#look I might only win this one via every other servant or master being a female but oh well

[fakesurprise]

The Last of Its Kind

It was Master Weylon who almost ruined everything. He was the best hunter across three galaxies, but he could kill interpersonal relations as easily as he murdered the game he hunted.

“What kind of guide is fourteen?!” he demanded, glaring down at the young man.

The odd part wasn’t the guide being fourteen; I knew one person who had been age-locked to three for over a century as punishment. The odd part was that we all knew he was fourteen, without any kind of ping on our personal networks, which meant some weird alien technology on someone who at first glance looked so baseline human it was probably an expensive mod.

“The kind who works at this safari,” the young man replied without missing a beat.

“I am Weylon Arkbright. I demand the best guide you have.”

“That would be me. Everyone else is indisposed. You could say I am the last of my kind.”

I winced. Weylon’s hunting preferences were well known, and infamous in many circles. Weylon stepped forward, the other hunters gone quiet about us. “Is that a joke?” he asked.

“An observation,” the young man replied, staring up without even a hint of fear.

“Good man!” And Weylon patted our guide on the back hard enough to leave bruises.

Earth-prime was said to be the first home of humanity, and for a decade had been just a safari park of animals from the world. Some returned, others grown again. A few aliens species had been added from historical records. Most of the guide was automated and the thirty-three hunters listened impatiently as they scanned the surroundings, waiting to reach the actual hunting grounds.

Weylon had demanded the names and locations of the rarest species, fingers moving deftly over old control discs. He was well over eight feet fall, capable of killing with bare hands as well as weapons, and people forgot just how quick he was in all respects. The other hunters came from a scattering of words and systems, some more interested in seeing the birthplace of their ancestors. Most had brought servants who supplied drink and food and over services as the large safari skiff drifted over the landscape.

“Weylon was telling stories earlier.” I spun to find the guide standing behind me. I am, as a rule, very hard to sneak up on. “Is it true he flashed a word from two systems away?”

I nodded. “He thought he’d killed the Ookla’hai, and when word reached us of at least one being alive still, he said he wasn’t going back to that mudball of a planet for this and ordered a galaxy-class starship to burn the world. The captain owned him a favour, I believe. I have served Master Weylon for some time, but I was not privy to that conversation.”

“And yet you serve him, yes?”

“I deal with the travel, red-tape, smoothing things over. Weylon Arkbright lives for the hunt: everything else gets in the way, so it is my job to prevent that. I am paid well, and learn things that matter to my chosen profession,” I added, because something in his expression seemed almost a judgment.

“Oh?”

“I am a zoologist. It is hard to get into the schools that matter with the wars on. The entire Experium gathered between galaxies, the lack of viable hyperspace paths after the Lacuna Gates were destroyed. There used to be real monsters, even before them. Entities without forms we would understand said to come from Outside the universe; it is Master Weylon’s only wish to find and hunt one.”

“Not a hingari?” the guide asked.

“The hingari are from within the universe and no one has seen one of their shiftships in centuries,” I said.

“That is true,  but they change their shapes. One would think Weylon would have sought one out.”

“Would I, now?” Weylon asked, having heard his name and moved on over. “Hingari die the same as anyone else does, boy.”

“Yes, but if one became you that would be an interesting hunt?” our guide suggested lightly.

Weylon let out his deep, warbling laugh. “A hingari could not be me that well.”

The guide nodded, and conversation shifted to the hunting grounds. The guide moved about through the hunters, talking to all of them easily. Even the Fasur, whose containment suit didn’t entire hide the terrible stench of the species. I almost wondered if the guide was hingari, to be so easy among so many species. But I would have recognized another of my kind.

The safari lasted two days before we reached the hunting grounds. One vast continent of sand and desert. Everything in it wished to kill, and could. The guide explained that it had been remade in a classic form just for safaris, and enough worlds had been named after Australia that a couple of the hunters found malfunctions in their weapons and armours that somehow kept them from the hunt.

I knew Weylon would have words with them later. And other actions. But I could not make their choices for them. We moved out; lush jungles, wild rivers. A thousand biomes blended together in an orgy of death.

“The acid-scarred trees,” Weylon asked. “Explain, guide,” he added, raising his voice.

“There were aliens bred and kept here called Aliens, based on some historical record as I understand that. They proved too damaging to the local environment,” the guide said, arriving via some definitely alien transit jump to appear behind us.

“Ah.” Weylon smiled then. That smile. “I had wondered, when you did not react to the spasm mesh I slapped you with. But to appear from thin air, to be fourteen and known. I know who you are. Jayseltosche, first and last of its kind.”

“I go by Jay, but yes,” the guide said, not moving.

I almost lost my form, rippling for a moment. There were stories, and then there were stories. Every hingari story about Jay just said, ‘run’ and nothing else.

“I had thought I’d find out, if I hunted on enough earth-worlds,” Weylon Arkbright said easily, but had not drawn a weapon, had not activated a single protection.

“I try not to be easy to find.” The guide smiled crookedly, and the smile somehow made everything almost gentle, almost calm. “But you did, and have not tried to kill me so I am curious.”

“I seek an adventure,” Weylon Arkbright said, the words formal. I had not known he knew how to speak in any formal tone.

“I – see,” the guide – Jay – said thoughtfully. “A challenge.”

“You would not count. There are weapons that might hurt you, but kill?” Weylon let out his laugh. “I am not a fool to think I could. But a hunt, against something that could be me. I have listened to many vids about you, and it is said that you sealed all the monsters away. Surely one could be a real hunt?”

Jay blinked. “You are a most peculiar man.”

“More than most know. I change staff often, but the hingari here has remained more than most, in one form or another.”

“What?” I said, barely finding my voice.

“You have certain mannerisms,” Weylon Arkbright said, not unkindly. “And proved very efficient, so I let it go. There are not many of you left, after all the wars, but I doubted you were the last of your kind so there was no reason to kill you.”

I managed a nod.

Jay studied us thoughtfully, then gestured. The air beside him opened up. There was shadow, was light, and wind, and shapes and dreams I have no name for. But something vast came through that caused the sun to dim above us.

It spoke in a voice made of cruel death. Diffidently.

And Jay explained, calmly, his request.

I do not know what the entity was. I do not know what it was meant for. But it became Weylon Arkbright between moments. So well that even I could not tell them apart, and hingari are masters of such perception.

“If I win, I am free,” the Weylon Arkbright growled. The creature, then.

Jay nodded. “Unless you give me cause to imprison you, yes.”

They moved into the bushes. Weylon the hunter, and Weylon the hunter. One driven by freedom, the other by joy.

There were weapons and defences used over the next hour that shook the island until Weylon returned, limping, wounded and tired but ferociously proud.

“It is done.”

And Jay laughed, and the sound was like nothing else I had ever heard before. It took away fear, somehow. It was kind, despite all the stories of Jayseltosche. It was young, despite how very old he must have been.

“Done,” Jay repeated, and only truth danced in his eyes. “He was driven by freedom, but you have been you far longer. And yet, you did not kill him.”

“He will return to the safari. He will be Weylon Arkbright, and my legend will grow with every hunt, with every deed. Until it is so large that he is slain, and my legend grow further because of the stories that will create.”

“And you?”

“I thought I could work here. You are – what you are, and there is a whole universe in need of... what you do. I could keep an eye on this world,” Weylon offered quietly, in a tone I had not known he had in him. “I do not know when I grew tired of being me, but I have. If you are the best, there is nothing else for you to be.”

“Oh, there are always other options,” Jay said, and turned to me. “You had best go and find Weylon and keep him safe. He will need to not make mistakes.”

I stared at Jay, then at Weylon Smith. “I have desires too,” I said as boldly as I dared.

“You will survive. You might even live. It is more than most get,” Weylon said, and there was for the first time a hint of danger in his tone toward me. I was hingari, and we had been the boogeyman of humanity for a long time.

I nodded once, and went into the jungle to find Weylon Arkbright. Who was also the last of its kind.

Sometimes the universe works in ways no one can understand, and fewer imagine.

[kakosindustries]

in which you get some wiser words to ponder over, you consider the nature of texture issues, you think about beastly appendages, you step in a puddle of Dana, and Red Renton “wins” the Ruin-A-Life Drawing. Do Evil Better.

Transcription:

Kakos Industries is ad-free. To help keep it that way, please visit KakosIndustries.com/Patreon, that’s p-a-t-r-e-o-n, and consider a pledge of a dollar or more a month.

Intro: What you are about to hear may inspire you to create your own new political party.

Hello and welcome to the Kakos Industries corporate shareholder announcements. At Kakos Industries, we help our clients and every single living thing down to the microscoping level to Do Evil Better. I am Corin Deeth III, and I am CEO of Kakos Industries. I am now back at my full capabilities, and I have returned to all of my job tasks. This includes testing the monster meat, determining which naked photographs will do the most harm when put on the Internet, stepping on employees that can only be motivated to work when their submissive fantasies are fulfilled, and looking at an enormous number of reports and formulating where the company should go to maximize both profits, and general nastiness throughout the world. I am also, for whatever reason, consulted any time the carpet needs to be replaced, which is relatively often. And not just when that carpet is in my recording studio and stained with my blood after my closest ally shoots me. After seeing how capable Junior is, we gave him a few new responsibilities. We put him on certain divisions as a consultant. He does have good ideas and he does know Evil, even if he is a bit strange at times. He has helped the Division of Automata to create a new android servant, that, by my estimation, is just a fancy sex toy. He helped the Division of Hygiene to invent a hose attachment that, when the hose is turned on, will pretty much clean anyone or anything that water hits. He also helped the Division of Tactile Textiles to make an even smoother fabric. He has some texture issues. And most recently, he has locked himself in his cave because he hates working. He wanted responsibility, but then it was too much effort, I guess.

Soundman Steven is back to his former stature. You see, new shareholders out there, when we built this fine facility where we record and transmit my voice to you via whatever strange and high concept device you have received, he was so impressed with the gear that his heart grew three sizes, and he became quite erect. This erection was first viewed as a nuisance by anyone   who had to work with him or otherwise accidentally bumped into it. But once we all learned that it meant us no harm, we became inspired by it. It became a mascot. Look, people would say, at what Evil has produced. An unyielding, ever present icon of what Evil can do. People would work harder after seeing it. Posters of it were created by adoring fans and posted around the building to inspire all of us to be at our best. And then, I shot it. I needed some quick Evil, and I was desperate and perhaps a bit myopic, and my aim isn’t very good, so I shot it. We gave him a new one, but it seemed that the bond of trust he and I had developed was broken, and without it, the erection could not return. Until Soundman shot me. Not in the dick, just in the leg, but I’m told I could have died. The memory of that violence has been keeping him strong and proud, and most importantly erect. No, Soundman, I’m not going to mention the shame that you feel. I have forgiven you. So we have him back. And that is quite possibly the most important thing.

Today’s broadcast is coming to you from the particularly pungent aroma from a permanent marker we mailed you. No, we didn’t expect you to inhale it on purpose. It is strong enough that when you opened it to see what was inside or how it might write, you caught a sufficient whiff to let us get into your head. This chemicals are very sensitive to radio frequencies, and by modulation them very carefully, we can change what your mind is perceiving as far as sound goes. You are almost certainly completely blind at the moment, but that should pass, assuming you were sighted before. I would recommend not trying to get up to do anything, and I do apologize if you were driving. The Internet tells me that this might be a decent time for your to try to beat Punch Out. This product comes to us from a collaboration between our Division of The Cheapest Thrills, and Marker Island, a company that only makes markers, and never pens. If you are not a shareholder, then it is possible that your mind is not fully calibrated to resist the allure of smelling even more of this marker. The broadcast will then grow much louder inside your head, ultimately resulting in serious damage to your brain. Shareholders will of course know their limits by now and cap up the marker for the time being.

The Division of Figuring Out What All of These Keys Go To has unlocked another Kakos Industries rule book. Well, I shouldn’t call it a rule book. It say The Kakos Industries Book of Proverbs, and is then followed by two diamonds. I have no idea if these diamonds are just a decoration, or maybe an indication that this is volume two. According to Grace Rule, our contracts master, this book tastes quite official, and we must take it seriously. The trouble is that the proverbs have been encrypted. Or they are in a character set we do not understand just yet. It is taking us some time to translate the proverbs, but I have the first completed on here. It reads “It is better to be a two-headed bear feasting on wolves than to be a coyote eating a cottontail rabbit.” Grace was unable to tell me exactly what this meant and what we should do about it, but it gives us something to think about. I will be sure to give you updates as I get them.

The Shareholders’ Ball, as always, was a blast. It was a great way to celebrate having been CEO here at Kakos Industries for the past five years. There was one snag, though. When it came time for the blood orgy, I found myself surrounded by interesting and beautiful people. That’s not a bad start at all. I was ready. But I have a bit of trouble just diving in without getting to know people a little bit. It’s far more interesting to be romantically involved with someone you know and perhaps care a little about. It adds something extra to what can otherwise seem kind of mechanical. And the issue was, they all had the same name. Or similar names, I suppose. If you’ve been following along with my personal stories during these broadcasts, then you probably know what I’m about to say. There was Tabitha, Tabitha, Tabbs, Tabbi, Tabby, Tubs, Tiber, and maybe a few others. Now, it seemed to me as though the basement ballroom started to run away from me, bringing the exit door ever closer, but I think in hindsight I have to admit that I was probably just fleeing on foot. Once I found a place to hide and catch my breath, I had some time to clear my head and think. This has been too many coincidences. This has been too strange. But it can’t be something big and scary. I thought back to the people that Bernice Largo, the head of my support staff, must have hired to see to my sexual needs. What if they have all taken on a name to signify their goals? But I have to say that, if this is true, Bernice has made a terrible mistake. I have missed out on more opportunities due to this fear and frustration than I would have for any other reason. Unless that is actually the point. Perhaps I was supposed to be freaked out. Perhaps it has nothing to do with my sexual needs, but instead what makes me the most Evil. I will need to do some looking into this. It may be true that this makes me more Evil than anything else. But it may also be true that knowing this has ruined the experiment. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Bernice. It seems that she has been out of the office. For a while. Like, a really long time.

The Chili Cook Off didn’t go according to plan. There was some sort of hang up and most regular attendees were late. Something to do with our transit network. Junior was not late, and he had finished almost all of the Chili by the time anybody else got there. On the plus side, we did get to enjoy the remaining aroma in each of the pots. Some were quite spicy, and definitely Evil.

We are now making preparations for the Celebration of Affirmation, which is ordinarily the celebration where we say nice and reaffirming things to one another. While this is fine, I gave the Division of Dionysia a challenge. I said, what if we affirm ourselves through actions instead of words? The head of the division scratched his chin and thought for a moment before going off to start working on some ideas. We shall see what comes of this.

We are also preparing for the Big Black Hole celebration. It is usually a good time to remind ourselves what Evil can do when we don’t apply it carefully and thoughtfully. It reminds us that an experiment can go wrong, destroy a whole branch of the company, and create a wormhole to Costa Rica. Or wherever the hole goes now. The dirt was grape flavored, but it is now strawberry flavored. And, you know, dirt flavored.

I have just received word that they have translated and/or decrypted another proverb. “The wind is best when it dries your enemy’s skin. Best to invest in emollients.” Huh. That one seems pretty straightforward, but perhaps I am missing something.

Last time, Junior discussed Dana Govern in great detail. She is the woman who was given a staggering number of genetic modifications, and we have just sort of been waiting to see what would happen. Most of the time, she just seems to be a woman. Late thirties. Average figure. Generally attractive, but not in an unusual way. We have had some strange reports. One person claims they saw her grab her lunch from the fridge using one of her many tentacles. She does not have any tentacles. Another person reported seeing her cook a meal by setting her hand on fire. She has no severe burns. Another person claims to have stepped in a puddle, but then there was only Dana on the ground. This is all very exciting, though we have yet to catch any of it on video. So far, our most reliable way of finding her at any given moment is using Junior’s nose. I’m not sure how he finds her, but he always finds her.

Kimzzzzzzzzzzz has eased up on the dyed hair thing. I think she just got bored of it, because we’ve been refusing to pay her off. Now, the only thing that matters about you is how glamorous your nails are. Your face doesn’t matter, your hair doesn’t matter, your hygiene doesn’t matter. It’s only your nails. Long nails with fine decorations and intricate artwork are the best. I do not like having anything on my nails. It’s a texture thing. So I’m really unappealing right now. Except to people named Tabitha, apparently.

We now know that Meredith Gorgoro is alive. For those of you who are new, Meredith Gorgoro was in charge of the labor camp we built in a huge cavern we dug once looking for the biblical Hell. We caught her on camera again. But where she lost her left arm, she has now replaced it through some sort of field surgery with the arm of one of the monsters she has slain. It is an enormous and powerful arm, covered in white fur, and the skin underneath appears to be green. And from what we caught on the drone footage, it would appear that she can control it incredibly precisely. I probably don’t have to tell you this, shareholders, but an attachment like that would require meticulous and excruciating work attaching all of the nerves to their new destinations. But there she is. With a monster arm. I’m a little jealous, but I don’t know exactly why. It looks really cool. It would be hard to type with it, but I think I would get my way in meetings a lot more often if I would just whip that baby out any time someone questions me. Oh, you don’t think lemon skin is inedible, well, fuck you. Monster arm. Wait, maybe we should market monster arms. That would be sick.

I walked in on a heated argument between Jasmine Aashna and Dr. Dunkelwissen, head of the Division of Erotic Experiences and rogue scientist respectfully. I got the impression what they were arguing about wasn’t what they were really arguing about. They are still trying to answer the question “What is most sex?” but it doesn’t seem to be going very well. From what I could gather, they are having a hard time narrowing down any physical activities that can be said to always be sex, or super sexy sex. Yet the mental and emotional stuff lacks a certain edge necessary to be the most sex of all sex. They turned to look at me. I gently waved and saw myself out. For what it’s worth, on their whiteboard, they had the phrase “really long nails?” written and underlined several times. I can’t know for certain what that means out of context, but I felt like passing it along anyway.

They say that Evil once released a hundred thousand balloons, each destroying the drive and ambition in someone nearby when it fell to the Earth. This is Things We’re Taking Credit for Now. Today, we are taking credit for social media celebrities, an undying desire to be adored, and butt bleach. Now, you might be thinking, that seems a little unreasonable. With the exception of butt bleach, those other two things seem like they probably come about on their own. Well, you should stop right there. Stop thinking like that. Because thinking like that gets your butt extra bleached. And nobody needs that. We did these things. We made them. They’re ours. And extra butt bleaching kills.

Red Renton has won today’s Ruin-A-Life Drawing. As a result, Raz Razelton, the selected target of Red Renton, will have his life ruined. We gave the Wheel of Misery a nice pep talk, and then a mean spin. It landed on the space for Undecipherable. From this day forward, or as soon as the Damnation and Ruination Squad can get it done, Raz Razelton will be 97% more undecipherable, feeling the need to speak in ways where his meaning cannot be easily detected or understood. This will get annoying fast. For Evil measure, Red Renton will speak 22% more plainly, losing a little bit of tact in the process. Congratulations on the win and best of luck.

This brings us to the end of our broadcast. In a few minutes you will be permitted to destroy this marker. I will say it is excellent for writing your handle on toilet seats or bathroom mirrors, but you might go blind again in the process. Kind of hard to get away when that happens. Anyone who wasn’t a shareholder is almost certainly dead by now. The numbers are next.

18

22

23

44

56

73

122

199

337

338

449

567

3

Don’t cut the feed yet, Soundman. I just got another proverb. It says when the star Burgeron is closest to the Dark Planet, and the moon is at its highest point near Fuffeni, and a cool mist sweeps across the land, it shall be time to party hard. Let me just take a peek out of the window here. Wait, that one must be Burgeron, and… yes, Fuffeni, the dark planet, and the moon is so close! Call the Division of Dionysia! There’s not much time! We need to party! We have to party! It has been foretold. Or proverbed. There is no time to waste!

Credits: Kakos Industries is written and produced by Conrad Miszuk, who is also the voice of Corin Deeth, and the composer of the music. The introduction is read by Kim Aiello, and the credits are read by Kelsey Kemmer, know detangler extraordinaire. Please visit KakosIndustries.com for news, extras, and more episodes. There are also transcriptions on the website if you’d like to read along with the Kakos Industries announcements. That’s K-A-K-O-S-I-N-D-U-S-T-R-I-E-S dot com. Please visit store.KakosIndustries.com for merchandise and special offers and get wonderful benefits by becoming a subscription donor at kakosindustries.com/patreon. Questions, comments, or a strong desire to collaborate? Drop us a line at inquiries@kakosindustries.com. If you like Kakos Industries, be sure to rate and review us on your favorite podcasting service, and connect with us on YouTube (YouTube.com/KakosIndustries), Facebook (facebook.com/kakosindustries), Tumblr (kakosindustries.tumblr.com), and Twitter (@KakosIndustries). We encourage fan art and listener participation on all our social media platforms. Please visit our website for cast details and the credits for all of our social media contributors.

Special thanks to our esteemed shareholders Iain Croall, Dan Shumway, William Brandon, Floyd Singh Power, and Jack Attack. Also thanks to honored employee Dorkpool Dorkuss, who made sure to distribute valentines to everyone who wasn’t going to get one otherwise, and Chris Leclerc, who reorganized the DVD collection after they all catastrophically fell from the shelves. And thanks to our division heads Britney Garcia, head of The Division of Beanies, Booties, and Construction Projects That Are Probably Too Large for Yarn, Valerie Koop, Director of the Division of Inappropriate Games to Play in Public, Patrick Green, head of The Division of Oceanic Micro-Cryptozoology, Carl H, Director of the Division of Unanswered Messages, Xavier Jarman, Director of The Division of We Know Magic Doesn’t Exist But We’re Going to Keep on Trying, and Craig Czyz, director of the Division of Obscure Vintage Technology. The Division of Beanies, Booties, and Construction Projects That Are Probably Too Large for Yarn has begun designing a ferris wheel. It sounds even scarier than normal ferris wheels.  The Division of Inappropriate Games to Play in Public has introduced The Real Life Drinking Game. Whenever your boss says something passive aggressive, take a shot! The Division of Oceanic Micro-Cryptozoology has lost the puddle-cabra, and are now much more focused on the unicorn actinopod. It uses its horn to gather food. The Division of Unanswered Messages has ignored their morning alarm for sixteen months. In that time, they’ve gotten up and went to work, but the whole time, their alarm has been going off, annoying many. The Division of We Know Magic Doesn’t Exist But We’re Going to Keep on Trying has begun using a Divining Rod to look for wells all around Kakos Industries. So far, there are no new wells, but many new holes. The Division of Obscure Vintage Technology has dragged out the old crate of 78s. The crate is only the finest pressings of people’s last words. They are truly haunting. Our esteemed shareholders, honored employees, division heads, and other Patreon patrons are the best. If you want a thank you in the credits, your own division, or other great rewards that help to keep this show running, please head to Kakosindustries.com/patreon. That’s Patreon: p-a-t-r-e-o-n.

Kakos Industries can be heavy sometimes. Try flipping off a wild animal to bring about catharsis.

[shannaraisles]

In Marcher Fields - Chapter 23

Poppy Hawke was never the daughter her mother wanted, the sister her twin preferred, the hero Kirkwall desired. They do not see the woman who stands between them and the chaos that threatens. No one takes the time to look, until she crosses the path of a certain Knight-Captain with demons of his own to battle …

[Read on AO3]

9:42 Dragon, Solace

Skyhold was so quiet without the majority of the Inquisition in residence.

Poppy was uncomfortably reminded of Kirkwall in the days following the Qunari invasion, a population discovering slowly just how much had been lost in the chaos, a stillness covering everything for days. There was no such mourning here and now, of course - indeed, the Inquisition had just achieved a victory over Corypheus in the Arbor Wilds. But most of the Inquisition were still in the Arbor Wilds, dealing with prisoners, ferrying the wounded safely out of harm's way. The only reason she was in Skyhold was because she had outright refused to be left behind when Cullen had joined the rest of Xena's inner circle to rush ahead to the fortress.

But there was a restlessness hanging over Skyhold. Corypheus' army had been defeated, not Corypheus himself. No one knew better than Poppy that he would not give up so easily.

She pushed away from the gatehouse battlements, turning back to look into the lower courtyard, quietly agitated in herself. Xena and her advisors were closeted in the war room; the rest of the inner circle were in their accustomed places around the fortress, each waiting to be told what the next step would entail. A skeleton crew of guards and servants made the fortress seem far less populous than it had been just a few weeks before. But that lack of people made unknown faces very easy to spot.

It was a dwarf that had caught her attention. Ordinarily, dwarves were a regular sight in Skyhold, the much-needed connection to the lyrium supply from Orzammar, but this one ... there was something furtive in the way he moved. He walked with purpose, certainly, but kept glancing around, as though expecting to be challenged at any moment. Poppy's eyes narrowed.

Best not to disappoint him, then.

Passing through the unused gatehouse and down the steps into the upper courtyard, she lengthened her stride to intercept the furtive dwarf as he reached the top of the wide steps from the lower courtyard. He stuttered out an apology as she ran into him, barely catching his breath before her hand clamped onto his shoulder and dragged him back under the arch of the stairway that lead to the keep proper. Bearded and tattooed - Carta, or casteless-turned-exile, she realized - the dwarf glared up at her as Poppy pressed him against the stone.

"Who sent you?" she asked, pleasant enough for the time being.

"Messenger from the camp," he answered her in a gruff tone, though she noted he was clever enough not to try and pull out of her grasp.

"Nice try," Poppy countered. "But you're not wearing any insignia I recognize, and you move like someone worried about being caught. Now ... there are two people who could have sent you that immediately spring to mind. One of them will result in you being put in the cells; the other will result in you turning around and taking a message back from me. Lying to me will result in more than a few bruises. You look like a clever lad. So who sent you?"

She could see the options flickering through the dwarf's mind - was his employer worth getting himself beaten up by the Champion of Kirkwall? No one was worth that. Inviting the woman who had killed the Arishok to kick the Void out of you was stupidity worthy of a prize, and they both knew it. He sagged a little under her grip, pulling a neatly-folded letter from his pocket. Poppy glanced at the initial written on it, and felt a part of herself growl. Bianca.

"Where is she?" she demanded, her grip tightening on the dwarf's shoulder. "In the camp?"

He winced at the bite of her fingers through his cloak. "Not here, messare," he swore vehemently. "Traveling with her husband."

"But she found the time to write this and send it here," Poppy pointed out with a scowl. She considered her captive for a moment. "Are you her courier of choice?"

The dwarf cleared his throat awkwardly. "For Ferelden and the Marches," he told her. "Personal courier."

"How many of these letters have you delivered to Varric over the years?" she asked suspiciously.

"Too many," he admitted. "It's steady money, messare."

Poppy paused, thinking over her options. She knew that Varric had called it off with Bianca, not simply because he had begun a relationship with Xena - who, in her opinion, deserved her friend infinitely more than the smith who had kept him hanging for years - but also because he had shown her the letter he had sent to Bianca making his position absolutely clear. That Bianca would disregard his request to cut all ties was enough to make Poppy angry. But she could see a way to deal with it while preserving Varric's opinion of the woman he had once loved.

"That steady money should have dried up already," she told him honestly. "Varric wants nothing more to do with her, and I will not allow my friend to be badgered and prodded at by someone who forfeited her right to his attention years ago. I am going to burn this letter. You are going to assure her that you delivered it. I am sure she'll send another one when she gets no reply. You will burn it. You will burn every letter she gives you to give to Varric, and you will swear blind that you delivered them. And I won't hunt you down and make you regret ever lying to me. Are we clear?"

His eyes narrowed as he looked up at her. "What do I get out of this, messare?"

Poppy bent down until she was glaring into his eyes from barely an inch away, her voice low with menace. "To walk away."

The dwarf swallowed, apparently not needing much time to weigh his options at this point. An offer to have your ability to walk removed by a human legend in her own lifetime could do that.

"Right you are, Messare Hawke," he agreed. "Tethras won't get another letter from her via my hands."

"Glad to hear it." Poppy straightened, removing her hand from his shoulder, and jerked her head back toward the gatehouse and the bridge to the mechanized lift. "Sod off."

The unfortunate messenger did just that, taking the steps back down to the lower courtyard a good deal faster than he'd come up them. Poppy frowned, looking down at the letter in her hands. It was so tempting to open it, to find out exactly what Bianca thought she was doing, but at the same time ... these were private words. They were words that were not meant for anyone but Varric, and though Poppy had no intention of letting him find out they had ever been written, she wouldn't betray her friend by reading them.

"Although it really doesn't surprise me that she doesn't understand what the word "no" means," she muttered to herself, inserting one corner of the folded and sealed parchment into the flame of the nearest torch.

And, without warning, green light flashed across the world, a ponderous crack of thunder following it as high above the clouds swirled, horribly familiar to anyone who had looked up at the sky following the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The burning parchment dropped from Poppy's fingers as he head snapped up, hearing the cursing that rose from everyone in this outer area.

Corypheus.

So he had surfaced. Too arrogant to run and hide, to lick his wounds and try again years from now, he was forcing a confrontation. And by the look of things, he had gone back to Haven to reopen the Breach.

She felt a flare of anger that her mistake had come back to haunt so many people all over again, her feet already moving toward the armory. She wasn't the only one headed in that direction - Iron Bull, Sera, Blackwall; they were all moving to collect their weapons, expecting to accompany the Inquisitor to this final confrontation. Poppy glanced up at the window of the war room, seeing Josephine's frightened face, Leliana's impassive wariness at her back.

A few minutes later, and she was ducking out of the armory, settling her armor and weapons about herself, unsurprised to be stepping aside as Xena and Varric hurried past her to arm themselves. Servants were bustling, throwing together packs for the journey down to the site of the Inquisition's first defeat; on the other side of the bailey, she could hear Master Dennet and his grooms preparing the mounts for their party. And there was Cullen, stone-faced, worry in his eyes as she tightened the last buckle and moved to join him for these few moments.

"I have to go," she told him before he could open his mouth to argue. "Corypheus was my mistake in the first place. I have to be there."

"I know." Cullen's sigh was heavy, but accepting, his hands falling to her shoulders as he looked into her eyes. "I want to come with you, but ..."

She reached up, gently curling her fingers to his cheek. "I know," she promised, drawing him down to press her brow to his. "We're going to win this, Cullen. I am coming back."

"Maker, please ..."

Heedless of any curious eyes that might turn to them, he pulled her into his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she wrapped her own arms tight about him. She could feel him trembling, knew he could feel her shaking in answer. This was a fight she might not come back from ... but she refused to admit that aloud. She had lost too much not to have earned her happy ending. Not even Corypheus was going to keep her from having that promised home with her husband at long last. She just had to see this through to the end that loomed over them.

"Hawke."

Varric's voice as he passed, his hand on her back, drew her out of that embrace, a warning that there would be no waiting for her if she missed their departure. Cullen stiffened, his lips warm against her temple before he let her step back. No more words - everything that needed to be said between them had been said too many times before. All that remained was hope; hope that there would be no more need for such words when she returned again.

Poppy nodded to her husband, falling into step with the rest of Xena's motley crew, all of them somber with the knowledge that this really was the final confrontation. Riding out of Skyhold, turning their faces to the looming threat of the Breach, they all knew just one thing ... it was Corypheus or the world.

No more chances.

[ma-bien-aimee]

The Destiny of the Rose

In contrast to the manga’s storyline, in the anime, the pilot episode is entirely dedicated to Oscar’s internal turmoil over having to choose between being a man or a woman for the rest of her life.

Apparently, the producers of the anime wanted to insert a backdrop story to hint at Oscar’s upcoming struggle to come to terms with her womanhood and accept her true gender. I must say that they did a wonderful job! "Oscar, the Destiny of the Rose" is a great introduction to the overall mood and feel of The Rose of Versailles and to the characters of Oscar and André.

On this page, I will walk you through the episode with a few comments here and there about the events that take place. If you are new to The Rose of Versailles, I hope that my comments encourage you to give this remarkable anime a go. There are no spoilers for the rest of the story. If you are familiar with the series and this episode, I would very much like to hear what you thought of it in the comments.

Disclaimer: The anime scripts have been taken from the subtitles in the North American DVD release by Right Stuf, via Nozomi Entertainment. The script and stills are featured here only for the purpose of providing insight into the subject matter I am attempting to analyse in this post.

***

The episode starts off with Oscar’s birth. Her father, General Jarjayes is fed up with having only girls and no boys to bequeath the family’s military legacy. So he comes up with a brilliant (!) idea: He is going to make Oscar his heir and raise her as a boy.

Fourteen years pass and Oscar is now a beautiful teenage “boy,” living a carefree life, practicing sword fighting all day long with her companion and servant André. Although she is at the age to be introduced at court, she has no interest in going to Versailles. However, General Jarjayes seems to have other designs for her daughter.

Meanwhile, the King of France and the Empress of Austria are negotiating an alliance by marrying Archduchess Marie-Antoinette and the Crown Prince of France, Louis-Auguste. Once Marie-Antoinette arrives in France, she will need a royal guard as protector.

The audience is given to understand that General Jarjayes has long ago requested King Louis XV to appoint Oscar as Commander of the Royal Guards to be Marie-Antoinette’s protector. The king says that Count Girodelle’s son is also a candidate for the same position. He proposes to arrange a public duel between Oscar and Girodelle and to appoint the winner as Commander. General Jarjayes accepts.

Back in the Jarjayes mansion, Oscar is seen dubiously eyeing a white military uniform neatly folded on the back of a chair, while her father eagerly tells her about his plans for her to be Commander of the Royal Guards and how he is confident that she will beat Girodelle in the duel. When finally asked for her opinion, Oscar flat out tells that she doesn’t want to “babysit” a girl.

General Jarjayes is not pleased. Apparently, he is not used to being disobeyed, especially by his daughter. He yells at her to pull herself together and violently pushes Oscar back, causing her to roll down a flight of stairs in the hallway. Hearing the commotion, Nanny, André and other servants come out of their quarters to see what is going on. Oscar, gasping for breath, slowly stands up and apologizes to the servants for creating a scene.

On the day of the duel, Girodelle is on his way to the duelling arena along with his servant, when he comes upon Oscar, patiently waiting for him alone under a huge cherry tree in bloom. (Remember, every anime has to show a sakura tree in the pilot!) Here is the dialogue that ensues:

OSCAR

I have been waiting for you, Captain Girodelle. I'm Oscar François de Jarjayes.

GIRODELLE

Oh, I've heard the rumors, but you are as beautiful as they say. Let us hurry then. The palace snobs are eagerly waiting to get a glimpse of you.

[Girodelle continues on horseback. Oscar, still very calm, speaks without looking at him.]

OSCAR

Captain Girodelle, I do not wish to become the Commander of the Royal Guards.

[Girodelle stops his horse and turns around, looking amused.]

GIRODELLE

Oh, is that so? That's very wise of you. Then, I will inform them that you have withdrawn your bid.

[This time, Oscar looks up.]

OSCAR

However, I'm not running away because I'm afraid of you.

[Girodelle blinks.]

I'd like to prove that to you at least.

[Girodelle, still looking amused, makes the worst mistake of his life and attempts to mock Oscar, laughing at her face.]

GIRODELLE

So you would like to have our match here? Did you hear that?

SERVANT

I would advise against that, Mademoiselle Oscar.

[Oscar doesn’t flinch. At all.]

OSCAR

If you haven't figured it out, let me explain further. I do not wish to shame you in front of a large crowd.

[Girodelle stops laughing. Oscar looks at his back with a steely glint in her eye.]

Or are you afraid of losing to a woman?

[Long pause. Girodelle finally descends from his horse.]

GIRODELLE

If you wish it, I am willing to accept your challenge. But how could I possibly point a sword at your beautiful face—

[Oscar suddenly points her sword at a shocked Girodelle.]

OSCAR

Please accept. I may be a woman, but I am still a warrior. This is the only way to protect my honour!

[Girodelle seems to have grasped that Oscar is indeed serious.]

GIRODELLE

I see. I accept your challenge.

[Oscar lowers her sword. Tense pause. Girodelle draws his. And they begin.]

Very dramatic indeed. Needless to say, Oscar wins. Girodelle’s servant rushes to the duelling arena and tells the impatient crowd that Oscar challenged his master to a duel in the woods.

I would like to pause here for a bit. At this point, the audience comes to the conclusion that Oscar is proud and that she will go out of her way to make a point. She doesn’t want to be Commander of the Royal Guards but her pride compels her to make sure that her opponent understands that she is declining the position not because she is afraid of losing, but because she just doesn’t want it.

Also, notice how André is not by Oscar’s side, while Girodelle is with his servant. This tells me that she is truly doing this on her own. She is also too proud to tell André why she doesn’t want the position. Perhaps she can’t even admit the real reason to herself. By then, the audience must have gathered that there is more to just “not wanting to babysit a girl.” But Oscar has never been the confiding type. That’s why André is so good at reading her.

So why doesn’t Oscar want to wear the uniform and become Commander of the Royal Guards?

Back in the Jarjayes mansion, General Jarjayes beats Oscar up for humiliating him in front of the court by not showing up at the duel, which is a direct infraction of the king’s orders and is therefore treason. He leaves by telling her to be prepared for whatever the king might decide as penance for her actions.

Meanwhile, apparently upset over the tension in the mansion, Nanny is drinking herself to oblivion. André tries to stop her from grabbing the bottle of wine and hears her muttering to herself that Oscar’s heart is waging a battle between the choice to be a man or a woman. André thinks these words over as he goes up to Oscar’s room.

Oscar is seen looking at her mother’s portrait in her room when André knocks at her door. She quickly sits down and grabs a book, pretending to be reading. Evidently, she doesn’t want to be seen staring at the portrait of her mother. André enters and the two begin chatting about nothing in particular. Just then, a storm gathers outside blowing the curtains through the open window. A melancholic calm descends as Oscar and André stop talking and look out to the cloudy sky. André moves to close the shutters, but Oscar stops him and tells him this:

“Things seem fine when you're focused on running. But when you suddenly stop and look down at your feet, you wonder where you're headed to... Has that ever happened to you?”

These words speak volumes. It is one thing to dress up as a boy and do what boys do, sword fighting and whatnot, but it is another to wear the military uniform and become a soldier, the ultimate male profession, for life. Indeed, Oscar has no interest in what other girls in her age do, but she is mature enough to stop and actually think about where this path will lead her in the future. She has never denied that she was born female and she has already proven to herself and others that she is as capable as any man. But she has never claimed to be a man either. She is just not sure what being born female might entirely entail and wants to choose her path wisely.

When André doesn’t answer, Oscar tells him that he must be wondering why she still hasn’t put on the military uniform. So she is going to confide in him, eh? I wish… “Why should I have to babysit a girl?!” she bursts out angrily and throws her book at the wall in frustration. André, perceptive as ever, asks her if that is the real reason she is refusing to put on the uniform, but refrains from saying anything more when she glares daggers at him. Oscar tells him to leave and he does, silently wishing her good night.

That night, a messenger delivers to General Jarjayes the news that the king has pardoned Oscar and appointed her as Commander of the Royal Guards when Girodelle, who apparently admitted his defeat, suggested that nobody but Oscar is fit for the position. General Jarjayes shares the news with André and tells him to do whatever it takes to persuade Oscar to wear the uniform as she cannot run away any longer. Oscar overhears her father’s words as she is eavesdropping from the windowsill outside André’s room under the pouring rain.

The next morning, André meets Oscar at the stables and offers to go for a ride. Together they ride to the countryside. They lie on the grass near a lake and reminisce about their childhood. When the two fall silent again, André picks up a blade of grass and starts to whistle through it. Oscar tells André to stop beating around the bush and tell her what he has been meaning to. When André seems confused about this sudden outburst, Oscar irately asks him why he is not telling her outright to wear the military uniform. André, resentful at Oscar’s tone, tells her not to wear the uniform if she doesn’t want to. Oscar stands up and goads André even further, accusing him that by telling her not to wear the uniform, he expects her to perversely decide to wear it instead.

André has had it this time. He also gets up and hits Oscar, who hits him back apparently looking for a fight. André silently urges Oscar to punch him as hard as she can to let her frustration out. The two exchange blows until they both collapse on the ground out of exhaustion. Lying side by side and gasping for breath, they slowly regain their senses.

André reaches out and takes Oscar’s hand in a gesture of truce. Oscar, in return, admits what she overheard her father say to André the night before. André is taken aback but explains to her that, while he understands the General’s motives, he didn’t want to play a role in forcing his choice upon Oscar, so he decided to say nothing. Oscar doesn’t say anything but stands up and gets on her horse, preparing to leave. André tells her that he has got one thing to say and that he promises to never say it again. As Oscar rides away, André shouts behind her back that it is not too late to become a woman again.

This is André at his best. He is patient, loyal, perceptive and understanding. It is not as if he has romantic feelings for Oscar. They are barely more than children after all. But it is clear that André deeply cares about his dear friend. He is also very well aware of what the choice facing Oscar signifies. He understands that she is struggling to decide whether to lead her life as a man or as a woman. That is more insight than one would expect from a teenage boy.

Also, André doesn’t have a preference regarding Oscar’s choice. As he has just told her, he doesn’t think he has a right to interfere. I don’t believe that he thinks that way because he is a servant. I can clearly see him taking a similar stance if he were, let’s say, Oscar’s brother. That is just André’s nature. He is ready to stand by Oscar no matter what she decides. Sure, there will be times when he won’t simply stand by her choices, but that is another matter for another time.

Notice how Oscar does not stop to listen to what André says at the end. Granted, André knows beforehand that she won’t like hearing it, but he says it anyway. Oscar probably anticipated what he was going to say and wanted to hear none of it, because it struck a chord. That is typical of Oscar, always running away from facing her true emotions.

Back in the Jarjayes mansion, General Jarjayes is eagerly waiting for André’s report that he has managed to convince Oscar to wear the uniform. André, however, calmly enters his master’s study and tells him that Oscar has the right to choose her own path.

I imagine that it takes a lot of courage to stand up against the General, especially on a matter of such importance, and that is exactly what André does. That’s how loyal he is. This scene subtly hints at the lengths he is prepared to go protect Oscar against her father later on.

As the General storms out of the room to reprimand Oscar yet again, he stops dead at the bottom of the stairs at the sight of Oscar. She regally stands on top of the grand staircase, clad in the military uniform. The household gathers, stunned by the magnificence of their mistress. As she descends the stairs, Oscar tells her father in her mind that she is doing this not for him or for anyone else, but for herself only.

Mind you, Oscar didn’t have a choice anymore, as he overheard her father say to André. It was the king’s orders that she become Commander of the Royal Guards. André, though, still thought it was her decision. Perhaps the king could be talked out of it? Who knows, but as the audience hears Oscar say to herself, she does not object to the king’s orders not because she is afraid of repercussions or because she wants to please her father, but because she has made up her mind that this the path she chooses for herself.

The scene changes and the audience sees Oscar, still in military uniform, on horseback with cherry blossoms blowing in the wind around her. André is closely following her from behind. “Let us go, André,” Oscar tells her companion. André nods with a determined expression and the two set out for Versailles.

The narrator reads: “That day, Oscar left her womanhood behind, and took her first step into a new world of adulthood. Unaware that a tumultuous destiny of love and death awaits her in the distant future, Oscar was 14 years old that spring.”

The End

One great reason why I love The Rose of Versailles so much is how it is charged with so much emotion and how all that emotion is expressed in subtle ways. The pilot episode is a prime example of this. Oscar looking at her mother’s portrait when she is alone in her room. The spring storm raging, echoing the turmoil in Oscar’s heart. André blowing a grass blade to fill in the awkward silence. André urging Oscar to take her frustration out on him. These are truly excellent scenes.

In conclusion, the audience is not explained how Oscar finally made her decision. Everyone is free to draw their own conclusions. I have come up with a few myself, which I will explain in a separate post.