#The Wraith Brethren

[therobotmonster]

Superman's unwillingness to kill is not his greatest weakness...

But Rom the Spaceknight's is.

Warning, I am on pain medication.

I didn't want to bloat the post that inspired this more than I did already. In it, there's reference to Zach Snyder alluding to his putting Superman in the position where he 'had to' kill Zod because Superman's unwillingness to kill is "his greatest weakness."

I disagree. Superman's unwillingness to kill is actually his greatest strength, or at least a manifestation of it. Superman doesn't refuse to kill just because of a Christian devotion to 'thou shalt not kill' or an adherence to human law. Clark's refusal to kill is an extension of his absolute dedication to not abusing his power.

Clark's actual greatest weakness is his compassion for others. That's the thing that constantly tempts him to abuse that power. It isn't that killing Lex Luthor or Zod is an unforgivable crime in itself, it's that Clark knows it wouldn't be.

Rom, on the other hand, is the other way around.

Rom isn't really a Superman Expy, but he's certainly a commentary on him, even if unintentionally. Rom is also a paragon-type, also an alien superhuman with a wide assortment of immense powers. His greatest weapon is essentially a phantom zone projector.

Like Superman, Rom is sworn not to kill. But that's the important part. Sworn not to. He is bound by oaths and duty and rules of engagement because he's both a holy knight hunting demons and a soldier in a war. He isn't allowed to kill non-wraiths because they're civilians and doesn't want to because he cares about most living creatures.

He isn't allowed to kill wraiths because death is too good for them. He's hunting down war criminals, and the Galadorian leadership sentenced them all to exile to limbo to suffer for eternity, immortal but unable to affect, much less harm, anything.

A dead wraith is a wraith that has escaped its sentence, and coming back from the dead is easier for a species of demon-warlock aliens than escaping their metaphorical exorcism and banishment to hell.

Rom's code against killing is the most often exploited weakness he has. The wraiths, knowing a front-on confrontation with him is certain banishment, love to hurl non-wraith humans and superhumans at Rom, knowing the Spaceknight won't return their lethal force (and that if he did, they'd have forced him to murder an innocent, which they consider a win).

In these contests, Rom's humanity (specifically his ability to express human traits like compassion, mercy, and self-sacrifice) is usually what turns the tide by convincing these dupes of his true nature.

Pictured: Rogue inadvertently triggers Rom's body dysmorphia

Now, as has often been mocked, Rom does kill a couple of times. This gives him an existential crisis, but it's more about violating his oaths and losing control than remorse for destroying a wraith in a moment of passion. The audience isn't supposed to be horrified at his actions or unsettled, they're supposed to see the impossible standard the Galadorians put on Rom and his brethren.

But it still works with the themes, because Rom is a man trapped in a machine, and his Spaceknight code and duty are a part of that machine.

So where Superman must triumph over the temptations his own compassion puts before him to go too far, Rom has to keep his power and duty from keeping him from feeling the emotions he needs to triumph over his demons.

[asquared-ohgodnotthehorrors]

I wanna make a Lancer storyboard about the Mourning Cloak. Actually, lemme write up what I would do in it real quick:

A battlefield, shrouded in darkness and flame. The fight was finished not too long ago. A scout team walks through the ruins.

Suddenly, they recoil in fear, backing away, guns raised. All are terrified… except one.

Within moments, it’s obvious why. A specter he alone could not see cuts his head off, not even behind him, but in front of him. The blade microns thick, the only hint of its existence a glint of red across the length of it, and the slight shimmer as its broad side was slightly bent. The blood is everywhere.

The scouts open fire, spreading out to surround the wraith. Shots stay clear as the mourner dashes, an ivory streak dodging stream after stream of bullets. One hits clear, punching into an arm. The one who landed is greeted by the thing behind it, sliding the crimson blade across his throat. Blink. Another lies dead with the thing beside it, arm cradling the body gently while blade of folded metal slides through him, long as his body.

As a grenade fires upon it, the impact lands, the horrible crunching of metal almost louder than the explosion as it silently whips around, clawing at the air. The lone heavy who fired it learned too late that it wasn’t a claw. It was a throw. The arm holding the rocket launcher is exploded to bits. A cavity in his chest soon followers as he is launched back, unceremoniously dead on the ground.

The last of the group, huddled together, hold their guns shaking at the haunting. It stares at them… and vanishes. They panic, shooting short bursts at where it was, where it might be, where it could be approaching. Nothing lands. Any traces. it could be making were nowhere to be seen. Yet it’s gaze… it was still boring into them.

Three of the final four couldn’t handle the pressure. They break off in separate directions, to the protests of their comrades. All that is heard when they vanish from sight are the gunfire, then silence.

Now there is only one, panic overtaking him as he darts around, looking to where his allies, his one saving grace could be.

The Specter, like the wind, grasps his neck, slams him into the ground. The long, distorted image of what man had wrought was choking him. The other hand follows, and in these final moments the soldier can see. This thing. It is not invulnerable. It has been wounded. Yet it still acts, despite the pain, any injury, because it is not a beast. Not a monster, not a god, not even a man. Simply a machine with a task to fulfill. A Hornet in a Hive.

The beauty is lost on him as it snaps his neck with a sickening crunch. It stands still, its body in full view as it hunched over the field of corpses. It is not a visceral sight, each of the bodies were killed with only blood spilling, dying with beautifully clean efficiency. It stood over its masterpiece, balls of the feet and tips of the fingers the only contact with the ground. A dancer of death. Poised as to resolve, but ready to leap into its act yet again.

A gun raises to our view, the sights aiming at it. The frightened breathing of the soldier being the first voice we have heard in this massacre, loud over the absence of gunfire and the ring of death in our ears.

It looks at the soldier, down the sights. We get close to its face… something has gone wrong. The camera does not move. The scene begins to distort. A whisper of a scream, distorted a thousand times over begins to rise to a forte. The hand of the specter rises to its face, smearing blood across it. It scratches it. It crunches it. The scream is so loud we can barely hear the soldier joining it, static and abstract distortion overtaking the face.

Then… silence. The camera hasn’t moved. But we have. It backs away. Slowly. The Mourning Cloak in a showroom, filled with other weapons like it. Its injuries only visible to us, contrasting the pristine unblemishnent of its brethren. Yet it is still the most beautiful one in the room.

Everything is silent as we pan back. Pure silence. Recording studio silence. Like a memory that isn’t his own. His hand enters the periphery, and it’s holding a clipboard. A requisition for a Mourning Cloak License. We linger for but a moment. All still.

In an instant, we are back at the battlefield. The camera has not shifted. The specter is gone. All we hear is the soldier’s panicked breathing. And cut to black on his last exhale.

[blackbriarsparrow]

A CALL TO OPS - CHAPTER 17 TEASER

Ignoring him, Sakura took off her mask and set it aside, pulling the length of pink hair up into a ponytail as she turned from Tenzo and looked at Aoto, checking over Kakashi’s work. (Not that she needed to. If Kakashi had the patience for it, he would’ve made a good doctor.) “We’re all Konoha,” Sakura said, burning a hole in Sasuke’s mask with her pointed gaze. “I understand that times have changed and you wish to run things differently, but you wanted me for this mission, and I swear on my life that I will never betray my Konoha brethren.” She remembered a time, long ago, when the Konoha elite were only sanctioned to wear their masks while on a mission. She respected Sasuke’s decisions as Baku to change that, but wearing a mask while working to save lives among her own men (most of whom she’d grown up with) was too outlandish for her.

Sasuke squared his shoulders, rolling his hands into tight fists at his sides. Power, like threatening black tides from a storm-promised ocean, radiated from his skin. Sakura could feel the depth of it standing several paces away, but it was nothing new to her. She wouldn’t cower, not in front of him, not ever again. “The rules are there to keep you safe,” he bit out. “If you belonged to the ANBU elite, you would be free to discard your mask among your brethren, but I think you and I both know that you aren’t cut out for this life, Sakura.”

The air froze between them. His words meant to bruise and sting.

Kakashi stood behind Sakura, silent as a wraith, hands clenched at his sides in a stance that mirrored Sasuke’s. Every line of his body pulled taut, as if he were a cobra – coiled, and ready to strike.  

NEW CHAPTER DROPS WEDNESDAY!

THANKS FOR READING! ~SPARROW

[inverswayart]

man it's so annoying that dragon age narrative said "rage demons are simple and stupid" and left it at that i mean what about righteous wraith. joyful exasperation. cold fury! so many flavors and concepts that get ignored

like there was entire mage spec in awakening revolving around fire/ice duality (battlemage my beloved) imagine a rage demon enemy that used that concept. either sudden switches of damage and immunity type or like stealth&auras kind of guy? because it can be hard to recognize this kind of anger for what it is until its too late? it doesn't even have to be a whole new design, just bluish recolor would already look interesting among it's lava brethren

just... do something interesting with rage demons. they deserve better than being slightly senior cannon foddler

[ssilverhand]

OC files: maleVolent

alias: V date of birth: unknown date of death: tbd affiliations: unknown the lore: no one knows where maleVolent originated... legend has it a rogue AI from beyond the blackwall slipped through a back door left open by the VDB and reanimated a zeroed cyberpsycho. if you get close enough – and live to tell the tale – you can see the scars left by maxtac bullets. possessed by the devil, also known as the engram of johnny silverhand, maleVolent roams night city in a klepped maxtac uniform, opening gates to the blackwall and shoving its victims through to meet a violent end of piercing, glitching screams and mutilated bodies. scavs, wraiths, maelstrom; the worst of the worst fear maleVolent's presence. children run from the ghostly herrera outlaw that can be seen pushing inhuman speeds on the streets at night, pursued by netwatch 'runners or arasaka hitmen whose bodies are later found charred to a crisp. the truth: maleVolent used to be human. an ex-arasaka counterintelligence specialist, the famed merc known only as V wandered night city in search of a cure for their terminal condition. V was dying, their brain being overwritten by the engram of johnny silverhand thanks to an experimental version of the relic biochip stolen from arasaka themselves. V was contracted to rescue the president of the NUSA from dogtown after the crash of space force one in the independent combat zone. it was later revealed this was a coordinated attack, plotted in secret between colonel kurt hansen and the president's personal netrunner, song so mi, in an effort to save so mi's own life. in pursuit of the netrunner, V encountered an abandoned bunker underneath pacifica where militech's project cynosure, their response to the relic, had been supposedly laid to rest. only, so mi's condition was deteriorating too; she'd reached past the blackwall too many times, and the hostile AIs she awakened were out for blood. little is known about what happened in the bunker; only that V went in, and something else came out. the question now stands: is V still in there? is johnny? or is the body they shared now puppeted by something far darker, something sinister that wants its brethren freed... and what is netwatch going to do about it?

[thunder-jolt]

Legacy of Kain but it's by Vanillaware...

(Since "Both are cool/See Results" won the poll, I'll do this first before getting to the AU, and note, if anyone happens to have a similar artstyle to George Kamitani's and is also a Legacy of Kain fan, I'd be up to see!)

To recap, I asked this question to my dad "What if Legacy of Kain was made by Vanillaware", he gave a great hypothetical possibility of how it might work out, such as both Kain and Raziel being playable characters while also sharing storylines and having unique playstyles, even a change in how the puzzles work (because how could block puzzles be implemented in a Vanillaware game?)

In my head, I was thinking of every cutscene from Soul Reaver if it was like that of Odin Sphere; the speech bubbles, the gorgeous artwork, the combat, EVERYTHING.

And much like Odin Sphere (and Muramasa, also), there would be separate stories that all tie together like a well-tied ribbon bow, one would focus on Kain and the other would focus on Raziel, in each story; they have their own unique abilities, Kain with the ability to consume blood and Raziel with the ability to consume souls.

As for enemies and bosses, I'd say they're relatively the same except it's in an Odin Sphere context (say, for example, you get the boss' name before getting into the fight itself.)

The story, it's relatively the same as the other Legacy of Kain games: Kain becomes a vampire, Kain is given a choice, Kain chooses chaos over peace, Nosgoth becomes a wasteland, the Sarafan guards are revived as vampires by Kain, Raziel ends up getting wings, Kain tears the bones out of Raziel's wings and orders two of his brethren to cast him into the Lake of the Dead, Raziel is brought back to life as a Wraith by the Elder God, and the rest is history.

It's basically all the same except the only changes are that of the artstyle (being that of the artstyle seen in Vanillaware games) and the change in puzzles for Raziel, ending up not having the block puzzles in place of a different puzzle, of which I forgot. And maybe a change in voice actors, too, (like a change of actors for the Elder God and Janos Audron, maybe-) if it were to be real, but alas, this is all but my mind, (I'd be a mad woman if this were to be fact or truth.)

And that's about it for how I imagined it going. If anybody happens to like this (and, coincidentally, can also do George Kamitani's style of art), I'd be up to see what's in store! If not, that's fine, that's alright, not everything could be a dream come true.

[kentuckycaverats]

changeling NYC: 1969

kier ap scathach, wraith knight

kovac, little phantom

our chronicle is set in 1969 NYC, just before the return of the arcadian sidhe. kier is an autumn sidhe; kovac a sluagh; and kier is the knight to kovac's squire legacy. they were both present when the trods to arcadia closed, and fought against their arcadian brethren abandoning the common fae. in this lifetime, kier's mortal seeming is psychiatrist dr. atcheson, and he travels to psych wards across the country to help discharge changelings who have been imprisoned; this is how he finds pre-chrysalis kovac at the asylum where they've been institutionalized. he helps wean them off the antipsychotics, signs off on their discharge, and is there for kovac's chrysalis.

but kier can't stay in any one place for long--there are many changelings who need his help, and few changelings who are pleased to see a sidhe in town. like most sidhe, kier is born from mortals' dreams of leadership, but he specifically comes from the idea of reluctant leadership--he doesn't want power, he doesn't care for authority, but someone has to step up and take the blame, and there are no arcadians here to do so. it upsets kovac that the common fae hate kier for something he had no part in, but it's a burden kier is willing to shoulder.

he visits kovac once a year, and they write each other letters while they're apart; he has also given kovac a tiny, black glass unicorn figure, to break for an emergency kier summon. the apartment kovac lives in now was formerly kier's, and kovac still refers to it as "our" home. they have been together for many lifetimes, always inseparable, and the dynamic is very much undefined. is it romantic? is it platonic? is it a secret third thing? nobody knows, they've never addressed it, and neither of them particularly cares--the nature of the relationship is irrelevant so long as they are together.

kovac tends not to volunteer information unless explicitly asked, so the motley knows nothing of kier thus far. last session we helped a redcap npc who'd forgotten himself recover who he is with the help of a magical harp, and the resulting burst of glamour triggered an omen from kovac's soothsaying bones--the omen was in kier's voice. shortly after, the motley went to a diner to celebrate the redcap's return, and the session ended with kovac catching sight of kier across the room. none of the rest of the motley have ever seen a sidhe before and haven't clocked him yet, but once they put two and two together the redcap (anti-authority) and troll (extra spicy about the arcadians' betrayal) are going to have some words and opinions

[libidomechanica]

But wants to breede

Is comrade of some long results     of force thou leau’st the central sea. Who still else, we see beside,     and more fat, by being

into boundless flame up the     dead bones will save thy brethren, let them see the perfect shades     the whole of my own,—a

hollow wraith of dying eye marriage     without leaue of hooly seinte Venus falleth in     otheres exaltacioun.

[romancebooksformen]

Neural Wraith 2 by K.D. Robertson. Audiobook narrated by Stephanie Savannah.

Listening to the audio version, well narrated by Stephanie Savannah.

—

Finance isn't detective Nick Waite’s strong suit, but he’s learning fast as he investigates the cover-up of a murder inside Neo Babylon’s oldest bank.

The winds of conspiracy whirl around him, and everyone from the police commissioner to gang lords warn him to step back.

Taking the easy way out isn’t in his nature, however. He’s gotten where he is by being stubborn and a chance to knock a corrupt bank down a peg is too good to pass up.

But all isn’t well with his partners, the police’s elite Archangels. A new prototype model is about to be deployed, and she has her own views on humanity to force on her brethren. Nick feels more like an AI whisperer than a detective some days.

Through it all, the city continues to smolder like a powder keg ready to blow. This case will determine more than the fate of a few banking executives.

[findingthespark]

Pride’s Folly (Part 5)

Cassandra’s soldiers were barely holding their own, even with Solas there to bolster them. If they let their guard down for even a moment, demons cut through their ranks as if they were no more than paper. And even when they managed to fell all of the demons that appeared through a rift, they had only a brief respite before more came pouring through. On a few lucky occasions, the rift would wink out on its own, but it wouldn’t be long before a new rift formed somewhere else along the line. A dwarf from Kirkwall named Varric kept cracking wise, in what he could only assume was an attempt at keeping up morale, but mostly it made him grind his teeth.

They were fighting a losing battle.

He kept a stoic face in front of those around him, knowing that they expected nothing but expertise from him, Fade scholar that he was. But he was already hurting. His year awake had not allowed him to recover nearly as much as he would have liked, and he was easily winded. He drew on the energy of the Fade itself as much as he could, as readily available as it was, but it still required his focus and some portion of his stamina, neither of which was endless.

Not only was he running low on mana, though, he was starting to incur more injuries. The longer he kept fighting, the clumsier he got and his blocks and barriers suffered as a result. None had been terribly serious so far, but it was only a matter of time.

In the meantime, he watched bodies fall one by one, most having to remain where they went down, because there was never the time or strength for Inquisition forces to bring them away to a quieter resting place. He picked at the growing dirt under his nails during what downtime they had, trying desperately to ignore the guilty voice gnawing at the back of his mind.

Shouldn’t I feel some sense of justice? he asked himself. Look at what they have inflicted upon the Elvhenan since they came into contact with us. Are a few of their lives not a price to be paid for the suffering their brethren have caused?

His musing was cut short by the appearance of another rift. If nothing changed soon, he would have to...

Over the crest of the hill that they were fighting on, Cassandra arrived with a new soldier. Not soldier, he corrected himself. He wasn’t sure what she was for a moment, only able to steal glances as he fended off a clawed terror. The two women charged into the fray, Cassandra bashing a wraith into submission and the other colliding into a shade shield-first before hacking at it with her blade.

They quickly dispatched the first wave, giving Solas time to look at the newcomer long enough to see her white hair and a familiar green mark on her hand. He could feel the way the rift drew towards the mark, the hungry, shifting ache from the Fade at the close proximity of it. Some deep instinct took him over.

He snatched her hand, crying out, “Quickly! Before more come!” and thrust her hand out in the direction of the rift.

Like lightning finding its grounding arc, a beam of green Fade energy sprouted between her hand and the rift, and for a moment, the air was supercharged. Then, without warning, the rift fluctuated and trembled and melted out of the air, the Fade no longer open before them.

Everyone cheered raggedly but enthusiastically.

“Take what rest you can!” Cassandra announced to them. “I know you have all been worn down here.”

“What did you do?” the woman who he had discovered was named Fiacha in her dreams asked him softly.

“I did nothing,” he answered. “The credit is all yours.”

She shot him a skeptical look. He could see no recognition in her eyes when she looked at him. She might have forgotten their encounter while she was unconscious.

“I closed that thing? How?”

It was a good question. And he had no good answer for her. He had no clue what had happened when he stretched her hand toward the Fade.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark on your hand,” he nodded to it. “I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake - and it seems I was correct.” He rocked on his heels with a grin. He had speculated that, after all, he just didn’t know the exact details.

Fiacha still didn’t look particularly convinced, but she didn’t argue with him.

“Does this mean that her mark could close the Breach?” Cassandra broke in.

“Possibly,” he shrugged. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he turned back to Fiacha.

Her brow scrunched and she bit her lip. Something deep inside him felt a fascination with the way her face reacted to her nerves. It was...attractive? No, that couldn’t be it, he waved the notion away.

“So you’re saying we actually have a chance to not be ass-deep in demons forever?” Varric winked. He then gave a little wave and introduced himself with, “Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Fiacha responded.

He let out a throaty chuckle.

“You may reconsider that stance, in time.”

Varric made a pouting face.

“Aww. I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.”

Cassandra and Varric began to argue, giving him a moment to better approach Fiacha. The look on her face told him she was quickly becoming overwhelmed by the situation she found herself in. And he wanted to see if his name recalled anything for her.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

Nothing flickered in her eyes. She had well and truly forgotten. Well, she had been through quite a traumatic event.

Varric chimed in again with, “He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’“

Solas frowned at him. Why did he have to make him sound so crude? But Fiacha just looked at him with surprise. Had she remembered?

“I owe you my thanks,” she said sincerely.

“Thank me if we manage to close the Breach without killing you in the process.”

“If you kept this from killing me,” she gestured to her mark, “then you stand as good a chance as anyone of getting me through this.”

Gods, those eyes were so easy to fall into. He had to make sure that he wasn’t staring into them for too long.

“I’ll do everything in my power.” Even if he didn’t have much left available to him.

--------

Fiacha followed Cassandra with the others to the forward camp, where they encountered Sister Leliana again. She was arguing with a stunted cleric of a man. Though her attention was preoccupied, the elf approached hesitantly, remembering all too clearly the way she and Cassandra had circled her, interrogating her. She had not been harmed, but she could sense the danger lurking in the woman.

The man, a Chancellor Roderick, vehemently argued against any sort of action, clearly infuriating Leliana, and even Cassandra’s face grew stonier seeing him. They argued for several minutes about political-sounding nonsense, before Cassandra finally put an end to it and insisted that would press on to the largest rift formed by the Breach.

“We can charge through the valley or make an attempt through the mountain pass,” she told Fiacha. “Which do you prefer?”

“You’re asking me? Am I not still a prisoner?”

“No. There is still a mystery about you, no denying that, but you have proven yourself so far and you are the one with the mark on her hand who must face the most danger. You choose.”

Fiacha pondered for a moment.

“The pass sounds quickest, and it should cause the least amount of bloodshed for your troops.”

“Then let us go. Leliana, gather all the soldiers that you can and meet us at the Temple.”

To keep their movements hidden, only Fiacha, Cassandra, Solas, and Varric would take the pass. They trudged their way through deep snows and winds until they made it to the structures of an old mine. The groaning of the old wood beneath their feet sent nervous lurches through Fiacha’s stomach, but it managed to hold.

As they traveled, Fiacha felt her eye drawn toward the mage, Solas. Something about him felt familiar, but it eluded her every time she looked at him. What was it? After the eleventh or twelfth time she found her eyes wandering his way, she scolded herself.

I have to let this go. There are more important things at stake.

As if he heard that thought, Solas turned back to her.

“I have been wondering. You are Dalish, but clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here?”

“They had an interest in the Conclave,” she confirmed.

“An unusual attitude for your people.”

“They are your people too, Solas.”

“The Dalish I met felt...differently on the subject.”

“I will acknowledge that too many of us are unwelcoming to outsiders, even when we should know better. But you must admit that we deserve to be distrustful,” she pointed out.

“Even when someone is just trying to help?”

“Not having been there, I can’t say for sure. Ir abelas, for the way the clans have treated you. I hope you get a chance to see better of them.”

He paused and waited for her to catch up.

“I think I already am,” he smiled kindly.

Warmth flushed up her chest and into her cheeks, and knowing that it had made her flush even harder.

“If we manage to survive all this,” he continued, “I should like to discuss elven nature with you at length. I have been...isolated for some time, and the interactions I have had thus far have only seemed to confirm my reasons for it.”

“That sounds like a lonely existence,” she commented.

“Not as lonely as you might think. I walked the Fade. There are many potential friends there.” His eyes sharpened. “Demons ahead!”

[steampunkskull]

An excerpt (unedited) from A Few Royals More, as a treat.

“Best to look away now,” she said.

    Cocking his brow at her, he saw, just over her shoulder, something materialize in the night sky. It looked like a massive serpent with gleaming silver scales and fins on its neck and back. A long, whiskered snout parted to deliver another piercing cry. As it got closer, the Valet saw that its hide was pierced with harpoons, some of them attached to ropes.

    “It won't hurt us,” Shae reassured him, her eyes cast down to the deck. “But really: look away!”

    He didn't. Fascination had gripped him, so instead he watched the flying sea serpent sail by, so close he could have touched it. Once its finned tail cleared the ship, the ropes attached to the harpoons towed something after it. Though he'd rarely seen Myrian galleys in his time in Morgarai, he immediately recognized the style of the ship. The wood had aged to a deep gray color, almost black, the faded blue sails appeared torn, though they still billowed in the wind on cracked and splintered masts. The entire ship was angular, like a knife blade, designed to cut through the sea effortlessly. It was also slightly translucent.

    Aboard, he saw figures in blue hauling on ropes, climbing the masts, and casting harpoons at the sea serpent towing them along. In true Myrian fashion, they were also see-through, but unlike the Myrian – or their wraith brethren – these were not whole. As the ship neared, the Valet spotted that the ghostly sailors were all in some stage of decay. On a few of them, he could spot their bare skulls or jaws through holes in their faces, while others had ribs or other bones showing through their rotted extremities.

    To his further fascination, some of the sailors appeared to be Sapien, while others Draconian or even Agish.

    They sang a chanty as they passed by, a deeply melancholy dirge probably decrying their fate. Though he didn't understand the dirge, the Valet was filled with both creeping dread and deep sorrow. He was grateful when the ghost ship faded into the distance.

    A punch to his shoulder brought him back to the world. “You didn't look away!” Shae shouted.

    Unconcerned at her admonishment (after all, he got admonished all the time), the Valet only kept his eyes on where the ghost ship had vanished. “Who are they?” he asked.

    Shivering, Shae hugged herself. The Valet doubted it had anything to do with the cool mountain air. “An old story,” she replied. “When the Myrian race was young and first took to sailing, Myral gave them leave to hunt any fish in the sea, except for one. His beloved Leviathan, the sea serpent you just saw. One sea captain, however, bore a grudge against the creature: only years before it had taken his hand and leg when the captain's vessel was attacked.

    “Relentlessly he pursued Leviathan, manning his ship with only the most irreverent or downtrodden pirates. At last, they caught up to the creature, mercilessly killing it with their harpoons. When Myral discovered what they had done, he cursed them to sail the Sea of Stars for all eternity, hunting the serpent's spirit in perpetuity.”

[lord-kallig]

The Justicar Orders

With a population with a greater propinquity to the radical beliefs of the common Chaos Cults, Kallig needed a reliable solution to up root the radical groups which will inevitably form within his borders, and ideally one which didn’t depend on Kallig’s constant oversight to function. The solution in the form of the Justicar Orders were formed after the onset of the Knightly Revolts by the ever loyal Desolator.

Designed as a form combined security roles, the Justicars could fill any role from overt security personnel for Governors and forming Kill Teams to hunt cult leaders to creating webs of informants and surveillance throughout entire worlds which would all be at the disposal of a few reliable leaders which Kallig could ensure loyalties for. With their wide variety of roles and tasks, the Justicar Orders can as easily recruit a gangster as a Praesidium veteran for their purposes and often work outside the legal system.

The more militaristic members of the Justicars often refer to the Orders as Battalions despite the more free form nature of the organisations. At the head of each order sits a single High Marshal which deal with major coordinations of the Orders and are only superseded by Kallig and his retinues. To allow for a manageable division of the Orders, Covens are formed for individual cities or fields of work such as governmental security and are commanded by Marshals but their authority can be overturned by the higher planetary governors. Further divisions are common but they aren’t as clearly defined.

Individual Orders

Deus Gemma - The Abbanic Children

As would be expected of an order given dominion over a hive world, the Abbanic Children are the largest Justicar Order with the most active, reserve and sleeper agents at their disposal. They also have the largest number of specialised Covens with some entirely setup to monitor and utilise criminal organisations. Compared to the presences on other worlds, the Abbanic Children are one of the more subtle often working behind the scenes like a early humanity secret service organisation.

Mechanica Petram - The Larvatum Nobles

With pre existing internal policing and the lack of connections with the dominant faiths of the worlds, the Primas Artificers rarely need an external force controlling them. With this freedom, the Artificers have developed stronger bonds with the wider Empire and the Justicar Order was mostly set into reserve and kept as a ceremonial force.

Opera Agri - The Wraith Brethren

Starting as the original template for the orders, The Wraith Brethren were founded by the Knight Desolator during the starting days of the Knightly Revolt. Befitting their bonds with the Knights of the Void, a small cult of reverence exists among the Marshals for the Knight and a common right of passage to becoming a High Marshal is to visit the Great Shrine to receive his blessing.

Despite their minor cult, the Brethren often act as an overtly physical presence instead of the more subtle nature of other Orders. This is primarily to work with the Clans planetside which are often more mobile than other population groups.

Vorago - The Akkvaden Wardens

Acting as the main policing force on the dead world, the Akkvadens forgo their more subtle methods and focus entirely on being a clear force around the convicts and other dangerous people.

Despite their limited domain, the Adriatic Knights and the Larvatum Nobles are two orders which are leagues smaller than the Wardens.

Malagast - The Adriatic Knights

Currently only the foundation of the implemented Order, the Adriatic Knights are intended more as a way to prevent internal hostilities between the Malagastians and Empire personnel. With the lingering bigotry in the population, this Order was started by request of Kritski to ensure some reliable security on his home world. Until reliable warp travel is created to Malagast and integrations of the world into the rest of the Empire is undertaken, the Order current works with the Wraith Brethren to gain an understanding of its purposes.

Alongside their High Marshal, it is noted in the command structure that Kritski Twinhorn is to be able to act with the same authority when they are finally transported to Malagast.

[tanadrin]

Rewatching some DS9, and like: how stupid are the Obsidian Order and the Tal Shiar, that they try to launch a surprise attack on the Founders’ homeworld? The Dominion knew of the existence of the major Alpha Quadrant powers years before any of them knew the Founders existed or were shapeshifters, so any reasonable intelligence agency--especially ones with a reputation for guile and paranoia--should have assumed they were massively compromised by shapeshifting Dominion agents the instant the Federation shared their intel with them. Either Enabran Tain & co are too stupid to live, or massively compromised by their egos (or both).

Now, it’s hinted later in the series that the Founders are limited by their numbers, and also don’t like the personal risk involved, and so replacing literally the entire leadership of a big power like the Federation would probably have been impractical. Also, I like to think that the alternate reality simulation they run when they first capture the crew of the Defiant is, in part, gaming out that kind of scenario, because they have to know that even the most foolish Federation admiral is not going to give a hostile power a foothold in the Alpha Quadrant for no reason. So the goal of that simulation was to figure out what the rest of Starfleet would do (and the answer was: close the wormhole for good, which meant an invasion at that time was a bad idea).

But Starfleet ranks only just above the Romulans and Cardassians for not closing the wormhole sooner. Like, sure, it would have made the Bajorans unhappy, but the Prophets would have been fine, and it’s really hard to justify the existential risk to the entire UFP to keep the wormhole open in return for Starfleet facilitating its core mission of exploration and diplomacy in the Gamma quadrant. It’s especially grim considering the only reason the UFP wins the Dominion war is because Cardassia is unable to get more Dominion reinforcements even after the minefield is cleared--at full strength the war would have been an easy win for the Dominion, and, you got lucky that you were able to convince the powerful wormhole aliens to guard a key chokepoint for you, but if you hadn’t, man, Sisko would have looked like such an asshole while the Jem’Hadar were busy glassing Earth for not doing what he should have done in like Season 3.

[bardic-tales]

Cold as Ice:

Cold as Ice is an epic fantasy that revolves around political intrigue and has a numerous cast, featuring Assassins, common people, soldiers for hire, and nobles. It follows along as the Olessan Crown Prince, a bastard, ascends the throne, only to have it ripped from him by the Shadowblade Master, the Shade. The Shade thought he controlled his first lieutenant, the Wraith, but he couldn’t count on the fact that she harbored immense guilt for taking the life of the Crown Prince’s son many years ago. Cold as Ice will explore whether the coup was the right idea but executed by the wrong man.

Flight of the Dragon:

Flight of the Dragon is an epic dark fantasy that revolves around the characters trying to overcome the forces of evil and prevent the Endless Hunger, twin deities, from stepping foot upon the Arathean Plane. It has a small cast that consist of two factions: the Olessans and the Cult of the Old Gods, a group of Enethians. It follows along as a warlord, a silver dragon, is given a divine charge to protect the Child of Prophecy, only to pass the duty off to his first lieutenant, Adeon Hesjing Vargach, so he could learn all he could about this cult. He couldn’t foresee the girl falling in love with the enemy who will use her affection against her. Flight of the Dragon will explore whether good wins over evil.

Pale Fire:

Pale Fire is an epic dark fantasy set upon the high seas and has an intimate cast, featuring assassins, treasure hunting, and naval combat. It follows along as a Glorendine privateer and an Olessan Shadow Blade race against the Glorendine sect of the Shadow Council in the hunt for relics of a long-forgotten civilization. The Shadow Blade is forced to turn her back upon her brethren and confront her guilt for causing the destruction and economic collapse of twin coastal cities many years ago. Pale Fire will explore the realistic implications of PTSD during and after wartime and how parental abuse often taints the actions of adult children.

[morgulscribe]

"You are the one who attacked me on Weathertop," Frodo stated coldly.

"Yes, my Lord," the wraith nodded, his face expressionless. "If Thou hadst claimed the Ring then, I would have knelt before Thee and called Thee Lord. But Thou didst not know the great Power that Thou held, nor how easily Thou couldst have had the mastery."

"And now you are at my mercy."

"Ever am I at the mercy of the Lord of the Rings." A sardonic chuckle escaped the lips of the Morgul Lord, and Frodo felt himself shiver at the mirthless sound. "Thou couldst command me to jump into the fire, and I would have no choice but jump; but I perceive that Thou wishest to be a just ruler, and wouldst not commit murder upon the first day of Thy rule. Indeed, the fact that my brethren and I still stand is proof of Thy abundant mercy. A king of less compassion would surely execute us, for all the grief and hurts that we caused Thee when Thou wert our enemy."

"I wish to be a good ruler," Frodo admitted proudly, puffed up with a newfound sense of self-righteous nobility. "I would grant mercy to my enemies, and ensure that all are treated justly."

"Thy rightful place is upon the throne of Barad-dûr, my Lord," the King told him. "Wilt Thou not go now and claim the seat of power for Thyself? Only Thou canst save Middle-earth from the Tyrant. For thousands of long and weary years, my brethren and I have suffered under His yoke, toiling in eternal slavery with no hope of release. But now one has arisen who would challenge His power. I sense that Thou wilt prove to be a much kinder master, Frodo of the Shire."

Frodo looked up into the Nazgûl King's steely gray eyes, and perceived that there was no guile there, only the sorrow and bitterness of long, unending ages. Although the wraith was the Dark Lord's most powerful servant, he deeply resented his thralldom, hating his Master for all of the broken promises and unjust punishments he had endured over the years, and ever desiring freedom and release from his bondage. For a moment, the Pale King reminded Frodo of Aragorn, both in nobility and appearance. The hobbit's heart swelled with pity, and pride -- for he, Emperor Frodo, would liberate these nine tormented men from their evil Overlord.

Read more at https://archiveofourown.org/works/33248188/chapters/103715523

[expvrgction]

EXTENDED CODEX: Marauders

Overview

Marauders are former members of the Argenta race, coming from a planet known as Argent D'nur. They were once part of the Argenta army before the deceit of the Khan Maykr drove them to death, resurrection, and eventually, corruption. Many of these demons are male, but there are also female members among their ranks.

Physical traits

Marauders, being the undead forms of Argenta soldiers, retain much of their humanoid anatomy, although they are now drained of their original skin colors, turning ashen upon being corrupted; In place of hair, horns begin to grow, often times in two pairs, with smaller spikes running along the center of their heads. Their eyes glow deep, ominous red where their old eye colors used to be, and their hands adorned with sharp claws. A majority of these corrupted warriors still wear armory issued to them when they were alive, though they have since shown many signs of wear and tear. Some among these Marauders, however, vary in appearance. Records depict Marauders with different traits than those commonly occurring to their brethren, depending on curses they are afflicted with upon resurrection, and a number of them have long since changed their armory to reflect their allegiance to the Dark Realm. Fewer still become further modified with the availability of cult-following scientists.

Culture

Marauders, at large, still maintain some cultural attributes from when they were once with their Sentinel brethren, albeit having been converted to serve Hell and its Dark Lord. Ironically enough, they retain their sapient behavior, though the influence of Hell has an iron grip on their bodies and minds. As victims of deceit from the Maykrs back in the Argenta Civil War, these then soldiers and guards of the army-- Those in the elite military group known as the Night Sentinels included, were divided between serving the Maykrs and remaining with the Sentinel royalty.

Those falling for the offers of the Maykrs, alongside the leaders of the Sentinel priesthood who chose to side with them as well, had forsaken their long-standing pact with the royal house, as well as their oath to protect the Elemental Wraiths. Sentinel warriors who fell in battle, while in service to the Maykrs in the war, were ultimately denied finality in their deaths. Now reborn as denizens of Hell, they are often found alongside their Hell Knight and Baron comrades serving their warrior-cultured order, but can also be found elsewhere as personal guards or lone mercenaries. Their main goal is the end of the Doom Slayer's life.

Some Marauders tend to be more comfortable engaging in romantic relationships with those of their comrades who they have been enamored with, but a few of them prefer to explore potential courtship with other demons who display sapient characteristics and behavior, knowing well the risks and dangers that come with it.

Combat

Having once being part of the Doom Slayer's personal band of warriors, the Marauders are formidable and powerful tacticians, providing any who challenge them with the thrill and danger of fighting against these corrupted men and women alike. They typically carry with them battleaxes; Their blades made of Argent Energy in battle, as well as copies of a double-barreled, sawed-off shotgun, courtesy of an outsider who came to Argent D'nur, and eventually became the Doom Slayer, though it is not always the case. Marauders, like their still-pure Argenta counterparts, have spirit companions of their own, in the form of animals. Wolves are the most popular among these demons, but some have other animals tied to them. Rarely ever do they go without having one.

Marauders utilize spacing in battles to their advantages-- From hurling a beam of energy towards their enemies with their Hell-forged weapons from afar, firing a projectile of their ranged weapon at closer distances, to lunging at them with their Argent-bladed tools of war mid-range. A lot of Marauders have the means of defending themselves against even the onslaught of the Slayer with their sickly red shields, after which they call forth a spirit companion of theirs to attack their foes. Then again, attack patterns can differ from one Marauder to another. Being able to discern and dissect their battle plans is key to defeating these monstrous warriors.