#nothing beside remains. round the decay / of that colossal wreck . something or other

[lotrmusical]

My high school did a yearly poetry recitation contest (Poetry Out Loud), so Oh Boy do I know some poems. My favorites are Ozymandias and "the world is about to end and my grandparents are in love," by Kara Jackson. Also in 8th grade we had a Poe unit and had a class contest to make the best music video of the Raven, so I still know a good chunk of that.

i hadn't heard of the kara jackson one! just read through it and enjoyed it, particularly these lines > 'grandma returns to her love like a hymn, marks it with a color. // when the world ends will it suck the earth of all its love? /will i go taking somebody’s hand, / my skin becoming their skin?'

[zzthekaiju]

THE GREAT MONSTER HUNTER RANKING! Part 8

And now, we come to the final chapter...at least until I get done with Wilds. There will be a ranking for all those monsters when the time comes. But for now, we will have a look at the baddest of the bad. The true rulers of this fantastical world. The monsters so powerful and in defiance of our understanding of science and nature, they are literally in a class of their own. They are to "Monster Hunter" what Legendaries are to Pokemon. They are...

The Elder Dragons:

"LOOK OUT! IT'S COMING...really...slowly."

Well, it's only fitting we start with the least threatening beast in this category, relatively speaking. However, the Lao-Shan Lung is NOT harmless. As its name implies when translated, it's three times bigger than a blue whale, and anything that happens to get in its way runs the risk of getting bulldozed. And the thing is, Lao doesn't put up anything resembling a fight most of the time. A bunch of hunters could be hacking away at its hide and it'd just keep walking...or running, actually. Yeah, the big twist in the original game is that the Lao isn't heading towards a populated area because it wants to. It's running away from something far worse...But as its own beast, it's serviceable. Just a big lumbering lizard with a spiffy-looking head and a nice theme with a choir and a military march-like feel. 6/10.

"Poke around and find out."

Some say that the Kirin is an early sign that we're stretching the definition of "dragon" with these monsters...but I disagree. It could not be more obvious that this beast is based on a Chinese mythological creature literally described as a draconic unicorn, right down to having the same exact name. That being said, the traditional Kirin usually has two horns instead of just one. Still, it makes for a unique opponent, especially with that beard adding so much character. Thing looks like it's always angry, and that's saying something considering how docile the Kirin is unless provoked. But once it is, Heaven help you. It's not that durable, but it can command powerful blasts of lightning, and is tricky to hit with how it bounds all over the place. But everyone loves horses, right? 7/10.

"Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away."

When you look at the roster of this world, what do you notice? Almost every beast is physically unique, and oftentimes truly out there in terms of creativity.

So it only makes sense that the most powerful, most dangerous, and most outright destructive force of them all...is one that goes back to basics.

Such is the subtle genius of the Fatalis. it's pretty much a traditional western dragon. The ONLY thing unique about its looks is that it tends to stand upright in the same way a monitor lizard would. But Fatalis doesn't need bells and whistles to be the most feared THING in this franchise. It just needs power. And there are few things more powerful than it. Its deceptive intellect and unmatched fiery breath, which can melt entire steel structures in seconds with whole waves of flame, has obliterated entire human settleme-no, WHOLE CIVILIZATIONS. Just look at the Kingdom of Schrade, once a bustling land thousands of years ago, reduced to a desolate wasteland overnight (that it keeps coming back to, no less). This is a monster for which they write entire poems about its role as the beast of the End Times. An accursed horror so evil that even wearing its armor threatens to corrupt you with its soul.

But why? What makes this monster so much worse than any of the other huge threats? The answer is pure MALICE. The Elder Dragons we'll be seeing later in this ranking are, for the most part, just acting out of animalistic instinct. Not Fatalis, which is said to hold an outright grudge against all of humanity (and really, life in general), to the point where it's said that it melds the melted remains of human foes onto its body in a twisted mockery of how we use monster parts for armor. This thing wants us all DEAD.

And somehow, it gets worse. There are no less than TWO other versions of this monstrosity. The Crimson Fatalis (more fire, just a molten coat of paint, not that interesting)...and the White Fatalis, which trades fire for lightning, and sports a wicked beard. But both it and base Fatalis have my favorite boss themes in the entire franchise, the latter (the best one) being a dark reprise of the very first battle theme in the first game. Just so much power and terror in musical form.

...Heaven and Earth are yours, indeed. 10/10.

"Uncle Balzac, NO!"

Okay, that last entry was pretty hardcore. How about something a bit more fun? That's what the Chameleos is for! Just look at that! That's a unique design if there ever was one! It's got the tongue, eyes, camouflage-based style, and even the hilarious "should I take a step or not" locomotion of a chameleon. But also a pretty purple hide, a weird leaf-shaped tail (that can hit hard), and a huge horn on the top of its head. And yes, it can turn practically invisible. But its true power comes from its affinity for trickery. It KNOWS that people find its disappearing act irritating, and will rely on both it and an unpredictable array of poison-based moves to frustrate opponents into either giving up or letting their guard down. And the funny thing is, this guy doesn't even LIKE to fight. Its intro cutscene in Rise (which, like so many other monsters, gives it an amazing rendition of its theme music) just has it playfully scare an intruder instead of kill it. And with a winning smile like the one it has, why WOULD you want to ruin its day? After all, it's capable of ruining yours in return. Easily one of my favorites! 9/10.

"Malewife and Girlboss: Elder Dragon Edition"

It doesn't take a whiz to figure out why Capcom went for a leonine approach to at least one or two of their Elder Dragons. Teostra and Lunastra are a male and female type of the same breed, but they differ just enough in looks and power for the latter to be on the top of the totem pole. Both fight primarily with a special fiery powder that constantly surrounds them. They can spread this around the battlefield, and ignite it with a clash of their jaws, triggering powerful explosions. That, or they can just breathe fire at you. Obviously, the Lunastra is more powerful than the male, to the point where it was the main antagonist of the animated film, "Legends of the Guild". Alas, lions aren't really my thing, but I admire their power and ESPECIALLY their unique ability to combine their power through a "bonding" attack that triggers a way BIGGER explosion. That's the power of love, y'all! Also, their themes in World are the best rendition. Those drums do a lot of heavy lifting. 7/10.

"He's rust, and you're dead as dust!"

The Kushala Daora...yeah, this is one of the weaker ones for me. Unlike the Fatalis, it doesn't have the insane power or lore to distract you from how it's basically just another western-type dragon. However, what it does have is a unique biology. Its skin is a lot like metal, and just as hard. Every now and then, it must shed this metal like an insect, and upon entering the world born anew, the pale-white dragon's hide hardens instantly into the coppery color you see before you. But again, it still has a bit of a plain Jane feel to it...not to mention fighting it in World was INCREDIBLY FRUSTRATING! It's bad enough that this thing can summon tornadoes with its wind powers, but it just wouldn't stop doing this in that game, to the point where it was a miracle to hit it! This got simmered down in Rise thankfully. The only reason this dragon isn't a 5 is because of its interesting life cycle. That's really it. 6/10.

"WHY DOES IT HAVE HUMAN TEETH?!"

...I have nothing to say but the truth in that above quote. Yes, the Yama Tsukami has a set of human-like molars that only serves to further remind us why it's one of the weirdest Elder Dragons ever. However, with the recent reveal of Nu Udra and the Cephalopod category of monsters, I have a feeling this thing is in need of re-classification. But until then, it's an Elder Dragon. I like how...out there it is, being a big floating Cthulhu head with vegetation all over it, the ability to sic giant Thunderbugs at foes, and a vacuum mouth leading to those aforementioned horrible teeth lined before a bunch of smaller sharper ones. But other than that, I'm more put off by this thing than anything else. It doesn't help that it only appeared in one mainline game, making me wonder how they'll ever, if they do, incorporate it in the future. 5.5/10.

"A whale of a headache."

This monster all but kickstarted a rather noticeable trend in MH narratives. A disaster occurs, people blame it on the flagship monster, said flagship monster gets hunted, nothing changes, OOPS! It was an Elder Dragon the whole time! I don't really mind, but it gets annoying after a while. But that's no shade on the one that started it all. The Ceadeus almost completely justifies the faulty underwater combat in the Tri games on account of being just so darned majestic. With a body like a whale, a magnificent beard, and some big horns, it looks like a creature of myth while still maintaining that prehistoric charm most monsters here have. And it's bioluminescent, too! But...those horns are actually part of the problem. Sometimes, a Ceadeus' horn will grow above its eye, causing it pain so immense it will ram into anything to alleviate it. This is obviously a problem for neighboring villages, so they call you in to not even kill it, but get rid of that ever-loving horn. I just feel bad for the Ceadeus, even when it tries to kill me by sucking in water and blasting it out like a geyser. If only I could pet it.

Oh, and both phases of its theme music are some of the best this franchise's soundtrack has to offer. "Oceanic power and beauty" is the phrase for it. 8/10.

"WHO NEEDS WORMS?!"

For a while, THIS was the biggest monster around. The Jhen Mohran lives in the deserts, and take the "sand is water" trope to extremes. Much like the whales and crocodiles it's based on, it can swim through the dunes with exceptional grace, even being able to jump over the ships that pursue it so that it doesn't smash any villages in its way. It's a fairly charming beast in its own way, and it has some really good theme music, but I wouldn't consider it my favorite amongst the Elder Dragons. It's a little too passive for my tastes. 6.5/10.

"And I call this move, 'ScrewyouIwinandIhateyoudie'"

Oh man, the INFAMY that the Alatreon gained when he came to World. Before that, he was regarded by most, me included, as a pretty alright Elder Dragon. It had a neat edgy look to it, and it was unique in how it could manipulate several elements at once, though only one at a time. Then World came, and turned this horror into one of the least fair fights in the series. At first, it's a difficult but balanced fight where you have to break the horns to nullify its elemental power. BUT, then comes its ace in the whole. A move known as "Escaton Judgement". It charges up immense power, and unless your whole hunting party has VERY SPECIFIC elemental weapon stats...everyone dies. One instance of this horrible move, and you're all dead. What's that? You use weapons based on damage output and not elemental power? Well, I guess it's your fault a total party kill ensued!

Yeah, Alatreon effectively killed my interest in playing the rest of the game, barring me from Fatalis in the process. And this thing was too big of a coward to fight Fatalis when it showed up to scare it off. Oh sure, you're the coolest Elder Dragon around until the ACTUAL coolest shows up!

Sigh...I wanted to like you, Ala. Now, I only am slightly intrigued by you. 6/10.

"I AM THE STORM THAT IS APPROAAACHING!"

Now, HERE'S an Elder Dragon that doesn't need to rely on being cheap! The Amatsumagatsuchi. or Amatsu, has a name that roughly translates to "Heaven's calamity", and it shows. First off, this monster just looks MAJESTIC. The little red highlights really help it pop. And this is on top of being a floating Eastern-style dragon that can control entire storms like the mythological beasts of old. In fact, this Elder Dragon has a habit of pushing other large monsters out of their habitats as well as ransacking entire human settlements with the sheer power its storms have. And it can fire pressurized water beams. Gotta hand it to this creature. It knows how to dish out sheer presence on top of power. 8/10.

"And all the powers of Hell!"

Well, it's safe to say the first phrase that springs to mind upon seeing the Dire Miralis is "Satan dragon". I'm just scratching my head as to how this thing even survives. It looks like a volcano got bored, grew legs, and decided to everyone's problem. It's whole body is covered in volcanic veins, swirling pools of what I can only assume is magma, and its "wings" actually function like cannons, firing great balls of fire at opponents. This is a monster so dangerous to everything around it, it actively boils whatever bodies of water it happens to be in at the time.

But if you ask me, it looks like a demon Lagiacrus the more I think about it. Not that it takes away from how powerful it looks. It's a neat apocalyptic creature, is what I'm saying. And like any good beast of the apocalypse, it has a REALLY good piece of theme music to go with it. 7.5/10.

"This is a drill!"

Remember Jhen Mohran? Meet its edgier cousin, the Dah'ren Mohran. It pretty much functions the exact same way the other does, albeit this one trades tusks for a single drill-like horn. Even its theme music is the same as Jhen. There's really not much I can say. My opinions on this monster are almost the same as the last big crocodile-whale, though I'll admit this one looks just a bit cooler. 6.5/10.

"A plague upon us all."

The flagship monster of the fourth installment was labeled as a mystery monster when it came out. But I'm fairly certain that most, if not all, major fans saw it as an Elder Dragon. It even has the standard draconic body build. Though that being said, the Gore Magala is anything BUT a standard dragon. For starters, its wings operate as not JUST wings, but a functioning pair of arms perfect for clobbering opponents. And since this monster is effectively blind, with a pair of glowy antennae-like horns instead of eyes, it will attack anything. But none of that is the worst part about the Magala. It's patient zero for the Frenzy Virus, which spreads via the beast's scales, causing other monsters to go berserk and hunters to get severely handicapped if they don't literally fight the ill effects away. I for one love this monster's odd almost Xenomorph-like design, and the fight can be quite fun if you aren't afraid to gamble with that Frenzy Virus. 8.5/10.

However, this monster very recently finally got its own classification. Namely, as a Demi-Elder. This is because the Gore Magala is but a juvenile form of something much stronger...

"When you die upon a star....!"

This is the Gore Magala's final form, the Shagaru Magala. It...doesn't have my attention the same way its younger form does. It trades its more intriguing features for more power and a gaudy golden hide, as well as an all-too smug-looking expression. Its wings look like they're in a star shape, which is pretty cool. But overall, this beast looks ironically far more villainous and spiteful than what came before it. And it loses its charm as a result. Still has a really good theme, I'll say that much. Also, woe betide any Gore that fails to properly undergo metamorphosis. Then they become Chaotic Gore Magalas, which are in a constant state of pure agony. And THAT'S why I stick to Gores. 7/10.

"A real SOLID snake!"

The biggest monster in all of the mainline franchise, the Dalamadur has my attention almost instantly on account of being a kaiju-sized serpent. To give you an idea, you're only about as big as the scissor-like end of its tail. Other than that, you have to be the most tenacious flea on a titan's hide if you're going to kill it. I for one would LOVE an opportunity to actually fight this monster, if only because I never played a MH game before Generations and World. It's not like Capcom has forgotten this giant. One died so that it could form most of the Rotten Vale, so it's clear that there's more than a few to hunt in this world. But as for the monster itself, the edgy colors, the unabashedly serpentine mannerisms, and the wicked array of spikes make for a VERY intimidating colossus. 9/10.

"Oh look, it's a walking metaphor for the oil industry."

Now here's another Elder Dragon I desperately want to see get rescued from 4th Generation limbo. The Gogmazios is yet another super-sized dragon, and it's just so cool to look at! Even with all of the disturbing amounts of tar dripping off of it. But it didn't get that way overnight. You see, the Gogmazios hibernates for long periods of time, and when it wakes up, it is absolutely hungry for sulfur. Unfortunately, there's not a whole lot to go around these days, so it raids human settlements for the sulfur-infused gunpowder. Somehow, this causes it to literally sweat and even vomit tar. Even worse, said tar can superheat and combust after a bit. But should a Gogmazios be properly ticked off to no end, the tar evaporates instantly, and the monster will gain the ability to not only fly, but fire a MASSIVE CONCENTRATED BEAM OF SUPERHEATED TAR like it were a flying version of Godzilla.

Oh, and it's got a frowny face for markings directly below its chin. That's cute. Now put it in Wilds, please! You have an oil-themed area, it only makes sense! 9.5/10.

"I've got skeletons in my closet...and I do mean a LOT of them!"

Man, the fourth generation was pumping out banger after banger with their Elder Dragons, wasn't it? Though, once again, I have a feeling that the Nakarkos should be with the newly-christened Cephalopods nowadays. Then again, considering just how powerful it is, maybe not.

Either way, this is yet another amazing concept brought to life. Because who would have guessed that we may one day go up against a GIANT BONE-ENCRUSTED CUTTLEFISH?! Yes, this is a giant cuttlefish, and it fights by covering itself in the skeletons of other large monsters, using their skulls to acquire different elemental powers. And not just any skulls, either. It can use those of the Glavenus, the Brachydios, among others. But it doesn't need any skulls containing the Dragon element. That, it can take care of itself. Should it be pushed too far, the Nakarkos can fire a massive beam of pure Dragon energy that stands a good chance of obliterating its target. Also, it fights the Ceadeus like a giant squid to a sperm whale. But considering how it can travel on land and the other one can't, who's the real victor in the long run?

Either way, love it, bring it to Wilds, please! The Cephalopods need to be reminded of who was doing it all before it was cool (Yama Tsukami doesn't count)! 9.5/10.

"Must-Have-More-SPEEEEEED!!!"

At the end of this generation, we come to a monster that was designed with a maximum cool factor in mind. The Valstrax defies almost all logic with how those massive wings function. For they have two separate states of being. One allows the dragon to rocket through the sky with Dragon element-fueled natural turbine thrusters, making it a threat to everything and anyone in the skies that can't get out of the way. Indeed, the Valstrax is the fastest living creature in the world, to the point where people mistook it for a red comet when they saw it back then. The other purpose of those big wings causes them to somehow flip around and turn into an extra set of giant hands...that fire concentrated blasts or even combine to fire WHOLE BEAMS of red Dragon energy. That, or the "fingers" can just extend and gore opponents. And if you're not careful, the Valstrax will soar into the sky, circle around the place...and come down at full-speed to instantly kill whatever doesn't see it coming. All of this, combined with a rather heroic-sounding theme, make for yet another favorite in my book, even if its biology doesn't make a lick of sense. 9/10.

"Edgy the Hedgy"

World gave a LOT of emphasis on the Elder Dragons, right down to a special event known as the Elder Crossing. During this mysterious time, a bunch of Elder Dragons would migrate to a specific part of the New World. However, there is one Elder Dragon that takes advantage of this. The Eater of Elders, that is. The Nergigante. This is a predator that does not waste time with flashy powers (for the most part). This is a monster that prefers to beat its prey into submission with megaton punches and clobbering with its oversized horns. But its true power lies in its many MANY spines. Every time force is applied to them, especially from an attacker, they get bigger and more excessive. If they're not broken in time, exposure to the atmosphere will cause them to harden to the point where most weapons bounce completely off. But don't worry, the Nergigante will get rid of them...after divebombing and instantly killing all that can't get in its way.

Oh, minor detail, but it also reproduces aesexually through special spikes that contain its DNA and grow into new Nergis by being planted in Elder Dragon corpses. Weird.

All of this makes for an exceptionally cool monster. It's neat to see something that can go toe-to-toe with equally powerful creatures that think themselves superior with their elemental powers. All this one needs is pure rage and tenacity. But it's not a malicious monster at all. It is explicitly stated that the Nergigante exists as a way to deal with natural imbalances caused by certain Elder Dragons. It is, in its own right, a great equalizer. And for that and all of the above, it more than earned its spot at the top for me. 10/10.

"Magdaros is really neat! Magdaros is filled with meat! We're be eating Magdaros!"

Zorah Magdaros here is a case of a really cool monster bogged down by an exceptionally dull fight. It's one of the larger monsters out there, almost just as big as a certain turtle kaiju that can breathe fire and fly (the latter of which Zorah cannot do thankfully). In fact, it's a fiery take on a turtle island, an oddly common trope in fantasy. Except this turtle can walk upright, and the "island" on its back is a volatile Hell full of volcanic eruptions. The whole point of the Zorah joining the Elder Crossing is so that it can find a good place to die...and not take out countless living things, because when it dies it explodes from the sheer level of bioenergy it contains. Thus, it must be redirected to the Everstream, where the energy of dead Elder Dragons goes at the end of the Elder Crossing. That way, its corpse stands a chance of supporting new life, which is heavily implied to have been the case with the vibrant Guiding Lands.

So we have a monster with a turtle motif and a critical purpose in the ecosystem. That would normally put it pretty high...except that not only is Zorah's design so busy you lose sight of how neat the head is, but the fight is a huge drag. It's not even a real fight. You hit it with cannons and ballistas for a bit before heading to the top of its shell to burst magma core zits until Nergigante arrives to spice things up a bit. Not a good look. 6.5/10.

"HEY KIDS, WANNA SEE A DEAD BODY?!"

When I heard there was a new Elder Dragon in World that was like a living corpse, I assumed it was going to be underwhelming. I just never vibed with undead monsters, and I figured a beast emulating that would be no different.

How wrong I was.

The Vaal Hazak is the undisputed ruler of the Rotten Vale that makes its entrance by rising from a pile of corpses and attacking you. And it's got a roar like a wailing ghost.

Yeah, you're in for a treat with this walking nightmare.

This is a large dragon that wears a coat of rotted flesh on top of a body studded with wicked hooks. And more importantly, it's got a head that looks a lot like a stoplight loosjaw fish, right down to the nested mouths and a pair of eye-like bioluminescent patches (whether they eyes are red or yellow is unclear). A dragon with a deepsea fish motif? SIGN ME THE HECK UP! Honestly, the Rotten Vale underutilized its "deep ocean" motif beyond its looks, and it was refreshing to see the top dog of the place take advantage of that.

There is also the Vaal's powers. It can control a toxic miasma in the Vale known as Effluvium, and both coat its skin in it as well as fire it from the mouth in a concentrated beam. But it can also infect you and other monsters with it. The infected hunter gets a chunk of their health temporarily taken away, while the monsters become twice as aggressive. It's not quite as effective as the Mega Rabies that was the Frenzy Virus, but it's something.

Either way, what a terrifyingly creative Elder Dragon, and another 10/10 for the books!

"You want stars? I'll give you stars!"

With a name like Xeno'jiiva, you'd expect something truly out there. And sure enough, we have ourselves a dragon that looks positively ALIEN. Look at that! The beautiful yet odd blue translucent skin and wings, as well as those ornate fake eyes, really helps this monster stand out. It also fights by firing laser beams and superheating the ground around it. And on top of that, it has the best-looking armor set in World, hands down!

Then there is its role in the story. It's the primary reason for the Elder Crossing, attracting Elder Dragons to come over and die so that it may feed off of their energy as it incubates. In fact, this isn't even its final form. This is the result of us interrupting its growth, forcing it to come out immature. Yetch! So, what sort of horror could this thing evolve into?

To be honest, a bit of a letdown. It's adult form, Safi'jiiva, is literally just a big red dragon, albeit very powerful and even more hellbent on sucking the world dry of its energy. But c'mon, you're no Fatalis! You gave up everything that made you unique just so you could be the unnatural equivalent of a sell-out! For shame!

I'll give it this much. Safi has a WAY better theme than his younger self (in fact, it's once again a track that belongs in the top 5), and its "Sapphire of the Emperor" attack is a spectacular means of ending everyone (especially with how all noise just cuts out right before it hits). But in terms of looks, it's just a Fatalis wannabe.

Still, altogether it's far from terrible, but I wish Safi didn't have to grow up! 7.5/10.

"On the one hand, Gold! On the other hand...painful, agonizing failure!"

The first true "Siege Quest" in the main franchise, the Kulve Tarroth isn't meant to be fought traditionally. It requires major amounts of teamwork and coordination to do the fight well...which bodes poorly for a casual such as myself. It's a little hard to put all that faith into complete strangers when you yourself have a strategy that begins and ends with "hit the breakable parts or die".

Well, what about the monster itself? Well, she's certainly...very gaudy. Kulve has coated herself in a gown-like coat of molten gold. This is because she lives exclusively in the volcanic area of El Dorado. A place filled with, you guessed it, gold. And like a traditional dragon, she won't react well to trespassers looking for a get-rich-quick scheme. And she's not just a pretty face, either. She can fight by breathing superheated air at foes or even the environment to render it even less stable than it already was. It's a long fight that has you destroy her gown, her horns, and eventually her. All while she gets progressively angrier and angrier until she's literally bringing the ceiling down on you and the BGM turns into a pounding choir-backed tune.

It's a spectacle, alright...but once again, gold isn't my color. It's fine as a monster design. 6.5/10.

"Ah yes, Elsa's dragonsona."

As one might guess, the Iceborne expansion of World has an ice-themed Elder Dragon as its main focus. The Velkhana wears the ice element on its sleeve. It fires beams of ice that can even freeze the air into solid structures (or more likely, prey and foes into ice sculptures), it can chill water vapor around it to form an elaborate coat of ice armor, and it rules over the Hoarfrost Reach with an icy fist. But on the whole...it's just a bog-standard dragon with a beak. Ironically, the concept art leaned more into the latter detail, making the Velkhana into a sort of griffin. THAT would have been more unique instead of the "just another western-type dragon" angle. This ice queen has style, just hardly any substance. 5.5/10.

"Under the sea! Under the sea! Down here it's wetter, couldn't be any deader, all thanks to me!"

Oh my God...it's everything I ever wanted from an water-themed Elder Dragon...

Yeah, it was a little alarming in the base game that just about every biome got an Elder Dragon (Kushala for the Ancient Forest, Teostra for the Wildspire Waste, Vaal Hazak for the Rotten Vale, etc.) but the Coral Highlands got pretty much nothing (unless you count the Kirin). That all changed in Iceborne, which gave us the true ruler of this terrestrial coral reef: Namielle. I. LOVE. EVERY SINGLE DETAIL about this dragon. LOOK. AT.IT! It has a head like a Diplocaulus, the teeth of a shark, the whiskers of a catfish, the feet of a salamander, absolutely gorgeous mixes of red-oranges and blues all over its body, and its wings are a dead ringer for the barbed tentacles of a vampire squid, complete with bioluminescence you'd see on a cone jellyfish's cilia. It's one big love letter to aquatic fauna, and I can't get enough of it.

But then there are its powers. Just by sticking around, the Namielle causes rainfall, and to its benefit. Its skin is covered in a water-like mucus that acts as armor and a means to slip and slide around the wetness of the highlands. It can fire pressurized water, and even manipulate the water around it to slow foes down or wash them away. But should you get this dragon mad, it will start to conduct electricity. Even its deceptively dexterous wings so much as tapping a puddle of water will cause it to electrically combust. And it will get to the point where the Namielle lights up in a spectacular display of neon bioluminescence as it unleashes all of its power, capped off by it divebombing a large wet area it created to vaporize the water (and you) in a massive explosion. However, should you survive, you'll see that the dragon has lost its watery coating, causing it to lose its speed and bright colors.

Either way, they don't call this the Abyssal dragon for nothing! It's fun from a gameplay standpoint and a gorgeous beast to look at. What more could you ask for?! 10/10.

"Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds."

When I was hearing words of "the Old Everwyrm", I suspected something on the serpentine side of things. I could never have guessed that they were referring to Shara Ishvalda. At first, it appears as a massive stone colossus in the vague shape of a lion. But even I knew that this was only its first form. Then the stone breaks apart, and as yet another solid banger of a theme begins in earnest, a positively UNNATURAL-looking parody of a dragon unveils itself, its freakish "wings" spread out like a pair of unsightly hands with long spindly fingers. But at the same time, Shara is as vivid as it is grotesque. sure, it's body looks like a walking raisin, and its head has those wide manic eyes that follow your camera (which is rather ironic since the beast's eyesight is actually really poor, and it relies on an organ on its forehead to track prey properly), but the colors are strangely vivid in their mismatched way, and to an extent, the monster as a whole looks like it crawled out of an ancient painting of a Hindu demon.

And Asian mythology is the monster's biggest motif. "Ishvalda" comes from a Hindu word that often means "all-powerful being", its weapons and armor invoke Hindu architecture/weaponry, its twisted body is a lot like the trees that play a major role in the origins of Buddhism, its theme music sounds like an Indian hymn on an epic scale, and the wings give it the look of the many-armed creator/destroyer deity Vishnu. Really, whole essays could be written, and have, about the origins of this monster.

And then there's how it fights. By creating sonic vibrations in its wingtips, it can fire bursts of concentrated air at foes. This power is so potent that, given the chance, it can create MASSIVE ORBS OF AIR IN ITS WINGS, and slam them down on its enemies like it was a heretic among Airbenders.

Shara may not have the most easy-on-the-eyes design...at all...but MAN, they went all out with creating a true force of destruction. 8.5/10.

"World's most destructive situationship."

The base game of Rise has us go up against not one, but two Elder Dragons causing havoc due to their insane life cycle. These are the twin Thunder Serpents, Ibushi and Narwa. In terms of Yokai, they are not based on any. No, they're based on GODS. More specifically, the twin thunder Gods, Fujin and Raijin. But while those guys are usually depicted as a pair of related twin Oni-like beings, we instead get a mated pair of freakish flying dragon/eel/seahorse/leafy sea dragon/anemone THINGS. Seriously, who's idea was it to give them those monstrous-looking nested mouths, anyway?!

Anyhow, they both have near-complete control over the storms, which causes the neighboring monsters to panic and stampede in a deadly event known as the Rampage (which at least makes way for fun tower defense levels for us). Ibushi spends his time looking for Narwa and wrecking everything that gets in his way. Oh, and his thoughts are so complex, they can accidentally intrude upon and nearly break the minds of the psychically inclined. Which is odd, as his thoughts almost always begin and end with wanting his girl so bad.

Narwa is the true terror, however. Her powers vastly exceed her mates, with her being able to tap into psychic powers that she can use to blow the earth out of the crust (Ibushi can do this too, but to a lesser extent). Oh, and she's got a very bloated tummy that either gives her power or is where she incubates her young. Or both, it could be.

BUT THEN...Ibushi gives its life for Narwa, turning her into something bigger, brighter, and much MUCH stronger. Allmother Narwa. And at that point, things just go completely off the rails. The dragon's power enables her to create entire rings of electrical power, summon ENTIRE DRAGONATORS out of the ground like moving pillars of death, and just in general turn the arena into pure dodging Hell until a random Elder Dragon or Magnamalo shows up just to even the odds a little bit. Rest assured, you'll be in for the fight of your life with the Allmother.

And on top of all of this, these two dragons get my favorite battle themes in the franchise. I know I said Fatalis has the best ones, but both Ibushi, Narwa, and their combined form have beautifully crafted wholesale SONGS given to them. Obviously, the Allmother has the best one for how heroic and final it sounds, but they're all bangers. And that was more than enough to push these destructively romantic mutant eastern-type dragons to the top. 8.5/10.

"What is a hunter? A miserable pile of secrets!"

You ever hear the phrase "either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain"? It gets tossed around these days, but Malzeno is living proof of it. Already, it has a VERY striking design to it, being the dragonsona of Count Dracula himself (then again, that old vamp's name does mean "Son of the Dragon", so I guess we've come full circle). With that wicked tuft of fur on its chest and the red highlights all around (that only get brighter when it's mad), it looks like the kind of thing that would dominate the night. But it's also got flexible wings that can pound/skewer you, a dexterous tail shaped like a grappling hook, and the ability to fire Dragon energy at foes from its mouth and said tail. And it's fast, like lightning-fast. It can literally flash-step!

However...that's not fur on its chest. Those are in fact flying lamprey-like parasites known as the Qurio. They are what gives this dragon its power, all while they drain its prey of their life-force. And if they don't kill their unwilling donors, they drive them mad.

And Malzeno didn't get that edgy or powerful overnight. This dragon is not a villain. It's a victim. Years ago, the monster, known as Primordial Malzeno now, bore a more regal and heroic look, as well as a noble disposition (admittedly the Primordial design is a lot duller, but looks don't make heroes). It was a defender of the human kingdom of Delgato. But its opponent was a destructive Elder Dragon that gave rise to the Qurio. While Mal was able to repel it, the guardian dragon was assailed by the Qurio in a last-ditch attack. But instead of being consumed, the Malzeno made the ultimate sacrifice, choosing to keep the Qurio threat contained by offering the little monsters sustenance in exchange for their restraint. Sure, it corrupted the poor dragon, but it was a selfless act. And we just ruin everything by defeating it, giving that banished Elder Dragon the confidence to rise again.

The good news is that the final main quest in the Sunbreak expansion allows us to free the original Malzeno from the corruption, ending the Qurio menace and allowing the ancient guardian to fly away free. And for such an amazing tale, awesome design, and great theme music, Malzeno is a keeper! 8.5/10.

"To serve in Heaven or reign in Hell."

So what was that Elder Dragon that Malzeno was desperately trying to keep downstairs? Gaismagorm, that is. Referred to as "The Archdemon of the Abyss" by Elgato's people, this game goes a LONG way to remind you that this is MH's answer to the Devil himself. It lives in a dark hole underground, it's the progenitor of little demon-like parasites that sow discord and death wherever they go, it's mouth SPLITS into a six-pronged shape like a penagram, and it's heavily implied that it was cast down the abyss by either an evolutionary divergence or something else. Either way, it's not staying down there for long when Malzeno is taken out of the picture.

While the fight is a spectacle, between having to blast it off of a cliff before it unleashes a beam capable of exploding everything and its ability to coat itself in enough Qurio to the point where it looks like it's on fire, Gaismagorm doesn't really capture me like most True Final Bosses here. It's big and sluggish most of the time, and the whole "wings are big pounding arms" thing was done before by better dragons. Hate to break it to you, draco-satan, but at least Gogmazios and Gore Magala can fly! Still, I appreciate how committed it is to the role it has in the narrative. Plus, its armor is really cool (even if it does slowly drain away at health). 7/10.

Whew! Well, that's it right then and there! Almost every monster ranked! Next time I make a post like this, it'll be about all the new monsters from Wilds! So...give me a lot of time. I've just sunk my teeth into this game, and I'm already loving it! Until then, happy hunting!

Index:

Herbivores

Neopterons, Carapaceans, Temnocerans

Bird Wyverns

Flying Wyverns

Piscine Wyverns, Amphibians, Leviathans

Brute Wyverns

Fanged Beasts, Fanged Wyverns

Elder Dragons

[forthedancingandthethriving]

I met a traveller from an antique land

A crack appears in the sky, and three birds fly through.

The sky is foggy, with no sun in sight. The ground is covered in sand, and large pillars of stone jut out from below. They're crumbling, with stones around. Wind howls around, merciless against the birds that fly through the air.

Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,

A red harpy eagle, a red and pink eagle, and a yellow and red crowned eagle land on a pillar made of crumbling stone. Their eyes narrowed, watching below. Waiting for something.

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

The crowned eagle spreads a wing, gesturing to a large monument below. The eagle rolls his eyes while the harpy eagle his head. The trio take off into the air and fly down to the monument below.

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:

The trio land in front of the monument, the harpy eagle in the middle. All threes' eyes narrow, leaning in to look at the inscription.

And on the pedestal these words appear:

‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’

The eagle shakes his head, disgusted. The crowned eagle looks up and around, watching for something. Looking. The harpy eagle raises back to full height, looking around as well.

Sand begins to shift around them.

None take the chance. Powerful wings launch all three high into the air as the sand continues to shift below.

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

A giant snake's head slowly appears from under the sand. Piercing yellow eyes kook up at the trio of birds and a low rumbling hiss eruptes, filling the air and silencing the wind.

The eagles don't take a chance. They take off back towards the crack in the sky.

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

A louder hiss erupts, the ground rumbles and shakes, pillars falling as a large snake's body rises from the sand. It chases the after the birds, eyes glaring.

It shoots up from the sand, jaw unhinging. The snake's scales of code glint, a pale silver. Scars litter its body from a battle long ago.

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

The birds shoot through the crack in the sky, which repairs itself behind them quickly. The snake clamps its jaws down too late, missing the birds.

It stays there, eyes staring at where the portal once was.

The snake lowers its head, contempt filling its eyes. Trapped in a prison of its own code, designed by its jailers. The other prison too weak to contain something of its magnitude, so it's jailers had to be crafty.

Make it imprison itself.

Ozymandias turns its body and dives under the sand once more. Once a feared virus, it was lost to history, only surviving in the memory banks of those it contempted.

It 'sympathized' with the king whose name it stole. It, too, was forgotten. No longer feared by the viruses it used to command.

As Ozymandias dives deeper beneath the sand, it hears the wind howl again.

One day, it promised, it would remind its jailers just why they struggled tricking it into even making this prison.

[onewomancitadel]

this is something that's been burning a whole in my pocket about Ozpin, but his previous incarnation as the King of Vale during the Great War was like, almost definitely named or a reference to Ozymandias if it ever comes up, right? The ruler of a great kingdom in a prosperous age who watched the world come to ruin in a way where the text says that modern Remnant still hasn't quite reached the same level as. I feel like it could come up in Vacuo as a reflection on Oz's failures.

Yeah I mean, it's one of my favourite poems:

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

So I wouldn't complain if it's a reference, and it would certainly augment the ideas at play. It would at least mean they're being smart about how they choose to characterise Ozma in respect to Salem.

On the other hand, I'd hope for something more interesting than 'magical kingdom lost to time superior to the present era' regarding Remnant, because that doesn't seem textually substantiated (things are broken and made better). The nostalgic decay of Ozma's rule - and the farce of great empire - is much more interesting to me, and one would hope any reference to Ozymandias supports this idea.

[junophontes]

thinking about this theme that I don't know how to describe other than "futile attempt at permanence". Like those signs at nuclear waste locations that give warnings in different languages and pictures, that people put up in hopes of keeping people away, but that they know will probably prove ultimately futile because of the nature of humanity to forget and explore.

People trying to make something permanent, to acquire immortality, all the while knowing that it WILL NOT LAST. This doesn't include things like emperors trying to become immortal, they still retained the delusion that such a feat was possible. I'm talking about facing impermanence, the ultimate truth that the consequences of your actions will eventually be forgotten and null in the face of entropy, and not ignoring or fighting it, or giving up, but walking directly through it. The acceptance of the two most dissenting states possible - permanence and impermanence - simultaneously. A self-encapsulating paradox.

Immortality and entropy, the greatest lie and truth, respectively, to ever exist - such a dichotomy that they can't even be accurately described as both existing at all - held nonetheless within a single being. I mentioned before that this state is not fighting impermanence, because I think it's more subtle than that. It's fighting, yes, but not fighting against impermanence; rather, fighting in spite of impermanence.

Given that distinction, this starts to seem a lot like Camus' thesis, which I'm not opposed to. The myth of Sisyphus might be another good example, then; a man, clever beyond compare, labors endlessly as punishment, with no hope at anything resembling either success or escape. What does he think? Is he bitter, hopeful, angry, relieved? Camus claimed the only feeling that could sustain such a man would be spite. And perhaps it has worked to some degree; after all, we still know his myth, he has gained some form of immortality.

The declarations of spirit are varied with this theme. Some of my favorites, naturally, come from Kill Six Billion Demons:

"I don't need to win in order to WIN. It's not for you, it's for ME."

"It's never going to end, is it? / All we can do is keep moving forward."

"To break infinity requires only one motion."

"Here is a proper way. Now discard it."

Others are less direct, but approach the same concept:

"Life's a never-ending wheel"

"Memento mori"

"Burn my dread"

"Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! / Nothing beside remains. Round the decay / Of that colossal Wreck"

There's undoubtedly more. I don't know. My poetic attitude has run dry. I'd better quit while I'm ahead. It was probably more of a message for myself, anyways.

Bend all things to thy will. Fight without restraint and rest without worry. Live.

[positivelybeastly]

The monolith of blonde muscle stopped dead, and Hank felt a moment of vicious satisfaction - he was sure it had barely hurt, had probably barely registered for a man as used to pain as Victor Creed, but it had been enough.

He can see the tight muscle, the slow deliberation between fight, flight, and something else, something a little more human that he used to be so very good at drawing out of the other man, but which he's sure is rather more muted now, as evidenced by the slow roll of the man's shoulders, an animal's limber majesty in the movement. Nothing human.

He'd done his best to hurt the parts of Victor that were human, likely made him want to excise them even more thoroughly than before. The damage was done.

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away . . .

A huff. And then a snap of a hand, digging into his clothes, ripping at his buttons and tie, right before he was sent through four bookshelves like a furry blue cannonball. He growled as he flipped in mid-air, landing on his feet in a feline crouch, his retractable claws digging into the floor with obvious intent.

"This is much more your speed, isn't it? This is what you understand."

With superhuman agility, Hank grabbed one of the many books that had gone everywhere, and whipped it at Victor's face with an accuracy and speed that could only come from having watched Gambit in Danger Room scenarios a thousand times - but instead of it exploding into kinetic energy, he was counting on it distracting the blonde as he surged forward and swiped at Victor with vicious three inch claws, carving a bloody swathe through the man's face that even his healing factor would find hard to bounce back from.

It's a surprised grunt more than anything, Victor expecting Hank to droll on and on about the ethics of whatever the fuck as he walks away. But, no, a book hits him instead. He stops, perplexed, shoulders tight and hands half raised. He isn't angry so much as stunned.

There Hank goes again, making him feel things he wasn't used to. He's frozen again, but his mind races through responses. Victor won't walk away, Hank knows that. Hank knows he can goad Victor into a fight as easily as Victor can goad Hank into a lecture. They memorized each other's buttons, and they pressed them with impunity. Victor lowered his hands, shoulders rolling back like a lion showing it's size and might before he turned.

Then that word.

Coward.

Victor huffs, one side of his lips pulled up in a smirk that was anything but amused. Then his hand snaps out, claws digging into Hanks clothes, curling into the fur of his chest to anchor his grip.

They had been here before. But instead of hauling Hank in for a kiss with teeth and tongue, Victor jerked to the left with every intent of sending Hank through the next four rows of bookshelves.

[crymeariveronceagain]

question: why get close to friends if they’re just going to leave eventually and no matter what, you always feel like the outsider? being the introvert in a trio is s o f u n 😃👍🏻 -t1sb

hi, pro tips from someone who felt like this throughout all of my highschool years:

THIS IS NOT NORMAL!

So, here are my suggestions, dearest t1sb.

If you feel like you're the extra friend, notice that. Who does it happen around? Is it consistent? Why do you feel that way?

Is it because of actions you are taking, or because of actions they are taking? Do you always wind up being the friend who walks behind because the path isn't big enough for three, and it's like they're trying to escape you? Do you feel like they don't invite you to enough things, or even that they're just subtly judging you? If it's something you're doing, how can you change it? Why are you doing it? Do you want to be around different people?

What makes you feel this way? Because usually feelings are based on fact. They might not be completely accurate, but usually, something triggers them.

Once you've noticed why and when and how it happens, then, just. Stop.

It's not worth it.

It's taken me as much time as I've spent so far in college to realize that friendship should not make you feel like an outsider, friendship should not make you feel separate and distant and like they're going to leave.

Oh my gosh, you wouldn't believe how much my life has changed since I started figuring out that if someone is making me feeling an outsider, it's probably because I am the outsider.

True friendship isn't gonna make you feel like this.

When I was in high school, I had a group of friends. And for a while, we were all on good terms. And then it just, slowly devolved, until eventually the only two people I cared about only had eyes for each other, and sought actively to avoid me, and I just was sort of their tag-along friend, who eventually they betrayed, and cast aside like I didn't matter.

And look. Sometimes friendships end. Sometimes they last a long time.

One of my closest friends from last year in college hasn't texted me once since I left campus. And that's okay. People aren't always going to be permanent. Because nothing in this world is permanent. There is so much focus, in this world, on making things permanent.

But like.

Nothing is. Not people, not places, not things. Not even rocks, they get worn away by wind and sand and water. Just like Percy Bysshe Shelley said in his poem about a ginormous statue belonging to an ancient king, destroyed and abandoned and shattered by time and the passage of war and centuries, "On the pedestal these words appear: My name is Ozymandias, king of kings! look on my works, ye mighty, and despair. Nothing beside remains, round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away."

We are not permanent. Nothing in this life is.

But that does not mean that good cannot exist, even in the non-permanent we reside in, and that does not mean that you should not have friends who value you, who treat you like a treasure instead of an afterthought.

Because you deserve to be loved, wholly and completely.

And even if it's unintentional, you deserve better friends than people who make you feel extra.

That's all <3

[thegirlsthegaysandjackmanifall]

Ozymandias

Empires SMP finale spoilers under the cut! This is Arad’s reaction to this all happening. He’s...disappointed, scared, angry. All of the emotions, all of them...

Arad Freco didn’t get shaken up by most things. Sure, there was the incident with the snow and that terrified him, but only for a few minutes. It was fine. Everything was fine.

And then it wasn’t. Tremors shook the earth and he knew that something was happening. Something infinitely worse than an eternal winter or war between the empires.

Arad didn’t think—he did. He liked to pretend that he only cared about the empires because they were fun places to have fights and cause crime and get in trouble and repeat. The truth was, he loved all of these places. Rivendell. Mezalea. Pixandria. The Lost Empire. Every single one of them.

He didn’t know he was capable of running so quickly. But he went, from empire to empire, using only his two legs and the occasional horse or boat, adrenaline fueling him. Maybe he had some strange genes. Maybe it was magic. Maybe it was his own fear.

Arad first arrived in Mezalea. All was well, as it always was. The empire had never been one to be affected by the danger around it. Of course it would be fine. He turned around only to hear the loud swearing of King Joel swearing and he realized that at certain angles, the palace was broken in half.

He went to the Cod Empire. It was chaos. King Jimmy wasn’t there. Gone. The citizens panicked. Arad kept running.

Crystal Criffs and the Grimlands were equally in chaos. Gem and fWhip were gone. He stopped thinking of all the rulers as kings and queens because how can you use such a title when your empires are falling apart and gone?

Arad couldn’t use a boat to get to the Ocean Empire because there was no ocean. What there was, though, was a confused human woman who had no memory of ever being a powerful ruler. Arad left. Tragic, really.

Apparently, Joey of the Lost Empire got what he wanted. Power, love...Arad wondered if it was worth it. The people there told him that it wasn’t.

Gilded Helianthia’s leader was dead. Arad didn’t linger longer than he had to.

Empire after empire, ruler after ruler, citizen after citizen. One tragedy after another.

Arad stopped at Rivendell. He was the first to find Scott and Xornoth. There was no corruption. Only the dirt. What a noble sacrifice to save the others who weren’t there to be saved, where you stop the end of the world when the world was already silently ending on its own.

He sat down between the two bodies, looked up to the sky, and laughed. 

He never did get to fight the leaders of each empire like he’d always wanted to.

I met a traveler from an antique land

Who said, “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert...Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped in these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed

And on the pedestal these words appear:

‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings

Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’

Nothing beside remains.

Round the decay of that colossal wreck,

Boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

[aellynera]

Frayed Wires (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

FRAYED WIRES (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

(so i decided i may turn the drunk texts thing into a series? i decided at least to do one with Nathan because...well...it’s Nathan. the poem he quotes is Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley, who was incidentally married to Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein (or: The Modern Prometheus) which is also kind of appropriate for Nathan and anyway i sat down today and this happened.)

Word Count: 2122(ish)

Summary: All you want to do is sleep. All Nathan wants to do is talk.

Warnings: Language, naturally.

(Nathan’s texts are in bold. Your texts are in bold and italic.)

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

You reached blindly for your phone as it rattled on the bedside table. You had no idea what time it was but you did know it was the middle of the night, your phone should not be going off, and you had gotten entirely too little sleep. Like, maybe two hours worth. You were so tired and groggy that you made the mistake of checking your messages before you actually even thought about what you were doing.

Do you ever think about the meaning of life?

I mean like really think about it.

Why we’re here, why the sky is green and the grass is blue?

No wait that’s not right.

You sighed and buried your face in the pillow. It was 3:27 in the morning and Nathan was texting you. Which was just odd anyway, since he knew where your room was and it was much more his style to just walk in and start a random conversation with you in person. 

He was probably drunk.

And now he could see that you had read the messages, so you were going to have to reply, or he really would show up at your door. Technically it was his door, it was his house, you just worked for him and stayed there, but the point was you were not in the mood to deal with him at all right now, and most decidedly not in the flesh.

You rolled your eyes before sending him a reply. You really should just ignore it, but...you were annoyed. Nathan was annoying. And it was now 3:30 in the morning and you were going to push a few buttons. Figuratively AND literally! your sleep-deprived brain cheered.

And things like why is water wet and air is invisible?

YES exactly see that’s why I want you.

I’m sorry?

Your brain. I want to pick you up. Your brain I mean. Pick your brain.

You just want me for my brain, huh?

You have a very nice brain.

Yep, Nathan was definitely drunk.

Not that him being drunk was anything out of the ordinary. But a few hours ago, when you were both in the lab testing some of his most recent ideas about the AI code, he had seemed...normal? Well, normal for Nathan anyway. He wasn’t irritated, he wasn’t condescending, he was actually (you honestly could not believe you were even thinking this) pleasant to be around.

You had been working for Nathan as his personal assistant for a few months. It was a promotion for sure over being a code slinger in a cubicle, but sometimes you honestly wondered what made you say yes to this bizarre existence. It was a beautiful house, beautiful scenery, interesting and highly intellectual conversations...when Nathan was sober.

There was also something you could never quite put your finger on. Something that was shifting as the weeks went on and you spent more time working alongside Nathan in the lab. As you spent evenings eating sushi and steaks and whatever else you were in the mood for that night (most nights, he actually let you choose the menu, you realized.) As you took afternoon walks around the estate, just taking in the scenery. As you debated various philosophies and ideas and theories and tried your damndest to prove Nathan wasn’t always right about everything. He almost seemed like he appreciated it all, but he would never say anything.

And you weren’t about to open that can of worms. Especially when he wasn’t sober.

How drunk are you right now?

On a scale of shitfaced to really fucking blitzed I would say I’m feeling no pain.

Jesus Christ. Well that was obvious. It was obvious just from the fact that he was texting you. Nathan was so uptight about security and data leaks and wiretapping and signals being hijacked (he’d admitted to doing it himself, so he did have a point) but had decided, after much insistence from you, that rigging the cell phones to only work inside the compound was an acceptable idea. It was so vast, you’d said, and what if something happened and one of you was all the way across the house or down in the lab, how were you supposed to let the other person know? It made sense at the time.

Now you were vaguely regretting it.

You could count on one hand the number of times you’d actually considered your boss to be pleasant to be around, and you still had your thumb left over just in case you needed to add to that tally.

At least personality wise. He was definitely pleasant to look at. Very pleasant.

You coughed and cleared your throat. That was not a line of thought to travel right now. The proper course of action was to get him to stop texting you.

A few minutes passed in glorious silence. Maybe a new, shiny thought had occurred to him and he was madly writing it down on a Post-It note. Maybe he just got bored and went to get a new drink. Maybe he’d finally just passed out and---

What are you thinking about?

Dammit. How to make you shut up, your brain snapped back. How to get you to let me sleep. How good your arms and shoulders look in that tank top after you’ve been hitting that punching back and you’re flushed and sweaty and…. Oh no. No no no. Stop it right now, brain.

Nathan hated to beat around the bush. Straightforward was the best policy with him, right?

How to get you to shut up and let me sleep.

Wonderful, glorious silence for exactly forty-six seconds.

Bro...that’s...so not cool.

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Why were you participating in this? Why was he? You narrowed your eyes and looked toward a corner of your room. You hoped he could see you glaring into the camera that you knew was there and that he was watching while he was texting you. If not, you were sure he would watch it in the actual morning and you hoped the look was withering enough to make him think twice. Probably not. Because this was Nathan Bateman.

Your incredibly narcissistic, incredibly intelligent, incredibly attractive...stop it brain.

But he was pushing your buttons right back. Neither of you could ever really back away from an exchange like this..

I’m not your “bro”, Nathan. Please knock this shit off.

Dude, it’s a figure of speech.

I’m not your dude, either. Please just stop talking.

What’s wrong with dude. Dude is a gender neutral term, anyone can be a dude. Guys are dudes, chicks are dudes, dudes are dudes

Yeah, well, you’re kind of being an asshole, dude.

Dude. Chill.

Turning my phone off now.

No, wait, don’t. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.

Now that was...unexpected. Nathan Bateman just apologized to you? For being a drunk asshole in the middle of the night? Your eyes narrowed again. Suspicious.

You’ll stop texting me so I can go back to sleep?

No not that. I’ll stop calling you dude.

Oh for the love of...you closed your eyes and briefly considered the merits of hurling your phone at the surveillance camera.

Nathan, seriously, can we please just leave this until the morning?

A whole minute of wonderful, glorious, blessed silence this time. You couldn’t believe he might be considering this.

You were right.

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away

If a brain cramp was an actual thing, yours would most certainly be doing it now. You could barely even process it. He was drunk as hell and he was quoting poetry to you? You supposed you probably shouldn’t be entirely surprised, he’d quoted Oppenheimer once in a worse stupor (which you could only quantify because he had actually passed out that time.)

Are you fucking serious right now.

What.

Are you fucking quoting Ozymandias to me right now?

I am.

You couldn’t get the color of the sky right earlier, and now you’re just flawlessly quoting philosophical Romantic poetry at me?

I am.

You are not a normal person, Nathan Bateman.

What is normal anyway, besides really fucking boring? Who wants to be normal?

I would like to be somewhat normal, at least between the hours of midnight and 8am.

See, I knew there was a reason I liked you.

That was the second time he said that, you noted. You found it hard to believe. Nathan liked his work, his routine, his own brain. He liked talking about his work and how smart he was. Other than telling you that you were doing a great job, he barely handed out a single compliment, and if he somehow accidentally did, it was so backhanded you weren’t sure you could actually define it as one.

You mean you like my brain.

Well, yeah, your brain is fucking amazing. It has to be if you work with me.

I work for you, Nathan, not with you. But thanks?

No, no, see, that’s where you’re wrong. You work with me. We’re like partners. None of that employer employee bullshit.

Oooookay now I am one thousand percent sure you are completely piss drunk.

I am but that doesn’t make it any less true.

You could almost hear him saying those words in your head. You could see the way his eyebrows went up, the intensity in his eyes, the way he held his finger up to make the point.

The thought made your brain go slightly fuzzy, and not from exhaustion. Because now you were wide awake. Damn him.

Okay, Nathan, I’ll bite. What do I have to do to get you to stop doing this right now?

There was a pause before he answered, and you swore you’d heard a phone alert that wasn’t your own. It sounded like it was coming from...oh no, he wasn’t…

Getting tired of typing. Can I come talk to you for a while?

Are you outside my door right now?!

You heard the phone chime very clearly this time. He was, definitely.

I am.

You sighed, deeply. So deeply.

Is that really a good idea?

I think it’s a great idea.

Nathan, being serious here.

You could have sworn you heard him sigh from the other side of the door. He could have just come inside. It was his house, his keycard worked on all the doors.

But the door didn’t open.

So am I. Please can I come in? My mind just won’t shut off and I really am fucking drunk but talking to you is helping but tired of typing shit out, I’d rather say it to you.

I wanna see you. And tell you how sexy your brain is.

And that I like you for more than your brain.

And you knew in that instant there really was only one way to get him to shut up. And it was to just let him talk. It made sense, in an oddly Nathan kind of way. What’s the worst that could happen, really? He’d come in, you’d talk, he’d eventually pass out, maybe you could get a couple more hours of sleep, and then in the morning you’d either talk about it on a very deep cerebral level or you’d just pretend it had never happened at all. 

A press to the door release button on the side of the table and the latch let go. The door opened, revealing Nathan standing on the other side. Still wearing what he’d been wearing in the lab earlier that night, black lounge pants and that tight white henley he seemed to love so much. The corner of his mouth turned up in the most miniscule of smiles, but it was there.

You were about to toss your phone back onto the bedside table, when the text alert went off again. You shot an exasperated look in his direction, but gamely checked the message.

Did you mean what you said before? About biting?

You glanced up at Nathan and saw that the sliver of a smile had taken over most of his face and his eyebrows had raised to emphasize his question.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t text him back. You just nodded your head to the empty spot next to you in your bed.

You had a feeling you weren’t going to get any sleep tonight after all.

~end~

taglist: @anetteaneta​ @rosemarysbaby13​ @darksideofclarke​ @girlwiththemostcake​ 

(taglist is open, let me know if you’d like to be tagged for future fics)

[wordlessbabbling]

Ozymandius

A Thomas Shelby x femm!reader story

Requested by @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby

“You are a gangleader at the top of the chain. You’re civilian occupation is being a pub owner. The Peaky Blinders were looking to either make an agreement with you, or kill you, but where’s the fun in that? Today, Thomas Shelby walked into your bar.”

Warnings: none, I think. Thomas Shelby’s a dick? Idk

Masterlist

Dylan, your secretary, slid a small piece of paper across your desk and sat in the chair opposite you. You looked up from the document you were signing and eyed the card suspiciously.

Slowly, you snatched it in your well manicured hand and glanced your eyes over the paper once. Then again. Then once more.

You looked up from the paper and grinned, holding the sheet to your chest.

Without another glance, you immediately left the room to prepare.

You, Ozymandius, King of Bristol, you were going to battle.

Although this time, you were armed with a bottle of whiskey and two drops of perfume.

“Hello.

-T.S”

----

You donned your brown skirt with your creme coloured loose sleeved shirt. 

You scanned the bar and noted the regulars along with your workers who stood idly in case something broke out.

The “King William Ale House”, your pride and joy. Of course you owned about 60 other pubs in Bristol, but this was your baby, your first one. The furniture was black leather with gold linings. It had a gramophone in the corner and often men would come in to request songs.

On Wednesday nights, you always had a slow night, so often chairs and tables would be cleared out and couples could come and dance in the evening. On Sundays after lunch, men came in and often asked for the radio to hear about the latest news or the racing broadcasts.

Today was Wednesday meaning it was slow so it would be easy to eye-fuck the Peaky Blinders.

The doors opened, in stepped one man; then another; then another; then another; then another; and a final one.

If you were a suspicious woman, you would say those were your new business associates; lucky for them, you were because you swiftly greeted them and played the slowest song you had. 

It was time to finesse your way into these gangsters hearts.

“Evening boys, welcome to the “King William Ale House”. The couples booths are in the corner and dancing is encouraged for all. Drinks?” Your accent was thick and sultry. Really, you were teasing them, but you were never one to discriminate.

“Orright. Isiah, Finn, go to the booths-” the one with the burly moustache grumbled.

“-the couples booths?” the ginger one screeched.

Another man spoke up, identical to the rest of them, “for fucks- just go, Finn. Scud can come sit by you if your pride is hurting too much.”

One of the men placed his caps on the counter. In the corner of your eye, you saw the glinting sheen of a blade sewn into the plane and rather boring cap.

So it is true?

“A bottle of Irish and the whereabouts of Ozymandius.” His voice was monotonous and deep.

“I apologise, Mister, but I do not know their whereabouts.”

The man with the burly moustache got very close to your face, “now you listen here, sweetheart-“

“-Arthur, Arthur. Calm down, eh. We’ll wait.”

The men sat at the bar and smoked. Others in the room got up on their feet and danced quietly together. In your opinion, you were rather enjoying yourself. There’s a certain rush one gets when they deceive the arrogant of the world.

You leant your back to the bar and faced the array of drinks and sours; and above the debauchery rested a plaque.

Everyday you read that plaque. Everyday you remembered where you came from and why you do what you do.

“I woulda thought the King of Bristol woulda had a watch on him, Tommy.” The one with the baby face and toothpick sneered, “I don’t like waiting like this.”

“Ozymandius is never late. They need no watch for they know that time is wasted.” You muttered saltily.

“Are you a spy?” The one with the monotonous voice asked, ‘Tommy’ you think.

You didn’t move your head from the plaque, only continuing to stare at the italic writing. “No, not a spy. Though I do like watching.”

The hush fell over the room again as you listened to the slow music playing quietly.

The door opened once more and another couple stepped in. It was Daniel and Lisa, a lovely new couple. They even had a baby on the way!

“Danny! There you are! Ah Lisa, how’re you doing? How’s the baby?” You smiled warmly at the couple.

Daniel used to hang about on the streets when he was a kid, you saw him as useful and put him to work in the local inn. He met Lisa and the rest was history. You were definitely a bit of a romantic

Danny was about to open his mouth when you heard a bottle slam on the counter again, it was the rude man with the monotonous voice. “Are you a whore, then?”

You played nice and told “Tommy” to excuse you and you carried on with your conversation with Danny and Lisa.

While watching Danny and Lisa dance and look at each other, you remembered what your mother used to say to you.

“There are locked rooms inside all women; kitchen of lust, bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy. Sometimes, the men—they come with keys, and sometimes, the men—they come with hammers.”

While you were lost in your thoughts, you heard the sound of a fist being slammed into oak: the man with the moustache was having a tantrum.

“Have we been fucking stood up, Tom? Is that it? Lady-“ he took a gun from his holster within his jacket, “-you’re gonna tell us where Ozymandius is, otherwise I’m gonna blow your fucking brains out.”

You trotted around the counter to face the man head on with his gun still pointing at your face. You grabbed the gun directly from his hand and twisted it, listening for the sickening crunch of his finger in the trigger slot.

To avoid hitting anyone else in the bar, you twisted the gun down. You used your right hand to stop the wrist as you used the left hand to bend their wrist, grabbing the gun, and pushing the gun down.

After quickly disarming the man, you pushed his quivering frame to the floor. You took the gun in your hand and like a good game of ‘Simon Says’ all the others with peaked caps took out theirs as well.

You pointed your gun to Tommy who you now understood was the leader, all silent and sneer of cold command. You were no fool.

With one gun pointing to one man and four pointing at you; you liked your chances.

The one with the baby face spoke up, “who are you, eh? Who is she?” His voice was loud and maybe distressed but now was not the time for shock analysis.

You stared and got closer to the man, ‘Tommy’. He made the wise decision to not extract his gun, but his expression looked nearly bored. You admired that in a man.

“Evening ladies and gentlemen, I’m very sorry to disrupt your couples night, but for tonight, the “King William Ale House” is closing early.” Danny and Lisa along with the other couples all scurried out.

All that was left now was you against the blinders. Your men who still sat in their chairs did not move. They knew not to. They were only there in case you died. Unlikely, but you didn’t like leaving much up to chance.

You inched closer to ‘Tommy’, despite his bored exterior, you saw the curiosity that resides in his temple. “I’m not a fucking whore, eh? You hear me?” You brought the gun closer to his face, hearing the tell tale click of it’s metal as you pressed it against his face.

“Who are you then?” His eyes quivered, but his face remained like a stone, eyebrow crooked.

“My name is Ozymandius, King of Kings;

Look on my works, ye Mighty and dispair!”

You pushed the cold metal closer to his face. You sighed again, “I’m very sorry boys, but we’re going to have to cut this short. You were late for our meeting, anyway.”

You clicked back the gun on to safety and instead cupped Tommy’s jaw. You leaned in close, making an effort to fan your breath.

“I’ve read about you in the papers, Shelby. Maybe next time, don’t be late for our evening date?” You felt his spine shiver as you spoke. “Two weeks. Meet me back here. Same time. Bring your cleanest suit and maybe some flowers, just for me? Yeah? Alone and sweet; how quaint.”

Leaving the frozen men behind, you toddled back around the counter and started washing glasses that sat there.

Slowly while swaying to the music that still played, you hummed the tune to yourself. When you looked up again, the men were still standing there like ninnies.

“What’re you lot still doing here? I told you, we’re closed.”

You carried on your work of cleaning glasses while heavy boots shuffled on the ground, and two of them picking up the groaning man with the burly moustache.

You placed down your glass and leaned back against the counter again. Looking up at the plaque, you read aloud:

“I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

——

Based off of ‘Ozymandius’ by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

[jakey-beefed-it]

Coming up with Necron Dynasty stuff, and resultant fretting about actual names, under the cut

So the first thing to square away is the inspiration: primarily drawing from cosmic horror themes and specifically early cosmic horror/cosmic horror-adjascent writers of the late 19th/early 20th century (Lovecraft, Bierce, Chambers, Machen, Dunsany), the reapers from Mass Effect, the machines from the Matrix, the Cybermen from Dr. Who, and of course a hefty dose of Ancient Egypt as interpreted through Shelly’s Ozymandias.

As such, the basic thrust of my dynasty is that they (at least the Phaeron in charge of them) are actually quite satisfied with biotransference; forsaking the weakness of mortal flesh for undying self-repairing immortality was a solid move in the right direction toward full apotheosis. The royal court have no interest in reverting to flesh bodies, and count their ‘souls’ and the individuality of most of their 'lessers’ as no great loss.

But it wouldn’t be enough to simply *enjoy* the benefits of abandoning the flesh, if they did not share this benefescience with the younger species who have come to fill the galaxy. Their lives are turbulent, troubled both by the weaknesses of their simple organic forms and the ever-looming threat of the Warp that their own ‘souls’ pose. Better by far to strip their flawed flesh, capture their minds in imperishable and warp-free forms. It’s for their own good.

I think I might run with the idea that most of the Necron Warriors and other chuds are in fact biotransferred humans, Cybermen and Husk style to call back to two of the chief inspirations. Consciousnesses stripped from body and soul, assigned to rudimentary machine forms that lack sufficient processing power to retain much in the way of individuality, loosed on their erstwhile fellows.

Maybe because the Tomb World in question saw much harder wear from time than most seem to have- I really like the new more heavily corroded look of the newer necron models and it makes a lovely way to add in various forms of oxidation for visual interest. So lots of their less ‘important’ members (warriors and such) were either ruined or salvaged for parts to repair the more ‘important’ members of the court, and they needed to replenish their numbers quickly when waking up beneath a now-Imperial hive world. Whether this forms a convenient excuse for ‘sharing’ biotransference with the humans, is a happy coincidence, or is some form of portent that the evangelization of necrodermis is The Correct Path Forward depends on who you ask and how cynical or full of quasi-religious fervor they are.

So okay that’s all well and good, a clear ‘personality’ and aesthetic for the army, but now I gotta name the dynasty, its tomb world, and its Phaeron. Fffffuck. Naming things is hard.

Ok. Start with the Phaeron. so far I’ve got a few names jotted down:

Atramenes- sounds egyptian, sounds vaguely Important, inspired by the word ‘atramentous’ meaning dark/shadowy. Downside is that I used this for like the first boss monster in my d&d campaign, a lowly Nothic. Might thus make a better name for a Cryptek of some kind? Even though it’s a cool name? Enh? Not sure though, because lifting ideas from my d&d games, while at least they’re my own ideas generally, still feels a bit like a cop-out.

Khatash- sounds vaugely egyptian, sounds vaguely important, makes a decent dynastic name ‘Khatashic’. Downside is that this is basically just part of the name of one of my d&d setting’s Evil Gods, Bel Katash, the First Tiefling, the Usurper God of Death. Upside is that the basic personality and backstory actually kinda fit for a necron Phaeron.

Khephret- sounds very egyptian as it’s just the name of the scarab god of the dawn, Khephri, with a sligthly different ending. Cool association with scarabs given the necron scarabs, might make a decent Phaeron name? Khephret/Khephretic/Khephretakh dynasty sounds okay. Downside is that Khephri is... kind of a nice dude, associated with light and rebirth and all. Actually that might work? ‘Rebirth’ into necrodermis, ‘light’ from various horrible ray guns?

Akinshekhor- sounds not egyptian at all but sounds kinda Sumerian to me, so at least it still evokes ‘ancient ass desert’? Sounds very important and somewhat intimidating. Downside is it was literally the name of my summoned Doomguard in WoW many years ago and while I was like ‘oh shit that sounds like a Babylonian Demon King! rad!’ and was very pleased with my good luck on the random name generator, fundamentally it’s still a personal MMO reference which rates even lower than lifting ideas from my d&d campaigns.

Ramesekh- sounds very egyptian obviously; Rameses = Ozymandias and all that. Doesn’t sound especially intimidating or important to me, unfortunately.

On to the tomb world. So far the ideas are:

Carcosa- just call it fuckening Carcosa. Maybe it orbits the star Hali. Maybe one of the earliest biotransferred humans was the Planetary Governor Cassilda. Downside: just outright flagrant theft from Bierce and Chambers.

Nephandor- drawn from ‘nefandous’ meaning ‘unspeakable’, ties in nicely with my early ideas for the dynasty name based on something similar but then I ran into the fact that there’s already a canon dynasty called Nephrekh so had to rethink things. Kinda sounds like Nephren-Ka, also, being Lovecraft’s ancient egyptian avatar of Nyarlathotep.

Eidolon- great ominous name for a planet. Eidolon being a word that can mean both ‘perfected form’ and ‘spectre of oncoming death’ and carrying connotations of not-quite-human. Downside of course is that there’s already a chaos space marine in the Emperor’s Children named Eidolon. Bleh.

Ophir- biblical name for a historical place proooobably in India but has the ri ght ‘sound’ to it, making one think of shifting sands and ancient ruins. ‘

“Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away”

Anyhow this got... long.... but I kinda want anyone who bothered to read this far to weigh in on your favorites because I am having a terrible time deciding anything here besides the basic ideas outlined before the names section.

[riathel]

Thoughts about Shelley and the Unresolved Questions of Season 12

Well, I am writing a meta post about the Timeless Children and why I think it adds such an interesting complexity to the Master’s relationship with the Doctor, but in the meantime, while I process that finale, I wanted to write about something I’ve noticed this entire season.

The connection to the Shelleys and to Byron.

To TL;DR this post:  I think that next season, we’ll get an answer to who the Kasaavin are, it will tie into Percy having had the Cyberium in him (and it having been around Byron’s house), and we’ll get some huge development for Yaz, the Master and the Doctor, as they’ve all been in the Kasaavin realm.

Let’s recap all the times we’ve lingered around Byron and the Shelleys this season, shall we? This includes some very brief history lessons, and I will be including links!

Episode 2: Spyfall Part 2

We meet Ada Lovelace, who has a connection to the Kasaavin. She sees them in her dreams, she’s the one to rescue the Doctor from their realm. Brief history lesson: Ada Lovelace was an absolutely BRILLIANT mathematician and the parent of computers. She was also the only legitimate child of Lord Byron and his wife. She died in 1852 at age 36, taken far too young. I’ll post the scene here for benefit:

[Kasaavin realm] ADA: Please be assured all this will pass. I shall be recovered momentarily. DOCTOR: When you say recovered, what do you mean? ADA: The paralysis will fade. DOCTOR: You don't look paralysed. ADA: Not in this realm, but in my earthly aspect. DOCTOR: Right. What's your name? ADA: I am Ada. DOCTOR: And what do you think this realm is, Ada? ADA: I believe it to be my mind. Though I have not met another here before. DOCTOR: Then what do you think I am? ADA: I presume you are a consequence of my thoughts. DOCTOR: No. I'm the Doctor, and I'm very real. But you've been here before? ADA: Many times. When the paralysis subsides, I find myself fully back in my body, restored in the physical realm. If you are real, do you have your own solution for egress from here? DOCTOR: No exit strategy. Before I leave, I need to work out what this place is. Oh! Those fragments of light or energy, why are they surrounding you? ADA: They are always here with me. They place a word in my mind. Kasaavin? (One of the light creatures appears.) DOCTOR: Ada, step away. ADA: Do not be afraid. This is my guardian. DOCTOR: This is their realm. This is where they're from. But how did you bring us here? Unless... You can't be. But you must be. What, gateways? We go through you and arrive in your realm? I say realm. It's not a planet, not really a void. A separate dimension? Are we beyond our... my universe? ADA: Little of what you are saying makes sense to me, but I am concerned you'll be marooned here. When my guardian has returned... DOCTOR: They're not your guardians. ADA: I can offer you my hand. We may leave this place together. DOCTOR: I don't think that will work. ADA: How will you know if you do not try? Decide, Doctor.

Later in the episode:

DOCTOR: If you're Charles Babbage, then you're not just any old Ada. You're Ada Lovelace, daughter of Lord Byron and Annabella Milbanke, one of the great minds. ADA: I am Ada Gordon, madam. DOCTOR: 1834. Of course you are. Well, maybe one day, who knows, you might meet a nice Earl. This changes everything! This isn't an accident. Ada Lovelace in Babbage's house? You're clues. You're important.

Charles Babbage has the Silver Lady (aka the Kasaavin device) in his house, but Ada is the one who has been being visited by them.

DOCTOR: Ada, when was your first paralysis? ADA: I was 13 years old. That is when I was first transported to the place where we met, and I first saw an apparition. DOCTOR: And over the years, the paralysis recurs with the same effect? ADA: Yes. No doctor has ever been able to diagnose the cause. DOCTOR: Well, this Doctor may be able to. An apparition, from this machine. BABBAGE: Correct. DOCTOR: So, they take you, Ada, multiple times from here and they study you in their dimension, which means they can't be in this dimension for long. But maybe they gain an ally, a mastermind who builds them a machine which stabilises them in this world long enough for them to send spies and to spread their work and start a plan. 'Cause I've seen the map in his hut. Multiple Earths. Except not. Not multiple Earths. Multiple time periods. These creatures aren't just alien spies on Earth, they're spies through Time, through history, starting with you.

Or, at the very least, the Doctor assumed they were starting with Ada. Maybe they started earlier - with her parents. Or maybe the Master found out about the events of  The Haunting of Villa Diodati with the Cyberium - but we’ll get to that in time.

Again, Spyfall ends with a neat-ish conclusion as to them being focussed on “computing history” and “human DNA”

DOCTOR: I know what this is. A temporal map, showing every significant person in the development of computers through history, starting with you, Ada. This is the plan. See? BOTH: No. ADA: Wh... what is a computer? DOCTOR: Oh, forget you heard that word, otherwise I've just disrupted the whole of history. Again. Okay. Ah, my brain's fizzing. Good. The Kasaavin posted an agent on every person on that map, because that's what spies do, what Barton does. They gather all the data. Where does the DNA fit in? Kasaavin, technology, DNA. How are they all connected? Oh! Human DNA. That's what they were testing.

Episode 8: The Haunting of Villa Diodati

Gif by itberice.

This is the big episode, where I started to notice it especially. Huh, a bit a coincidence they’re doing Byron when Ada was his daughter. Interesting.

DOCTOR: Okay, so there was a spot of rain, and gale-force winds and a super-long walk. But I got us here, didn't I? And Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, soon to be Shelley, screamed in your face. Quality historical experience, that. Gold. YASMIN: (sotto) On that night that inspired Frankenstein. FLETCHER: If... you'd be so kind. GRAHAM: Blimey. DOCTOR: Excuse me, Yaz. I was very clear about the rules. RYAN: Nobody mention Frankenstein, and don't interfere. YASMIN: And nobody snog Byron.

This is because, as Tumblr has already noted, Byron is a thot/fuckboi.

BYRON: She walks in beauty, like the night. DOCTOR: Of cloudless climes and starry skies. BYRON: I'm intensely flattered you're familiar with my work, Mrs Doctor. DOCTOR: Just Doctor is fine. I'm quite into Shelley's stuff too. He about?

Then enters the Lone Cyberman (aka Ashad). It is scouring the villa for Percy, to obtain the Cyberium, and cannot find him. When it starts charging up, it begins to quote Percy’s poetry (specifically Queen Mab book 2 and Queen Mab book 3)

CYBERMAN (glowing with energy): There's not one atom of yon Earth, but once was living man. (Book 2) The sword that stabs his peace; He cherisheth The snakes that gnaw his heart; he raises up the tyrant whose delight Is in his woe. (Book 3)

As the episode progresses, Ashad gets the Cyberium back from Percy (who has been dying with it). Even more interestingly though - the Cyberium wants to choose the Doctor.

DOCTOR: And it chooses me. Interesting. Time Lord magnetism. Looks like I'm the true Guardian. (The Cyberium passes into the Doctor.) CYBERMAN: Surrender it or I will execute you. DOCTOR: I'd be very careful with those execution threats. I can feel it already, fusing to me. It feels very at home. Recognising great host material. Not to big myself up, but I don't think it'll vacate me without a fight.

But now we know - she’s not just a Time Lord. So can the Cyberium sense that? Did it know? Or perhaps, even if she were just a Time Lord, it would have preferred her... Anyway, this deviates too hard into my other, upcoming post. I think this episode, the Villa episode, was VITAL in determining what will happen next season.

Episode 10: The Timeless Children

MASTER: Look upon my work, Doctor, and despair.

This is an homage to Percy Shelley’s sonnet, Ozymandias, which contains the iconic lines:

“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

Oh, cute, what a fun little addition, I first thought when I heard it in the finale. (It now occurs to me, while writing this, that the Master might have quoted Shelley to the Doctor because he knows she loves his work. My poor shipper heart.)  

Then I thought - hang on. That’s a lot of “coincidental” involvement with the Byrons & Shelleys in this season, especially when the rest of the plots have been so deftly woven with surprises.

The Master mentions to Ashad/the Cyberium that he has the entire Matrix in his head and then he ends up absorbing the Cyberium into him, linking it with him in ways that will have consequences we haven’t even seen yet. It all sets up such a juicy, interesting thread into the next season.

Summary:

What does it all mean? Who can say? I hope this will give us some answer for what the Kasaavin are, where their universe is (is it beyond the Boundary? is it another Boundary?), how the Master found them (was it in the Matrix? did the Time Lords know about them?)

Most importantly: I think Yaz will play a huge role in the next season, given she was in the Kasaavin realm, as will the Doctor and (I suspect/hope) the Master again. This Kasaavin plot-line is still left unresolved, and I will be incredibly interested to see what Chibnall’s plan contains.

This could all just be a very cute, season-long homage to Byron/Shelley... but... it’s very suspicious. Especially given they have an entire two episodes focussed on them/their progeny.

If anyone has any other examples of Percy & Byron or descendants in season 11/12, please add them through reblogs! :D I worry that I haven’t gotten every single moment, or that I missed a couple of them.

Links to biographies:

Ada Lovelace Mary Shelley Percy Shelley Lord Byron

[vloidunderscore42]

Ozymandias

Tuesday, june 11, 2019

I started to despise seeing the blank page of Tumblr. It gets me feeling weak, like a crybaby, waiting for attention of sorts.

"No one is afraid of heights, they're afraid of falling down. No one is afraid of saying I love you, they're afraid of the answer."

Kurt Cobain

I'm not even sure I know how, or where to start, I haven't posted for so long, just didn't feel the need to, or actually, I did, but I just wanted to ignore it.

Exams are to come in 7 days, first I'll have to take the romanian language exam and then the mathematics exam, I hope for at least a 9/10, but I can never be too sure.

"Forever isn't for everyone, is forever for you? It sounds like settling down or giving up, but it don't sound much like you girl"

Alex Turner

Love, such an irritating subject. I got this girlfriend, mainly to get my mind off someone who I tried something with, and didn't quite work (neither did 'getting my mind off of them', but nevermind), yet she wasan't even into me. Imagine trying to give someone space to get them comfortable with you, try make something work, and they don't even acknowledge your existence when you're near them. I just couldn't keep pushing, and not only that, I didn't want to.

I'm just so sick and tired of caring for people I find it easier to make them hate me, and settle down with some 'friends' who don't care that much about me to actually get mad at me. Didn't plan it to go like this, but once I saw it start, I didn't stop it, can't really see the point. All I'd do is hurt myself more and more, and annoy others on the long term. Short term annoyances and relationship degradation. Sounds like 'fun'.

Ozymandias

Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

Ozymandias, a term I usually use when I think of relationships. Its a tale of perspectives. It tells the story of a long fallen king told through the perspective of a traveller to the poet, which then tells it to the reader. It's also very indicative of failure and something turning into ruins. I liked to use it as "yeah, our relationship is turning into an Ozymandias relationship", but its only something I get and no one else does. Now I don't really use it anymore, cause it feels like some sort of attack.

"Nostalgia is the hearts way of reminding you of something you once loved. It travels in many forms, on a song, in a scen or in photographs. But no matter how it comes to you it will always have the same bitter-sweet taste."

Ranata Suzuki

I feel like I'm rotting from the inside, and I've felt like this the past like 2 weeks. I just don't know what to do. Its like you see a nurse giving you cyanide instead of water, through your IV, yet you're too afraid to tell her she's doing something something really dangerous and should stop, cause she's the expert, so you just sit and let her poison you.

Its been so long, I just don't know what other things I should add, so I'll continue with the songs (more, cause lots of time passed)

Snap Out Of It - Arctic Monkeys

Entice Me - Colourblind

Haat De Stank - Demob Happy

Cleric Girl - Sisyfuss

Cornerstone - Arctic Monkeys

Goodnight.

[crymeariveronceagain]

If you could describe all the kotlc kids with a poem. What would it be? I read your stories w Biana/Alvar and poetry so now I'm kinda curious-

oooooh what a fun askkkk!!!

Sophie Foster: "Ozymandias", by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Keefe Sencen: "The Fool's Prayer", by Edward Roland Sill.

’T is not by guilt the onward sweep Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay; ’T is by our follies that so long We hold the earth from heaven away.

Fitz Vacker: "Genius Child" by Langston Hughes.

Can you love an eagle, Tame or wild? Can you love an eagle, Wild or tame? Can you love a monster Of frightening name?

Nobody loves a genius child.

Kill him - and let his soul run wild.

Biana Vacker: Henry The Fifth's Monologue in Act Four, Scene One, by William Shakespeare.

What is thy soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree and form, Creating awe and fear in other men? Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd Than they in fearing. What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness, And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!

Tam Song: "Mending Wall" by Robert Frost.

Before I built a wall I'd ask to know What I was walling in or walling out And to whom I was like to give offense. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That wants it down.’ I could say ‘Elves’ to him, But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather He said it for himself. 

Linh Song: "Sea-Fever", by John Masefield.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

Marella Redek: "We Real Cool", by Gwendolyn Brooks.

We real cool. We     Left school. We

    Lurk late. We    Strike straight. We

  Sing sin. We       Thin gin. We

 Jazz June. We        Die soon.

Dex Dizznee: "The Owl-Critic", by James Thomas Fields.

Anatomy teaches, Ornithology preaches, An owl has a toe That can't turn out so! I've made the white owl my study for years, And to see such a job almost moves me to tears! Mr. Brown, I'm amazed You should be so gone crazed As to put up a bird In that posture absurd! To look at that owl really brings on a dizziness; The man who stuffed him don't half know his business!" And the barber kept shaving.

Stina Heks: "Marriage", by Marrianne Moore.

She loves herself so much, she cannot see herself enough -- a statuette of ivory on ivory, the logical last touch to an expansive splendor earned as wages for work done:

Maruca Chebota: "Crossing The Brooklyn Ferry", by Walt Whitman.

It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall, The dark threw its patches down upon me also, The best I had done seem’d to me blank and suspicious, My great thoughts as I supposed them, were they not in reality meagre?

Glimmer(because I love the idea of her I've created in my mind): "There's A Certain Slant Of Light" by Emily Dickinson.

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us – We can find no scar, But internal difference – Where the Meanings, are –

[centaurianthropology]

I am not particularly well-versed in meta-analysis so I'm curious what someone better versed in the art (aka you) would have to say about the relevance of Percy Bysshe Shelley's Ozymandias (to which I'm assuming the ep title was a reference) to the episode, the story as a whole, and potentially also specifically the Unknowing?

First off, don’t sell yourself short!  Meta is seriouslyjust the art of blathering your own opinion about something with some semblanceof structure and using the facts at hand as evidence.  That’s why it’s sofun to meta with other people.  My own meta is always just my opinionbacked with whatever knowledge on the subject I happen to have.  Hearing the metas from other people enrichesmy opinion and let me test my own theories against others.

Second, I should probablywarn you that it’s been a healthy while since I did any sort of poetryanalysis, and never considered myself particularly versed in it (no punintended).  So for this meta, we’re going to only be using the words ofthe poem, and the context of the Library of Alexandria, which I believe is what’sbeing obliquely referenced with that particular quote.  And given that we’re drawing ever closer tothe Unknowing, I feel like that’s a particularly apt little bit of poetry todraw from.  I’m also going to dig alittle into the history of the Library of Alexandria for this one.  Again, this isn’t my area.  I took a few classes on Egyptology during myMaster’s work, and that’s been more than a decade ago.  And even then, we didn’t get far into theGreco-Roman rule of Egypt, which is in large part where the history of thelibrary comes from.  So I’ll be using myold friend Wikipedia here.  If someoneelse out there happens to have made a proper study of the library and wouldlike to add things or correct some of my misapprehensions, please do!

So, yeah.  Preliminariesdone.  Let’s meta.  And history.

Ozymandias

I met a traveller from anantique landWho said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stoneStand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,Tell that its sculptor well those passions readWhich yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:And on the pedestal these words appear:‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'Nothing beside remains. Round the decayOf that colossal wreck, boundless and bareThe lone and level sands stretch far away.”

I think a huge part of the underpinnings of the storyof ‘The Magnus Archives’ is change.  The Unknowing is apparently adance that doesn’t end the world, but changes it irrevocably into somethingthat better resembles the Stranger.  Something even more bizarre anduncanny than the world is currently.

It’s my theory, since hearingthis, that the world as it currently is, is held in balance.  None of theGreat Old Ones have managed to get a firm enough foothold to fully transformthe world.  But there have been moments when something like the Unknowinghave likely succeeded, but those successes were temporary.  Let meexplain.

A little bit of historicalcontext, likely tweaked in the TMA universe, regarding the Library ofAlexandria.  The Library was considered to be one of the great centers oflearning in the western world from around the 3rd century BCE until itsdestruction.   It was believed to house somewhere between 40,000 and400,000 papyrus scrolls at its height.

The exact date of itsdestruction is unknown, though some believe that Julius Caesar’s army burned itas early as 48 BCE, though it might have been as late as the 270s CE. Quite a few of the works there survived at a smaller site called the Serapeum,a large temple built during the Greek rule of Egypt.  The Serapeum itselfis thought to have been destroyed on the orders of  Pope Theophilius ofAlexandria, during his purge of all non-Christian places of worship, around 390CE.  A library to rival Alexandria’s likely did not exist again in thatarea until the House of Wisdom in Baghdad built its library in the 9th centuryCE (many historical books from before that period would have been entirely lostwere it not for the Arabic translations reconstructed there).

I want to lay this out toshow that there was no singular destruction of the library.  All the dates are contested, and all theevents surrounded its eventual burning were also questionable.  Given that the Serapeum survived as anoffshoot, and in the TMA universe, the library had an even more secretiveoffshoot in its Archive, it’s likely even harder to place the date of thatUnknowing event.  But for convenience,let’s use the later date as the destruction of the Archives.  Specifically, the library wasburned around270 CE during an attack on the city by the Roman Emperor Aurelian.  

He’s an interesting guy.  He’s one of those rose-up-the-ranks militaryemperors like Domitian that tended to do fairly well by his empire.  Aurelian’s rule was actually a period ofbarely keeping things together for the Roman Empire.  They were stretched too thin, and it was onlythrough his concerted military efforts that the whole thing didn’t collapseduring his reign.  He was actually deifiedby the Empire for his work.  

So it’s interesting that theLibrary of Alexandria was destroyed as part of an effort to maintain order, tokeep the world as the Romans knew it from unravelling.  It was done as an effort to fight change, inour world.  

Could that have been whereGertrude’s plan started to hatch?  Weknow she went to Alexandria and studied the remnants of that Archive.  She might even be responsible for the deathof that former Archivist still trapped there.

We’re viewing the destructionof the Institute as a part of the Unknowing, but whose word do we have forthat?  Elias, who defines himselfentirely as the beating heart of the Institute. Of course he believes that the preservation of the Archive and theInstitute are necessary to prevent the Unknowing.  And superficially, that makes sense.  If the Unknowing is about changing the worldto be less, well, knowing, then maintaining the Archives should be of paramountimportance.  But instead, Gertrudedecided to detonate the whole thing. Why?  That’s the question I keepasking.  If she knew that the Unknowingwas coming, and that things were rapidly declining toward the dance thatchanges the world, why would she pick that time to destroy the Archive?

Unless preventing theUnknowing is less about one side or the other winning than it is preserving thebalance.  

So we come back to the poem ‘Ozymandias’,which is a hauntingly short, lonely piece. At its most basic, it’s a poem about all things ending, all thingsdecaying, and all things ending up as equal in the vast flat desert.  We have in this a once-great statue, and aboast on a plaque demanding that the reader gaze upon the great works of thislost king.  Except the works are gone,swallowed back by the equality of the desert.

Nothing beside remains.

I think that this specificline could certainly reference the Unknowing, in the simple fact that nothinglike that lasts.  We don’t know if thedestruction of Alexandria was a successful Unknowing or not.  One might claim that the fact that theStranger is attempting to dance the Unknowing again indicates it wasn’t.  But how would we know?  What is the result of the Unknowing?  Change. But change keeps on going.  Novictory is static.  Do you think that ifthe Unknowing were to succeed, the Beholding would die?  No. These beings, whatever they are, don’t have any concept of an end.  They don’t exist that way.  So one wins, and for a while they have astronger grip over this reality.  Buteventually things turn around.  All theirgreat works fall.  The library isdestroyed.  The mask shatters.  All that’s left are remnants of thattime.  A face in an empty desert.

And on a smaller level, Ithink that line is being addressed to Elias. His hubris clearly knows no bounds. He is very much Ozymandias, this King of Kings, this beating heart of hiskingdom.  Look on his works: the libraryof the Institute is one of the premiere paranormal libraries in the world.  The other supernatural beings look at thisman—because he still is mostly a man—and they respect him.  They respect the order he keeps and the powerhe wields.  And right now, it really doesfeel like we have to look on his works and despair.  He’s the single most powerful entity directlyinvolved in the story right now.  

But change happens.  The library falls.  The Unknowing happens or it doesn’t.  This show is masterful at the surprisinganticlimax, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that was a part of theUnknowing.  If the Stranger wins … andnothing in particular happens.  Becausethe world is already uncanny.  Things tipone direction or the other, but they are always eventually leveled backout.  It seems much more immediate forthe characters, of course, as they are affected on an amplified scale by theseevents.  But to the Great Old Ones?  It’s just another move in the game, with therubble of a thousand moves before stretched out across the globe.

And this is why I really needto find out why Gertrude decided that destroying the Institute wasnecessary.  This is why I need to knowwhat she discovered when she went to Alexandria.  When she met the oldest Archivist inexistence.  This is why I need to knowwhat was in the Schwartzwald tomb that was powerful enough to restart theArchive through Jonah Magnus.  This iswhy I want to know more about what happened during the last Unknowing event,who won, and how.  Because even though it’sjust another move in a game without end, even though everything does eventuallyrevert to the desert, we care about this particular move.  And to understand how this is going to playout, Jon needs to understand what came before.

Elias is Ozymandias, revelingin his works even as they are fleeting. He’s lost track of his own scope in this game, his own importance.  I think Gertrude kept that sense that she wassmall, and that her moves had to be strategic to achieve her ends, whateverthose were.  She had a sense that allthings end, that some things might need to end. Perhaps she let go of too much. Jon isn’t Elias or Gertrude.  He’sslapped in the face at every opportunity with the notion that he’s not the mostpowerful being in the room.  He cares somuch he hates it.  He wants to protectpeople, which makes this move and this choice matter to him perhaps more thanit even did for Gertrude.  She wasplaying the game.  He’s trying to save asmany people as possible.  It’s the pieceson the board he cares about, not necessarily the result of the game.

And that’s where his choicesare going to differ from Elias and Gertrude. He’s not a statue in the desert, nor is he the sacking army that levelsthe library.  He’s just one guy given acertain amount of power and more importance in this game than he everwanted.  He’s connected to his humanity ina way that Gertrude wasn’t, and that Elias can’t understand.  His entire history says that he’s isolatedand distant.  That he avoids deep andmeaningful relationships.  But that doesn’tmean he doesn’t care.  Entirely theopposite, really.  He cares toomuch.  And that means that how he playsthis game is going to be radically different to the way that Elias or Gertrudewould.  In the end, the Archive may wellfall.  The Stranger may or may notwin.  But Jon will simply try to savewhoever he can.

[warsmith-wolf]

The Aitnaîan Son

I wrote this at work in an unexpected flash of inspiration - especially considering I haven’t done anything with Warsmith Damakairon in a while. Beware, it’s a long one...

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.

- Ancient manuscript of Old Terra

The Plain of Kalypheros

Olympia

849.M30

His name was Damakairon, first son of the Tyrant of Aitnaîos, and he was honoured to be here.

The boy, of fine Olympian stock born and bred, was one of thousands of young males present at the gathering – ranging from the prepubescent to the mid-teens. Having passed his Naming Ceremony on his sixteenth birthday only two weeks prior, Damakairon was considered practically venerable by the strict limits of the gathering’s age band, and his taller frame afforded him great vision over the heads of his juniors.

The Olympian youths – volunteered and tithed alike – had been gathered in a massive amphitheatre built specifically for this purpose, all facing a platform at its end. They shivered in their chitons in the morning breeze, awaiting judgement from their prospective masters – giant warriors in dull grey armour, accented in jet black and trimmed in bronze, stationed all around the perimeter with bulky rifles. Leering skulls sat on the left shoulder of each warrior, resplendent in silver, and a banner of their insignia fluttered above the crowd, as if marking everyone within it as their sovereign property.

They were, of course. And Damakairon would have it no other way.

The Warlord of Lochos had received mandate from a golden being – called only ‘the Emperor’, apparently – to embark on some unknown, great venture, and had granted him an army of superhuman warriors to command. It was for this army that the Olympian youths had been selected, intended as reinforcements from the homeworld of their ‘prime-mark’, and the recruiting standards for the ‘Astartes Legion’ had been sent to every city-state, every satrap.

None refused the summons. It was always so with the word of the Warlord of Lochos, unifier of Olympia.

At some unknown signal, the giant warriors turned to face the stage, which prompted the children – Damakairon amongst them – to turn with them, wondering what was about to occur. Great footsteps resounded on the amphitheatre’s flooring, precise, far heavier than any human’s, and the mysterious arrival was soon revealed to be none other than the Warlord himself.

Perturabo. The Lord of Iron. Fourth son of the Emperor.

Damakairon was awestruck by his majesty, the many legends around the nature of Dammekos’ progeny now proven utterly true – and he was not alone in his marvelling. The primarch was taller even than the giant warriors, resplendent in powered armour that mimicked the shape of their own – the distant forefather of what he would later perfect into the Logos. His head was bare, not yet threaded with the network of cabling it would soon acquire, his face heavy set and his gaze cold and indifferent. He wasted no time with flowery introductions or ceremony.

“Progeny of Olympia,” he proclaimed, “you are here to become one of the Emperor’s warriors. You are here to become Astartes, and join the ranks of the Fourth Legion.”

His voice was as thunder, a peal of force that carried to the very end of the amphitheatre without need of technological enhancement. The demigod’s tone begat neither martial brotherhood nor paternal affection. A more reasonable man would have noticed this.

But Damakairon was in the presence of the Lord of Iron. Reason had long since left him, replaced with spellbound admiration. To listen to a demigod was to be enraptured completely.

“This Legion, however, has failed,” the Iron Lord boomed, “brought low by its own blind desire for glory. The galaxy is unforgiving, and cares not for such trifles. I judged them for their failures in the Olympian way.”

The word, unspoken, ghosted across the Olympian youth’s lips. Decimation. The one recourse for troops that failed to meet their standards.

“I have taught them the consequences of blind glory-seeking. You will not make their mistake.” Perturabo coldly surveyed the neophytes before him, thousands of youths caught under his every word. “You will not break, you will not bend, you will not give. You will be as Iron, and will ensure the Fourth Legion never again shames the Emperor’s vision.”

Damakairon felt pride well up in his chest. He had been chosen to return honour to the great Perturabo’s Legion. Perturabo, unifier of Olympia, the mythical prodigy of Lochos. And now he would be taking his unification beyond Olympia – to the very stars themselves – with Damakairon alongside him.

He could see others reacting to the Iron Lord’s words in subtly different ways. Some were like himself, proud and eager to prove themselves worthy of Perturabo’s vision. Others were fixated on the promise of becoming mighty warriors, as Rakator or Eidrachos of old. The rest he could not judge, either from distance or lack of comprehension, but one thing united them – they were all enthralled by the Lord of Iron’s words, passionless though they were.

“Many of you will die. The implantation and training processes are not forgiving. But you will emerge even more so. You shall become the iron within, and the iron without.”

A low murmur crossed the crowd. Iron within. Iron without.

The primarch’s tone remained coldly neutral. “Kneel.”

The noise of thousands of initiates kneeling as one was as a low rumble, as if the earth itself sought to obey the primarch’s command. Damakairon had not even time to think, his body moving without his input – the Lord of Iron had commanded it, and so it had been.

“It is Olympian tradition to swear fealty to your Tyrant – one I shall entertain, one last time.” There was the slightest hint of sorrow in that proclamation, as if the primarch was leaving behind something he could never again experience. “Do you swear undying loyalty to your lord, Perturabo, and my father, the Emperor?”

The response was unanimous and thunderous. “We swear, my lord!”

“Do you pledge to undertake the Emperor’s great vision for mankind – his Great Crusade – until the very stars themselves burn out?”

“We swear, my lord!” Even louder. Even more eager. Damakairon’s heart swelled in his chest.

“And do you swear to become the very best the Emperor’s gene-science can make you – his unbreakable warriors of iron?”

“Iron! Iron! Iron!” The noise was deafening and his throat was hoarse, yet Damakairon did not care. He would not – could not – deny the Warlord of Lochos’ wishes.

“Then rise,” Perturabo spoke amongst the thunder of thousands rising at once, “Iron Warriors.”

The cheer was furious, if brief, the tired voices of the assembled children choking out at last. Damakairon stared at his new liege-lord – his new father – and swore to himself that he would dedicate his life to seeing the Lord of Iron’s dreams fulfilled, no matter the cost.

And he would do so, thousands of years later, even when the dream had long since died in the primarch’s tumultuous mind, lost to the fires of war and betrayal. For his word was as iron, and iron is eternal.

  Aitnaîos, Olympian City-State

The twelfth day of the death of Olympia

000.M31

Alone on his throne, the Tyrant of Aitnaîos awaits the end.

His throne room is empty, his helots having long since fled to safehouses in the palace that they believe will save them from their fate. But the tyrant is no fool. He knows that the fury Olympia has brought down upon itself cannot be hidden from, for they have incurred the wrath of one who will never be stopped.

Their own lost, bitter children. The warriors in iron.

He hears them now, the distant thunder of shells and rifles, looming ever closer. Aitnaîos burns, and the Aitnaîan Keep will soon fall under the guns of the Legion. The smell of burning, flesh and stone alike, has already permeated the palace. Even now, the tyrant’s city crumbles under the orders of the one who once saw it prosper.

The Warlord of Lochos. Perturabo.

Neither the Penthuik League nor the Achean Hexopolis call the Tyrant of Aitnaîos friend, for he remains one of the few who gladly gave his sons to the Legion. So it was with his father, and his mother before him, and her mother, and her father, all the way back to his great-great-great grandmother, who gave her finest son to the newly arrived Iron Warriors. The tyrant reflects bitterly on this as he awaits his final judgement, for he knows that his loyalty will amount to nothing – the Lord of Iron will spare no-one.

They come for him on the ninth hour of Aitnaîos burning.

They are clad in armour the size of small tanks – Terminator armour, though the tyrant knows this not. Stubby, fat-barrelled twin-rifles sit in their hands, each holding an oversized fist at their sides, one carrying a smoking flame projector the size of a mortal man. There are five such warriors, smeared in soot and the blood of his people, the sixth – their leader, perhaps – wearing a chain-threaded cloak over his armour’s back. His combi-bolter rests on a jig atop his suit, for in his grip sits a mighty war maul, taller even than its wielder and capped with a jagged, wall-crushing head. The warriors identify the Tyrant, and their guns – still smoking from encountering the last of his helots – aim at him.

The Tyrant quietly accepts his death. But it does not come. Instead, the chain-cloaked warrior removes his helmet to reveal an achingly familiar face, albeit one changed by gene-enhancement and the rigors of war, one half a machine-cast mockery of the other.

Damakairon of Aitnaîos, the first-born son of a tyrant long since dead, looks sadly upon the ruin of his ancient home, and his mother’s distant descendant.

“I remember this place.” It pains him to do so, though the memories are so, so distant. “Filled with noise, with life.”

“And now look.” The tyrant has found his voice, bitter and accusatory, incensed that fate has mocked him so. “You return to your home as an executioner. The only noises you bring are those of death. There is no life here, not now. You have seen to that.”

The transhuman nods. The action is slow, deliberate. “It pains me, but it is necessary. The Lord of Iron’s word is unbreakable. His vision-“

“The Lord of Iron has murdered millions! Desecrated the ancient pact of Eirene! He slaughters all without restraint, uncaring of their loyalty.” The tyrant stands, dwarfed by his throne. “And I am loyal!”

“For the land to be rebuilt anew, all that is corrupted must first burn.” Damakairon measures his words carefully. “But it will be rebuilt, grander and more beautiful than ever before. You have my word.”

“Your word?” The tyrant snarls, yet still will not step away from his throne, either from cowardice or stubbornness. “Your word is the word of a madman! The Warlord of Lochos spoke to my ancestors – your family – of peace. Where is that peace, Iron Warrior? Where is his vision of peace now?”

The terminators flanking Damakairon bristle at the insult, their weapons raising ever so slightly. The captain remains taciturn, considering his response. When he does, there is sorrow in his tone.

“It is gone from his mind, aye. But not mine. I will finish his dream, even if he no longer remembers it. Aitnaîos will survive – if not on Olympia, then somewhere else. This I promise you.”

The tyrant growls what will be his last benediction through gritted teeth. “Gods curse you, son of Perturabo! Whatever bastardised vision of this place you cling to, I am glad I will not live to see it raised from its ashes!”

He is correct. He was never going to survive.

Damakairon smiles weakly, the left side of his face still cast into its mechanical death mask. “And for that, I am truly sorry.”

The Tyrant of Aitnaîos dies under the cold white light of the moon filtering in through the glass roof of his throneroom, the lamps long since extinguished. There is no ritual execution, no undertaking of custom. Mass reactive rounds hammer the mortal into his throne and turn him into a fine mist from the waist upwards, torn from his mortal coil before he can even take another breath. In this, the captain is merciful. He has ensured the death of his home was quick, at least.

And from death, he will rebuild. But not here. Not on Olympia.

Captain Damakairon turns away from the throne as the heavy flamer begins to burn what remains, catching a whiff of the smell of burnt flesh before his helmet locks re-engage. The old Aitnaîos dies with its tyrant, wrack and ruin under the boots of the vengeful Fourth Legion. But eventually, as all slaughters inevitably do, this will come to pass.

And then – only then – can he begin his great work.

Former Imperial colony of Carthago

Iron Warriors-controlled stronghold world

999.M41

The throneroom resounds to the work of heavy winches. The sound reflects off polished stone and reinforced glass, the architectural style of the great Olympian masons fused with the defensive techniques of Perturabo’s legion. It is not a greatly welcoming place, but it is beautiful in its own, regal way. And what good is a throneroom without a throne?

It is being lowered into place now, the winches straining under its weight. The last surviving relic of old Aitnaîos, repaired and upgraded with the finest command suites the cybernetic artisans of the 204th Grand Battalion can provide. It is locked into place with great care, snaking lengths of cabling disappearing underneath a hole in the floor, sealed away as the throne is welded into place. With its fastening, the throneroom – and by extension, the entire keep – is complete, save for one more piece.

If a throneroom without a throne is no use, what good is a throne without a Tyrant?

He has watched the work with great care, and has intervened himself on many occasions to add his own personal touch to proceedings. This entire operation is his masterwork, decades of rebuilding an entire world from scratch, a world of equal parts form and function. It is the apex of a promise he made nine millennia ago to a father who no longer remembers either him or his oath, and a tyrant who died cursing his name. Though hundreds of wars, thousands of battles, and millions of corpses now lie between him and that day in a dead palace under the light of a bleak moon, the warrior’s word is as iron.

And iron, as they say, is eternal.

The mighty warlord, clad in Terminator armour as fearsome and ancient as he, and wielding a mace reforged with metal salvaged from Aitnaîos’ fall, approaches his throne. The path is flanked by his most loyal brothers – his Basilikos, Terminators one and all. They chant his name as he passes with respect, for they all share in his vision, and now that vision is under their very feet. The warlord sits upon his throne, and in his dark majesty it fits him perfectly. Through mud, blood, and iron has the warlord fought to claim this as his own – first the battalion, now this planet. He has not simply rebuilt his city – he has rebuilt a world in its image, a world that now bears its name.

Warsmith Damakairon, the first Tyrant of Aitnaîos in nine thousand years, master of the Aitnaîan Keep, Lord of the 204th Grand Battalion, gazes upon the capital of his domain from inside his ironclad keep, atop his ancient throne.

And it is all to the good.