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hard--mode · 3 years ago

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Here's the notes for everything that would happen up until the end of the story.... as far as I had it figured out. You'll notice things are a lot less fleshed out the later things go. That's a big reason why this never got finished. the longer I tried to keep the thing running, the more I realized I never had any idea what I wanted to actually DO with this story which made it pretty hard for me to keep up. it's hard to write a story you're trying to take seriously if all you really have are jokes, it turns out.

I haven't reread any of this or edited it at all so who knows what kind of notes I might have written in between things haha

P: so as i was saying about undyne-

C: who’s undyne?

Everyone freezes. Chara just walked right up to papyrus without being noticed. Paps freaks out for a sec before he pulls sans into a huddle. Chara frowns and tries to peek around.

~Montage of papyrus’s excitement and harder puzzles, death montage

~Junior jumble: its sudoku now

Chara’s doing puzzles and sees flowey spying. They shout him over

C: HEY! still following me, loser? Don’t you have anything better to do? (but they smile)

F: somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t get killed too much out here

Flowey pops up closer to them

C: nah, I’m fine! I’ve got that reset power!

F: not for long considering how much you use it (mumbles. Rolls eyes??) (some depiction of chara dying a lot in the bg)

C: by the way…. In the ruins you were telling me to use it… care to tell me more about it since you seem to know so much?

F: I-... uh… well you already know the most of it. It just resets you back to your last SAVE point like nothing happened. Only beings with a powerful SOUL can use it, so monsters with their weak souls can’t.

Chara stops their puzzle work and sits to even the heights: Can flowers?

F: what the heck are you-... oh, no no no. I’m different.

C: so you have the power too.

F: No! I mean-, i used to before you came around. Yeah.

C: so you’ve done resets. (urging him on)

F: yep.

Chara waits a while: ...thats all you have to say?

F: yep

Travel scenes from here on out depict chara and flowey together

Gauntlet:

Flowey remarks that he doesn't remember a save point being before it. Chara goes along and gets paps’ bit. He does to activate it

C: wait this isn't for real right? U can't be srs!!!

P: yeah I am, this is hard mode!

Just show chara repeatedly spawning at the save and running back in with flowey watching them

Then cut to the end chara on the other side of it panting and exhausted, papyrus shocked but also beaming

P: wow you did it!! I'm so proud of u human! I didn’t think you would actually be able to get through it--- I mean- drat! Foiled again! I'll get u one of these times!

Papyrus runs off and Chara watches him with a look of wonder in their eyes.

F: don’t get too excited. his pride is cheap, he’s proud of everyone and every thing

Chara grumbles and marches forward: whatever. I don’t hear you saying you’re proud of me, so why do I have to listen to what you have to say

F: You know, you’re gonna have to fight him soon. Didn’t sans say so? What are you going to do then, die over and over until you give up or are you going to try to murder him just like you did with Toriel? :)

C: I am not! I’m gonna talk him out of it and go right past him like everyone else. Who knows! Maybe he won’t even fight me because he’s that cool. Even if he does, he’s probably a wimp anyways.

F: I wouldn’t be so sure! I bet you don’t stand a chance.

C: shut up! Quit following me if you’re gonna be this useless.

Paps fight

As papyrus carries their body to the shed to rest. Opens on their vision returning and they see their hands hanging toward the ground.

C: why didn’t you kill me? You’re stronger than everyone else, you could easily do it. Why dont you finish me off so everyone can leave or whatever it is you need me to do? Why did you hold back?

P: OH! YOU’RE AWAKE!

C: you held back…

P: OF COURSE i DID! I COULD NEVER KILL YOU, YOU’RE MY-- I HOPE I’M NOT BEING TOO FORWARD, BUT I LIKE TO THINK OF YOU AS MY FRIEND! AND EVEN THOUGH WE DO NEED YOUR SOUL, YOU DESERVE A FIGHTING CHANCE TO DO… WHATEVER IT IS YOU’RE TRYING TO DO.

Chara is too shocked and confused by the sentiment: I don’t… I don’t understand?

P: WHAT’S SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND ABOUT A FRIEND NOT KILLING YOU? HUMANS ARE SO STRANGE ...OH! I SEE NOW! THE REASON WHY YOU CARRY YOUR KNIFE LIKE THAT. IT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE MORE AFRAID OF US MONSTERS THAN WE COULD EVER BE OF YOU!

He sets them down in the shed on the dog bed.

P: I’M SORRY, HUMAN! I WOULD HAVE GIVEN YOU MORE WARNING IF I HAD KNOWN HOW YOU FELT.

C: then… does that mean you’re going to let me go?

P: ABSOLUTELY NOT! I ALREADY CALLED UNDYNE TO MEET ME SO SHE CAN TAKE YOU! AND YOU NEED TO REST NOW AFTER ALL THAT!

C: !! I-I don’t know who Undyne is, but I can’t do that. I’m in a hurry to get out of here.

P: HMM… IF YOU’RE IN A HURRY THEN… NO, NO YOU CAN’T! WE NEED YOUR SOUL, I CAN’T JUST LET YOU LEAVE. UNDYNE’S REALLY COOL TOO, YOU’LL LIKE HER!

C: No, I have to go.

P: AGH, WELL… I SUPPOSE IF YOU CAN GET PAST ME BEFORE I CAN CATCH YOU, THERE’S NOTHING I CAN DO. BUT I WON’T GO EASY ON YOU!

Cut to chara walking toward waterfall, papyrus calling after them to come back and hang out sometime. They keep walking and mutter to themself: Sorry, but I’ll get out of here before that ever happens.

WATERFALL

They see monster kid and side eye sans as they charge in, hurriedly.

Chara keeps flowey around and asks him to read the words for him. FLowey says it’s not important at all to anything they’re doing. It’s just monster history junk that means nothing if chara’s trying to leave. Chara’s like shut up cmon help me out maybe there's clues. FLowey reads some history stuff in waterfall treating it like shit they already know

F: why do you care about all this garbage anyway?

C: I dunno, I guess it just sounds familiar. Like a story I heard a long time ago.

Chara stops suddenly and checks their phone. Flowey asks what’s up

C: i thought it rang… you didn’t hear-

The phone starts ringing. Papyrus is cheerfully on the other end and they walk and talk.

He tells them about how he heard so many horrible things about humans and the surface but chara was much nicer than he ever expected. Chara asks where he heard that and he says a flower told him. Chara covers the receiver and looks around for flowey, suspicions of him raised.

Montage w monster kid and umbrella

Chara falls from undyne’s spear attack and wakes up in the trash with flowey over them.

F: hey, wake up. I can tell you’re not dead so hurry up and get moving.

Chara’s kind of bummed: she killed me four times back there. And it wasn’t even a fight. I couldn’t talk her down or… i couldn’t even talk to her, I could barely see her.

F: what, are you giving up or something? You know she can kill you as much as she wants and you aren’t gonna die.

C: I know that! I know this is just like a game where you can keep on going but… it hurts. And it’s exhausting.

F: what will you do then? Sit here in this trash and do nothing?

C: *sigh* no. I’m just feeling down in the dumps.

They smile and get up.

As they’re walking out, they hear a click and someone to tell them to “hold it”

Mad dummys behind them and she just has a gun. Pointed directly at chara. She starts on her thing about the cousin and then blook saves the day.

Chara meets up with blook again. They go to where the snail races used to be. It’s all busted and unused

C: what’s this supposed to be…?

B: oh…. this used to be a snail farm…. And this was a race course…. For snails…. But a long time ago people started to call the races “insensitive” so we had to close them…. Sorry you can’t have any fun racing snails…

C: why was it insensitive…?

B: ...i’d… rather not talk about it………..

Timeskip

C: hey flowey! What’s up with this place and snails?

F:...i wouldnt know.

montage

After waterfall where undyne says how many souls they have

C: flowey… if they have 6 human souls, that means 6 others fell down and died here, so…

F: what?

C: i just- i mean you were the first one i met-

F: no, no, no, ive never killed anyone. You’re the only human i’ve seen since i woke up

Chara relaxes: ok. So you dont know anything about them.

F: no. i heard some things from toriel, not much. It’s too late to try asking her, but she’s seen all of them. She was there at the beginning even.

C: the beginning?

F: you know…. When humans started falling down here and monsters started killing them.

Chara goes silent in thought: wait… how… long has this been going on? How old is toriel?

F: dunno

Chara after having a rough time: it’s hard, but no matter what happens i can just keep trying. I’ll make it out of this! You believe in me right, flowey?

F: no i think you should give up.

Page/chapter ends there. Next is chara going up to fight undyne.

Open on a riff on the “long ago” cutscene that chara cuts off by saying they already know this story

Undyne screams SHUT UP!!! I’m doing my HEROIC MONOLOGUE!! Whatever, I bet you haven’t heard the part about the King and Queen’s human child who died of illness and their other son who was killed by the humans when he tried to return their body to the surface?!

C: No I think I heard that one too? Why are you telling me all this anyways??

U: because this is an UNSKIPPABLE CUTSCENE!! NYAAAGGGHHHH!!!!!

Chara’s getting their ass beat and on low hp: I’ll die in a hit or two. But that’s fine because I’ll just start this over. I’ll start from… where was the last save point…

A vision of them with flowey. Their eyes go red and the flashback cuts in between shots of them running from undyne

F: I think you should give up

Ch: what… give up?? I thought you were on my side with all the telling me to keep going and-and the hanging out with me?!

F: as if you had any other choice but to keep going! We both know you don’t.

C: so you’ve just been following this whole time waiting for me to give up and die, huh?! Why, are you trying to steal my soul just like everybody else?!?

F: it doesn’t matter how hard you try, you’re going to die! And die and die and die! You can reset as much as you want, it won’t change that! So what if I am waiting for you to give up? You’re the last thing keeping monsters trapped down here. If you give up, you’ll give everyone what they want!

C: I thought you wanted to help me?! I thought you were my friend!

F: I would never be friends with a human! You’re all nothing but killing machines!

C: I haven’t killed anyone!

F: You killed Toriel! No number of resets can change what you did! You’re a horrible, disgusting human just like all the others and everyone would be happier if you were dead!

Flowey could say something about dying down here is better than their inevitable death on the surface. Their death would at least be worth something. Mean something

Chara escapes the fight, undyne collapses, and they walk away. they tell themselves they won’t give up. They don’t need help, especially not from that dumb flower. They’ll live to spite him and everyone else who tries to kill them

Chara goes in and meets alphys and overall is p meh abt it bc bad mood. Alphys helping them through the underground makes them talk to themselves about how they dont need flowey, they can do this themself. Friends are no good.

hotland is as normal. probably figure out some indication of things not right. make the game seem broken bc they arent supposed to get so far like this

Chara meets with sans at mtt resort for food reluctantly. Lets him say his piece. After he’s done threatening to kill them chara says to his face that they really don’t like him.

Need some hubbub about them having to kill asgore to get out. Theyll be like yeah I know that (somehow)... oh but I need a plan… how will i come up with a plan..

Flowey finally appears to chara again just before they get to new home and tries to talk them out of leaving. Disparaging the surface and telling them they could live happily down here. Chara says no, it’s too hard because people are constantly hunting them down and being the last soul, no ones going to stop that. He says that he’s sorry for the way he was before

Chara smiles back, and then looks away: What you said before… about.. My inevitable death on the surface…

F: that was… don’t worry about that.

C: are you afraid of it?

F: well- yeah, it’s a dangerous place. Everyone knows that.

C: I’ve died a lot more times down here than I ever did up there.

A beat

C: you go back and forth a lot between talking about how I should stay down here because it’s better… but also if I die down here… everyone gets to go free… to the horrible, awful surface.

F: uh,, did I say all that…? I may have contradicted myself a little… I guess… in the end I just wanted an excuse for you to stay around. I really don’t want you to die.

C: so you did see me as a friend after all?

F: well…you reminded me of someone who was my friend. I wish we could have been friends.

C: Do you think… If I reset back to the beginning and did this again, if I said the right things… we could have been?

F: No… You could be as nice to me or as mean to me as you want. No matter how many times you reset, some things never change.

C: ...Did you ever… have to reset because you killed someone?

F: ……….once… and then I never reset ever again. The power to reset… makes you do bad things. It’s wrong. I had to stop because i knew… I’d make someone really upset if I kept messing around.

C: well, in that case… I guess I’ll just have to get the rest of the way out of here without any resets!

Flowey smiles: I dunno, keep one or two under your belt. You’re a pretty big klutz.

C: Thanks for helping me out of here, flowey. Even if you just did it because you were begged.

Can you imagine a more paranoid flowey who is less interested in attacking you and regaining the reset ability, but is pleased af that you have the reset ability because that means you can't die, and instead he spends the entire game trying to convince you that humanity is hopeless. That there is nothing on the surface world returning to. That it's safer, down here.

he's part of the reason why things are so much harder

he's the one that starts the rumors about the dangers of teh surface world

there's a definite sense of paranoia all across the board

When they approach new home, flowey appears one last time and grabs chara by the hand, telling them not to go. They can live in the underground, they’ve made a lot of friends here. Chara says that they have to go, they’ll find a way to get out without killing asgore. Flowey says that he tried to stop them, this is as far as he’ll go. This is goodbye. They bid their farewells and chara goes along, but flowey secretly follows them, much less detectable than ever before. It’s revealed when he’s hiding with the flowers.

Chara walks up to new home, regarding it as a vaguely familiar sight. They walk down the many halls knowing exactly where to go. The monsters speak as they go through the motions. They find a cookbook in the kitchen with a page for snail pie missing. Chara mumbles about already knowing the story and that they should all shut up. They walk more quickly to stay ahead of them. Then one mentions the snail pie and chara stops dead in their tracks. No that’s not how it happened- they stop, and take back off.

They are stopped by sans in the judgement hall, glaring at him.

S: well I had a whole speech to give ya, but you look like you’re in a hurry. You’re a weird kid, but you’re fine. The king’s up ahead.

OTHER alternative: chara realizes something’s wrong and runs back to get everyone, probably threatening to kill asgore to convince them to come quickly. Sans is avoided due to the mob approaching behind them “I heard the word that you’re on your way to kill the king.” c: are you here to stop me? “Nah. But you’d better have a good plan to back yourself up, kid. King’s up ahead”

They run up to asgore, no nonsense. Some time is taken to progress things. As they leave the throne room, flowey watches from the flowers, chara looks back to confirm he’s there.

Asgore draws up the souls, the fight is about to engage, before he can smash “MERCY” chara yells: ASRIEL. Get the souls.

Everything stops. Flowey is behind them, stunned and confused. Chara turns and asks him what he’s waiting for. Hurry up and take the souls before everyone else gets here. Nearly every last monster is coming, if he can become godlike and absorb them, it will be enough strength to break the barrier.

Flowey is confused, how do they know that? Chara tells him he did it before. Doesn’t he remember? Doesn’t he remember them?

Either flowey does it and something happens, or flowey waits too long and chaos erupts which gets them killed, and then chara and flowey have to meet up and workshop.

Final fight:

He probably says some shit about frisk and how he cant lose frisk again, chara must insist that theyre not frisk. When they say their name is chara, he hesitates for only a moment. Finally, when chara’s pinned and about to seriously die…

C: you remember it now too, don’t you? It took me a while, I couldn’t remember a thing until i started hearing your name around. You’re an all powerful god now, you should be able to remember it all better than me

A: shut up.

C: would frisk want us to fight like this?! Would frisk want you to kill your own sibling?!

A: c-.... You’re… you’re really chara?

He lets them go

They reach the conclusion that frisk messed with everything and put them here with no memories so they could do something frisk could never do. Frisk thinks they deserve to live, no matter how much the two may disagree. They have to play along. Asriel is a god and can use his powers to break the barrier and bring EVERYONE back to life so they can live together happily.

go to final fight and everyones already there, things are very confused, flowey takes the souls and things glitch out (screen phases between bosses) and chara realizes this isnt how things are supposed to be, tells asriel theyre sorry for their baggage but he doesnt understand bc he isnt theirs, and then they gotta find frisk somehow

OR... they realize things in the speech and don't go to fight asgore bc theyre finding flowey... they feign fighting asgore and then suddenly tell flowey to take the souls("Asriel! get the souls!" and thats the first time they call him by name)...? i like that a bit better. they start going on about crazy shit that makes roided out flowey kind of lose it at them which leads to them apologizing to their own asriel but then realizing they need to find frisk

but HOW do they find frisk

The end shows chara asriel and frisk hugging eachother, all alive and well. Then the two are “processing…” and remember that oh, theyve done some dark messed up stuff.

#unsure what to tag this as lol #sorry if the readmore doesnt work for any reason

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atrophiedcompassion · 5 years ago

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having watched TROS for the second (and final) time in the cinema, here’s my full spoiler abundant review, also with comments on the nonalogy as a whole.

the movie works a lot better aka is more enjoyable the second time. we know what’s happening and i could relax and enjoy even the dumb moments and allow myself to feel, to be washed into the music and just feel my good feelings towards the finale.

the plot is still dumb as rocks, with the new old villain, resurrected. who not only is back but is giving our heroes a chance to find him before all shit breaks loose. why is the emperor so fucking arrogant?? why did TROS/JJ keep arguably the worst plot from TLL namely the race against a certain but exact time to do something to save the day?

the rey as palpatine still makes no sense. why did the jedi (in particular obi wan) call to her when she has the first force vision back on takodana if rey’s a palp?? JJ truly pisses on his very own movie isn’t he? and the emperor himself, he wants rey dead, twice he tells this verbatim to KR and then comments the rey killing plot was foiled to commander pryde...but then he actually welcomes her with open arms? or did he foresee his new death by rey should she reach exogol still alive? why should this death stick? ugghghgh.

the movie moves at record pace, no time to grieve, no time to catch your breath. the falcon/poe does impossible feats. the trio is united only to trail rey, finn in particular acting like a puppy. the only scene with finn that had any weight and developed his character was the scene with jannah when they’re fixing the falcon. BUT even then...i thought it was fine for the Force to guide finn out of his servitude. but maybe let the other former stormtroopers have some fuxking free will. not the force guiding them. there were so many moments when finn could’ve inspired former fellow stormtroopers to put down their weapons, but no. the spy could’ve been a stormtrooper, not the ridiculous hux doing things out of spite...

the worst scene in the movie? rey going on a fucking stroll on pasaana to meet kylo ren’s ship...and before that, the knights of ren literally posturing on a rock. i laughed out loud in the cinema it was so utterly ridiculous.

it’s all fucking plains, the fucking audience could see rey advancing through ochi’s ship screens. but somehow chewbacca gets captured and there’s a second transporter. the whole scene plays just so we can set up rey’s sith lightning abilities..?? fucking hell.

c3po’s sacrifice works for me. it’s the first moment of the rewatch where i got truly emotional and shed actual tears. and it’s not really cheapened by his memory being restored, since Finn actually mentions r2 might have a backup which 3po dismisses in his usual fashion. so 3po actually believed he was going to be fully erased. and that’s what matters. i found the 3po humour almost on par with the OT, although sometimes poe’s wayyy too aggressive with him. (i mean, poe loves droids, or at least his droid bb8, but is awfully dismissive of both 3po and D-O, just to fill in the han role i guess? it’s overdone)

the fight on the destroyer/kimiji is ok, again rey with the aggressive stance and the reveal is....nothing. rey has NO fucking reaction. she like scrunches her nose a little. she was just told the JJ equivalent to luke finding out vader’s his dad and rey’s just like. oh okay. bummer.

she should’ve fucking jumped like luke did. and maybe be retrieved on the falcon somehow. she should’ve expressed some pain. but no. rey’s just as calm as before. maybe even calmer, now that she knows the whole truth.

the death star sequence. dumb as hell to imagine the dagger has coordinates to the fucking wreckage of DS2??!??! who made it and when??!?!??! but let’s not overthink this. you get force powered rey making the ride with the skimmer and finding herself attacked by dark!rey..and then kylo come by and apparently knows this? because he tells her that now she’s tainted and can’t go back to leia either??!

WHAT THE FUCKKKK does JJ not know how the fucking force works??? i mean was it a fucking inside joke when han says that’s not how the force works in TFA??? uughghghgh. i know TROS is trying its best to almost completely retcon TLJ, but the way the Force was described there, like a balance, decay from where new life spawns, THAT WAS A GOOD THING FFS!!!!

no, JJ thinks that jedi are all pure beings and sith are dark brooding monsters and if a jedi or equivalent has even the faintest connection to the dark side, they’re fucking done!!!!!! (when the FUCKING OT SAYS THE FUCKING OPPOSITE, even a shred of goodness can help you get back to the light)

and if that was SUPPOSED to be KR’s way of getting rey to join him on his fieldtrip to exogol...my god he’s fucking dumb as hell. rey’s resisted his offer every fucking time (altho during the force call on pasaana he tells her he will turn her and she says we’ll see. she didn’t say no lmao), why would she fucking say yeah sure now? just because she had a fucking vision of dark herself??!?!?

still, dark!rey is fucking hot and i will probably cosplay her sometimes soon.

then comes the kylo - rey fight on the death star wreckage, where she attacks him, she’s aggressive, and is bested. and he’s about to kill her (even though he told her he has other plans, LOL) and then leia calls. or her call to her son finally reaches him (no more voicemail) and he falters, drops the saber and is impaled by rey.......who also senses leia’s passing.

and we have ben again and the scene with han solo plays and it’s pretty fucking emotional. but i wish he had said father and not dad. dad feels unearned. father would’ve worked best, especially for such a serious, stoic char like ben, dad is far too playful. i would’ve wanted a moment more of ben mourning his mother too, but the movie’s gotta be done in 30 mins so we have no time for allowing emotional moments to sink in. note: finn & poe are in such a rush to get to leia they don’t even have time to wait a sec to be told properly that she’s fucking dead. fuck you movie.

the scenes with luke are good. of course, luke backtracks all of his development in TLJ (because fuck you that’s why) and apparently everyone knew she was a palpatine but they still trained her because fuck logic? this is just like the PT where they end up training anakin because they made a promise to a dead guy. lmao. and how convenient is that there’s another lightsaber, otherwise how would rey make an x at the end to (presumably) end palpatine?? hmmm. i said the jedi leia scene/flashback worked for me the first time i saw it, but in hindsight, the scene and motivation really takes a steaming dump on leia’s character, a mother afraid of her son and unwilling to help him. fuck you JJ. we never needed leia wielding a lightsaber. we only wanted leia using the force in some way that felt organic to her character. (sidestep: up until attack of the clones? when yoda first uses a lightsaber, i assumed he was enlightened and didn’t need actual weapons to wield the force. well, i hoped leia could be like that enlightened master yoda. but like all bad things in the SW universe, she ended up being as awful as puppet yoda with a toothpick lightsaber, cause how would we know she’s a jedi otherwise????)

so. because she refused kylo, and ended up alone on exogol and with the resistance trapped there, she’s actually considering palpatine’s offer??! and realises she has maybe another option when she senses ben’s there too??! then why the fuck didn’t they go together??!?! oh wait. i forgot she wanted to exile herself on ach-to LMAO.

and still. the whole palpatine plot train-wreck could’ve still worked had they actually used the pretty cool concept of Force Dyad for something good. i mean, KR tells this to rey on the destroyer. but apparently palp can’t do the math and is surprised when he takes a sip of their life essences??! like what the actual fuck, why isn’t palpatine aware of this?? if he (+plagueis) made vader and then he conceived his son. and then vader had leia and leia had ben and palp’s son had rey........why is KR able to put this together and not the FREAKING MASTER PUPPETEER of the whole fucking galaxy??!?!

anyway. back to the force dyad. we have awsome ben solo and rey reunited. ready to fight palps. but no. he freezes them and sucks the life force out of them. maybe the power of the force dyad of light users could be harmful to a sith?!??! maybe the power of a force dyad would help ben & rey resist palp?! maybe the power of a force dyad could be used to defeat palp?

but no. we get ben solo thrown into a pit so that palp and rey could reenact whitney houston’s hit

or, even worse, the year’s most anticipated battle of one liners: endgame. yeah, it was cool to hear all the jedi clamouring for rey, but this could’ve still worked as the jedi finally supporting ben skywalker organa solo for fucking once in the guy’s lifetime.

but no. JJ said fuck ben solo. he’s only good to give the life back to rey, then he can fuck off. i am not a reylo and i am not too bothered by ben’s death, as much as i am by his misuse. i mean, in such movies, we never really have to deal with reformed bad guys making amends. vader died, and so in a way, ben dying too and not having to be courtmartialled is actually convenient.

i have read some analysis where ben & rey being happy together is the undoing of anakin’s sad demise and brings peace to the skywalker line rather than pain and despair and that’s a valid premise, but realistically, ben’s death makes sense. they’d never be happy together in a hut somewhere, because ben still has to pay for a lot of damage. BUT his death is nothing but the crippling of the skywalker line, after a palp had defeated the palps. his death has little meaning in the story. them being a force dyad has little meaning, apart from powering palps back to his rots appearance. lmao

and finally, the death of ben is never mourned, never acknowledged. no-one is even told on screen about his return to the light (maybe maz felt it, when leia’s body vanished...) and his deeds. that kinda sucks. because luke took a moment to have a ceremony for vader, the force ghosts came through. here...we get nothing.

and then rey buries the anakin saber and leia’s saber on tatooine in sand no less (we need a sketch of anakin loudly complaining to rey about this)... and instead of finally accepting herself as being sufficient, she tacks on the legacy name. well done JJ.

(that was me when the credits rolled).

now, i love the OT more than life itself and the films give us meta to fill libraries. they are not perfect movies, but they are good, they tell a wonderful story with amazing characters and i will never stop loving them.

then the PT is made of really bad movies that now, in the light of TROS, surprisingly still come together as a trilogy far better than the ST lmao.

i still believe that the PT undermines and ruins Vader’s redemption in ROTS, because now you know exactly what he did (reminder: killed 30 children) and it’s hard to swallow. in the end, he dies to save his son and takes down the big bad so we can accept that he gains redemption in luke’s eyes alone and not necessarily in the audience��s. but ben solo didn’t even get that. he got thrown into a pit and crawled out only to give rey life lol.

anyway, TFA was okay at first, but i always had a huge gripe, aka the misuse of Leia and the complete silence on her being a Force user. like don’t even need ligthsaber fights from her, just gimme something explicit of her using the Force. she could’ve at the very fucking least sensed KR when he swoops in and abducts Rey on Takodana. but no. JJ fridged Leia from the get go, because he had no clue what to do with her. and then he fucked her character completely with what he believed was the flashback the fans wanted....UFHGHGHGH

JJ also and truly fridged Luke, because he had no idea what to do with Luke and the whole Force legacy either. he wanted to write a fun Han Solo adventure and by gods he did.

so, Luke. the guy vanishes the opening crawl tells us. he wasn’t abducted, so he must’ve exiled himself. people hating TLJ’s so called character assassination when it comes to Luke should point fingers at the real culprit, JJ. how could Luke do such a thing and run away (like JJ wrote him do) if he hadn’t done something significantly wrong?? it had to be FUCKING HORRIBLE. and so it is. because what Luke did was horrible and it set up for the fall to the dark side of poor, conflicted, manipulated and unloved Ben Solo. but had it not been THIS awful, then Luke’s self imposed exile, shame and guilt wouldn’t have made any fucking sense. so, TLJ haters, think again WHO was the person who wrote Luke running away for 10 years and allowing all that shit to happen?? it wasn’t Rian Johnson, that’s for sure. he merely justified the absence in a way that made sense plot-wise and actually character-wise too.

on repeated viewing, TFA isn’t that good, it’s a rehash of ANH and the stakes are never as good as the original movies. we all kinda know the heroes will save the day

TLJ, i liked, but the canto bight plot really falls flat. this is where RJ did some char assassinations: Poe. Poe is the cocky pilot who singlehandedly destroys the Resistance’s arsenal LMAO. and next scene he turns into sexist macho asshole trope itself, with his immediate and unfounded disdain of Holdo and her plans to keep our heroes safe. so he concocts a harebrained plan that doesn’t work. maybe it was intended as a refreshing look over this trope of barely a plan of the heroes always coming to fruition at the very last second, but the way it’s presented, it somehow really undermines all the characters involved, including newcomer Rose. at the start a breath of fresh air in the age of mindless heroics, the voice of reason, soon enough she too is pulled apart and becomes a sudden love interest...?? she is then reduced to a side’s side char in TROS, but she has space buns, so that’s cool right? that’s what SW is all about, women in space buns. fuck!

and yet, TLJ handled Luke, Leia, KR and Rey wonderfully and laid down some great ideas, Rey having no lineage, the Force Bond between her and KR, the catalyst for KR’s fall to the dark side, the little good in him, as sensed by both Leia and Rey...and set up a finale where, i believed and hoped, KR would be the main villain.

with the trailer spelling the probable return of palpatine, i kinda lost faith in TROS before it even hit the theaters. in fact, my faith in the movie was shot the moment JJ was brought on board.

we had a new villain, another race against time to save the day, and our heroes tell us again and again that it’s fine to share the burden, that they are not alone, that there are more good guys than bad - and when the ARMY OF PEOPLE came to exogol, it’s a wonderful scene. it works for me and it did both times. i know it’s awful that no-one came to leia’s call on crait, but here lando picks up (when lando says hello there, it’s not only panties that drop) half the galaxy, but somehow it still made me well up.

but, despite this very explicit message, our heroine fights alone. she faces palps alone and almost makes a bad decision, is alone in her final battle, is alone at the end. how truly horrible. instead of having ben and rey defeat palps together, rey has to do it alone, out of faux-feminism. it’s sickening. it’s stupid. and that’s not star wars and the star wars message. luke was not alone at the end, he was with friends, with family.

but she’s from a bad bloodline and she should die childless. ughhh. totally not hopeful, totally not satisfying message to have for the finale of the skywalker saga.

#tros #the rise of skywalker #full review

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pellicano-sanguino · 6 years ago

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Wasted potential in fiction is worse than a story that’s just bad overall.

If someone had asked me couple years ago what vampire books I liked the most, one I would have definitely brought up was Vampire Winter by Lois Tilton.

It’s a post-nuclear story, where a vampire is at first joyful that the fallout clouds cover the sun both day and night so he is free to hunt whenever he wants but things get worse rather soon. Turns out humans who have been exposed to the radiation have turned undrinkable, poisonous for even vampires. Also, the amount of survivors is small and getting lesser by the day as desperate people leave their shelters to find food and supplies and run from looters, risking radiation poisoning. The vampire who used to kill his victims without mercy is at a situation where he can’t afford to lose a single healthy human to avoid starvation. So he strikes a symbiotic deal with a bunch of humans: since he is unaffected by radiation, he will wander out and bring them food, medicine, even books to pass their time, in exchange for blood donations. This is what I remembered from the book, and thought it good, because I’m a sucker for interesting relationship dynamics between a vampire and their donors.

However, I re-read the book recently and was surprised. It wasn’t nearly as good as I remembered it. The interesting symbiotic relationship between the vampire and his donors only lasts a short period of the book and then they go their separate ways and the vampire for some weird reason just goes back to killing his victims again. Also, there was a lot of completely unnecessary violence towards women. The book tries to have a message of “in hard times it’s better to spare lives and co-operate than divide into groups all against each other” and that “every life is precious” but then goes and has the donors leave behind a mentally handicapped girl for the vampire to kill because she would just be “a burden” for the survivors. Also, there’s a fucking gang rape scene. I’m... confused... how did I ever convince myself this was a good book?!

The problem was that my memories were too focused on the one part of the book I found super fascinating. The vampire-donor symbiosis plot was such a great story idea that I actually forgot the rest of the book is shit. I was too intrigued by the story’s potential I failed to notice it doesn’t properly utilize the great idea it had and just turns into a gross masculine violence fantasy.

It’s a shame, because with little changes, this could have been an awesome book. But it completely wasted its potential and left me much more disappointed than would have been the case if it were just a regular old shitty vampire novel with nothing new and interesting added.

I just finished a new book that has the same problem and it infuriates me. It’s a book that has some really great parts but then goes and ruins everything. This book is called Pure Mua (”Bite Me”) by Terhi Tarkiainen. I know, writing about a Finnish book in Tumblr might be useless, since what are the chances Finnish vampire enthusiasts will find my posts, but I want to vent my frustration about it somewhere. So here goes.

Finnish vampire fiction is a rare species. There are some short stories but the only novel I can think of is Jarkko Laine’s Vampyyri, which is a very... specific Finnish literature category; a “tuskapaskakirja” (literally, pain-shit-book) where everyone is miserable and things just get more and more depressing until the whole garbage reaches a lame anticlimax like a bowl of ice cream I accidentally put in the refrigerator instead of in the freezer. Not my kind of book. So, when I heard the rare species had spawned a new book, Pure Mua, I got curious.

My expectations about the book were mixed. I generally don’t like modern Finnish literature. The few books of it that I had to read back in high school or by getting them as gifts were at best incredibly boring and at worst insufferable pretentious artsy junk. However, this book looked like it aimed to be entertaining, not fake deep and for intellectuals only. It whispered a promise of genuinely embracing its own cheesiness. And, well, I do like cheese.

So I read the book. And my opinions remain conflicting with one another. I can’t really say if I liked it or not because for every part that was done well there was something that seriously rubbed me the wrong way.

The story itself is really well written. The text flows naturally and is pleasant to read, the narration is occasionally very witty and humorous. The plot twists are unpredictable which is unfortunately rare in this genre. Vampire fiction is so full of reused story ideas that they often turn out rather predictable. But this book surprised me several times. Of course, unpredictability shouldn’t be valued by itself. Writers who intentionally lead the reader in one direction only to pull a carpet under their feet or who make their characters behave in unreasonable and inconsistent manner just to get a juicy plot twist, usually don’t produce good quality stories. These plot twists however feel natural and well planned, not there just for the shock value. The plot also escalates constantly, forcing you to read chapter after chapter because you don’t want to leave it at an intense cliffhanger.

Since the vampire fiction is full of reused story ideas, it’s rare that I come across a book that has something I haven’t seen before. The basic premise of this book is that since vampires aren’t classified as humans, human rights don’t apply to them and there’s a ring of illegal slave trade where a “kennel” produces “specimens” for the rich assholes who want to turn their fantasies of dating a hot vampire into reality. Human trafficking basicly, only with vampires. I have not bumped into this story idea before. Usually the power dynamics are reversed, the vampires being the cruel monsters who do horrible things to humans. I know the whole “humans are the real monsters”-trope is old and overused, but surprisingly rarely does it happen in vampire fiction. I guess it’s because to a lot of friends of this genre vampires are a power fantasy and they wouldn’t enjoy seeing them tamed and subjected to something as horrifying as human trafficking.

So, the book turns the traditional vampire/human power dynamics upside down. However, the protagonist actually doesn’t want the pet vampire her nutty parents bought her as a birthday present. She tries to find a way to safely release him back “into the wild” but has trouble coming up with a solution on how to do it and ensure he won’t be recaptured by the trafficking ring again (since he is chipped).

Next I’m going to spoil the last plot twist of the book. Turns out the trafficking ring is led not by humans but by a loony communist vampire who has a diabolical plan. He intentionally made vampire pets a trend among the filthy rich and then once every elite household in Finland has one, he intends to shut down the safety chips that give the vampires electric shocks if they attack their masters and let the hungry, abused, vengeful vampire slaves drink all the greedy capitalist pigs.

And this is... supposed to be the main villain of the book. I’m supposed to be appalled and horrified by this impending slaughter of innocent humans. Well. Does it make me a monster if I say I think this is a great plan? Everyone who buys a personal sex toy from a human trafficking ring deserves to be devoured by ravenous vampires. The fact that the victims of slavery aren’t technically human here changes nothing since their intelligence is identical to ours. And creeps who would buy a vampire would definitely buy a woman or a little girl too.

Everyone who thinks slavery is a fun hobby that the elite should be allowed to do again deserves to be killed by their slave.

The slavery theme is one of the reasons I have such conflicting opinions about this book. It’s such a horrifying scenario and you really, really want to see the main vampire freed from it, you want to see him and the main character succeed in their attempt to destroy the vampire slave trade. But then the book decides to focus less on the horrors of slavery and... actually romanticize prostitution. The vampires in this book’s universe are all nymphomaniacs and addicted to sex. Umm... ok, your world, you do what you want. But I really can’t stand the stereotype of seductive, nymphomaniac prostitutes, who do it because they enjoy their “work”, considering how the harsh reality of prostitution is something completely different. “She likes it anyway” is a lie slimy old men tell one another to feel less guilty when they go to Thailand to “play minigolf.” Hurk. Hork. Barf. I know this is fiction and the vampires aren’t human (and we don’t see female vampires) but I really wish people would stop writing this character type. Also, I hate stories where a noble person saves a prostitute and is “rewarded” by their love (in other words, gets to fuck the prostitute anyway, feeding into the idea that “nice guys” who protect women from creeps deserve sex as a reward.)

I give the book one point for the scene where the protagonist starts to caress her slave when she’s super drunk but then is startled and horrified at what she did, thinking that she has become a monster.

If there’s one thing I hate even more than romanticizing prostitution, it’s sexual violence. Thank goodness this story doesn’t have that but it’s bad enough that one male vampire constantly threatens the protagonist with rape. And I’m supposed to care about this guy and worry about what will happen to him. There’s something so disgustingly... male... in the thought process that when you want to hurt someone, your first thought is rape. When a woman sees a person they love being abused by someone, she might beat the abuser into a fine pulp but no, women do not rape, women do not use sex as a torture devise. If a guy gets hard from anger and wants to fuck someone he hates there is something seriously wrong with him and he needs to seek help. Men are scum!

This book isn’t a particularly pleasant read for a feminist anyway. With the exception of the protagonist, all female characters are lazily written, unconvincing, misogynistic cardboard cutouts. Male characters on the other hand are, with the exception of the main villain, painted as flawed but sympathetic. The protagonist has a stalker ex who doesn’t understand the concept of “no.” I was convinced this creep would turn out to be a villain in the end, trying to kill the protagonist because “if I can’t have you, no one else can!” Because everything he said and did kept raising the red flags. But no, I’m supposed to find him charming and loveable and his stupid bratboy jokes soooo hilarious. The book wants me to think of all the women except protagonist as either mean-spirited bitches or dumb blondes (your “I’m not like other girls”-complex is showing...) and feel sympathy towards a creepy stalker and a guy who threatens women with rape. Right. Is this some het culture bullshit or just what exactly am I not getting? Also, if your only way to make the heroine likeable is to turn all the other women into cartoonishly evil or ridiculously immature and stupid so that she'll look better in comparison, the reader will become suspicious of her character (because exaggerating the faults in others while claiming you yourself are perfectly innocent is a strategy used by narcisstic, manipulative jerkfaces).

I’m also rather disappointed that the book relies on stereotyping Fenno-Swedes. Fenno-Swedes are the Swedish speaking minority, descendants from rich Swedes that were given land here back when Finland was part of Sweden. Because many of them are still in the upper class, having inherited their ancestors land and wealth, the middle and lower class Finnish speaking Finns tend to be racist towards them, considering them smug elitists and disgustingly rich capitalists who never had to work for their wealth. Making the main character a Fenno-Swede and then giving her behavior that strengthens the prejudice against “bättre folk” is just really lazy writing, it’s like having a romani character and having her do shoplifting. Sure, the protagonist wants to be different than her gross parents who would buy a sex slave as a gift, but her attitude towards money is the same indifference. Oh, I smashed my phone to pieces because the phone call made me angry. Oh well. Pappa betalar.

There’s a scene where the protagonist and the stalker ex witness a protest that consists simultaneously of racists who want to close the borders and unemployed who blame the government for their poverty (right. You really want to draw “equals as” sign between crazy nationalist bigots and unfortunate people trapped in unemployment hell? Fuck you, fuck you so much.). The protagonist asks where all this hatred comes from and the stalker ex explains that when a person is in a bad situation in life they seek scapegoats to blame for their troubles, whether that be foreigners or politicians. But since we’ve already gone the route of giving the protagonist stereotypical Fenno-Swede behaviour, why not let her voice the opinion of “If the lower class is angry at the upper class it’s because they project unfair blame onto the rich, surely their suffering has nothing to do with the elite’s greed and misuse of power.” Now, opinions like this wouldn’t matter to me normally, because characters are allowed to be flawed, but when those flaws rely on harmful stereotypes, it’s disappointing.

I want to like this book. It’s so genuine and entertaining and well written. But I threw up in my mouth so frequently while reading it that I don’t think I care to read it another time. If it was written a little differently, I would probably love this book. But there’s no use crying after wasted potential. I can’t help but praise the book for the parts that are really good, but I can’t recommend it either. I would have preferred it to be either all good or all shit, not this mixture of gold and rust.

#vampire books #terhi tarkiainen #pure mua #lois tilton #vampire winter

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a-copper-butterfly · 5 years ago

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Title Suggestions Needed!

OK so i posted this before but i have edited it a bit and added a new intro. im still not sure if i should continue this but what the hay, have a look and give us some feed back. :)

here is my re-write of good omens where the ineffable husbands raise Adam.

Monday, five days before the end of the world.

It was sunny, well, as sunny as it every was in the centre of London.

For those you don’t know, London is a vaguely potato shaped blob about ten miles across, with its own weather system which is almost entirely different to that of the rest of the UK.

Warlock was moping along his nose glued to his phone (not literally, thought Crowley sometimes wished he could get close enough with some glue without the little nuisance noticing.) Warlock had perfected the art of nearly completely ignoring the world around him, but remining just aware enough that he could complain at anyone who might distract him. His mother was walking along admiring the sculptures, pausing now and then to read an information sign. She did this much in the same manner as most people the world over when they want to look more intelligent than they are. They don’t actually read what is written on the information board, just frown and nod like you agree with what ever had been said then point to it and repeat a few lines when a friend or family member joins you. Thus, the whole cycle repeats itself.

A little way from the stroppy pre-teen, representatives of both heaven and hell discussed the fate of the world.

“I mean, he could just disappear,” suggested the Demon. He was slouched on the wooden bench. This was a master level slouch of someone who had trained for years to hold his body in such a position. A normal person if attempting this would pull a muscle if not worse.

The Angel that sat prim and proper next to him frowned,

“I don’t see how hiding him would help?” he said, which earned a glare form his companion. The thick sunglasses that covered the Demons yellow eyes obscure the fond irritation directed at the angel.

“I mean kill him Angel,” he clarified.

The Angel shuffles in his seat uncomfortable about this conversation. He tried to change the subject, but not too much avail.

“Are you going to get him a dog?” Azriaphale looks over at Crowley, know full well that he had been asked to provide the hound and that this was purely a diversion.

“I thought you were going to sort that out.” Crowley responded, rolling his concealed eyes.

“Why are we getting him a dog anyway.”

Crowley gave a side glances at his companion, silently noting the use of “we”.

Azriaphale wasn’t done with his grumbling, “Do remember the hamster?” he continued.

“Sir hamserlot? Yeah.” Crowley cringed at the memory of the tan and white little rodent. The poor thing when through so meant names it was a wonder it didn't have identity issues.

“How meant times did we have to pull that poor creature back from the jaws of death?” Aziraphale says shaking his head. The poor thing had eventual snuffed it permanently when the boy had gotten it into his head that hamsters could swim. They can, much like rats, but being put in a crudely made ship and pushed out on a duck pond in the middle of winter would be terminal for most rodents or any other small mammal.

A dog is a bit bigger. This was the only argument Crowley could come up with at the time.

“Well” Azriaphale relented “he is a bit older now.”

Crowley shuffled further into his slouch.

“It's the end if the world Angel.” He muttered gloomily, “Just give the kid what he wants. And he wants a dog.”

Aziraphale flinched at this painful truth.

“Well you have a point dear. Fine, he can have a dog.”

There was a pause as they watched Warlock ignore the world around him and play on his phone. The cartoonish sounds of games annoying the people around him. Crowley smirked; apps had been one of his ideas. Well, according to hell they were. Humans were always doing his job for him; he just took the credit when the higher ups asked about it. He sighs and slips back into the conversation about the end of the world.

“We’d better be there when the dog arrives” Crowley said darkly.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. I think he can look after himself and a dog for a few hours. He is old enough now, don’t you think?” Aziraphale smiles nodding in agreement with himself.

Crowley shot the angel a withering look.

“I meant the hellhound and Warlock, not some overly excited puppy with a bladder size of a spoon. This is going to a monster. The biggest they have got, according to downstairs.”

Aziraphale lip touched in a pout. “Oh” was all he said.

“I'm going as waiting staff don't want people recognizing me.” Crowley continued. “Can you bring him?”

“He said he doesn’t want to go. Said warlock isn't fun to hang out with anymore.” Aziraphale said, fumbling with a button on his sleeve cuff.

“Too bad. He is going to seeing a lot more of him whether he likes it or not. That is if there is anything after.” Crowley responded darkly. He still hadn’t figure how they were going to make it through the next few days.

A sudden though shot through Aziraphale mind.

“I could be the entertainment! I’ll brush up on my magic!” he said excitedly, beaming at the idea.

“Oh no, angel, please don’t. Really, it’s humiliating.” Crowley protested, “You can do miracles, why bother doing sleight of hand when you’re not good at it?” Aziraphale bounced in his seat. This was going to be fun.

One late august night just outside the small village of Tadfield,

When a snake regurgitates its food, its normally because it had been grabbed or handle soon after eating or is otherwise subjected to stress.

As Crowley knelt in damp grass on the bank beside the road, he wiped his mouth. The light from the Bentley’s open door revealing the grey sludge that was even now burning the grass. The small part of Crowley’s mind that wasn’t screaming in panic wondered when the last time he had eaten was. Without the help of the rest of his brain, he guessed around six years ago.

Pushing himself up onto wobbly legs, Crowley slid back into the driving seat, switched on the radio as he did so. As he pulled the car back onto the road, Crowley checked the rear-view mirror. The carry cot was still there. This was real.

“Shit, shit, shit, why me, why me?” he muttered to himself. The radio crackle,

“BECAUSE YOU EARNED IT CROWLEY” came the voice of Freddy Mercury.

“Fuck…” though Crowley.

Sister Annabelle Houghton was totally normal, much to the annoyances of her parents. They were traditional occultists who gave her supposedly cursed china dolls and pretty, frilly dresses in attempts to get her possessed. They had even moved at an old house which the nice estate agent had made very clear was the site of quite a few murders and ghost stories. It even had its own graveyard in the garden. Her swing was hung in an old knarred oak tree which legend had it was used as a hangman’s gibbet, but she never used it. When Annabelle eventually grew up, her parents had lamented and had sent her off to the Sisterhood of Chattering Nuns of St Beryl. Not too worried about this, Annabelle went along as she thought it might be interesting.

Now she sat looking out of one of the convent’s window keeping watch for the arrive of Master Crowley and the baby boy he carried with him. The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. She was very excited; this was a big day and she, Sister Annabelle, would be part of it. A cup of tea sat on the windowsill beside her. It had gone cold hours ago, No matter.

A car came screaming through the gates of the convert an excitement jolting up her spine. Sister Annabelle leapt from her seat and began to quickly click her way down the hall towards the foyer. She turned the corner expecting to see one of her sisters talking to Master Crowley but broke into a run when she saw which sister it was. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Sister Mary Loquacious, she was a lovely person when you were sat having a chat, it was just that things, important things, tended to go wrong when she was involved.

“Mother Superior! Mater Crowley is here!” she half-yelled, her fists full of her skirt as she leaped down the three little steps leading up to the corridor. Crowley quickly ducked behind a column in responses to the shouting. Shouting mostly lead to pitchforks, torches and a bad time for him.

“Greeting Master Crowley” she said, tried to smile and make her voice sound cheerful but her eyes were screaming at Sister Mary Loquacious. If she wasn’t holding The Anti-Christ, she may have shoved her out of harm’s way (harm’s way meaning any damage Sister Loquacious could cause to others, not the other way around). Sister Annabelle stopped next to her sister, peering at the bundle in her arms. The baby gurgled quietly. She quickly curtsied to Master Crowley who was still looking between the nuns wondering if he could slip out before anyone noticed.

The double doors leading to the hospital rooms flew open and a furious old nun stormed through. This was not part of the plan. She ran her icy gaze over the two nuns, who both know the consequences of that stare. Her eyes found Crowley who was trying not to look like a rabbit in the headlights, he was a demon after all. There was no escape now.

Long hair, sunglasses, modern suit, snakeskin shoes? Not what she though one of hell’s best demons would look like. She raised an eyebrow and forced a smile.

“Master Crowley, you’re just in time.” she walked slowly with an air of control. Crowley drew himself up to his full height. The Mother Superior had the eyes of a school master and they are well known for making even the naughtiest individuals squirm.

“Sister Annabelle, please go and retrieve the child of the ambassador and inform the other sisters that the switch will be taking places presently.” she smiled at the terrified nun who swallowed and nodded, turning to hurrying down the hall. Crowley tried to sidle towards the door. He stopped dead when the older nun eyes dropped on him. He tried to give her a confident smile.

“Master Crowley, if you would just pop over to the desk, we have a few papers for you to sign just to keep everything in order.” she turned and glided over to the foyer desk and began to draw papers out of a file. Crowley reluctantly followed her, dumping the now empty carry cot on the desk before propping himself up on it.

Sister Mary Loquacious frowned. She rocked the Anti-Christ in her arms. He was chewing on his hand. She had checked, it didn’t have claws. She looked up at Master Crowley and frowned again. She walked over to the desk,

“Umm Master Crowley?” she asked and terrifying yellow eyes looked at her over dark sunglasses. Something in the very pit of her soul screamed and told her to run. It was the same part that makes skulls scary, even though they are always smiling. She took a step back,

“Yeah?” he grunted. Mother Superiors levelled her glare at the Sister. She didn’t notice, now over the shock of yellow eyes she felt bolder,

“What is going to happen to the spare baby?” she asked. Crowley rolled his eyes to the Mother superior who was trying to set the younger nun on fire via sheer force of will. Without taking her eyes of her pray the Mother Superior said,

“Yes, that was something I was going to ask you as well Master Crowley. We are willing to go through with the switch, but we want nothing to do with disposing of the baby,” her eyes now turned on Crowley “We may be satanic Nuns, but we are not monsters.” Crowley paused at this juxtaposition. He huffed and turned back to the paperwork, one of hells better inventions,

“Put it in the carry cot, I will deal with it,” Crowley replied absentmindedly. “Sure, why not?” Crowley thought “Not like it will matter in a few years anyway”. Sister Mary Loquacious ginned the kind of grin that would suggest she didn’t quite understand what was going on.

“Sister Mary, please take The Young Lord down to Sister Annabelle.” Mother Superior said as she started pulling out more official looking papers. Crowley slouched at the prospect of more paperwork. Sister Mary Loquacious nodded happily and pushed through the double doors leading to the hospital rooms. Now that The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness was out of eyesight, Crowley felt a weight off his back. He no longer wanted to vomit.

Sister Mary Loquacious had found a potable cot for the anti-Christ, in which he now rested. his red blanket tucked around him. She pushed him down the hall spotting sister Annabelle pushing a similar cot out of room 4. Sister Mary paused outside room 3 ready to make the swap. A putrid smell began to waft up the hall. Both sisters gaged. A similar smell began to rise form the baby in the cot in front of Sister Mary and the babies began to cry in unison. Sister Annabelle reached Sister Mary, her face pushed into her shoulder and her eyes watering.

“I think our lord has made us an offering,” she gaged as she spoke, “and this little man has also given us a gift too”. She pushed open the door to delivery room 3 and hurriedly pushed the cot in. Sister Mary followed with her own charge.

“You change the babies and I will fetch the carry cot from Master Crowley.”. It was clearly just a excuse to getting out of having to be in same room as the stench for any longer but Sister Mary didn’t want to argue. The smell was truly awful.

In the bed, Mrs Young turned over a frown wrinkling her brow, some internal mothering instinct told her that a baby needed changing but something else told her it wasn’t hers so sleep on.

Sister Mary hesitated as she plucked the Anti-Christ from his cot and laid him on the changing table beside the door. She unwrapped the blanket and dropped it back in the cot. The baby whimpered as she removed the dirty nappy and cleaned him. She cooed at him. “Imagine little me changing the Destroyer of worlds’ nappy and powdering his little tush.” Sister Mary thought to herself. The baby in the other cot began to cry.

The mother in the bed yawned but stayed asleep. In an attempted sooth the baby, Sister Mary picked the ambassadors baby up. He was a chunky baby and quite heavy. Sister Mary had to shift him about a bit before they were both comfortable. The white blanket was lost in this juggling. As she bounced the baby the door to the room opened. Expecting sister Annabelle, Sister Mary turned to face the door where a man peering around the door.

“Err Hello. I’m the father, the husband, whatever.” He stammered, walking over to stand by his wife. Looking up he wondered over to the babies looking down at the baby on the changing table.

“Is this him?” he asked in awe. The baby looked up at him and immediately began to cry. Terrified about what he had done he scooped up the baby and began to pat his back.

“Umm no, these two not yours. Your baby is with your wife over there.” She nodded towards Mrs Young and the cot next to her.

Sister Mary was beginning to gag over the smell coming from the baby in her arms, she laid him on the changing table and began to clean him up.

After soothing the baby in his arms, Mr Young laid the baby down in the empty crib. He picked up the white blanket and tucked it around the baby. He walked over to the cot next to his wife and looked down at the baby. A small part of him was hopeful that he would look upon the face of his child and instantly recognized it as his own. But when he looked down at the sleeping baby, he looked identical to the two with the nun. This one was a little smaller but there wasn’t a moment of recognition. Of course, he didn’t say that. He smiled and looked back at the nun who was disposing of the nappy in a small bin next to the table.

“You know he looks like me.” He said proudly. The Nun smiled at him, rewrapping the baby,

“Have you thought of a name?” she asked. There was a nervous air about her. That probably came with having to look after two babies at once. He had new respect for people with twins and triplets.

They had discussed names but not come to any solid concoctions, they had a name if it had been a girl and after twitching the blanket back it couldn’t be used anymore. The baby snuffled in its sleep; Mr. Young jumped back afraid that he would make it cry like he had the other child.

“We haven though of any names for a boy,” he explained as the nun had finished changing the baby in front of her. Then, looking down at the second with a frown, she looked at the baby in her arms. After a moment hesitant, she seemed to come to a conclusion and plopped it in the second cot wrapping it in the red blanket.

“Well, what about the classic like Luke, John, Adam. Bible names and the like?” She rocked the babies in the cots. Mr. Young though about this for a second as he looked back at his son. He didn’t really look like any of those names, but they were good honest names. Suddenly a nun scuttled into the room. She looked a little out of breath. She looked at Mr. Young the way one would look at a velociraptor. She managed to school her features and smile at him.

Sister Annabelle had returned to the front desk and immediate run into Mr. Young who had asked what room his wife was in. Directing the man to the room without a though until she had picked up the carry cot. She had just sent an imposter into the same room as The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. Picking up her heels again, she took off down the hall and was now stood with Sister Mary, two babies and the carry cot. She turned her slightly manic smile on Sister Mary. She winked. Sister Mary Winked back. They smiled at each other.

“Baby removal services,” she laughed pushing the baby with the red blanket out of the room. She pointed at the carry cot next to the remaining baby and nodded down the hall. Sister Mary nodded back. She placed the carry cot on the changing surfaces and placed the remaining baby in the white blanket in it. Scooping up baby and carry cot she moved to leave the room,

“Umm,” said Mr. Young using the tone of someone who doesn’t want to be a bother but is no doubts going to be a problem.

“Is there any paperwork I need to fill in,” he asked nervously. Always ready to be helpful, Sister Mary nodded and beckoned for him to follow her. It wasn’t until they entered the hall that she realized this might have been a bad decision. She could see Master Crowley’s back to her when Mr. Young held the door open. Trying to think fast she walked up to him putting the now full carry cot next to him on the desk.

“Here is you son Master Crowley,” she said as way of explanation. The yellow eyes turned on her and the primal urge to run shot up her spine. Mr. Young was too distracted to notice, walking up next to her and leaned against the desk.

“Umm, does the birth certificate need signing?” he asked looking over the desk at all the papers. The Mother Superior who had been overseeing Crowley filling out all the correct papers in the right places. It wouldn’t do to have buggered up the paperwork on such a big job. She pulled a file over the papers and put on her best plastic smile. She flicked through the relevant files and produced a birth certificate for Mr. Young. She also pulled one out and handed it to Crowley. Conscious of the presents of Mr. Young, Crowley took the offered page. Mr. Young peeked into cot at the baby.

“He’s a cute one,” he says trying to rope Crowley into a conversation so he can talk about his own kid. Crowley doesn’t acknowledge him. Not deterred, Mr. Young filled in the birth certificate leaving the name till last. He still needed to talk to his wife about it.

“Though of a name yet?” he asked. Again, this was met by silenced. Mr. Young looked over at Crowley, he was well dressed and very out of places here. He didn’t have the look of expectant father. He looked worried.

“We were thinking about Adam,” he continued. This conversation was going to happen even if he had to do it himself. However, this got a reaction out of the other man. He laughed. He snorted then laughed out loud.

“Something wrong with Adam?” Mr. Young questioned, getting slightly defensive over a possible name for his son. The man pushed his long hair back away from his face. He was handsome, even Mr. Young had to admit that.

“No, it’s a fine name. But I knew an Adam once, he was a complete bastard,”.

Sister Mary giggled under her breath. But then frowned at the thought of how a demon knew the original Adam. She puzzled over this for the rest of the conversation.

Mr. Young let his shoulders drop,

“What would you suggest then?” he asked sheepishly. Crowley turned on him and Mr. Young had to squash a sudden urge to back away and make himself small. Crowley looks him up and down before speaking. His emotionless sunglasses making it feel like he wasn’t blinking. He wasn’t but behind the glasses no one could tell.

“Something royal may be. Henry, James, William?” he suggested. Mr. Young felt better about these names.

Crowley looked back at the almost complete page in front of him.

“It doesn’t matter, it will all be over in eleven years anyway.” Crowley mumbled glumly as he looked at the last section of the certificate

FIRST NAME:

It was blank. He stared at it. Did he have to name it?

“Oh,” Mr. Young said confused. In an effort to change the typic he looked into the cot again, “You know, he looks like an Adam.” he added.

Crowley huffed but he couldn’t think of anything better. Plus, it made sense in an ironic way. Crowley scribbled the name down on the final dotted line on the page pushing it towards the nun. He snatched the carry cot of the desk and strode out the lobby. Mr. Young tried to wave goodbye, but Crowley was long gone.

Sister Annabelle handed the baby to the ambassador’s wife who looked down at him with the love of a first-time mother,

“Sorry that took so long Your Ladyship, he is such a scrumptious little man. Every nun in the convent had to coo at him,” Sister Annabelle sighed as she stood back, her job was done. She really needs a cup of tea now.

Mother Superior quietly pushed open the door and came in.

“Oh what a little lord,” she said causing all nuns in the room to smile. “Have you thought of a name?”

The convent burnt down that night. However, the only paperwork that was destroyed was form that night. Apart from the birth certificate of one James Henry Young

Crowley pulled the Bentley into a short dead-end road that was the entrances to a farmer’s field. He cut the engine and the lights of the snarling beast of a car disappeared, leaving only the dark hedgerow in front of him.

The silence enveloped the car, seeming to seep in through all the gaps in the doors and poured out of the vents. Soon Crowley was engulfed in it. He paused, appreciating the moment. The sound of the engine cooling was the only noise that could be heard inside the car. The carry cot next to him cooed. He looked over at his new acquisition and pulled it closer to him. He carefully pulled the small and oh so delicate baby out and laid him across his knees looking up at him. The baby yawned but seemed very much awake. The white blanket that was bundled around him stopping his arms from moving.

Crowley huffed and rubbed his faces pushing his glasses off slightly. He squeezed his eyes shut and began to mutter at the baby,

“Okay first test,”

He pulled his glasses off completely and crouched over the baby sticking his tough out. Letting the glamor over it drop so the tips flicked over the babies scrunched up little nose. His eyes almost glowed yellow in the darkness he didn’t show his true, true form just these small parts. The Baby screeched and Crowley jerked back worried, but unsurprised, that he had terrified the poor thing. When the screech turned into a gurgling laugh, he looked back at the baby who had wiggled free an arm and was grabbing at Crowley with a gummy grin. Slight confused Crowley rewrapped the baby in his white blanket and shifted it to be cradled in his arms,

“Okay so you passed the first test. Now we need to go other some ground rules if this arrangement is going to work out.”.

The baby babbled at him trying to wiggle free of his confines. He seemed fine with the whole yellow eyes and snake toung though. Probably knew no different, Crowley wondered leaning back in the driver’s seat.

“So I will house you, feed you and take care of you until you have worked out how to use a toilet after that we can look into the walking, talking, reading, writing business but there are some conditions that you have to uphold,”.

The baby sneezed, looked shocked at this strange turn of events, blinked a few times before looking back up at the demon. Now that he had the baby’s attention again Crowley continued,

“Firstly, the family you came from, the one that has the antichrist.” The baby watched him with uncanny eyes that seemed to understand what he was saying. That or more worryingly for Crowley he was ranting at a newborn infant that had no idea what was going on and was just watching him make noises in the dark car.

“Warlock, they called him Warlock.”

The baby gave him a half smile, hoping that the smile was from recognizing the name.

“You’re gonna have to be friends with that brat. secondly you will not get in my way or interfere with my work.”

The baby yawned at him. It seemed that all the excitement was getting the better of him its eyes began to slip closed. Crowley rocked him slightly trying not to enjoy holding the child, a small part of him that was thought to be long dead, started to thaw. He placed the baby back in the carry cot in the passenger’s seat. The baby whimpered at the movement but settled back in the crib snuggling into the blanket.

Crowley backed out and onto the road, where was the nearest mother care?

Azriaphale had just got back to the book shop when the phone rang. He paused hanging his coat up on its peg, before picking it up, he suspected who it might be but wasn’t sure. He plucked the phone from the handle and held it daintily to his ear,

“I’m dreadfully sorry but I’m afraid we are closed at the...,” his polite but discouraging scripted was cut by a very familiar voice,

“It’s me Angel.”

It sounded although Crowley was making this call from a phone box. Oh dear, what trouble had he gotten himself into now.

“Crowley? Is that you?” he asked anyway knowing the answer,

“Yes. We need to talk.” He said matter of factly.

“Yes, I rather think we do.” Azriaphale thought of the conversation he had had with Gabriel earlier that day.

Crowley looked through the window of the Bentley at the sleeping baby inside. He hung up the phone and got back into the car. He looked over at the child. He was so small. Crowley stroked his cheek with a black nailed finger.

“You have no idea what is going on. I envy you Adam,” the baby sighed in his sleep.

#good omens #good omens fic #Ineffable Husbands #crowley x aziraphale #crowley good omens #aziraphale good omens #adam young good omens #fanfic

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feynites · 7 years ago

Note

could you do a story where a whole bunch of people get trapped inside an mmorpg, rescue never comes so that they eventually forget their trapped there as generations of people are born, and when you die, it is unknown if that is the final ending or if you reincarnate into a new player, also in this one you can flip between gender anytime you want, the economy in the world is steady, the government is ok, id also like this story to take place from the perspective of a kid born into the world

Well it… didn’t really come out entirely as requested, I must admit. And it’s more of a ‘part one’, but…. I hope you like it anyway!

I am an Enpisci.

So were my progenitors, and so is everyone else in my village.

Willowbranch. It’s a tiny settlement at the edge of the Black Forest. Bartlie says that in ancient times, Pleers would come to Willowbranch from all over the world to fight monsters. In droves and droves they would fight beasts of all measure, leaving legends of their deeds in the tavern. I suppose that was back before everyone realized the hard truth.

Monsters cannot be beaten.

They can be fought. But never beaten. Because of the respawn. Wait long enough, and every monster comes back. They are, in that way, the only true immortals of the realm. Legend says a Pleer cannot die unless killed. And a monster cannot die even when killed.

The day the gates to the heavens closed, and the gods forsook their children in Ethenria, the Pleers stopped coming. The tavern records became static, stale. An Enpsici cannot leave their home unless commanded by the gods, and in Willowbranch, we stopped hearing the voices of the gods long ago. Though most of the town still prays at the temple. It has been a long time since the altars lit up - even my progenitors could not recall such a thing ever happening in their Service Span.

Willowbranch’s temple isn’t far from its tavern, which sees a lot more traffic these days.

I let out a sigh, and nod my thanks to Bartlie as I take my evening drink over to one of the tavern tables. Pleers and monsters might have their pact with the gods, but we Enpisci are mere mortals, in the end. There are some of us who have made it into the legends of old, of course. But most of us just live quiet lives, in Service, until the life wheel resets. And then the next generation takes over. Some of the village has been getting on me to settle down. Find a partner, raise two children. But, I’m not in any hurry. There’s a lot of time yet before my Span is up, and I still don’t know if I have anything worthy to teach the next generation.

Besides, my brother’s heirs are just small, and deserve to be doted on exclusively for a while. There are a lot of little ones in the village right now for them to play with, too.

No rush.

I think about it, though. Bartlie’s been making noises about it, as well, and bartending is good Service. A food provider always has a lot of sway. A lot of recipes, a central location. Why he’d consider me for a partner is more of a mystery. My progenitors were both Guides, and Willowbranch hasn’t really needed a Guide since the days when Pleers still came to town. Oh, I still work to help the community, of course. Do my part. Mostly maintaining the barricades near to where monsters spawn. The temple basement and the abandoned house nearest to the wood. And I help redraw the maps. No one has left Willowbranch in an age, because of the monsters on the road, but Guides still have knowledge of the surrounding region. Keeping track of it all at least offers us warning if any new monsters might appear too close to the village, or wander near the borders.

Guides can tell where they spawn.

But still, it’s not prestigious work. Not anymore. Sometimes my brother waxes poetic about the ‘olden days’, when our Service was needed. I don’t see much point to it, though. We never even saw those times. We don’t really know if it was better or not.

I’m musing over things, one eye still on Bartlie, when it happens. The tavern door opens with a bang, and Young Farmer runs in. I blink up from my drink, while Bartlie calls out to them.

“Here, now, the drinks’ll keep, Farmer. What are you runnin’ for?” he asks.

“There’s a－” Farmer begins, before stopping for a minute to catch their breath. They point out behind themselves, through the open door. Evening is settling into night. The distant wolf call heralds it, as the sun sets over the mountains. “There’s a figure. A figure coming down the road.”

A murmur starts up from the other tavern patrons. I still in surprise, but Bartlie just scowls.

“What do you mean, a Shambler?” he asks. The current of disbelief eases some. Shamblers look like people, especially at a distance. But they’re monsters. They don’t usually come close enough to town to be seen, but Farmer sometimes wanders out a bit. Despite the cautionary tales and worry. The fields haven’t been safe for three generations, but Farmer’s the curious kind, the same way my brother is.

“Not a Shambler,” Farmer refutes. “It wasn’t even barely dusk when I saw it, and it was walking straight down the road. I came running as soon as I realized. Someone’s coming. From out of town!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Bartlie snaps. “Who would be coming here? Risking Dire Bears and Shamblers and… and, what else?”

He turns to me. I shrug.

“Vampires. Ghost Wolves.” I point to the map hanging up behind the tavern wall, next to the old Pleer legends. The spawn points are marked for as far as my knowledge has them. “Hag Ravens. Would depend on the time of day, too, of course. This hour would be the busiest for all of them.”

“But I definitely saw-” Farmer starts.

They’re interrupted by an ear-splitting shriek.

Everyone in the tavern freezes. And then, by some mutual, unspoken urge, we all get up, and hurry outside. Farmer in the lead, Bartlie pausing just long enough to fetch his nail bat from underneath the counter. A few other doors open in the village. People looking out, wide-eyed and worried. My brother’s husband pulls the children inside, and I suddenly realize just how close their house is to the main road. He sees me. I nod at him.

If something happens, I’ll help them.

The air feels dangerous, in a way that makes all the hairs on the back on my neck, and makes those kinds of thoughts seem necessary.

The main road is long, with the forest like a dark wall of trees beside it. A hill blocks off some of the view, but even though I have never heard it before in my life, I recognize the sounds of the distant shrieking.

“Those are Hag Raven cries,” I say.

Bartlie tightens his grip on his nail bat, and some of the villagers shy back towards the tavern. The Mayor heads over at a brisk jog. Coming straight for me.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “A Hag Raven? Are they inside the borders?”

I frown, and concentrate for a minute. On my Service, and the knowledge it gives me.

“The boundaries for the village haven’t been breached…” I say, before my brother, in turn, comes running up.

“They haven’t,” he agrees. “Have you seen Sam and the kids?”

“They’re inside,” I assure him, nodding towards his house. He hesitates, just a moment. Frowning. Seeing what I had seen, and suddenly taking issue with it.

“It’s too close to the main gate,” he murmurs.

“Take them to the village hall,” I suggest.

He hesitates just a little, but at a nod of permission from The Mayor, goes and runs off to do just that. His family and all the others too close to the road, too. The Mayor gives me a worried look. I remember the old mayor - it’s a Service that brings a lot of worries with it. Always fretting, always trying to keep things in order. The Hag Raven shrieks again, and I wonder if we’re all feeling the same fear.

And then there’s a dying wail.

Silence.

I don’t think the village has ever been so quiet before.

The sound of distant footsteps feels almost like a crack of thunder, for all that it’s too quiet to be anything like it. We watch, half of the village standing outside of the tavern, and just beyond the main gate, as a figure slowly rounds the hill. Not a Hag Raven, although in one hand, they clutch a set of large wings. As they walk, they make an odd gesture, and the wings vanish.

My heart leaps into my throat at the casual display of magic.

“Can’t be,” Bartlie murmurs.

We’re all thinking it, though. The closer the figure gets, the louder the thought becomes.

A Pleer.

Tall and broad, dressed in a long leather coat. Blood is beginning to fade from the wide-cuffed sleeves, with each slow, steady step. A sword hangs from an embroidered belt. The only swords I’ve seen before are collecting dust on the walls of the old Weapons Shop. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person so tall before, either. Their ears are rounded, and their jaw is square, and a jagged scar stretches from their eyebrow to their chin.

The stranger walks and walks, and makes their way straight past us. We move aside for them, without even thinking about it. They barely look at us as they make their way into the tavern. The chair scrapes along the floor before they slouch down into it behind a central table.

“I need a drink, and information,” they say, in a low, unhappy voice.

We all look at one another. Hesitating. Shocked by this sudden turn of events.

The Pleer bangs a fist down on the tabletop hard enough to make us all jump.

“What the fucking hell are you fucks just standing around for?!” they demand. “I just walked up here from Bayerwood, and this is the third fucking time I’ve had to deal with you Enpissies gawking at me like you’re glitched. I want a damn drink, and I want some fucking information, and then I want a bed. And not a single one of you is going to ask me a stupid question until all that’s been seen to, unless you want a sword through your guts.”

A cold fear runs down my spine at the threat. I suddenly know, with breathtaking certainty, that this stranger could kill us. That the sword in their hand could slice through any of us. If I were to take my knife and, for some reason, try and stab Bartlie, it would just bounce off. Enpisci cannot take one another’s lives, the gods forbade it. But Pleers… I never knew before that it was different for them.

But I know now.

“They could do it,” I say, to The Mayor and Bartlie.

Bartlie’s hands shake a little. The Mayor swallows, but despite her anxious nature, recovers first.

“Well, get our guest a drink, would you, Bartender?” she says, and makes her way over. Clasping her hands behind her back to hide her own shaking. “Wel… uh, wel-welcome to Willowbranch, traveller. It has been many years since-”

“Yeah, yeah, many years since you saw the likes of me. Does this village have a prostitute?” the Pleer asks.

“N…no,” The Mayor informs them, nervously. “We have food, though, and there is a room above the tavern…”

Bartlie heads for the bar, and I keep a few of the more curious villagers from coming back into the tavern. Motioning that it’s unsafe, as the Pleer scoffs, and Bartlie brings them their drink. Other patrons’ drinks are still abandoned at their tables. The whole thing feels utterly surreal, as the Pleer chugs their ale, and leans so heavily on their chair that it creaks, and then closes their eyes for a moment.

A very tense moment. The Mayor looks like she’s about to ask a question, but she stops herself. Probably rolling the Pleer’s threat over in her mind.

And then the stranger speaks again.

“So you haven’t seen anyone like me in years,” they say. “No one else has passed through? An elven woman, maybe?”

“No, no one else,” The Mayor confirms, easily.

The Pleer curses some more, before kicking the chair next to theirs. It skids across the tavern floor.

“Well, fuck,” they say. “That just leaves Bainbridge. Where’s your map?”

I go and get it, to spare Bartlie having to deal with the stranger going over to the bar. There are a lot of breakable things on it, and it usually takes a long while for glasses to replace themselves. I pull down my latest map, and bring it over to the Pleer’s table.

They snatch it from my hands. Take a knife from their coat, and, before I can protest, stab it through the parchment. Pinning it to the table, before hunching over it.

“This the best you have?” they ask.

“Yes,” I confirm, because it easily is. And if it gets any more damaged, I’ll have to redraw the whole thing by hand again. The Pleer’s gaze turns towards me, then. There’s something… off about it. Something unsettling. Like some part of them hates me, or hates everything about me, even though this is the first time we’ve met.

I’m relieved when they look back at the map.

Bainbridge is on it. So is Bayerwood. I’ve never seen either, but I know where they are. Bayerwood is further down the road the Pleer came up by, which fits with their story. Willowbranch is the village nearest to the forest, while Bainbridge is the last village I have any knowledge of. It’s near to a desert. I don’t know anything about the desert, except that it exists. It’s a void - a wall. The road to Bainbridge is even more perilous than the one up from Bayerwood. A Lich King spawns along it, and the closer one gets to the bridge which leads to Bainbridge village, the denser the spawn points for Skeleton Knights and Wyverns and Harpies become.

The Pleer looks at the map for a long while. And then they demand that we all leave the tavern, in so many words. ‘Fuck off out of here and don’t come back until morning’, mainly. I go and find my brother and his family, still waiting in the village hall. The Mayor holds an emergency meeting. But no one really knows what to do or say. No one alive remembers the last time a Pleer came to Willowbranch. Some Enpisci know that their Services should be performed differently for that, though, and so as the night unfolds, and the village children sleep in a campout in the main hall, the Weapon Shop is dusted and the Market Stalls are rearranged, goods put out onto displays, and signs hung up and the temple doors flung wide open.

Some of the villagers even start to get excited about it. Elisno has some shop records, passed down from her progenitors, of the last sale that the Weapons Shop ever made. A Greatsword of Frost, sold to a Pleer named Javie.

“It would be something if some of the records got updated,” she enthuses. “Maybe something’s changed. Maybe more Pleers will start coming again.”

High Priestess is also hopeful. A Pleer coming, she says, is a promising sign. The gods have changed the world many times over, after all. Maybe the days of condemnation are done. Maybe one of them has come to find their lost children, to open the gates to heaven and gather the Pleers to end the eternity of monsters. Maybe this is the start of a new beginning.

I doubt it, myself.

If anything, seeing this Pleer makes me understand why the gods might forsake them all.

That’s a harsh thought, though. My brother cautions against it. He’s tentatively hopeful, although he and Sam still keep their children in the main hall, rather than taking them home.

“It must be hard, fighting monsters to get up along the roads,” he says. “Maybe the Pleer was injured.”

“They didn’t ask for healing,” I point out. “The temple doors are open. And you didn’t hear them talk.”

He shrugs.

“I’m not saying they were pleasant,” he insists. “I’m just saying, no one’s at their best after nearly getting killed by a Hag Raven. If that happened to me, I’d need a drink, too. Maybe we just shouldn’t assume that how they were last night is how they always are.”

I leave the matter be, even though something in me doubts that the light of day will bring a more pleasant Pleer along with it.

I don’t want to be right.

But I am.

It’s closer to noon when the Pleer emerges from the tavern. Wearing their long leather coat, armed with glinting weapons. I wonder if they slept in all that. If they slept at all. Do Pleers sleep? I have no idea. The stranger walks out into the town square, and glances towards the market stalls and the shops, before heading to the temple. Ignoring High Priestess’ greeting, they head for the Altar to Umara, and dip their hands into the waters.

A chime rings out. The windows of the temple seem to shine, and to my astonishment, the water glows. High Priestess freezes, and gets an indescribable look on her face. I remember when we were children, playing together in the temple yard, and how we would try and explain the growing feelings our Service brought to us. She had always been so sure that the temple was missing light. Not like torchlight, but something harder to describe. Something that would have happened all the time, before the gates of heaven closed.

If nothing else, I’m glad she gets to witness this. Because I’m sure this is what she meant. The Pleers might be forsaken, but it seems that the gods still answer a few of their prayers anyway. As they leave the temple, the light seems to stick to the Pleer a little. Not bright enough to glow, exactly, but enough to make it seem like a sunbeam has fixed itself to them.

They head for the Potions Shop next. Coming out just a few minutes later with an armful of parcels, that vanish with a gesture. Just like the Hag Raven wings. Where the parcels go, or why someone should buy everything only to banish it an instant later, I can’t say.

The Pleer doesn’t bother with the Weapons Shop.

They head towards the hall next. Or that’s what I think, and I want them to stay away from the children - even as curious as the children are to see them. But before they get to the gate, they detour. And come to stop in front of me, instead.

“I need a guide,” they say. “I’ll be taking the map, but the spawn points could change while I’m out there. Some of that shit’s high level. I’m not risking a Lich King ambush because I set up camp too close to his spawn point. You’re coming with me.”

I freeze in shock. So does everyone else nearby. The words seem incomprehensible - coming with them? Out of the village? They wave a hand, and I feel… something. Like a request, pushing at the back of my mind. A divine compulsion, maybe. The Pleers come from heaven, after all. They are cut from the cloth of the gods. It’s the obligation of Enpisci to serve, but…

No.

I don’t want to go anywhere with this stranger. They are not a friendly person, and it wouldn’t be safe. Even if another opportunity like this never presents itself.

The Pleer grits his teeth, and reaches for his sword.

“I’ll take you.”

We both turn. My heart sinks into my stomach at the sight of my brother, standing behind the Pleer. His expression is determined, but I know that body language. His shoulders are tensed and he’s holding his hands in fists so that they don’t tremble. Jaw slightly clenched for the same reason - he’s frightened.

“I’m a guide, too. I’ll take you where you want to go.”

I shake my head.

The Pleer’s eyes narrow.

“You’re ineligible,” they say. “You have children?”

My brother swallows.

“I… yes, I do,” he says. “That means I can’t go?”

“Well, not with living children around,” the Pleer tells him. Then they glance back to me, and very slowly, draw the sword from their belt. The metal is dark. It gleams, and seems to project an unpleasant aura. There’s something almost red to it, even though I can’t actually see the colour. It makes me vaguely nauseous - nothing like the weapons on the shop racks. “Though I could solve that.”

It takes me a moment to even comprehend their meaning. My brother pales, and when I do I lift up my hands. Horrified. The Pleer doesn’t even step towards the hall, but I feel suddenly, powerfully afraid that they will.

“I’ll go!” I say, at once. “Just don’t… don’t… I’ll go with you!”

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my skull. My brother looks like he’s going to be sick, and I feel like I am, too. My eyes fix onto the weapon in the Pleer’s hands. At least until they put it away again. They laugh when they do, amused by something. Or maybe just pleased with my acquiescence. Maybe Pleers don’t laugh for the same reasons Enpisci do.

“Oh, good. No more wasting time,” they say.

I feel it again, then. Pressing at the back of my mind, the… request.

My stomach is full of rocks. I look at my brother, though.

Yes.

Suddenly, then, I know a whole host of things about the Pleer. Things that I didn’t before, and that he definitely hasn’t told me out loud. I know he has a name. Brandon. I know he has titles. Slayer of the Poisoned Queen and Conqueror of the Wailing Swamplands. I know he’s powerful.

He gestures, and a beige satchel appears in his hand. He thrusts it at me, hard enough to knock the wind out of me. Something inside clinks.

“Take those,” he says. “if you get injured and manage not to die right away, down one. I have plenty, but don’t waste them. Now let’s go.”

He starts walking towards the village gates.

I hesitate. That’s it? Just ‘let’s go’? I’ve never left the village before in my life. I haven’t said goodbye to anyone, haven’t hugged my brother, or Sam, or kissed the children goodbye, or told Bartlie…

But, even as my mind reels, my feet move. Once the Pleer gets a certain distance away, my feet follow of their own accord. It’s a strange and unsettling feeling. I hold the satchel and awkwardly chase after him, looking back as my brother calls out, as High Priestess and a few others join in and give a brief chase.

“Wait!” The Mayor calls. “Wait, please, Pleer!”

“You don’t have to do this!” my brother says. “We have other maps you can take, if you just - you can stay until the spawn points reset again, and then leave straight after! There wouldn’t be time for them to change once more, you could make it to Bainbridge before that happened!”

The Pleer ignores them.

And I just… follow. Numbly. Stupidly. Not even managing to get the satchel on, stunned as we clear the village gates. As we head off down the west road, which no one ever uses even a little, for fear of the monsters that spawn out in this direction. My brother chases after us the longest, with increasing distress.

“Please, mercy, stranger!” he begs.

“Oh, shut up, you whiny little bitch,” the Pleer finally snaps back.

I shake my head. Thinking of that grim, nauseating sword. My brother and I lock eyes, until he hits the boundaries of the village. And then his legs root in spot. And eventually, I have to tear my gaze away, in order to keep following the Pleer in front of me. In order to keep walking past a point I have never before crossed, and never before expected to.

The road is dusty.

It smells different, somehow. Even though it doesn’t really look different from anything I’ve seen before. I walk along. Staring alternately at the backs of Brandon’s shoulders, and the trees, and the sight of the forest I have always seen eventually turning into mountainous rock. It seems to happen all too quickly, though, that the path becomes unfamiliar. Large stone boulders crop up around it. Things I have glimpsed at a distance, but never closely enough to realize that there are carvings on them. I want to stop and look at them all. But the Pleer keeps going, at a pace just fast enough that sometimes I have to jog to keep up.

Eventually, I regain enough wit to sling the satchel strap over my shoulder. Then I look inside, and find half a dozen blue potions in it.

Those are Wendru’s best.

I’ve never even tasted one before. Once, though, a werewolf managed to break out of the temple basement, when I was very young. Everyone who helped fight it off ended up needing a blue potion. That was back when Wendru’s progenitor was the Potion Seller. I remember watching both of mine sip theirs, resting in the big bedroom. How the bleeding wounds on their arms and legs had closed; how they’d needed to take silver potions after, to make certain they didn’t become werewolves themselves.

I can’t help but wonder what they would both make of this.

The boulders turn to sheer rock, framing the path. And I remember enough of what they taught me to start mentally tracking the spawning points. Pebbles bounce away from the Pleer’s boots, and bite into my own soft shoes.

Eventually, I muster up the nerve to ask a question.

“Why do you need to go to Bainbridge?” I ask.

He ignores me.

I swallow, and lick my lips.

“Brandon?” I try.

That makes his steps falter, just a little. He looks at me, eyes wide, before he seems to realize something. And then he just snorts.

“I forgot about that,” he mutters. “Don’t call me that. Call me ‘my lord’.”

He turns away, then, and starts walking faster. I fall silent. Part of me - the part that’s not terribly sensible - wants to call him anything but ‘my lord’. Something more along the lines of ‘asshole’, maybe. Bastard. Jackass. Intolerable fuckweasel. But I know that if I address him, now, the only thing that will actually come out of my mouth will be ‘my lord’.

The powers of the divine - even the forsaken divine - are terrifying. I never really imagined it this way before, but they are brutal in their reality.

A few birds fly over head. There are spawn points up on the rocks, and paths that lead that way. My shoulders tense at the thought of what could be lurking up above. Watching us traverse the narrow road, deeper and deeper into the mountains. Bainbridge is on the other side of a gorge, which then becomes the desert. At my walking pace, it would take three days to get there on foot. Accounting for necessary breaks, and assuming no time-consuming disturbances are to happen.

Like fighting monsters.

We walk, and walk. A few times I hear unfamiliar bird cries. After a while, I do my best to pay more attention to the carvings on the rocks. I can read Common, Dwarvish, and Elvish, as part of my Service, but I don’t know this language. Maybe it’s not a language, though. Maybe it’s art? My Service tells me nothing about it. Eventually the symbols disappear as the surface of the rock changes textures, and we come to points where water runs down striking mountain walls. A Dwarvish sign tells us that Bainbreach Gorge is ahead, and warns of necromancy in the region.

My legs are straining with exhaustion by then. My chest heaving with my breaths, and my skin heated from the sun. Sweat beads on my brow.

The Pleer stops for a moment to stare at the sign.

And then he lets out an irritated sound, and marches over, and takes a seat at the rocks next to it. He waves a hand, and throws and parcel at me. I don’t catch it. It bounces off my chest and to the ground, and I start at it dumbly for a moment, before stooping to pick it up.

“You’re Level One,” he tells me.

I swallow, and am horribly relieved to find the parcel he threw at me contains a water skin and some bread. I move closer to the sign - not really wanting to be near to the Pleer, but not wanting to stay on the open road alone, either. Sitting next to the Dwarvish writing at least helps me feel like other people might be around, as I drink eagerly.

When I’m no longer completely parched, I hazard a reply.

“I don’t know what that means,” I say.

The Pleer snorts.

“Everyone starts at Level One,” he tells me. “The more experience you get, the higher your level becomes. Your whole life, living your shitty little Enpee-see existence in that town, you’ve never leveled up. You’re a random villager with no experience. But for reference - I’m Level Two-Hundred and Ninety.”

I swallow, and take a bite of bread to keep from having to admit that I still don’t understand. There are ‘levels’ on the old legend lists in the tavern, but they seemed to refer to parts of the forest. The numbers didn’t go up very high anyway, only to twelve. And while I might not have left the village before, I definitely have ‘experience’ with some things.

Just not these things. Not things that haven’t happened to anyone in Willowbranch for generations.

The Pleer stares at me.

“That means that everything out here can kill you, really easily,” he says.

“I know that,” I say. Because I do.

“Good. Then you know to hide if something comes at us,” he tells me. “If you die, I’m going to go back to your stupid little village, and get the other guy. And you know what that means.”

I swallow the bread. It tastes like ash.

“They’re just children,” I say. Willot and Esme. They like playing hide-and-seek and throwing seeds to the birds and making mud pies. Esme’s going to be a Guide, like me and my brother. Willot’s going to be a Mason, like Sam. My brother never smiled so big or cried so hard as on the days he went up into the nursery and found their cribs there.

The Pleer snorts.

“They’re fake,” he tells me. “Just like you’re fake. Every fucking thing in this godforsaken world is fake, except for me. And except for the woman I’m looking for. Don’t pull that sob story shit on me. You’re lucky I let off steam in Bayerwood before I got here.”

He leans forward. I look at his eyes again. I’ve seen monsters without those kinds of eyes, without that kind of hatred in them. It freezes me in place. Nauseating, terrifying - like the sickly aura off of his sword.

“I killed every Enpee-see in Bayerwood,” he tells me. “Because they pissed me off. And if you piss me off, I’ll do the same to your shitty little village, too. Just keep that in mind.”

Every…?

I can’t fathom it. But somehow I know that what he’s saying is true. Everyone in Bayerwood is dead. The village is a ghost town, then. Empty buildings, empty houses. I look away, as my hands shake and the bread in crumples into crusty crumbs. My eyes sting, and blur, but more than anything I just feel afraid. Afraid of dying out here. And not just for myself, now, but for what it would mean if the Pleer has to go back to Willowbranch to get my brother.

It takes me a minute.

But I manage to fight off the tears, and drink the rest of the my water. You’ll need it, I think. The water and the energy. I choke down the rest of the bread, too. I’ll have to keep my wits about me. Have to be able to run and hide, to get out of the way, and have a sharp eye out for danger.

I can’t let the Pleer go back to Willowbranch.

My mind shies away from the thought, as I lean against the dwarvish sign.

We don’t talk again until the Pleer finishes his own rations, and then gets up, and starts our trek once more. Stomping his boots, and letting out a frustrated sound when a light rain kicks in. He puts a hood up on his coat. I don’t have a coat. But I don’t mind the rain too much, either. It makes the rocks around us look glossy and oddly beautiful. Deepens the mist coming up from the places where water tumbles down the sides of the road.

The first attack comes, as I’d feared, from above.

There’s a shriek. Like that of the Hag Raven, but different, too. Harpy. All the birds flying overhead before, casting their shadows, almost had me complacent to the sound of flapping wings and things moving above the road. But this is big, and as the cry comes, my heart stills. I reel backwards. Slipping on the rain-slick rocks, as a monster with four wings and clawed legs, and the face and breasts of a human, drops from the sky.

The Pleer, though, seems read for it.

The air around him bursts, like a lightning strike. He lifts one hand up, as the harpy extends its claws towards him, and grabs it around the leg. And then he dashes the creature against the nearest outcropping of rocks. Like a child swinging a toy club. Black feathers explode everywhere. The Harpy’s shriek takes on a different tone. I rush further back, plastering myself up against the opposite stone wall, watching in wide-eyed shocked as the Pleer yanks the creature back. Heedless of the way its talons tear at his coat, as he smashes it against the rocks again.

That seems to daze it. It crumples, still shrieking but also obviously reeling, as the big warrior draws his sword and plunges it into the monster’s chest. Blood sprays onto him. My breaths are loud in my ears, the rocks hard at my back. The rain soaks through me.

The Pleer shifts his grip on his sword, and then in another, smooth gesture, cuts the head from the Harpy.

Its blood steams as it pours onto the road.

Its body twitches.

I watch as every part of it slowly dissolves. It turns to bones, and then motes, except for the wings. The Pleer looks up at the sky for a moment, before picking up the wings, and doing his strange gesture. They vanish. And nothing is left of the monster - just some fading bloodstains.

“Where’s the Harpy spawn point?” he asks me.

I can’t answer.

I want to. My mouth moves, but nothing comes out. I don’t even know the answer, at the moment. I feel strange. Tingling, a little - from the shock? But I can’t keep a thought straight. Everything in my head just buzzes, horrified by the sight of the Harpy’s death.

The Pleer rounds on me, sword still in hand. The panic does nothing to help my focus, but it forces words from me anyway. Gods, he really wasn’t lying. He could kill a whole village. He’d killed that monster so easily. Without any barricades or ranged attacks or anything at all, even. It’d taken half my village to bring down one werewolf from the other side of a row of topple and fortified temple pews, and people had still been badly injured.

The Pleer’s coat doesn’t even stay damaged. The rips on it close, as the bloodstains fade.

“I, I, there - they’re up, on the - in the -”

“Fucking useless,” he growls, and turns. And I am struck by the blind fear that he is turning back towards Willowbranch.

I point. Regaining my wits, through sheer force of desperation.

“It’s that way,” I say, and as I do, I see the large nest situated near to the road. Just at the top of the rocky mountainside.

The Pleer looks, and narrows his eyes.

After a moment, he lets out a breath.

“How many?” he asks.

I swallow.

“Just one, at that point,” I say. “There’s another nest further along, though, and that has three.”

He tilts his head, and keeps his sword at hand.

“Okay,” he says. “Three is going to be a problem for you. Don’t run away, they’ll just pick you off. Stay right behind me.”

I nod, more automatically than anything. His words don’t actually sink in until he starts walking again, and then I scramble to follow. How close is ‘right behind’, I wonder? He seems to swing around a lot when he fights. I keep one eye on the sky, and one eye on him, and shiver as the rain falls harder.

There are shapes, up on the sides of the mountain pass.

Not rocks.

It’s a strange experience, seeing the Harpies at their perches. I wonder if they just… stay there, all the time. Watching the road. It must have been ages since anyone has come down it. Sometimes, when I check the barricades in the village, I think about the monsters behind them. Wondering if they missed the days of the Pleers, too, in some way. The old stories say that monsters are the work of the Dark Gods. Made to sow chaos, to bring violence and discord.

In a way, it’s almost their Service to fight.

But unlike Enpisci, they don’t seem to have much beyond it.

We walk down the path. The Pleer keeps his sword ready. But the Harpies don’t move, not even when we’ve gone past them.

“Huh,” says the Pleer.

“They’re not attacking?” I ask, when I can stop holding my breath. “Why?”

I realize my error a moment later. But to my relief, the Pleer doesn’t seem annoyed by the question. When the Harpies are out of sight, he sheaths his weapon.

“Must be glitched,” he says. “I’ve seen it before. Once walked through an entire pack of Shamblers for ten minutes straight, and they weren’t low-level ones either.”

“…Low-level?” I venture, tentatively.

He shrugs.

“If a monster is too much weaker than you, there’s a chance it won’t attack,” he explains.

“That Harpy seemed a lot weaker than you…”

“Level Two Hundred,” the Pleer replies. “Not weak enough that they should be ignoring me, but that might be the glitch.”

I decide I’ve pressed my luck enough with the questions, as his mood seems to sour then. His expression twists, and his eyes darken. I keep quiet, and focus on the spawn points instead. There are a few more Harpies. I mention them, but they all just silently watch as we make our way along. There would be more if we followed the diverging pathways, but we don’t. And after a while, the rain stops. The mountain walls get lower, and break away into boulders again. We take our second break beside them.

My feet are killing me, and my head is pounding as I drink more water, and eat more bread. The Pleer doesn’t seem tired. Just lost in thought, as he stares up at the sky.

“This is a godforsaken place,” he mutters.

I glance towards him uncertainly.

“…Yes?” I say. The sky is blue, the rocks are grey, and the gods shut the gates of heaven and abandoned us all here. ‘Forsaken’ is just an apt description of it all.

Though I suppose, for a Pleer, the blow might be harder to take.

I wonder…

Well.

I don’t want to piss him off, but I’m probably never going to get another chance to ask. And we’re some distance away from the village, now. It’d be inconvenient, if nothing else, for him to turn all the way back to go get my brother. Maybe I can risk a little annoyance - just a little.

“What were the heavens like?” I wonder. “Before the gates shut?”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

The Pleer’s expression shuts down, closing off, and he gives me that look again.

“Fuck off,” he says.

I don’t ask twice.

My feet are still aching when we start walking again. Trapped in stony silence. The boulders give way, and the path turns from the mountains to the gorge. I don’t mean to stop, but when we clear the rocks enough to see the view beyond them, I do anyway.

Beyond the mountain pass, there is an open field, shrouded in waist-high mists. But in the distance, I can see the gorge, and the statues that mark the bridge that leads to the village. The statues are two ancient figures, with arms raised towards the sun. One of them is missing an arm, by the looks of it. Past them, there is the horizon. Distant mountains, coloured differently from the ones I know, and structures, and the sun settling against clouds that swirl like cream in tea.

I have never seen the likes of it before.

I gawk, until the Pleer gets far enough away that my legs start moving on their own again.

There’s so much space. I knew the world beyond the village was big, that it was bigger than my Service could let me know, that there were things beyond the boundaries of my maps. But I had never imagined what it was really like. How much of it there really could be. The gorge is massive, and the mountains and structures in the distance look tiny, and there is… there is so much of it. It defies me to explain the vastness of it all compared to the village I know. The familiar horizons of my life.

A new, different sort of fear comes over me. Or maybe ‘fear’ is the wrong word. I don’t know how to rightly describe it. Awe? Is this what awe feels like?

Even the details of this region are strange. The dirt beneath my feet is pale, and seems to sparkle in some places. Little green and grey plants grow in spirals from the dirt, and tiny black spiders scuttle between them. The stones that mark the road are pale blue. There are no trees, but there are some tall boulders.

The Pleer stops at the first blue stone road marker, and pulls out the map. Its corner is still torn from where he stuck his knife in it.

“Has anything reset yet?” he wonders.

“No,” I assure him. It can be hard to predict when the spawn points will change, but I always know it.

After a few minutes more of examining the map, he puts it away, and starts down the road. And I follow. Because I don’t have any choice.

Distant shapes move in the mist. Nothing should be spawning right where we are, but sometimes monsters wander. Especially when given the time to, with nothing to kill them or no reset to force them back to their original points. I keep as close to the Pleer as I dare. There are no birds out here. Something does fly overhead. Something big, that makes the Pleer stop and draw his weapon again. I look up, but all I can see is a dark shape against the glare of the sun. Either very large and far away, or smaller but closer by.

A harpy?

No, the shape isn’t right.

A wyvern, maybe. The roar seems to match, as it echoes down towards the gorge. But the beast doesn’t swoop in on us. And again, we keep going after several minutes of tension.

Eventually, we come to a gate at the road. It doesn’t seem to serve much purpose, and is really more of an archway. But dwarvish writing announces Bainbreach Gorge’s location. And there are fountains affixed to the sides of it, and twisting vines growing across it. As we draw near the vines seem to glow, a little.

My feet stop aching.

I hurry over to the fountains to refill my water skin, and to drink from them. The water is clear and refreshing, like the water from the temple back home. I love the gate, I decide. It feels safe. The Pleer drinks, too, though he seems less enamored with the place. He settles down next to it for our break, though. The mist parts around most of the gate, and I feel secure enough to put some distance between us, as I find a bench on the opposite side. Looking out towards that distant view.

Finally, I take a moment to just look at it all, without distractions.

What my brother wouldn’t give to see this.

You know what he wouldn’t give, I think. Sobered by the reminder.

I sit on the bench, and am overcome by the feeling that I am never going to see Willowbranch again. Another sobering thought, as I look out at the unfamiliar terrain set before me. The vastness of the world. The thought of the Pleer heading back to my village is horrifying. And I doubt he will stay in Bainbridge. But maybe if he finds this elven woman he’s looking for, his mood will improve enough for pity to settle in. For him to… to find some way to get me back home. I try and console myself.

Maybe if we make it to Bainbridge… well.

At least we’ll have made it. I have no idea what the other village is like. But I know that Enpisci used to make trips often, in the days when Pleers travelled the lands and fought monsters. Pleers could escort us from one place to the next. Families could be spread out among multiple villages, could offer compensation to Pleers for taking them to see friends or relatives elsewhere. It always sounded so amazing to me.

Now I wonder how many were just dragged around against their will. How many interactions were not what they might seem. In the village records, if you go back far enough in my line of progenitors, you will find the name of a Pleer. Marriage records, for a Guide Enpisci and a ‘Paladin’ Pleer. One child, who grew up and became a Guide themselves, after their progenitor died. No records on what became of the Pleer. Their name was in the legends on the tavern wall, though. Kessardian. They killed a lot of ghouls.

They probably came out this way, at least at some point, I realize. They probably saw much more of the world than any Enpisci.

Did they ever kill a whole village full of people?

I can’t imagine it. They had a child with an Enpisci. Surely they must have loved them, right? To have married and settled down and raised a child. But then… their spouse would have died, eventually. When their Span was done. And their child, too. And all the monsters they had slain would have returned, all their efforts to clear their forest or even just the temple basement for naught. When their gods forsook them…

Maybe the Pleers used to be good, once. Used to care about Enpisci. Maybe even Brandon was, before the weight of immortality became too much to bear.

I look over at him.

Would he know the name Kessardian?

But I can’t find much pity for a man who killed an entire village. Nor much hope in his better nature. I remember the hatred in his eyes, and I look away again. And keep my thoughts to myself.

After a while, the Pleer calls me over.

“Enpee-see,” he says, with a wave.

“My Lord?” I reply, and walk towards him.

He points down the long road towards the statues that mark the bridge.

“I’m not camping in the middle of that,” he says. “So we’re setting up here for the night. Pitch a tent, make us some food, and don’t bother me.” He summons up another bag of things, and thrusts it at me - hard enough to knock away my breath again - before he goes back to glowering at the clouds.

Luckily, part of my Service is knowing how to pitch a tent, even though I’ve never done it before. I set it up, along with a cooking fire. The ingredients in the bag don’t match any of the recipes I know, though. So I simply roast them. Trying not to think about Bartlie, and his many, many recipes, and blaming the water in my eyes on the smoke.

As the sun sets, the mist starts to glow.

The shapes in it become harder to ignore, too. The nightly wolf’s howl sends a chill down my spine, like it never has before.

Night changes the look of the whole place.

The gorge turns pitch black. The blue road markers seem to suck up the moonlight, and glow. The distant spawn points for Skeleton Knights will call them into being, now. And Lich Kings, too, though those are still far off. I set the tent up as near to the gate as I can, right in the middle of the archway, even though some part of me balks at ‘blocking the road’.

No other travelers will be coming, unless High Priestess was right, and things really are changing.

The Pleer eats, and produces a bottle of alcohol from thin air. It makes me wonder why he was so set on getting ale from the tavern the other day. He drinks, and tosses me a bedroll. And it’s then that I realize, of course, that the tent is just for him.

I look out towards the moving mist, and doubt I’ll get much sleep.

But the Pleer doesn’t seem to be in a great hurry to make use of his accommodations either. He polishes off a second bottle, and glares into the fire pit I made. And then dashes the glass against it, sending jagged pieces everywhere, and provoking a spray of flames.

“Wants to know what heaven’s like,” he mutters. Though he isn’t looking at me, and barely seems to be speaking to me, except perhaps by default. His tone is mocking. His mouth twists into a sneer. “Fucking bullshit. Stuck in a fucking desert hole with liches and a virgin Enpisci, chasing that fucking-!”

He gets up. I watch, heart in my throat, as he conjures up something else in his hand, and hurdles it down the darkened road.

“FUCK YOU, BITCH!” he shouts. “UNGRATEFUL CUNT! SLUT! HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME?!”

The shouting turns to screaming, in short order. Just, incoherent wailing, out into the dark. I stare, eyes wide, utterly petrified at what the noise and chaos might summon. The gate might feel safe but it’s only a tiny outpost. How safe is it, really? And how good is the Pleer at fighting while he’s drunk and screaming, too?

“Hey,” I say, gently as I can manage.

The Pleer wheels around, and throws something at me. A rock, I think. It hits the ground, and I freeze. Overcome by the impression that I was just bare inches from death. The fire sputters, and the hatred is back in the Pleer eyes.

He levels a finger at me.

“You,” he says.

I start looking for a possible avenue of escape. Even though I know there isn’t really one. I’d never make it back through the Harpies, even if I ran. After a few seconds, I give up, and raise my hands in what I hope is a placating gesture.

“Please,” I say. “I just don’t want any monsters attacking the camp.”

The Pleer sneers. But he stops shouting, too. And after a moment, he comes back and slumps down beside the fire again. His breath reeks of strong wine.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “They can’t cross the boundary here. Most they could do would be to line up along it. And then ‘poof’ - gone by daybreak.”

I swallow. The prospect of sleeping out in the open with a bunch of Skeleton Knights leering down at me, halted only by an invisible barrier, still seems like… not an experience I would want to have. At all. Particularly not for the sake of some incoherent raging.

“But those Harpies didn’t attack,” I point out. “That was a ‘glitch’. What if the boundary makes a glitch, too?”

The Pleer pauses.

Then he lets out a gusty breath.

“Fine,” he says. “Fucking shit cowards. That’s all your type is, you know?”

I clench a fist in the ground. Fear keeps me from arguing - so maybe he does have a point.

“I certainly don’t want to die, my lord,” I say, instead.

The Pleer glares into the fire.

“You sound like that one,” he says, after a long minute. The smoke is getting in my eyes again. I move back a little, and wonder if I should keep responding. If that would lower or increase the odds of him screaming into the dark again.

“Who, may I ask?” I venture, at length.

“I’m not saying its name,” the Pleer replies, with another sneer. “The fucking dwarf. That’ll do. It’s the Fucking Dwarf. Fucking queer ass piece of shit en-pee-see. Not like you, though. Level Three-Fucking Hundred. We let it into our party. Desperation, that’s what if fucking was. We never should have left Itreloth.”

“Itreloth… that’s in the legends,” I realize. “It’s a city.”

“The Grey City,” the Pleer mutters. “Even after The Cut-Off, it was full of players. The trains connected it to the eight other cities. Until our station went down.”

He lets out a long sigh.

“Fucking glitches. The first party went out, didn’t come back. Second party went out - didn’t come back. Third party, no prizes for guessing that one. We figured they were either dying or finding somewhere better and just holing up there. Shit. I never even wanted to play this game. Damn fucking ‘pee see’ piece of crap, shoving its bullshit down everyone’s throats all the time. Oh look, it’s a fucking… fucking gay nanogender vegan orc. And now I’m trapped here. For eternity. The only fucking reason I came here is because of that friendzoning bitch, and what does she do? She drags me out of the city, out into the goddamn mines, trying to follow the train tracks with the Fucking Dwarf, and then she leaves me. She leaves me. When it’s her fucking fault I’m even here to begin with!”

I can’t imagine why, I think.

I’m smart enough not to say it, though. My mind is reeling a little, trying to make sense of everything the Pleer is saying. He has so much knowledge. If only he wasn’t… well. A crazed murderer, really.

“What… ‘game’?” I ask. Maybe he means like in the legends, where the gods sometimes refer to life as The Game? But in that case, does that mean the Pleers all chose to live among mortals?

“Fucking bitch,” the Pleer ignores me, just muttering to himself.

I shift in place a little, and persist. I might not get another chance, and it seems to at least be keeping the screaming to a minimum.

“Okay, I know of some mines,” I say, thinking. Because I do - they’re at the other edge of the boundaries of my knowledge, past Bayerwood. “So you came out of them, and now you’re trying to find this other Pleer? And an Enpisci dwarf?”

“The Fucking Dwarf,” he corrects, in a low mutter. “She left me for the Fucking Dwarf. She’s an idiot. It’s not real. You’re not real, it’s not real, fucking nothing here is real except for us.”

“My lord, I am real,” I feel compelled to say, before I can think the better of it. He glares at me, and I close my mouth with an audible ‘click’. The fire burns between us, and seems to reflect in his eyes. And for a moment, I am horribly, terribly afraid that he is just going to kill me. One of his hands moves to his belts. The sneer on his face is ugly. It makes his scar ripple, and in the dark beyond the firelight, he seems to get even bigger, somehow. Meaner. An old and frightful creature, as dangerous as any monster.

Except that if he died, he wouldn’t come back.

Which would be comforting - if there was any chance of me killing him.

I know I’m desperate enough that I would try. There’s a sharp stick in the fire, close enough that I might be able to reach it before he cut my head off. Maybe I could blind him. Maybe I could run, and run, and just keep running. Maybe my chances would be better with the monsters.

But then he just spits on the ground, and looks away.

“Your fucking kind,” he swears. “You don’t even know what ‘real’ is. You don’t matter. Fucking algorithms and shit. Ay-eye. It’s your fault, your kind’s fault. I’d kill every last one of you if I could, for what you’ve done to us. You fucking trapped us here.”

What?

What is that even supposed to mean? How could Enpisci ‘trap’ the Pleers here? They’re the ones with divine power.

“How?” I ask. Pointing out the obvious fallacy just seems liable to make the man angry.

The Pleer gets up. Wavering in place for a moment, before he just turns, and staggers towards his ten.

“That’s the fucking question,” he mutters, as he goes. “That’s the fucking question. How you did it. Fucking Ay-eye.”

The tent flap closes.

I am left alone in the dark, with a flickering campfire, and a lot of broken glass. And a bedroll, and glowing mist. And distant sounds of something creaking. And drawing closer, and closer, along with something like the sound of wind wheezing through an old bag. I douse the fire, and move nearer to the tent. Watching with the moonlight, as three bone-white figures in aged armour begin to move along the boundaries of the gate.

The hollows of their eye sockets stare back at me.

I don’t sleep.

#filled prompt #mmo story #Anonymous #long post #original writing

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dangertoozmanykids101 · 6 years ago

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My Sassy Cat Burglar

Okay y'all, this isn't a Tom Hiddleston or Loki story. ['So what's the point in posting here, Tooz??? You're taking up prime TH space on the dashboard!' Ha ha, very funny. Bite me!] But if you bare with me, maybe y'all can help me out? When I had my husband read my story, he thought it was funny. (He better. It's about his spawn.) But he looked at me, "I'm confused. When does Tom Hiddleston come into it?" He thought I would put Hiddleston-smut in a story about our daughter! Does he think that is ALL I think about all day long? (That was a rhetorical question, by the way!)

Like a lot of parents in this day and age, I post about my kids on Facebook. I honestly haven't kept track of anything anywhere else. I didn't do baby books. I don't have the attention span for scrapbooking. And a diary or journal is way too much commitment. Facebook, though, I can handle. I especially enjoy posting stories about how ridiculous living with these 4 monsters feels some days.

When the twins were infants, I would post video after video of the 2 of them crying at the top of their lungs. I wanted to provide that sample taste, if anyone needed a baby-fix. Or I posted the photo of my daughter's tantrum when she emptied out all of her drawers onto the floor. Endless photos of them filthy, naked, and usually crying. I need to assemble a montage of how every video seems to end with me saying, "Oh, forget it!"

One of my favorite videos of the twins around 1 yr old is only 5 seconds long. Instead of helping me put cans into the bag for recycling, they had emptied the bag all over the living room. With Lincoln's eyes glued on me, defiant from birth, I sweetly ask, "Now can we put the cans INTO the bag?" He reaches in the bag, grabs a can, holds it out, and basically does a mic drop with the can, never taking his eyes off of me.

Today, I wrote this story, My Sassy Cat Burglar. WITHOUT Hiddleston smut. If you're lucky, maybe tomorrow I'll post another version WITH Hiddleston smut. But I promise nothing.

My Sassy Cat Burglar

Veronica peeked into the living room, spying me asleep on the couch. I no longer have a fever, so Rob went back to work today. I'm laying on the couch though, because my head is still aching and my throat is sore. Mind you, if a mother is dozing, that never guarantees that she doesn't hear every single sound around her. I could easily discern Veronica's footsteps as she quietly padded back into the kitchen. Her tiptoes sound completely different from Jack's patters or the twins shuffles.

She pulled a chair slowly to the fridge. The floor is filthy again, so moving any chair silently on that nasty floor would be impossible. Between the spilt sugar, ground up chips and crackers, and dripped strawberry smoothie for added stickiness, the chair pads made a loud grinding squeal for the entire 18 inches that she dragged the chair.

My little burglar paused, listening for any sign of life from me, I'm sure. Yet I wasn't going to move a muscle, unless I had to. Once she'd concluded that her stealth hadn't been compromised, she stepped up onto the chair to reach the treasures on fridge-top. The chair creaked more than the floor as she carefully shifted her weight from foot to foot, then back down into the floor.

She's actually getting very good at this. With her recent growth spurt, a whole world of goodies are suddenly within her reach. The cabinets and shelves have never been more interesting to her than they are now. But I knew exactly what she was seeking this time.

Earlier this morning, she had already asked me if she could have a brownie at 10am. Actually, her request started with, "Can I have one if Daddy's York Mint Patties?"

"No." I don't think she was surprised by my answer to that. I may not have even needed to be conscious to provide that answer. Those are Daddy's special treats he takes to work.

"Then can I have a brownie?"

"No!" I actually had to glance at the time before I answered that one. I'm desperately trying to be more of a 'yes' person. I truly am. But no one needs brownies at 10am.

"Then, what CAN I have?"

No shock to her, I'm sure, I sternly retort my standard answer, "How about REAL food?"

In turn, my sassy little thing stomps off in a melodramatic huff. "I'll just starve then!"

So a few hours later, after playing outside and making sandwiches for her and the boys, I don't mind if she finally has that brownie she wanted. I haven't heard any fighting. That is a rarity any day. Granted, I wish she would learn to put meat and cheese back into the fridge when she's finished, but I'll nag about that later. So far today, she's been a great big sister.

As soon as I hear the brownie wrapper pull open, I holler out to her, "If you're going to have a brownie,..." I pause, and she stops rustling the brownie wrapper. "Do you hear me?"

A quiet little "yes" squeaks out of the kitchen.

"Please put the brownie box back up on the fridge when you're done. If the babies get into the brownies, they'll eat them all. And Dad will be PISSED!"

No answer. "Do you hear me? Don't leave that box on the table. OK?"

“OK."

After that, this mom's dozing-radar went off high alert, and I drifted back off to sleep - until I heard more plastic rustling. Rustle. Rustle. Rustle. Dammit Veronica! I can't trust you to help at all! I knew those babies would devour all the brownies. It won't be the first time I find the box empty with brownie wrappers covering the table and floor. The twins are worse than puppies! They use scissors!

Using my firm mom-is-patient-but-serious voice, "That's enough of the brownies!"

The rustling pauses for a moment, leaving only silence. But then, to my shock, the rustling starts again. How dare they!!!! "Do you hear me? I said no more brownies!"

There's only a mere second of pause this time before the rustling starts again. Ooooh, I'm angry now. This means I have to get up. (Well, it's time for more Motrin anyways, since that headache is back. But that's not the point.) So I stand, and fly into the kitchen to catch the culprit in the act, rustling away.

No kids.

No box of brownies.

No empty wrappers.

Just Bingo on the table, biting and tugging on the plastic bags of cereal left on the table. She looks at me with the sweetest, more expectant face, giving a hopeful little "meow!" She jumps off the table and runs to her food bowls, putting a paw on the tupperware, with another pleading "meow."

Veronica pops her head in the backdoor, "Did you call me?"

@alexakeyloveloki @haute-macabre @dianamolloy @missdibley @missanonwrites @largebeeffriedrice @ohhhmyloki @redfoxwritesstuff @bambamwolf87

So I guess we could find Tom sitting on the table fussing with the cereal bags, instead of Bingo? The ties on those bags aren't necessarily easy to undo. What do you think? ;-)

#NOT about Tom Hiddleston #Parenting #Bad parenting #Brownies #Junk food #Cats #Maybe it could have hiddleston in it?#First story posted #Horizontal parenting #From the couch #Lots of yelling

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artnerd1123 · 7 years ago

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Not My Fight

Chapter three ——————–

It’s about time we had an update, eh? Happy reading all :3c Chapters list can be found here

——————–

After Avery had made a proper blanket tent, he extinguished the flame of the lantern that sat on his desk. A soft purple glow soon shone from his cupped paw. He used the light of his magic fire to get back to his bed. Settling down, he let the small fireball float above the scroll. It illuminated the old runes and small pictures that a monster had inscribed decades upon decades ago.

“Ok,” he whispered to himself, “let's see what this guy has to say about the little pests…”

Pcoumos: their creation and their impact on monster society

Pcoumos are highly interesting creatures. They were created by a magic battle between two very powerful wizards, back in the days where magic ruled over all. We aren't quite sure what spells caused their existence. Hence their name, which is an acronym for Parasitic Cloud Of Uncertain Magical Origins. What we are certain of is that they “spawned” during what would have been a fatal blow to both wizards, who were both using a barrage of different spells in addition to their death spells. Due to the unique properties of the opposing magics, the resulting explosion cloud took on a life of its own.

Pcoumos can be anywhere from harmless (but extremely annoying) to lethal. This, of course, depends purely on their interactions with other monsters. When you spot a pcoumo, it is advised that you flee the scene and report it to the authorities-

At that point, Avery snorted, and stopped reading the short paragraph. They've made it clear since we were babies what we are supposed to do about them, he commented mentally. Freeze, run, and report. I bet that would just make them come after you...

He skimmed the scroll to see if he could find anything of more interest than warnings. Sure enough, he found a passage discussing the pcoumo’s instincts. This oughta be good, he thought. He moved into a more comfortable position before beginning to read again.

Since they are magic based beings, they need a host to replenish their energy regularly. This host is always a monster of some sort. The pcoumo usually enters the host by phasing through them; similar to a fog and a cloth, but stays inside the host’s body. It can also take control via a handshake. Sometimes the host does not realize it is a host until the pcoumo becomes rather difficult to remove.

Avery shifted uneasily, briefly wondering if anyone he knew could have a pcoumo. He shook his head. The kingdom had taken precautions for that. Especially after all of the ruler of Nthenda’s actions concerning pcoumos…

He moved the scroll up.

Once inside the host, the pcoumo gets to work by slowly learning the monster’s mannerisms and behaviors. Upon gathering enough information, it will communicate with its host via dreams and faint telepathy, giving off the appearance of unconscious thoughts. It will offer the monster the ability to gain its wildest fancy. Or occasionally offer to help them with a particularly difficult academic or job-related issue. If the host accepts this offer, the pcoumo has access to the host’s limbs and memories. This particular method of taking over a host is why most targets of pcoumos are of a relatively young age, as younger monsters are easier to win over.

The host can also be a voluntary one, as certain very old pcoumos have gained the ability to speak. It’s not uncommon to find children playing with them. One must be extremely watchful of their children if it is after dark or storming out.

It takes anywhere from a couple days to a week for the pcoumo to get full access to a host’s body. But when it does, it can take control of the host whenever it wants, and do anything that it desires.

However, these desires are usually just pure curiosity, such as chasing after butterflies or stopping to watch a fish swim by in the river. That does NOT mean that they can’t also be destructive. While pcoumos generally do not listen to monsters’ instructions, they can still be trained to do one’s dirty work. This can include forcing the unfortunate host to comply to whatever the monster who trained the pcoumo wants them to -

There was a noise outside the hall.

Avery let out a small panicked gasp. If he was caught reading scrolls in bed again, he’d be unable to do any training for two weeks. He snuffed out the small fireball he’d summoned with one paw, then attempted to toss the scroll onto his desk with the other. He winced at the clattering sound it made.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway went silent. Avery’s wince turned into a grimace.

I shouldn't have done that, he thought, pulling the covers over himself. But it was better to be caught with a scroll on the floor than a scroll in his bed.

The footsteps moved slowly closer to his door. Avery did his best to take shallow and deep breaths. It would give him the appearance of sleep, even if he was still in his squire’s clothes.

But, unexpectedly, there was a knock at the door. A very particular knock. Two knocks, a pause, then three slow knocks. Avery was silent for a moment more before rolling out of his bed. He crept silently over to the door.

“Avery…?” Francis called sleepily, half opening an eye to look at him, “What’re you doing…?”

“Shh-” Avery put a finger to his lips, “someone’s at the door. Go on back to sleep.”

“Mmh… ok…” Francis yawned, folding his petals up around his face again.

Avery waited until Francis had fallen asleep again before knocking on his door softly, mimicking the previous sound. There was an answering thump from out in the hall. He opened the door to reveal a yellow and brown dinosaur. The moonlight glinted off his dusty scales, and made it seem like it's chocolate brown eyes glowed in the dark. The dinosaur was a few inches taller than Avery, forcing him to look up in order to meet his gaze. Its banded sleeves revealed that this particular dinosaur was a guard, and on duty at that. But Avery knew the scaly sentry well. It was his colleague; Kade.

“Kade, what are you doing here?!” Avery whispered vehemently, “we’re gonna get caught!”

Kade simply shook his head.

“Just follow me. And be quiet about it.” he said gruffly.

Avery sighed. Nodding, he carefully slipped out of his room to follow the dinosaur down the hall. Despite his rather bulky frame, Kade moved almost silently. It was only the soft clicking sound of claws on stone that revealed his footsteps.

Avery followed as silently as he could, but still managed to be louder than an elephant in a glassblowing shop. That’s what he thought, anyway. It’s just late night jitters, he thought to himself. He wondered what Kade would want to do at this hour. Certainly not to go train. At least, I hope not.

Soon, the two had reached the outer wall of the castle.

“Jus a bit more,” Kade muttered, “through here…” He gestured to a gap in the flagstones before slipping through. Avery tilted his head, brows furrowed in confusion, but nonetheless followed Kade through.

The gap had led out to a ledge built into the castle wall for an archer during a time of siege. But for now, it housed Avery and Kade. And a rather large bush. Avery glanced over at the dark leaved plant before turning back to his scaly companion.

“Ok Kade. The jig is up. What did you want to show me?” he yawned, rubbing his arms to keep them warm.

“This,” kade said, gently reaching up to pat the bush, “you can come out now, Prisma.”

Avery bleated in shock, slapping a paw over his mouth. The bush’s leaves and branches had begun to retract themselves into the stonework to reveal... a ferret?!

It wasn’t so much the presence of the ferret inside the bush that surprised him. It was the colors she was wearing. The ferret, who he guessed was Prisma, stretched her arms and scooched over to stand next to Kade. She had light tan fur with taupe markings around her eyes and on her paws, tail, and back. Her outfit confirmed her occupation as a spy, but the color of her shirt was sea green rather than blue. This was not a spy from Eitilte.

“... Kade…” Avery said nervously, “Why is there a spy from Ranomasib here? Why didn’t you turn her in?! And why did you show her to me?!” He reached for his sword, momentarily forgetting that he’d left it in his room. Kade held up a hand, giving Avery a warning look.

“I wanted you to meet her. I found her a few weeks ago. And I did report her. The princess didn’t say her presence was unlawful,” he explained.

“Well… alright then… but does that mean there are more spies from Ranomasib?” Avery asked, shifting uneasily.

Prisma nodded.

“Price Zander’s spies are in more places than you would expect. I was gathering some castle information when I was caught by Kay here,” she said, turning to look up at Kade. She chuckled. “He was… unsure what to do, but I let him take me to your princess.”

Kade snorted.

“If by “let”, you mean “made me chase you around the castle walls twice,” then sure. You let me take you.”

“Oh be quiet. I didn’t know what you were gonna do to me.”

“And I didn’t know what you were doing in the first place. But hey, it all worked out.” Kade smiled gently at the ferret. “And we’re partners now.”

“In more ways than one,” prisma said, grinning mischievously. She leaned on Kade’s chest and laughed, holding his hand in her paw. Kade simply snorted and rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny it. A small rosy hue had appeared on his cheeks.

Avery looked back and forth between them.

“So… let me get this straight,” he said, clapping his paws together and pointing them both at the couple. “You're partners with the spy of another kingdom… and you're dating her too…?”

Kade’s cheeks flushed a darker shade of red.

“That’s about the gist of it, yes…” Kade responded with a small nod.

“Is that a problem?” Prisma’s bluish-purple eyes flashed dangerously in the dark. Avery gulped. An angry spy wasn’t one he wanted to tangle with.

“No, no, it’s fine-” Avery waved his paws, taking a step back- “I-I just wanted to clarify…” He sighed, pushing his fur up out of his eyes. This was… he wasn’t sure what to call it. Not necessarily good, but not really bad either.

“So… what now…?”

“I just wanted to introduce her to you. Y’know. So she could be a part of the group.”

Avery stared at him blankly.

“You… want her to be a part of the group?”

“Yeah, I mean, she won’t do any harm…”

“And I’ve heard so much about it already!” Prisma broke in excitedly.

Avery jumped. Her voice had seemed to come out of thin air. He shook his head. Spies, he thought to himself, sneaky even when they don’t mean to be…

“Well… I suppose i could talk to Kry about it…”

Kade grinned at him, going over to clap him on the back.

“Thanks Avery. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

“Heh, no problem kade…” Avery said with a yawn. “Now can I please go back to bed…?”

“Oh, right. It is kinda late.”

“Kinda late??? It’s like 11 at night kade! I’d call that actually late. Especially when I’ve got training tomorrow.”

Prisma laughed, and Avery felt himself blush. He muttered to himself, shifting from foot to foot.

“W-what…? What’ so funny?”

“Oh, isn’t he a riot! 11 at night is “actually late…” Well, off to bed you go then,” she said, smiling. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around!”

“... I… guess so…?”

Kade chuckled, shaking his head.

“Stay here, my partner in crime,” he said, giving her a kiss on the forehead, “I’ll be back in a jiff.”

The two walked back to avery’s room in silence. It was more due to the need to be quiet in the late hours than Avery’s inability to ask questions. He had several buzzing around in his head. By the time they were at the door to his room, he was fit to burst.

“Kade-” he started, whispering, but was stopped by a claw over his mouth. Tomorrow, kade mouthed. Avery huffed, but reluctantly nodded. He slipped back inside his dark room, and fumbled for his bed.

He lit a small fireball, letting it float in the air by his bed, then got into his night wear. He flopped onto his bed with a sigh. There had been so many questions left unanswered by kade’s spontaneous night visit. Things like, how long had he had a girlfriend? Why was she a spy of all things? Who else knew about her? Why had this happened so suspiciously close to the ball? Why wasn’t Kade worried about how easily a spy could get into their kingdom, especially at a time where Nthenda’s power was so ominously growing in the distance?

Then again, she is a Ranomasib spy, his brain chattered as he slipped under his blankets, relations with that kingdom are always good. And princess glacia never seems too troubled to share stuff with that prince Zander guy.

It’s just prince Squall that we really have to worry about.

He shivered, tugging the covers closer.

Prince Squall Derecho Gladeness. Nthenda’s current and most dangerous ruler.

Just the name was enough to make people glance over their shoulder. He certainly didn’t need to be thinking about the yellow-eyed dragon before bed. And not just because of the dumb rumors about him coming to get you while you slept. Those were for babies. It was because it send his mind down paths he didn’t want to go. Paths where he had to go onto battlefields while he was still in his squire’s garb. Where his friends were sharp-toothed and red eyed. Where he felt himself forced into hurting people he cared about by some evil black cloud.

He whimpered softly and rolled over. It was just best not to think about Squall at all. He reached out and extinguished his ball of purple fire. He had training in the morning, so he figured he’d better get some sleep.

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

Avery tossed and turned in his bed. He slept fitfully for a couple hours, but when he woke up for the tenth time in thirty minutes, he gave up on trying to stay asleep. He sat up, running his paw through his messy fur. Stupid Nthenda. Giving me nightmares and bad thoughts, he grumbled mentally.

He swung his legs over the side of his bed, gently placing his feet on the floor. He shuddered softly. The stone floor was cold against the pads of his paws. He summoned in a fireball, gently tossing it up so the purple light would illuminate the room. He tiptoed over to his desk, crouching down to pull out a box he kept under it before hopping back into bed. He stuck his feet back under the covers. They were warm, and would hopefully warm up his feet after the small walk on the frozen flagstones. He hated being cold…

Opening the box, avery twitched his paw to bring the fire closer. He rifled through it, searching for something… Pebbles, small flasks of different liquids or spell scrolls, a couple gems… there. He gingerly lifted a ribbon out of the box. Setting the rest of the contents back inside, he put the box on the floor. A quick shove sent it sliding over the floor to rest under his desk once again. He turned his attention back to the ribbon.

It was a gentle shade of red, the kind you would see from a rose or the sky as the sun sets. Avery smiled to himself as he remembered the day Krystal had given it to him.

It was after they’d been friends for about a year. They’d been talking about the different things they liked to collect and keep, as they were out in the creek looking for different feathers or stones or cool looking plants to decorate their tree fort with. He’d mentioned how much he didn’t really collect any one particular thing, and how she was confused. He remembered laughing at the expression on her face before telling her about how he liked keeping all the little things his friends gave to him in a box. Explaining how each thing he had was a reminder of what his friends liked. Of what they meant to him and what he meant to them by what different trinkets they’d give him. He remembered her soft laugh… her kind smile… how she’d reached up and untied one of the red ribbons around her ear to give to him… how their paws had brushed, and they’d laughed it off…

Avery shook his head slightly to bring himself back to reality. The slightly-faded ribbon had been in the box for six years now. And what wonderful years they had been. A jesc hooted softly outside his window. He yawned. It was still late, and he needed to sleep. Squall or no Squall.

He tied the ribbon around one of his horns, then laid back down on his bed. He dropped off to sleep, dreams of laughter and playing in the fields dancing in his head.

#nmfstory #nmf #not my fight #chapter 3 #my story #avery #francis #kade #prisma #artnerd1123

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aion-rsa · 6 years ago

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Venom: Who is Carnage?

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OK, Venom fans, break out your Green Jelly tapes, because it's time to learn all about Carnage, Spider-Man's evil double's evil double.

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Gavin Jasper

Marvel

Oct 16, 2018

venom

Spider-Man

Carnage

All right, so, a few months ago, when Deadpool 2 came out, we did an article called Deadpool 2: Who is Juggernaut? People were pretty annoyed because Juggernaut’s role in that movie as a major antagonist wasn’t advertised and they cried spoiler. And that’s a fair call. Apologies.

That said, if you think it’s a spoiler that Carnage is in any way alluded to in Venom, I don’t know what to tell you. It’s Carnage. Of COURSE he’s going to be at least referenced in a Venom movie. The movie just used Carlton Drake and Riot. Venom doesn’t exactly have a Batman-level rogues gallery to play with and only one of his bad guys is important enough to get a red SNES cartridge.

So yeah, Carnage. He’s teased at the end of Venom. Read more on that in this look at the Venom post-credit sequences.

The only real surprise is that it’s taken this long for Carnage to be in a movie. With so many comic book movies out there, we’re running out of iconic villains who haven’t been featured. We’re down to Darkseid, Kang, and...I don’t know, Arcade?

Much like in the movies, Carnage’s first appearance in the comics was a quick teaser. While Spider-Man was busy dealing with Cardiac in Amazing Spider-Man #360 (by Davie Michelinie and Chris Marrinan), we got to see a one-page scene of a man named Gunny Stein returning home, only to be smothered by an attacker who admitted to killing him merely because he was looking through the phone book and found a suitably stupid name.

While he would appear in full in the following issue (Mark Bagley on art), the wheels towards Carnage’s creation came far earlier. When trying to kill Spider-Man, Venom ran afoul of Styx and Stone, a villain duo only really remembered for this very story. Styx, who has a death touch, touched the Venom symbiote and seemingly killed it. Eddie Brock was thrown in a regular prison and I would make a Bronson joke if I had actually gotten around to seeing that movie.

Venom returned to mess with Spider-Man again, only this time on an abandoned island. Spider-Man pretended to die in an explosion and Venom was all, “Sweet! Our to-do list is done! Let’s just squat on this island, where there are no TVs or newspapers to let us know that Spider-Man’s alive!”

That worked out great for everyone, but then the Carnage storyline kicked in and after a single fight against the new villain, Spider-Man decided that he needed Venom to fight with him. I enjoy a good hero/villain vs. bigger villain story as much as the next guy, but the intent to make it a Venom team-up was laughably blatant. How blatant?

Knowing that Venom was going to go into a violent frenzy, Spider-Man confronted him with Human Torch as backup. After all, fire is one of Venom’s weaknesses. Makes sense. Only, like, WHY DO YOU NOT JUST CUT OUT THE MIDDLE MAN AND JUST BRING HUMAN TORCH WITH YOU TO FIGHT CARNAGE? Hell, the dude has three friends who would be extremely helpful in catching the loud and obnoxious serial killer. He can’t be THAT hard to find.

further reading: Venom Comics Reading Order

There’s a quick line in the end about how bringing them in would make things more dangerous, but I have trouble accepting that truth when their replacement is an irrational mass murderer who will kill Spider-Man the first chance he gets.

But anyway, Spider-Man and Venom teamed up against Carnage a few times, got beat up despite the odds, then beat him by exploiting his sonics weakness. Then Spider-Man and Venom went back to fighting. A solid enough story, but not really all that memorable.

No, Carnage’s more memorable story would come a year later with Maximum Carnage. Actually, even that story wasn't all that memorable. I read it several times and I can barely give you the gist of what happened. Just that Carnage got himself his own personal Harley Quinn in Shriek, then created a short-lived supervillain team alongside Doppelganger, Demogoblin, and Carrion. Spider-Man and Venom teamed up again, only this time with a bunch of Marvel randos on their side like Morbius, Iron Fist, and Night Watch.

Stuff happened, Captain America being there was treated like a huge deal, and...man, whatever. All I know is that there was a seriously sweet panel where Venom was tearing off Carnage’s eyes.

The real reason anyone remembered the storyline was because of LJN’s video game Maximum Carnage for SNES and Genesis. Considered “good for an LJN game,” it allowed you to play as Spider-Man or Venom as you beat up extremely 90s street thugs and Carnage’s crew over and over again. Even being the final boss, you end up fighting Carnage a handful of times throughout.

further reading: Complete Guide to Marvel Easter Eggs in the Venom Movie

The game had a red cartridge and featured a soundtrack by Green Jelly (including their song “Carnage Rules”), so it had that going for it.

There was a sequel (technically a prequel) called Separation Anxiety, which was based on Venom: Lethal Protector. Since the arc didn’t have any major end boss threats, they just threw in Carnage as the final challenge because what the hell. They had the assets. Even the ending was just a picture of Carnage with zero epilogue. Again, Carnage had absolutely nothing to do with the story.

And so, Carnage continued to make comic appearances throughout the 90s. Inspired by the Maximum Carnage game, there was a silly Venom comic called Carnage Unleashed where Venom and Carnage fought inside the internet and it was somehow broadcast on the big screen in Times Square. Planet of the Symbiotes had Carnage become a giant after devouring and absorbing an untold amount of invading symbiotes. There was even a Spider-Man/Batman crossover where Carnage teamed up with Joker and then got punked out and made fun of for being a one-dimensional Joker knockoff.

Oh, and Batman beat him down with just his fists.

Speaking of DC crossovers, when they did the Amalgam Comics gimmick, Carnage was merged with Bizarro to become Bizarnage. The albino symbiote wanted to kill and replace Spider-Boy. Hey, at least he got representation. Nobody merged with Venom during that entire event.

further reading: The 15 Craziest Venom Moments in Marvel History

Carnage even got a couple animated appearances during this time. He showed up on Spider-Man: The Animated Series as a henchman of Dormammu where he wasn’t allowed to do anything remotely serial killer-y. He was fine, all things considered, but then things got real stupid once the show spun off into Spider-Man Unlimited.

Instead of that, I’ll talk about his appearance in the Spider-Man video game for the PlayStation, Nintendo 64, and Dreamcast. In the plot, Carnage and Doctor Octopus teamed up in hopes of taking over the world with a symbiote army. This led to the pants-shittingly terrifying final level where Spider-Man is chased out of a huge tower by Monster Ock – the Carnage symbiote on Ock’s body. He wasn’t really even a boss because even if you were wearing the Captain Universe costume that made you invincible, you couldn’t damage Monster Ock and if he caught up to you, you’d instantly die. You just had to swing away until you were saved by a cutscene.

further reading: The Many Characters Who Wore the Venom Symbiote

The 90s ended and so began the era of being embarrassed by things that happened in the 90s. While we did get a Venom vs. Carnage miniseries that mainly acted as a launch pad for the Carnage symbiote’s spawn Toxin (it didn’t take), Carnage was soon taken off the board. In the pages of New Avengers, Brian Michael Bendis had the Sentry show off how OP he was by grabbing Carnage, slamming him through several prison ceilings, flying him into space, and tearing him in half.

Mac Gargan Venom was a thing around that time anyway, so we already had a 100% evil symbiote guy creeping around.

After 5-6 years, Carnage finally came back in a miniseries simply called Carnage by Zeb Wells and Clayton Crane. It was originally going to be called Astonishing Spider-Man and Iron Man, but marketing realized that putting Carnage front and center would probably sell better. It revealed that Carnage survived the Sentry’s stunt and Cletus was kept alive by a corrupt prosthetics developer who gave him metal legs in exchange for using his symbiote to enhance his prosthetics technology.

It all went horribly wrong and created another Carnage offspring in Scorn. She also did not take.

There was a sequel called Carnage USA by the same creative team and I absolutely recommend it. Seemingly building up to some symbiote-related event comic that never came to be (Rick Remender’s Venom was also guilty of this), the comic had to do with Carnage expanding to the point that he was able to take over an entire town in Colorado, along with Captain America, Wolverine, Thing, and Hawkeye.

further reading: Venom Deleted Scenes Revealed

This led to a lot of cool shit, including a Venom gorilla being chased by a Carnage-controlled stampede of escaped zoo animals, Venom’s Life Foundation children being used as military weapons, and a legless fight between Flash Thompson and Cletus Kasady. Oh, and the hilarious revelation that Hawkeye fucking HATES Ben Grimm and thinks all of his shtick is old and tired.

Starting with the ho-hum yet cleverly named Minimum Carnage, Carnage started showing up in more stories with different creative teams forgetting that he was supposed to be missing his bottom half. He ended up in a really fun miniseries called Deadpool vs. Carnage where Deadpool was able to defeat Carnage in a way Spider-Man and Venom could not by shattering his confidence and breaking his spirit.

This led to Carnage’s extremely fun turn in Axis, otherwise known as that event Marvel did where the good guys became bad guys and vice versa. Through magic mixed with psychic suggestion, Carnage was briefly driven to become a hero, but he didn’t exactly have a full grasp on what that meant. Him trying to punch a woman in the face just hard enough to knock her out but not crack her head, followed by boasting about a job well done was entertaining as hell.

further reading: The 20 Year Quest to Make a Venom Movie

Carnage then had a short-lived ongoing written by Gerry Conway with a story about a cult worshipping Carnage because he’d unleash some kind of Lovecraftian god or whatnot. All the while, a task force was put together to stop him. This was partially an exercise in removing the Toxin and Scorn symbiotes while setting up Eddie Brock’s return to being Venom.

Over the years, the Carnage symbiote has possessed many hosts other than Cletus. There was Ben Reilly, Silver Surfer, an alternate universe Spider-Man, the Wizard, and so on. Its most high-profile instance was Norman Osborn, making him the final end boss of Dan Slott’s very lengthy run on Amazing Spider-Man. As the Red Goblin, Osborn was powerful enough that Spider-Man reluctantly took up Eddie Brock’s offer to borrow the Venom symbiote.

As for Cletus, he’s back floating in space in pieces thanks to the events of Venomized. Long story.

Even though Carnage only made a quick film appearance just recently, he’s reached one height that not even the likes of Thanos have ever hit: Carnage was on Broadway. Back in 2011, the butt of jokes everywhere was Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark, known for its immense budget, laundry list of performer injuries, and iffy take on the source material. So iffy that there are two versions of the show that existed. There’s Julie Taymor’s fever dream original and the more coherent second attempt.

further reading: Venom Director Wanted to Honor the Comics

I was lucky enough to see the former in all of its ridiculous glory.

Carnage appeared as a member of the Green Goblin’s Sinister Six alongside Kraven the Hunter, the Lizard, Electro, Swarm, and original character Swiss Miss. Yes, that’s seven characters. Just let it go. Carnage ended up being the best looking of the villains, since most others came off as looking like goofy sports mascots. He didn’t really do anything, but he was immortalized in this cringeworthy David Letterman performance.

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...did Osborn suggest Kraven is into bestiality?

Gavin Jasper writes for Den of Geek and still can’t believe Carnage never showed up in a single Capcom Marvel game. Read more of Gavin’s stuff here and follow him on Twitter @Gavin4L

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