got a means to contact Mephisto but not like Doctor Strange????????????

Finally you have the inherent stupidity of ANYONE in the Marvel universe trusting Mephisto at all. Like as far as making deals with Mephisto are concerned there are hundreds of years proving over and over again that those are guaranteed to go badly. Not just that there are unforeseen side effects bad, but like there are unforeseen side effects AND the original thing you wanted will get wrecked too.

Remember Johnny Blaze? He wanted his father figure to be cured of a terminal illness. It worked...but then he died anyway and Johnny got possessed by a demon too.

And that happens with EVERY Mephisto deal EVER! And EVERYONE KNOWS THAT!

This isn’t a situation where if you are Johnny Blaze in his debut issue you are desperate enough to hope that folklore about the Devil is all guff.

By this point in time the supernatural is confirmed fact in the Marvel Universe. Fuck Doc Ock himself was literally resurrected by mystic ninjas (couldn’t he just think about using them to bring back the boy and the people he has to kill to save the boy?). There is no reason why anyone, especially not Otto, would seek to make a deal with Mephisto when they know for a fact it will backfire in the worst way possible.

But hey...aren’t I happy?

This is maybe going to fix Doc Ock so he is classic Doc Ock again and doesn’t have any of Peter’s memories!

Well first of all at this point that is wishful thinking.

Second of all Otto not remembering Peter’s memories doesn’t make sense since Mephisto said he’d still remember everything he’s lived through since taking Peter’s body. But if Otto experienced Peter’s memories then they are a part of HIS memories too at that point so how would he not remember Peter?????????

Third of all...this is still not Doc Ock. Even if he has his mind and body altered this is still nothing more than a clone of a clone (of another clone) of Doc Ock.

#Spider-Man #superior spider-man #Norman Osborn #Spider-Geddon #Peter Parker #doctor octopus #Doc Ock #otto octavius #Green Goblin

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moczothe1st · 6 years ago

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Let’s Play Fire Emblem IV: Genealogy of the Holy War, Part 22: The Last King of Jerkland

Part 21

Hey all! Welcome back to another exciting week of Fire Emblem IV, where we once again ignore the actual evil empire to go rough up another, smaller empire, basically because they’re louder and more annoying and invading is the only way to make them stop bitching for five minutes. You might not think this is a priority, but you don’t have Lewyn’s strong tactical mind. A new chapter, so let’s get right on into it.

As their headquarters, uncertain of how to next act. Beyond Meath and the engulfing maw of its peaks lies the dracoknights’ kingdom, Thracia.

(“He also just betrayed Arvis last week by letting Blume die so he could invade the north, but we’re going to pretend that didn’t happen, shut up.”)

Thracia is the only state anywhere in Jugdral regarded as an ‘ally’ by the Grannvale Empire.

(Guess which two of these quirky minibosses will not be important. Hint: it will be the two who we’ve killed before only they had different names and maybe slightly different hair colors.)

Travant has fortified his kingdom for one final, full-scale showdown with the liberators. And Thracia’s people hardly offer Seliph an eager welcome; fearing Seliph as a conqueror, they flock in droves to take up arms themselves. How could any justice lie in this conflict? For whose sake is this war being fought?

(… For Leif, mostly?)

For the first time, these questions now shake Seliph and his army’s resolve…

(Except, again, for Leif. He’s pretty down with this whole situation.)

Travant, Eeeeew: I’ve no interest in any more excuses! Don’t you dare belittle me, Altena. You are a warrior beyond compare, and you and Arion embody my will beyond these walls. I expect no less than for you to do your duty! And what do I find instead? You’ve ignored my orders, left an entire platoon to the slaughter, and strolled home as if nothing ever happened! I’ve never been more disappointed in you.

Altena: I’m sorry, Father, but at least let me explain! I could never agree with such tactics, which enrich only us at the expense of everyone else! How could you ever expect the proud Thracian people to accept prosperity built on the bones of others? Please, Father, rethink your ways!

Arion: Enough, Altena. There’s no place here for such meddling. Still your tongue and obey Father! Father, bear in mind Altena is still young and unseasoned. I suspect she merely found the last battle too overwhelming a prospect. Please forgive her, even just this once.

Travant: You know, Arion? If you’d just hold back on the coddling, perhaps Altena wouldn’t be so stubborn! … Look, Altena. I’ll give you one last chance. Take a dracoknight platoon and retake Meath. If you slip again, then daughter be damned, I will accept no excuses! Understood?

Altena: Yes, Father…

Travant: Phew, family resemblance indeed… it’s plainly obvious that she loathes me.

Arion: Father, you have to remember that she’s still a child. Like all children, she has yet to realize that her thoughtless words have real effects.

(I forgot what a giant enabler Arion is. You could try standing up to someone, sometime, pretty boy.)

Travant: Hmph, I suppose… I’m off to Kapathogia. I hear Hannibal’s found himself some funny ideas about my plans. And so it falls to me to ensure he loses them before somebody gets hurt…

(*sigh* You’re going to kidnap a baby again, huh.)

Arion: I’ve never seen Father so fearful… what could possibly have happened…?

(He’s realized he’s a shitty general and started a fight he can’t win? Because I am… I am just going to wreck him. Nothing personal. … It’s a little personal.)

Travant: Your armored knights will join her at once!

Hannibal: Your Majesty, I’ve said it a thousand times and I’ll say it again. There is no use fighting this war! We must arrange a truce with the liberators if we wish to recover the strength to endure! Bowing to the Empire was a despicable choice to start, one which left us serving our citizens to the true enemy on a gilded platter.

Travant: I did not ask for your opinion! The rebels have slaughtered my soldiers and stolen our territory. The hour is far too late for a truce!

Hannibal: I thought as much… very well. I suppose I have no choice.

Travant: What’s this, Hannibal? Do I hear traitorous rumblings coming from that mouth of yours?

(… No?)

Hannibal: Come now, your Majesty! Never would a warrior such as I consider turning my cloak. Traitor, indeed!

Travant: Really, now… then I trust you won’t object to a test of your warrior’s loyalty. Until the war reaches a victorious end, Hannibal, I’ll be taking care of your son.

(Called it!)

Hannibal: I beg your pardon, your Majesty?! Do you truly have so little faith in me?!

Travant: You have nothing to worry about, Hannibal. If you don’t intend to betray me, then I don’t intend to so much as scratch the boy.

Hannibal: …

Travant: Men! Bring me Hannibal’s son!

(Okay, not a baby, but it’s the thought that counts.)

Travant: Remember, Hannibal. You have nothing to worry about, so long as you behave yourself. As soon as this war is won, you’ll get him back. I admit I don’t understand, though… the boy isn’t even your real son. How could he have such sway over you?

(FOOOOOOOOOOORESHADOWING)

Hannibal: Cairpre has brought much joy into my life. A true family transcends simple blood…

Travant: Ohohohoho! Could it be? Does Thracia’s great statesman have a soft spot for children? Now, then. Thracia depends on you, Hannibal!

(What a dick!)

(Nobody likes a suck-up, Distler.)

Distler the Suck-up: Rest assured, milord. Luthecia is an impregnable wall! I’ve seen to it myself.

Travant: I’ll hold you to your word. Now, I’ve reason to doubt the loyalty of Hannibal at Kapathogia. I’ve taken his son hostage, just in case, and I’m leaving him to your custody.

Distler the Suck-up: Yes, sir! I’ll not let him out of my sight! But should Hannibal turn his cloak-

Travant: Then kill the son. Don’t be lulled into offering even a child any mercy.

Distler: Understood, milord.

Travant: Good. In that case, I think I’ll leave the defense of Grutia to your hands. Try not to get too cocky with the rebels, Bishop. They’re of a treacherous sort.

(“Also, that kettle is black. Hm…. When did I become a pot? This must be Altena’s fault.”)

(“That’s because it is meaningless. Unfortunately, it seems someone on the writing staff really digs their Thracian Peninsula D&D game setting and managed to worm it into the story here. And that, Seliph, is why you always hire an editor.”)

Lewyn: The point of a battle comes from how you conduct yourself in it, Seliph.

(That doesn’t even make sense!)

Lewyn: And we hardly have much choice at this point!

(… okay that’s a better reason.)

Seliph: But what of that dracoknight who was watching us from the Manster peaks? I’ve seldom seen such a sad look in anybody’s eyes… how could I fight somebody like her…?

(Well, I mean, not to spoil you or anything, but…)

Lewyn: That’s enough, Seliph! This is war! If you can’t handle it, then leave! Run home to Tirnanog!

(… Where the fuck did that come from?!)

Seliph: Lewyn…

Oifey: I beg your pardon, Lord Lewyn?! His Majesty is tired and stressed! Such harsh words are uncalled for.

Lewyn: Look, I know. But everyone else is just as stressed, yet they all know we can’t afford to stop. With the resurrection of Loptyr on the horizon, it’s crucial we get to Grannvale and stop the world falling to ruin while we still can.

Seliph: Thank you, Oifey… but Lewyn speaks the truth. An inevitable battle lies ahead, and if we see in it naught but futility, then my duty is to carve my own purpose into it. I’ll never again flinch or turn away!

(Seliph could see her eyes, apparently, so if Leif missed her entirely he’s got a lot to learn about being a chosen prince with bad hair.)

Leif: Oh, the woman? I saw her. I don’t believe it’s every day that you encounter a female dracoknight, is it? Was there something amiss about her?

Finn: It was her weapon… she was wielding Gae Bolg, Leonster’s holy lance. And I sensed an aura cloaking her… the holy aura of Nova, like your father.

Leif: What? What are you saying, Finn?!

Finn: There is only one explanation, my lord. Your sister, Altena, must not have died in the Thracian ambush seventeen years ago. Nor was Gae Bolg lost.

Leif: Altena?! She’s… she’s still alive?! Then what in the blazes was she doing commanding a Thracian army?

(… Duh, dude.)

Finn: I’d surmise that Travant took her back to Thracia as a child, and raised her as his own.

Leif: Huh… who knew a man as cold as Travant could do something so humane?

(… Leif, for fuck’s sake, try to keep up here.)

Finn: It isn’t so simple, milord. Altena is the inheritor of your father��s holy lineage from the goddess Nova. As such, unlike you, she is capable of wielding the Gae Bolg. Power is the only reason a man like Travant would ever be so kind to his enemy’s child.

Leif: So he’s tricked my sister just so he can use her as a weapon! Travant… what a disgusting man… … I want to help her, Finn. If we can make her see the truth, I know we can work together to avenge our parents.

Finn: My lord, I believe you’re the only one who could possibly convince her now. Even after all these years, my lord, you are still her brother. I’m certain she will open her heart to you if you try. Please, my lord. Please save Lady Altena…

Whoo! And that’s a hell of an infodump, but time to start the map. First, of course, it’s time to ignore the enemy for five hours while we engage in gladiatorial combat for blood money. This time, though, I’m going to do things a liiiiittle differently. It will be pricey, but anyone… let’s who is level 15 or lower, and who has access to a solid 40K gold, will be shelling out the money to buy the Paragon Band before their run and then sell it when they’re done. This is expensive, seriously expensive, but it will double everyone’s arena EXP gains and should shoot all our levels quite a bit. And we have cash to spare, so why not? Catch you on the flip side!

Seliph: Seven wins, gained two levels: +3 HP, +1 Strength, +1 Speed, +1 Magic, +1 Luck, +1 Defense

Julia: Seven wins, gained one level: +1 HP, +1 Strength, +1 Resistance

Shanan: Seven wins, gained two levels: +3 HP, +2 Skill, +2 Strength, +1 Speed, +1 Resistance

Oifey: Six wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Strength, +1 Luck

Ulster: Seven wins, gained five levels: +5 HP, +5 Skill, +3 Strength, +1 Speed, +1 Luck, +2 Defense

Larcei: Seven wins, gained five levels: +6 HP, +3 Skill, +1 Strength, +2 Speed, +3 Luck, +2 Defense

Lester: Seven wins, gained four levels: +4 HP, +2 Skill, +1 Strength, +3 Speed, +1 Magic, +2 Luck, +2 Defense

Dermott: Seven wins, gained four levels: +4 HP, +3 Skill, +2 Speed, +3 Luck, +2 Defense

Nanna: Seven wins, gained three levels: +3 HP, +2 Speed, +1 Magic!!!!!!, +1 Luck, +1 Defense, +1 Resistance

Fee: Seven wins, gained five levels: +5 HP, +2 Skill, +1 Strength, +2 Speed, +3 Magic, +3 Luck, +2 Defense, +3 Resistance

Ced: Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Skill, +2 Magic, +1 Luck, +1 Defense

Arthur: Seven wins, gained five levels: +8 HP, +1 Skill, +3 Magic, +2 Luck, +3 Defense, +3 Resistance

Tinni: Seven wins, gained five levels: +5 HP, +1 Skill, +4 Magic, +4 Luck, +1 Resistance

Patty: Seven wins, gained two levels: +3 HP, +2 Strength, +1 Speed, +1 Luck, +1 Resistance

Faval: Seven wins, gained two levels: +3 HP, +2 Speed, +2 Luck, +1 Defense

Leif: Seven wins, gained five levels: +7 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Strength, +3 Speed, +2 Luck, +1 Defense

Johan: Six wins, gained levels: +2 HP, +1 Strength, +1 Speed, +1 Defense

Finn: Six wins, gained one level: +1 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Resistance

Ares: Seven wins, gained four levels: +4 HP, +2 Speed, +1 Magic, +2 Luck, +2 Resistance

Not bad, though it’s hard not to be a little sad at the people starting to fall behind; anyone who isn’t a kid and doesn’t have a holy weapon is going to start finding it harder to get all seven wins from now on. Johan, Finn, and Oifey just couldn’t pull through no matter how much I screwed around with the RNG… er… I mean… no matter how… fair I was. On the bright side, though, we do get four brand new promotions!

Larcei, Fee, Arthur, Tinni, and Dermott are also on the verge, having all hit level 19. So basically, it’s hard to look at this as anything but a major win. Go go combat potential! And we will need it, since shit’s about to get fucked.

Here’s the chapter map; we start in the northeast corner, and Hannibal and Altena’s units will start moving toward us immediately. Altena, obviously, we can just talk to with Leif, that’s no biggie. But to recruit Hannibal (of course he’s recruitable, why would you even question that) we need to go save his son from Distler in Luthecia castle. The issue comes from the fact that Hannibal and his own castle are between us and there, and he’s of course hostile. Which means we need to get Seliph and presumably some other units for backup past Hannibal, without killing the dumb bastard, save Cairpre, and get him back to talk some sense into his dad. Again, without killing him. There’s a trick to it, but it’s not guaranteed to work. In general the whole thing is a pain in the ass and frankly it might be better for everyone’s sanity to just kill Hannibal, but that just ain’t how I roll. Let’s do this shit!

First, though, Faval and Patty have a chat.

(I feel like I have to mention she literally used her ability to steal money as the reason Seliph should keep her around.)

Faval: Ugh. Look, I don’t care if you’re just stealing from the enemy. I don’t like you stealing at all! Knock if off, okay?

Patty: What, do you think I like doing this? That I steal for the fun of it?! This army needs to eat, y’know, and we need gold for that! We don’t have all that many options here!

Faval: Yeah, but haven’t you heard what people are saying about you? I’ve caught people mocking you, like being a thief’s a walking punch line… “What else can ya expect from a pirate’s brat? Like mother, like child,” they kept saying. Of course, I wiped the floor them…

Patty: It doesn’t matter what people think, Faval! Let them say whatever they want. Doesn’t change a thing about Mom… and it doesn’t change that she was heir of Ullur the Crusader! I was in tears when Lewyn told me about her… I’ve never been so happy!

Faval: Yeah, me too… y’know, we haven’t exactly had the easiest lives… poor orphans and all that. I never even dreamed our mother could actually be a noblewoman! I don’t suppose you remember anything about her, Patty?

Patty: Nope, not a thing. You?

Faval: Yeah, but… only a little. She was a kind and beautiful woman…

(“And she constantly smelled of the blood of her many, many victims.”)

Patty: So is she… do you think Mom’s dead?

Faval: I can’t say for sure… but as soon as the war’s done with, Patty, we’re gonna go look for her. We’ll find our mother… Bridget… and even though we don’t know his name, maybe we’ll find our father too.

Patty gains +1 Luck from this conversation, and that must be the tipping point because canonically Bridget did survive and they eventually find her. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it’s canon. Look up Fire Emblem: Thracia 776 for details, but I wouldn’t recommend actually playing it.

Now, the majority of the army deploys in standard horde formation and getting ready to stab the crap out of every Thracian, but Fee is going to run off on her own. See, all the map’s villages are directly to the west of the starting castle, across a mountain range, and she’s the only one who can reach it in time to kill the bandits before any of them get destroyed.

Only the one with the axe off to the side will destroy any villages, so we have time, but I don’t want to lose a single one. Some of them have items, if I remember right, and even if they don’t I just blew like a billion gold on making everyone super buff. End turn!

Hannibal: Wait. For the time being we should remain on the defensive. I’d prefer to avoid any needless skirmishes with the enemy.

Lieutenant Palette-Swap: But sir, what about…

Hannibal: … My son. I know, but… for now, I would rather hold back and let the battle unfold, first. My apologies, Kanatz, but I’d like you to take charge of defending the castle.

Kanatz: As you will, sir!

Okay, I guess only Altena moves toward you on turn one. I coulda sworn they both did, but whatcha gonna do? Second verse, same as the first; no enemies are in range, so I move up toward Hannibal’s line and have Fee continue making a beeline straight west across the mountains. Unfortunately, all of hannibal’s units are armor knights, meaning you have to get right up in their noses before they can move far enough to attack you. I suspect next turn will look much the same as this one. End!

Cairpre: Papa doesn’t want to fight! He’s out there risking his life all because of me…

(Cairpre has a distinct, deep misunderstanding of what a hostage is, I think.)

Distler: Silence, boy! If Thracia’s legendary Shield refuses to ply his warrior’s craft of his own will, then we’ll force him to by any means necessary!

Cairpre: Oh, papa… sorry…

Cairpre might be a bit of a loser. Off to the southeast, Altena’s unit moves up again; they’ll be attacking us next turn, and will be intercepted by Tinni, Arthur, Julia, Leif, Nanna, and Faval. The rest of the team moves forward, pausing in the edge of Hannibal’s unit’s movement range on the forest tiles for extra sweet, sweet defense. Oh, and Fee continues her field trip, of course. End turn, and let’s do this!

Hm. Not great. Tinni, you could stand to dodge. And two of the wyverns went off after Finn, because he was on the edge of their range and I didn’t notice. Buuuut, I think we got this. First step, I think, is to wipe out Altena’s unit so Leif can reach her.

Awesome! Now Leif can reach Altena, and…

*twitch* Welp, mountains fucked that one up! Hopefully Altena won’t shank someone to death or try to fight someone who’s invincible.

Okay, I may have to reset this, but for now let’s play as though it’s not a horrible issue. Western front, rock out.

That was not as many kills as I’d been hoping for! This… is going to hurt. But on the plus side, I was already half-planning to reset, so… end turn.

…. Shit. Ares, please go easy on him? Hannibal, please use Pavise! Twice, possibly!

FUCK YOU, you stupid old bastard. Ulster should definitely have died in over the course of this encounter. Did you see how low his health got?! He should not have survived what he did here! And yet, he did. Everything was going not merely fine but miraculously fine. And then this jackass, who I must note had a very solid chance to survive this battle thanks to his broken obnoxious special ability, runs up to commit suicide and just leaves the Pavise behind on the kitchen table, I guess.

I should leave him dead. I should leave him dead.

…

*sigh*

Reset.

To the east, the people who did their fucking jobs last time repeat a smashing victory, with one difference: I don’t fuck up my movement and can get Leif close enough to chat with his sister.

(*snerk* “Waaaaaaait!” What a drama-prince.)

Leif: I… I am Leif, of House Leonster.

Altena: Oh, I see… the famous Prince Leif, is it? In case it wasn’t obvious… and evidently, it wasn’t… I am Altena, daughter of Travant.

(Altena’s snark game is on-point, damn. Though I guess it’s easy to be snarky when your enemy appears to have an unkempt porcupine on his head.)

Leif: Listen to me, Altena! Your true parents are Prince Quan and Princess Ethlyn, whom Travant slew seventeen years ago. You vanished in Travant’s attack, and so too did Gae Bolg, the sacred earth lance of Leonster… the very lance resting in your hand as we speak! Only a true heir of House Leonster can wield Gae Bolg.

Altena: What are you talking about?! Are you seriously trying to claim my true father is my king’s arch-enemy?! That could never be… it mustn’t…

Leif: Look into my eyes. If anything can prove the truth of my words to you, it will be my eyes. Please, sister…

Altena: Fine… What is this…?! I know you’re lying, but… but I can’t bring myself to doubt you anymore…

(This would stretch belief quite a bit, if it wasn’t established by earlier interactions that Crusader heirs with similar bloodlines actually can instinctively sense each other. So it only looks like Leif has brainwashed her with his hypno-eyes.)

Leif: Altena…

Altena: Wait! I… I must speak with Father. I need to confirm this…

(Bad, bad plan, honey.)

Altena: Or was my father really Prince Quan?!

Travant: Feh… I see you’ve found out at last. Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time before this day came. It’s true. Quan did indeed sire you, but what difference does that make? It doesn’t change that it was I who raised you.

(“Am I not the one who has stomped all over your spirit and morals since you were a little girl? Am I not the one who screams at you to slaughter children and the elderly while your heart rots and dies, sick with the weight of your sins? If that’s not fatherhood, what is?”)

Altena: So you… you murdered my parents? Father…

Travant: Heh…. I suppose I did. Quan and Ethlyn died at my hand. Do you take issue with that? War is Hell, Altena. War claims lives. Worrying now won’t change a thing.

(What a dick!)

Altena: Gah… how dare you?! How dare you mislead me all these years, Fath… no, Travant!

Arion: I cannot allow this. If you dare to turn on Father, you’ll have to contend with me first!

Altena: W-wait! I can’t fight you, Arion! I could never-

Arion: It’s too late for you to stand down now. Farewell!

Altena: Nnnngh… Arion…

Travant: … You didn’t just kill her, did you, Arion? You know, you didn’t need to go quite so far…

(Now is when you decide to be a parent?! What a dick!)

Travant: Eh, no matter. I’m going to join the fray, Arion. I suppose there’s little choice now. You’re in charge of defending the castle.

Arion: Understood, Father.

Travant: I’ll entrust this spear to you… and with it, the future of Thracia.

Arion: Hold a moment, Father… this is Gungnir! What is the meaning of this? How do you intend to fight without it? Unless… Father, you can’t be-

Travant: I am. Frankly, Arion, I’ve had enough. Thracia is yours to do with as you see fit. But we don’t need to be hated by their kind…

Arion: Are you seriously suggesting I should seek a truce, Father?! No! Never! To comply with the rebels now would be unthinkable!

Travant: As I said, Thracia is yours. Do as you see fit. All I ask is that you find a way to liberate our people from their suffering. Farewell, Arion.

Arion: … Father…

Yeah, that just happened, and… I kind of hate it. I’m going to be honest, and also going to go off on a little rant again, because this moment always makes me kind of angry. It feels like Travant and Arion swapped personalities for this conversation. See, the thing is, like basically all FE characters, Travant is an archetype; in particular, he is the ‘Michalis.’ A smug, ambitious jackass, almost always a wyvern rider, who really thinks he is the main antagonist but who is generally more of a speed-bump you run down on your way to the real threat. And the thing that defines Michalis types is that they generally aren’t sympathetic in any way. They’re bastards and you enjoy the moment you riddle them with arrows.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with subverting archetypes. If they want to play around and make a character who looks like a Michalis but is actually sympathetic deep down, more power to you! But there is a different between a character being sympathetic, and the game telling us a character is sympathetic. Because King Travant has been a giant bastard in every moment of his appearance in the entire game, a smug ambitious ass who has murdered and betrayed his way through every scene he was in, while looking down on basically everyone around him and showing zero care for any of the many, many of his own men he’s gotten killed. Beyond occasional lip-service to ‘saving Thracia’, he’s shown nothing but bottomless ambition and a willingness to kill anyone who gets in the way of it. And now, all of a sudden, he’s decided to nobly die in battle and leave Thracia in better hands? This is like Sigurd revealing in chapter six that he was actually working for Manfroy all along. It’s just such a sudden, random, and extreme shift in personality, blatantly for the purpose of building up sympathy where there just ain’t none to be found. I generally really like the writing of this game but… wow. The Thracia arc is a hamfisted mess.

Sorry. Angry writer moment. Back to exciting war.

A bit anticlimactic, huh? Still, we crushed the outer edges of Hannibal’s army, and nobody is in his range so there’s no chance of a rampant suicide again. We shoooould be able to crush his entire army in one go on our next turn. Meanwhile, Fee is in the range of the bandits over in the village section, so I thiiink they’ll be attacking her? Unless they don’t move, I can’t remember. Let’s see!

Hannibal: Move in on the invaders! We’ll let them proceed no further!

… You’ve been doing that…

Okay, not bad! Now, Travant is moving up and there’s not much time to prep for that, so I’m going to try to kill Hannibal’s whole army in one go. This will be… a pain, frankly. But if we can do that, Hannibal will go briefly non-hostile as he runs to his castle to get reinforcements. If that happens, you can surround and trap him, since he won’t attack anyone who doesn’t attack him first. Let’s… see how this goes.

…. Almost. I really hope that was enough to trigger Hannibal to retreat. Run away, you old bastard. End… end turn.

Yessssssss. Hannibal didn’t attack, he’s running back to Kapothagia to get reinforcements, and he’s old and cannot run fast. Once our turn starts, we’re clear to surround him, and send Seliph running straight past him to the next castle.

Meanwhile, Fee…

My God she is a tank. How does this keep happening? Pegasus Knights are supposed to be squishy.

Our turn starts, and I ‘recruit Hannibal.’

He still has two soldiers alive, but one is a bow user that I can also trap so Patty might eat him, and the other is a healer with no weapon that Patty will also eat. She needs money and experience, is my point. Patty?

Good girl! Now, Travant’s unit will be hitting us next turn, and he’s a dick, so I’m sending a few units back that way to help out. Dermott, Lester, and Finn should be able to handle it in combination with the killers who are already there.

So here’s the King Douche himself, finally out and killable, but he’s not gonna make it easy on us. He’s a Dragonmaster, the promoted class of dracoknight, and comes with a Silver Lance and Power Ring to play off his already extremely high strength stat. All his relevant stats are pretty solid except resistance, and he comes with two skills that can make him a pain; Nihil, which nullifies all combat abilities (Luna, Astra, etc.) and in addition removes his natural weakness to arrows as a flying unit. On top of that, he has Vantage, so once his health goes down a far enough he’ll always get the first strike. Pursuit too, but he’s not terribly fast, so it’s not as big an issue as it could be. Most of the people who will be fighting him here can outrun him. In addition he has no way to fight at range and his Resistance isn’t great, so mages are his kryptonite in a big way. He’s dangerous, but not beyond belief.

I’mma try to have Leif kill him. You know why.

All right, the turn is mostly set, other than Fee finally getting close enough to save that poor burning village. Go, girl!

I love her so much. End turn!

Why do people even try to fight Fee.

…. Well, I’d like to thank Nanna for scaring the shit out of me, and like to thank every Thracian for being a dick. EVERY ONE.

Okay. Okay. Our turn. To start off? Let’s kill some frickin’ wyverns.

Ooooh, not great. There’s still several wyverns left, and nobody else can attack. If the two wyverns and Travant all go for one person, they could kill them. If ooooooooonly there was some way to stooooooooooop him from LANA GO

Clerics, motherfucker. And that’s that! Travant’s group is basically done for; the two small fries will take their potshots, but the king himself is dead in the water. Boy, that sure was a treacherous and underhanded thing of me to do, paralyzing him from half a mile away with magic. He couldn’t defend himself at all. UWEE HEE HEE HEE HEE.

And now, Fee.

Go Fee! Start flying home to promote, honey, you earned it. Patty continues plinking away at an armor knight while the cleric heals it from a distance, you know the deal; and because I’m not an idiot, I run Dermott back to our main castle and have him stand inside, because wyverns have a huge damn movement range and we’re fighting rather close to it. End turn.

*smile*

Now then, let’s mop up.

(Syyyyympathetic Anti-Villain~)

Travant: What a pathetic fool that Blume was… how could he fail to kill a runt like you?

(SYYYYYYYYYMPATHETIC ANTI-VILLAIN, SUCH A TRAGIC GUUUUUUUUUUY~)

Leif: We meet at last, Travant… I’ve… I’ve await this day for so long. This is what kept me alive all this time… I’ve lived for this alone… to choke the life from you with my bare hands!

(… Damn, go Leif.)

Travant the Sympathetic Anti-Villain: Heh… as foolish as your father. And unlike him, you can’t even wield Gae Bolg against me! You don’t stand a chance! Now hold still! It’s time you learned the last agonies your parents felt at my hands!

Shame you can’t fight, huh dude.

Travant the Tragic Patriot: Ha! How laughable! A common soldier like you could never even scratch me! I take it you’re ready to die, then?

… No, I don’t know how he dodges while asleep. Same way he talks, I guess. Life is a complicated thing. Anyway, Travant is beaten, so with Leif waiting there to kill him slowly, I start splitting the army up. Those who can promote start heading home, while the others head west to help out Seliph as he moves on to besiege a castle by himself. He doesn’t really need help, but they’re gonna need to go there eventually anyway. The enemy can no longer move at all; all our turns will be consecutive until we finish up Hannibal’s castle and/or kill Travant. This update is already too long and Patty is just gonna be plinking away forever, so let’s stick to the highlights of the combat:

Nice! And of course, now story happens.

Arion: My apologies, Altena. I had to give Father a convincing show, to ensure your survival. I had no choice but to deal such a powerful blow.

Altena: Don’t worry, Arion. But where is Fath… King Travant now?

Arion: … You won’t see him again. Father has died in battle.

Altena: He has…? How did it happen?

Arion: You’d be better off not knowing. Father’s heart was an enigma at the best of times…

Altena: … Arion. What do you think I should do now?

Arion: Join prince Leif, your true brother. I’m certain he is still waiting for you.

Altena: Then what will you-

Arion: Altena. This is my fate. There’s no helping it.

Altena: No! You can call for a truce, Arion! Now that Travant is dead, there’s nothing to stop you from seeking peace! And I… I could never fight you!

(Oh god dammit, this isn’t a brotherly ‘I can’t fight you,’ is it.)

Arion: I wish I could, and I would were it not for Father’s final words to me…

(…………….. HE LITERALLY TOLD YOU TO JUST DO WHATEVER YOU WANTED, ASSHOLE.)

Arion: Please, Altena… Go! However, be prepared. Our next meeting will be on the battlefield, and I will not stay my hand!

Altena: Oh… Arion…

(King Arion of Thracia: What a dick!)

And with that, Altena starts flying toward our army to sign up. Since there’s nothing else to do but let Patty continue plinkin’ away, I think we’ll call it a week here. Seliph, do the honors!

Seliph: Who are you? What’s the matter?

Cairpre: I’m Cairpre… I’m General Hannibal’s son. And… wait… aren’t you Lord Seliph, the Liberator!?

Seliph: Indeed I am. If I may ask, Cairpre, why would Thracia imprison one of their own generals’ sons?

(“Because apparently being king of this shitty country instantly turns you into a rampaging douche.”)

Cairpre: King Travant took me hostage. Papa didn’t want to fight your army, so the king threatened my life to force him to fight… please, sir! Please take me to Papa! If he knows I’m safe, then he won’t have to keep fighting! Please, we’ve gotta save him!

Seliph: I see…. Don’t worry. I promise we’ll find him. Move out, everyone! I pray we’ll still be in time to save General Hannibal!

Spoiler for next week’s update: we will. See you then, when we promote like seven dudes, recruit an old idiot and a young awesome princess, and just generally rock out all over whatever is left of Thracia. Go team!

Total Resets: 26. Not sure I should count this since it was Hannibal killing himself on the worst possible target in his range, not anything I did, but I’ve always has a masochistic streak.

Part 23

#Let's Play Fire Emblem #let's play fire emblem iv #Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War #fire emblem 4 #lp #my writing #let's play #long post

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benikoumori · 8 years ago

Text

The Fate of the Phoenix 41

CHAPTER XXI KIRK watched Omne’s hands fight the controls of the Phoenix ship. Spock sat in the auxiliary chair, looking like death warmed over, but feeding Omne figures. It would take the Phoenix ship to survive here, if even it could. “The entry force-tunnel opens and closes in at irregular intervals,” Omne said. “When open it is relatively navigable. This is several degrees tighter than I have known it. It tends to close behind a ship. The traffic is somewhat excessive today.” He was adjusting a vernier control with a steady hand. Kirk saw the Vulcan’s eyes riveted to the tiny shape which was the Romulan scoutship they had just sighted ahead: James. The little scoutship’s right nacelle sheared off and vanished into the force field. The scoutship reeled. Omne set the vernier adjustment and hit the transporter control. Something whined with the sound of strain. Kirk turned in the navigation seat to look at the transporter reception area. For a moment the image of James shimmered there. Omne beefed up the power. The image almost solidified. Kirk could see James frozen at the scoutship controls, still trying to wrestle the disintegrating scoutship. Then the image of James faded out. Kirk whirled in his seat to see the small shape of James’ scoutship shudder, pinwheel—and come apart in pieces. Kirk sat for a long moment unable to look at Spock’s face. Finally Omne said, “The power was not equal to the inward flow of force. Possibly if we had reached the field ahead of him—” He was adjusting the vernier again, and suddenly the secondary viewscreen shifted to a rear view behind their Phoenix ship. There was another small ship being buffeted where the tunnel was not quite so tight. It was still intact, but beginning to shake apart. Omne hit the transporter control. The image of the Commander shimmered, wavered, faded, returned slightly. Spock reached forward woodenly and fine-tuned a secondary cross-circuit, punched in a cross-connect which Kirk thought might blow them sky-high. The image shimmered… Suddenly the Commander came through, still in the position of fighting her controls, and crumpled to the platform. Kirk was there but she was up in a moment, looking into his face. “Why—did you not—transport James?” she grated. “We tried,” Kirk said. She shook her hair back and took a step away from him, and stood wearing that look which Kirk had seen on Spock’s face once or twice. It was on Spock’s face now. The two matching Vulcanoid faces looked at each other with perfect comprehension. “The Omne who wears your face is mine” the Commander said. Spock shook his head. “No. He is mine.” “No,” Kirk said softly. “Mine.” The Commander turned on him bitterly. He could see the naked grief in her eyes—and the fury. “This is the end product of your risk-taking,” she said in her throat. She took a step toward Kirk, and he thought she would explode in violence. Beyond the ache in his own throat he thought that she was right. It was Kirk’s own foolhardiness which had doomed James. How many times had Jim Kirk pulled some fool stunt from which only luck, pig-headedness, or a Vulcan had saved him? Now James was the natural inheritor of Jim’s willful stubbornness, and he had bought the farm which should have been Kirk’s. The Commander saw his pain and something in her eyes relented but did not forgive. But Kirk felt his eye suddenly caught by Omne’s face. The giant’s face was a carved mask of purpose, and the great hands still fought the controls and savaged the accelerator to plunge them faster into the heart of the Anomaly. Kirk suddenly sank to his knees, gasping for breath. And then he understood… Abruptly Spock was there, lifting him up, the Vulcan eyes dawning with the same comprehension. “James!” Spock said. And Kirk gasped and nodded confirmation, then tore away and reeled to grab the back of Omne’s seat, bracing himself. “He’s alive!” Kirk croaked. “I know it,” Omne said. “No thanks to him.” He motioned to the Vulcan but Spock was already moving into the second seat. “Scan for the jettison pod.” “James can’t breathe,” Kirk whispered. The Commander was bracing Kirk. He felt blackness closing in on himself, felt the buffeting and tumbling in his own body. “The resonance?” the Commander asked, her voice barely audible. “For the first time—since that day,” Kirk confirmed, fighting for air. The other identical body reverberated in his own—and it was desperate. James was dying… “Sensors on overload,” Spock said. “They will not register the pod.” Abruptly Omne reached back and put Kirk’s hand on his shoulder. “Guide me,” he ordered. For a moment Kirk groped, disoriented. James had found him once by using the directional quality of the resonance. But that had been in some other hell— Then it was as if Kirk did feel some sense of direction and he steered Omne toward it with his hands. Kirk was slowly blacking out when he heard Spock say, “I have him on sensors.” But the Commander supported Kirk and some thread of consciousness remained. He could feel James’ hand still shoving the accelerator of the jettison pod. Forward— Then there was a tug-of-war of two tractor beams, and Kirk felt James, buffeted and breathless, black out-- Kirk very nearly followed; he was not sure who had won the tug-of-war… After some moments there was a clang. Then something settled into the emergency-handling airlock, and when the pressure equalized the lock opened and the jettison pod’s door blew open. A moment later Spock and the Commander were extricating one extremely bedraggled Human, whose Romulan ears were practically drooping. Kirk felt himself still light-headed from anoxia. The Commander pounded James on the back, none too gently, making him gasp for air. Jim flinched and gasped, too. Spock bent over James just as James’ eyes opened and saw only the Vulcan’s face. “Then I did reach you,” James sighed in a whisper. “How is Trevanian?” Kirk saw the Commander stiffen. The Vulcan also did not look pleased. “You were aware,” Spock said carefully, “that rescue from your friends was behind you?” James’ face wore the look of knowing that it was useless to deny it. “Yes.” “But you launched the escape pod forward to try to reach Trevanian and his kidnapper?” Spock prompted. James shrugged. “I could not leave Trevanian to die—alone with you. When I called to you—I knew you would reach back for me.” Spock nodded. “Of course. Such nobility. You would make quite a splendid hostage. Whom should I ask to come for you?” James’ jaw set. “I know that. But they will come after you in any case.” “Yes,” Spock said, very low. “That is true.” Then James tuned in to something odd in the Vulcan face. “Spock?” And as James snapped fully to clear consciousness he struggled up—and saw the Commander. His eyes widened and finally found Kirk, Omne. For a moment relief and joy struggled with chagrin in James’ face. “Oh, sh—” He cut it off, laughed, cut that off and realized that he could be in trouble. He was looking at the Commander’s face. “Urn,” James said. “Yes. However…” He sighed. “Well, there was Trevanian…” He turned to the Vulcan. “It wasn’t as if you—as if he wouldn’t turn back. No Omne would miss that chance. To take a hostage to fortune against you.” Spock looked at James stonily. James turned to Kirk. “You would understand. I couldn’t leave Trevanian to die alone.” Kirk stood up a little shakily and went to stand over James. “I understand,” Kirk said—and it was at that moment that Kirk saw James sense Kirk’s blazing fury. “Jim?” James said, startled. “But you could leave us” Kirk snapped. “You could go charging off out of the frying pan into the bonfire—and from the bonfire into the blast furnace. What did you think you were doing?” For a moment James looked as if Kirk had hit him. Then the temper they shared flared up. “What would you have been doing? What are you doing—with Omne?” He saw that that had struck home. But Kirk was not stopped. “I didn’t put myself at Omne’s mercy, alone,” Kirk shot back, and then hesitated. “Well, not if I could help it” James smiled. Kirk did not. “I did not go to the Other Omne,” Kirk said. “You saw him use Spock’s body to come after you and to kidnap a dying man. But you would put Spock or the Commander into the Other’s hands. Which of them would not walk in naked and unarmed to go after you if the Other required it?” “As you would, too,” James conceded. Kirk set his teeth. “Never mind me,” he said. “Don’t you know that the Other Omne killed Spock?” James’ eyes suddenly widened and his face went white. “No,” he said. He turned to focus on Spock’s face. “The—Phoenix?” Kirk realized that his anger had made him savage. But he kept seeing Spock’s own lifeless face, knowing how easily it could still be lifeless again, forever. He saw the same fear now in James’ face. “No,” Kirk said. “Omne revived him. Medically.” James shot Omne a look. A trace of color began to come back into James’ face. Then he looked at Spock, seeing some of the ravages of the last days written in his face. “My God,” James said softly. Then he looked at Kirk with a kind of apology. “I’m sorry.” He sat up straight and looked out through the viewscreen. “Then this second Omne is a murderer?” “Yes,” Kirk said. James looked at Kirk, seeing the long vista and the exact enormity of that. “I could not tell him from Spock—then or now,” he said. And Kirk said: “Neither could I.” The Commander moved to James without a word. “You will cease,” Omne said. The voice cut through them all. “Cease,” Omne said. “Strap in. We are about to make planetfall. ‘Fall’ is the operative word.” Kirk saw that their ship was plummeting through swirls of force field toward a planet. The Commander saw it, too, and knew that there was not time to deal with James. She got him into a chair with a force-belt restraint system. Moments later, they crashed. CHAPTER XXI はPhoenix ship の制御盤と戦うオムネの手を見つめていた。スポックは酷く具合悪そうではあるがオムネの影は消え、補助椅子に収まっていた。此処で生き残る為には、それが出来るようになる為にはPhoenix ship が必要なのだ。 ”フォーストンネルの入り口は不規則な間隔で開閉している ” オムネが言った。 ”開いている時は比較的船は通れる。私が知っているよりも数値的にはきついがな。船後部はギリギリだ。今日の航行は幾分過剰なのでな ” 彼は落ち着いた手でバーニャ制御を調整していた。カークは彼らのすぐ前方にあるロミュランの偵察機の小さな姿にバルカンの眼が固定されているのを見た：ジェームズに。小さな偵察機の右ナセルがねじ切れフォースフィールドに消えた。偵察機がよろめいた。オムネがバーニャ調整をセットし、トランスポーターコントロールを打った。緊張したすすり泣きのような音がした。カークがナビゲーションシートで身を捩りトランスポーターのレセプションエリアを向いた。一瞬、そこにジェームズのイメージが輝いた。オムネがパワーを上げた。イメージがほぼ固まった。カークはジェームズが崩壊していく偵察機とまだ組み合い制御しようとしている凍りついた姿を見る事ができた。その時、ジェームズのイメージが消えていった。カークはシートの中で身を捩りジェームズの小さな偵察機が震え、旋回し -- バラバラになったのを見た。カークはスポックの顔を見る事ができず、長い間沈黙し座っていた。ついにオムネが言った、”内側の力の流れに耐えられるパワーではなかった。彼の前にフィールドに到達していれば可能性はあっただろうが -- ” 再び彼がバーニャ調整をし、突然第二ビュースクリーンがPhoenix ship の後部光景に変わった。そこには其ほどきつくはないトンネル内で奮戦しているもうひとつの小さな船がいた。それは無傷ではあったが、ばらばらになり始めていた。オムネがトランスポーターコントロールを打った。指揮官のイメージが輝き、揺れて消えていき、僅かに戻った。スポックがぎこちなく手を伸ばし、第二交差回路を微調整し、クロスコネクトを打つのをカークは無為になってしまうのではないかと考えた。イメージが輝き... 突然指揮官が制御盤と戦っている姿のままやって来て、プラットフォームに崩れ落ちた。一瞬で身を起こした彼女がカークを見つめた、彼の顔を。 ”何故だ -- しなかったのか -- ジェームズを転送は? ” 彼女は怒りを見せた。 ”試みたさ ” カークが言った。髪をかき上げた彼女が彼から離れ立ち上がった、カークがスポックにいちどならず見たことのある表情を纏って。今のスポックの顔にもそれがあった。ふたつ揃ったバルカノイドの顔は互いを完全に理解しあったものだった。 ”貴方の顔を纏ったオムネは私のものだ ” 指揮官が言った。スポックが頭を振った。 ”いいや。彼は私のものだ ” ”違う ” カークが小さく言った。 ”私のだよ ” 指揮官が彼に苦々しく向いた。彼は彼女の眼に見た、剥き出しの悲しみを -- 憤怒を。 ”これが貴方のリスクテイキングの結果だ ” 彼女が喉の奥で言った。カークの方へ進み出た彼女に彼は彼女が感情を爆発させるだろうと考えた。彼の喉の疼きを越えて、彼は彼女が正しいと考えた。カーク自身の無鉄砲さがジェームズの運命を決めてしまったのだ。ジム.カークが幾度も愚かなスタントを行えたのはただの幸運で、そんな彼をバルカンが救っていたからだろう? ジェームズはジムの頑固さを受け継いでカークの物であるべき場を買ってしまったのだ。彼の痛みに気づいた指揮官の中で許すことはできないが何かが折れた。カークは突然彼の眼がオムネの顔を捉えたのを感じた。巨人の顔は決意に固まっていた、そして大きな手が制御盤と戦いAnomally の心臓へとより速く突っ込むべくアクセラレータを猛攻していた。突然カークの膝が沈み、息を求めて喘いだ。そして彼は理解した... 不意にスポックが身を起こした、バルカンの眼は理解に明るくなっていた。 ”ジェームズ ! ” スポックが言った。カークは喘ぎ、しっかりと頷いてよろめく自身を支えるべくオムネのシートの背を掴んだ。 ”彼は生きてる ! ” カークがひび割れた声で言った。 ”わかっている ” オムネが言った。 ”感謝はなしだ ” 彼がバルカンに合図をした時にはもうスポックはセカンド��ートへ移動していた。 ”ジェームズは息ができない ” カークが囁いた。指揮官がカークを支えた。彼は自身に迫る暗闇を、身体が打ち据えられ転がるのを感じた。 ”共鳴か? ” 指揮官のそう聞く声が辛うじて聞き取れた。 ”始めてだ -- あの日から ” 息を吸おうと戦いながらカークは認めた。もうひとつの同じ身体が彼自身に反響する -- その絶望が。ジェームズは死にかけていた... ”センサーオーバーロード ” スポックが言った。 ”ポッドの反応は無い ” 唐突にオムネが後ろに手を伸ばしカークの手を彼の肩に置かせた。 ”案内しろ ” 彼が命じた。一瞬カークは方角を探り手探りをした。ジェームズがかつて彼を見つける為に使った反響による方角検知法だった。だがそれはまた別の地獄があった -- その時、カークが方向を感じとれたのだろう、彼の手がオムネを導いた。ゆっくりとブラックアウトしていくカークがスポックの言葉を聞いた、”彼をセンサーに捉えた ” 指揮官に支えられた事でカークの意識の糸が残っていた。彼はジェームズの手がまだ投下ポッドのアクセラレータを押したままである事を感じた -- 2本のトラクタービームの様に引き合い、カークはジェームズを感じた、打ち据えられ、息ができず、ブラックアウトし -- カークも後を追ってしまいそうだった。彼にはわからなかった、引き合いに勝ったのはどちらなのか。大きな音が起きたのは一瞬後の事だった。そして緊急処理用エアロックが落ち着き、気圧が同等となったロックが開き投下ポッドのドアが風を起こして開いた。一瞬おいてスポックと指揮官がほとんど垂れ下がった様にも見えるロミュランの耳をもつすっかり汚れてしまった人間を救い出した。カークは無酸素状態故のふらつきをまだ自身に感じていた。指揮官がジェームズの背中をぶった、彼に息をさせるために、決して穏やかな力ではなく。ジムもまた身じろぎした。ジェームズの眼が開くちょうどその時、スポックが彼に身を屈め、彼に見えたのはバルカンの顔だけだった。 ”お前にたどり着けたんだな ” ジェームズがため息をつき、囁いた。 ”トレヴァニアンはどうなった? ” カークは身を固めた指揮官を見た。バルカンもまた喜んでいる様子ではなかった。 ”わかっていたはずだ ”スポックが慎重に言った、”君の友人が後を追ってきているな? ” ジェームズの顔はそれを否定しても無駄だとわかっているものだった。 ”ああ ” ”だが君はエスケープポッドを発射させトレヴァニアンと彼の誘拐犯を捉えようとしたと? ” スポックが踏み込んだ。ジェームズが肩を竦めた。 ”トレヴァニアンを死なせる事はできない -- ひとりでお前となんて。私がお前に呼び掛ければ -- 私に手を伸ばしてくるとわかっていたしな ” スポックが頷いた。 ”当然だ。気高い事だ。君はとても見事な人質となる。私は迎えを誰に頼むべきかな? ” ジェームズの顎が引き締まった。 ”わかってる。だがいずれにせよ、彼らはやって来るだろう ” ”そう ” スポックが酷く低い声で言った。 ”真実だ ” その時バルカンの顔にある何か奇妙な事にジェームズが気づいた。 ”スポック? ” 突然意識がクリアになったジェームズが何とか起き上がり -- そして指揮官を見た。彼の眼が見開かれ、カークをオムネを見た。瞬間、安堵と喜びと悔しさがジェームズの顔で戦った。 ”くっそ -- ” 彼は言葉を切り、笑い出し、それも切って理解した、彼が困った状況にある事を。彼は指揮官の顔を見ていた。 ”あぁ ” ジェームズが言った。 ”そうだな。だが... ” 彼はため息をついた。 ”そう、トレヴァニアンが居たんだよ... ” 彼はバルカンの方を見た。 ”あれは君じゃないんだ -- 奴は引き返しはしないだろう。オムネはチャンスを逃さない。将来においての人質をとる ” スポックが石の様にジェームズを見つめた。ジェームズはカークを向いた。 ”君にはわかるだろう。私はトレヴァニアンをひとりで死なせる事はできないと ” 立ち上がったカークが僅かに震え、ジェームズを見下ろした。 ”分かるよ ” カークが言った -- そしてその瞬間、カークの燃える様な怒りをジェームズが感じた事にカークは気づいた。 ”ジム? ” ジェームズが驚いて言った。 ”だが君は私たちを置いて行くことはできた ” カークが鋭く言った。 ”フライパンから飛び出して焚き火の中へ -- そして焚き火から溶鉱炉へ。自分が何をしているのか君は考えたのか? ” まるでジェームズがカークに殴られでもしたかの様な瞬間だった。そして彼らはかっとなった。 ”君こそ何をしているんだ? 何をしているんだ -- オムネと? それが図星をついている事に彼は気づいた。だがカークは止めなかった。 ”私はたったひとりでオムネの慈悲に我が身を置いたのではない ” カークが言い返し、そして躊躇した。 ”あぁ、もし助ける事ができなかったらどうなってたか ” ジェームズが微笑んだ。カークはそうではなかった。 ”私はもうひとりのオムネの元には行けないんだぞ ” カークが言った。 ”君はスポックの身体を使い君を追ってきた彼と死にかけの男が誘拐されるのを見た。それで君はスポックや指揮官の元からもうひとりの手の中に入った。君を追う彼らがもうひとりの要求で丸腰の身ひとつで歩く事がないとでも? ” ”君がそうした様に ” ジェームズが認めた。カークは歯を食い縛った。 ”私の事はいい ” 彼が言った。 ”君はもうひとりのオムネがスポックを殺した事を知らないのか? ” ジェームズの眼がはっと見開かれ彼の顔が白くなった。 ”知らない ” 彼が言った。彼はスポックの顔を見つめた。 ”じゃあ -- Phoenix なのか? ” カークは怒りが彼を残酷にしている事に気づいた。彼はスポックの生気の無い顔を見続けていた、そしてそれが再び永遠に生気を失う事がどれ程容易い事であるかもわかっていた。彼はジェームズの顔に同じ恐怖がある事を見てとった。 ”違う ” カークが言った。 ”オムネが彼を蘇生させた。医学的にだ ” ジェームズがオムネに視線を投げた。それを追ってジェームズの顔に色が戻り始めた。そしてスポックに目を戻した彼は彼の顔に書かれた日々の荒廃を見てとった。 ”何て事だ ” ジェームズがそっと言った。そして彼はカークに謝罪の表情を見せた。 ”すまなかった ” 真っ直ぐ立ち上がった彼はビュースクリーンを見つめた。 ”この第二のオムネが殺人犯なんだな? ” ”そうだ ” カークが言った。ジェームズはカークを見た、そこにある長い展望と確かな非道さを。 ”私にはスポックにある彼を判別はできない -- あの時も今も ” 彼が言った。そしてカークが言った。”私もだ ” 指揮官が何も言わずジェームズへと移動した。 ”止めろ ” オムネが言った。その声が彼ら全員を切った。 ”止めるんだ ” オムネが言った。 ”身体を固定しろ。我々は惑星に落下している。 ’ 落下 ’ は比喩ではない ” カークは船がフォースフィールドの渦を抜け惑星へ向け急落していることに気づいた。指揮官もまたそれに気づきジェームズと問答している時間はない事を悟った。彼女が彼を椅子に押し込みフォースベルトの束縛システムを作動させた。数瞬後、彼らは衝突した。

#The Fate of the Phoenix #Star Trek TOS #Japanese translation

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