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zazzander · 3 years

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Let's Break Down the Meeting Octavian Scene

Looking for more? Here's my master list of Octavian analysis.

Let's breakdown the scene where we first meet Octavian.

We've been introduced to Octavian up until now as a character who is powerful in the legion, a major barrier to Percy getting accepted, and Reyna's second-in-command.

But before stepping into the temple, Hazel adds,

"The camp augur we're going to meet, Octavian, he's a legacy, descandant of Apollo. He's got the gift of prophecy, supposedly."

"Supposedly?"

Hazel made a sour face. "You'll see."

Except, of course, we don't see. Octavian proves quickly that he can see into the future. He knows that Percy is a Greek via his powers. What's more, Hazel knows that Octavian has predicted the existance of a group of Greek demigods. It's Hazel who's decided that Percy isn't proof that Octavian is right.

But, it steps up how Percy percives Octavian in the temple scene. It allows Percy to doubt Octavian's intentions.

First Impressions

The kid at the altar raised his hands. More red lightning flashed in the sky, shaking the temple. Then he put his hands down and the rumbling stopped. The clouds turned from grey to white and broke apart.

Here we have an incredibly impressive entrance. One that was build up previously. This display is akin to the green smoke around the Oracle. Octavian literally shakes the temple with the storm he has summoned.

A pretty impressive trick, considering the kid didn’t look like much.

Percy hasn’t even talked to Octavian and is already dismissing Octavian’s power as being a “trick”.

And this actually sets up a lot for how the narrative chooses to portray Octavian. Despite the fact Octavian is supposed to be an antagonist of the story, even when he shows power or as a threat, he's is immediately dismissed. This undermines Octavian's effectiveness as an antagonist. As this first impression is an excellent example of that. Octavian here is, objectively, a very powerful demigod. He seems to be channelling the power of Jupiter himself to create this storm. A potentially incredibly potent power to have.

A Lack of Maliciousness

“No, no. Once upon a time, yes. We used to read the will of the gods by examining animal guts - chickens, goats, that sort of thing. Nowadays, we use these.”

This line is significant - in my mind - because it shows Octavian’s lack of bloodthirst. He doesn’t say, “even though the old ways were more powerful” or something that would underhandedly imply he wished to go back to the old ways. Even if it meant slaughtering innocent animals. He might even have gone as far as to mention how they used to use the remains for food - so really it’s just more waste.

Instead, he just matter of factly explains what he does to Percy.

Octavian Being Concerned & His Attempts to Be Friendly

At first he looked harmless, but as he got closer Percy wasn’t so sure. Octavian’s eyes glittered with harsh curiosity, like he might gut Percy just as easily as a teddy bear if he thought he could learn something from it.

Octavian narrowed his eyes, “You seem nervous.”

I believe Octavian very is Autistic-coded. That intense look in his eyes is actually mirrored by Nico’s own description (another Autistic-coded character).

Sourced from the Riordan Wiki - “Percy stated that Nico has his mother’s eyes, but it has also been said that they have the wild glint of a madman in them, too, just like his father.”

Octavian actually expresses concern for Percy here. “You seem nervous.”

Then Octavian follows that concern up with an attempt to relieve the tension.

“Why did you call me ‘the Greek’.”

“I saw it in the auguries.” Octavian waved his knife at the pile of stuffing on the altar. “The message said: the greek has arrived. Or possibly: the goose has cried. I’m thinking the first interpretation is correct.”

This is an attempt at a joke. Octavian never shows any doubt in his readings post this point. Just because Hazel and Percy don’t read it as a joke doesn’t mean Octavian didn’t intend it to be one.

Octavian Isn't Arrogant

"The will of the gods is hard to discern. And these days, my vision is even darker."

"Don't you have... I don't know," Percy said, "an oracle or something?"

"An oracle!" Octavian smiled. "What a cute idea. No, I'm afraid we're fresh out of oracles. Now, if we'd gone questing for the Sibylline books, like I recommended-"

"The Siba-what?" Percy asked.

“Books of prophecy,” Hazel said, “which Octavian is obsessed with. Romans used to consult them when disasters happened. Most people believe they burned when Rome fell.”

“Some people believe that,” Octavian corrected. “Unforunately our present leadership won’t authorize a quest to look for them-”

“Because Reyna isn’t stupid,” Hazel said.

“- so we have only a few remaining scraps from the books,” Octavian continued. “A few mysterious predications like these.”

Here Octavian acknowledges that he is out of his depth.

Furthermore, it's implied that Octavian brought a proposal for a quest to Reyna. That he wanted to go find the Sibylline books, he knows he cannot help the legion nearly as well as he could with the books. We know, from later context, that Octavian is aware both of the impending fight with the giants and the Greeks. A disaster waiting to happen.

Basically, Octavian is perfectly willing to admit his own weaknesses in front of a complete stranger, Percy, and a minor member of the legion, Hazel. If he was truly arrogant and egotistical, he wouldn't do this. Especially when you consider this is our first interaction with this character, it's a means of setting up his entire characterisation.

The Death of The Panda

Hazel glared at him. “Just read the augury for Percy. Can he join the legion?”

[…] “That’s a beautiful specimen. May I?”

Percy didn’t understand what he meant, but Octavian snatched the Bargain Mart panda pillow that was sticking out of the top of his pack. It was just a silly stuffed toy, but Percy had carried it a long way. He was kind of fond of it. Octavian turned towards the altar and raised his knife.

“Hey!” Percy protested.

Octavian slashed open the panda’s bellow and poured it stuffing over the altar.

So, yeah, a lot of the fandom was scandalised by this moment. And I do understand. Octavian doesn’t actually wait for permission here.

BUT, let's actually think about what's happening here.

Octavian has just explained what he does, how he does it, and Percy has come here for Octavian to do a reading

Hazel just asked Octavian to hurry up and do the reading

Octavian asked permission, didn't recieve an answer (not great)

He then goes back to the altar

Octavian then starts his ceremony and is already moving his knife

Only then does Percy call "Hey!"

Basically, Percy has time to object to this. He waited until it was too late.

And, it's a stuffed animal. If Percy cared, he would have asked for the panda back since it can be repaired.

Octavian’s Blackmail

This is Octavian's most villainous moment of the book. And I wish it had been elaborated on.

But before we go there, I want to talk about how the elections of the praetor make no sense. Because it seems like its the senate who votes for praetor, outside of victory in battle (the shield thing), in which case Hazel would not have a vote. Of course, Riordan is generally inconsisent on how a praetor might be promoted. First with Frank. Then with Hazel. But I just wanted to point out that it's weird that Octavian would even need Hazel's vote.

He's currently the only viable canditate for the praetorship. It's the reason Reyna is so desperate.

So from a worldbuilding and plot perspective, it doesn't hold. But, ignoring that, let's talk from a character perspective.

What's more, Octavian and Hazel seem to know more about each other than you would expect from strangers. They supposedly operate in completely different circles. Hazel is an outcast among outcasts in the Fifth. She doesn't have any special duties. She's barely out of probatio. While she did spend time with Jason, we know that it wasn't as friends. Furthermore, we don't actually have proof that Octavian and Jason were friends. So that doesn't explain it. A mutual friendship with Reyna would make sense, but that's not really the vibe I get from the Reyna-Hazel relationship. Reyna is her superior, a boss. Sure, Hazel is loyal to her, but so is most of the legion.

I went to high school with around 200-250 students in my grade, and I sometimes went years without running into some students. Literally, when your social circles are that disparate, you do not interact. At least, not often.

So, what do I mean by Octavian and Hazel knowing stuff about each other?

Hazel knows about Octavian's suspicions that the Greeks exist in an organised force (but Frank probably doesn't). Yes, Octavian could have announced this to the entire legion, but from what I can tell, he's unlikely to do so until he believes he has enough support to back himself. BUT! She knows that Octavian has connected them with the giants/Gaia, yet the legion isn't supposed to know about those details yet.

Hazel knows about Octavian's special interest: the Sibylline books. Again, this could have been announced to the entire legion (maybe Octavian and Reyna had a senate debate over it), but still.

Octavian knows about Hazel's curse. Despite the fact that Hazel doesn't believe Octavian can see into the future, Octavian has discovered her secrets. He either knows about her curse or that she came back from the dead, or both. So if she doesn't believe his powers are actually powers, how did he get this information?

Basically, there seems to be more to their relationship than what's implied in the books.

I’m going to say now that if Octavian really is blackmailing Hazel, it makes no sense.

“Oh, and, Hazel,” Octavian said. “I’m happy to welcome Percy into the legion. But when the election for praetor comes, I hope you’ll remember-”

“Jason isn’t dead,” Hazel snapped. “You’re the augur. You’re supposed to be looking for him!”

“Oh, I am!” […] “I consult the gods every day! Alas, after eight months, I’ve found nothing. Of course, I’m still looking. But if Jason doesn’t return by the Feast of Fortuna we must act. We can’t have a power vacuum any longer. I hope you’ll support me for praetor. It would mean so much to me.”

Hazel clenched her fists, “Me. Support. You?”

[…][Switch in tone]

“After all,” Octavian told Hazel, “I might be able to help you. It would be a shame if those awful rumours about you kept circulating… or, gods forbid, if they turned out to be true.”

[..]

“I’ll think about it.”

“Excellent,” Octavian said.

We can see that Octavian is approaching this request from a relatively light hearted place at the beginning.

Of course, Hazel responds in a way that shows up that she despises him. But we don't actually know why. We are in Percy's POV here - so we don't get any insight into what caused Hazel to develop this seething hatred for Octavian.

[Headcanon: Octavian took her under his wing after Jason disappears. He offered her help, 'I might be able to help you'. But it went poorly in some way - and now rumours are circulating. I suspect this is one of the few conversations they have had since this fall out, so Octavian isn't entirely sure where their relationship stands. He picks up, however, that she doesn't like him. So he switches to blackmail.]

Basically, my point is that from a character perspective this was a missed opporunity to give us a solid, concrete reason to hate Octavian. We see that Hazel hates him, but we don't really know why. There's no reason to assume that Octavian has spread the rumours, after all, it would make his blackmail less potent. Unless Octavian has solid, hard evidence - which also implies something more than an augury is at play.

Regardless, the scene ends here.

#more scene breakdowns with zaz #I may have hyperfocused on this ten years ago and now I'm hyperfocusing on it again #bare with me as I work out what I attached to this character despite almost never attaching to a character in media #this is why we needed a prequal series #octavian hoo #octavian pjo #octavian #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #camp jupiter #hazel levesque #pjo octavian #hoo analysis

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yourdorkiness · 3 years

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My Opinions On Jujutsu Kaisen That Literally Nobody Asked For

I finished binging the Jujutsu Kaisen manga in 48 hours. I am having some expresso, because I’m depresso.

Here’s a Sad Stitch to show you how I feel.

(And of course, warnings for discussion/ranting/kinda meta on the Jujutsu Kaisen manga below the cut, so please read at your own discretion!)

Sukuna is truly a Bastard™, along with Mahito.

I just- *cries in Shibuya Arc aka PAIN*

*Pulls out megaphone* Nanamin.

That’s all folks. Thanks for reading, have a nice day!

(Just kidding!)

Ugh, NANAMIN 👏 WHAT 👏 A 👏 MAN 😭 😭 😭 😭 I became a certified Nanami stan once I saw the tired business man aesthetic (plus, his words about how work is shit? Truer words have never been spoken), and his little speech about adults and responsibility, how children no matter their circumstances are still children, and should be given the opportunity to act as such. Because, YES, FINALLY, A RESPONSIBLE ADULT WITH THE VOICE OF AN ANGEL aka the voice of Kenjiro Tsuda

Anyways, I love how the Jujutsu Kaisen manga shows that adults can handle things, and that is A-OKAY!!! If Jujutsu Tech follows the Japanese school system, Yuji is a first year in high school, so he’s probably 15 or 16 years old, way too early to go through Shibuya level of trauma (though, I think anybody is too young to have to go through what happened to Yuji in Shibuya).

Children should have the privilege to be children. That doesn’t mean coddling, it means that children should have plenty of time to experience new things, enjoy being a child, and I’m so happy Nanami says this!

In conclusion, Nanami deserves happiness and a vacation to Kuantan 🥺

YOSHINO JUNPEI!!! He and his mom deserve happiness, they’re both precious beans. I didn’t even realize Junpei was dead until 5+ chapters later. But it was too late, for I had already gotten attached!!! *cue curse worthy screeching*

I was so excited for Junpei to join Jujutsu Tech, too! I had this whole headcanon of Junpei being HAPPY again, talking about movies with Yuji, interacting with the other first years, him seeing Panda for the first time!!! The thing was, back then, it wasn’t headcanon! I thought it was going to be facts, until Gege said ‘lol, you thought, peasant’, before spitting on any hope of mine for a happy Junpei.

(On a completely different tangent, I would be SO psyched if I got to meet a talking panda, we could act out all of “Kung Fu Panda” together, especially the chopstick scene, and maybe we could go to a zoo, just to mess with the zookeepers about a honest to god PANDA walking on its hind legs around the zoo)

‘If Junpei had lived’ is a phrase I think about a lot, and I think that is why the “Young Fish and Reverse Punishment” arc was so crucial to the story and yet so tragic.

Junpei has so much potential to be happy, and then he didn’t get the happiness he deserves. It really sets the tone, the high stakes to the whole manga, for we see the amount of damage a curse inflicts on somebody who could be in a situation like Junpei.

As the readers, we understand the reasoning behind Junpei’s ideology, sympathizing with him as we see what horrible torment he has to go through. That very first scene of this arc, where the bullies made him eat the cockroach and BURNED HIM WITH A LIT CIGARETTE, and the teacher who saw all of this happening, JUST TURNS AWAY!!! It was haunting. But finally, finally, we get a light at the tunnel for Junpei in the form of our lord and saviour, the cinnamon roll of cinnamon rolls, Itadori Yuji. HERE is a person who is able to connect with Junpei, who wouldn’t dismiss how Junpei’s circumstances or feelings. and then Junpei dies.

(look at this cute face, how could you Mahito?!)

Also, the symbolism in the opening? The Junpei fish ENLARGING??? HNKDJSFLJDSF JUNPEI NOOO-

Also ALSO (sorry this is the last ‘also’), did we ever learn if Junpei was a sorcerer, or was he a window that possessed enough talent to summon a shikigami? I at first thought Junpei was a window, since he was able to see Mahito, and was hoping that we’d get a more detailed explanation of what windows actually do. (Do they just wander around Tokyo, or wherever they live, and act all ‘La Dee Da, just living my regular, normal life, oOOHHH is that a special grade? Tell that to the sorcerers, maybe I’ll get a bonus!’ Is their life basically a demented version of Pokemon Go? I have so many questions-)

All the villains were well written, and had super cool character designs. My top three villains other than Sukuna, my top three villains are Geto, and Mahito.

Geto’s backstory in the Hidden Inventory arc was so incredibly written, I especially liked the way Gege wrote how Getou’s righteous ideals gradually deteriorating throughout the Hidden Inventory arc as he realizes the depth of the curses of humanity, the dark hatred the “weak” hold towards things they have no understanding of. (i.e. Riko’s death by the Star Religious Group, Haibara’s death, and finally the villagers ignorant treatment and abuse towards Geto’s twins, Mimiko and Nanako, beating and imprisoning them for “causing” the deaths of the villagers) Geto’s chilling charisma and the reasoning behind his actions as a villain makes him a top tier villain in my eyes.

As for Mahito, I love to hate him, and that why I think he is a great antagonist. I guess I’ve just been seeing a lot of villains that because of their tragic backstories, the readers or characters sympathize with them and rationalising their actions, turning the villain into a flaky antihero of lesser impact. It’s very refreshing to have a villain who is just pure evil.

I think that Mahito fulfilled his purpose as an antagonist very well; his twisted ideals on the worth of human life foiling Itadori’s own ideals of giving others a “proper death”, the curse making Yuji continuously adapt both physically and mentally to defeat him. Physically, by learning new spells and techniques to defeat Mahito, such as the Black Flash (and possibly his own cursed technique! The weird “Past That Never Happened” in the fights with Choso and Todo), or mentally, by questioning his ideals, such as what exactly is a “proper death”, after Yuji had to kill the transfigured humans.

(Ew look at this worm.)

Some Honorable Mentions of Good Villains IMO: Jogo, because I find his ideals of curses, who stem from the true emotions of hatred and fear, being superior yet suppressed by the emotionally faceted humans is definitely fascinating, and eerily reminds me of Geto’s hatred towards non sorcerers. Dagon was pretty cute in his Cursed Womb stage, and I really liked Hanami because the eldritch environmentalist aesthetic is pretty coolio 👌 .

How do Inumaki children learn to speak if all the adults barely talk, only saying inane words like “salmon” and NOT ACTUALLY meaning “salmon, the fish” but an adult secret code for a definition that you might not even know?? Or do the adults just charmspeak the kids, like “SPEAK small child, and have full language comprehension, O tiny ball of pudge!” and boom! Babies talking in complete sentences, maybe understanding weird adult customs. Will the child know when then adult actually mean salmon, the fish, and not the code word salmon?

Let’s assume that Inumaki clan children from learning to speak to four or six years old will be able to speak normally until the clan technique sets in (because that’s when the jjk wiki says cursed techniques kick in). How do you explain to a toddler: “Hey sweetie, happy birthday, have a present! Oh, by the way, those cool tattoos of yours mean that you can’t talk normally to anybody anymore, EVER. Only using these specific words as code to mean these specific meanings, restricting any chance of normal interactions with non-sorcerers if by some inane chance you DON’T want to become a child soldier jujutsu sorcerer. Welp, guess you have to become a jujutsu sorcerer now! Make sure to restrict your choice of words, you could kill somebody! Have fun playing with your Legos honey, welcome to adult life.” Like, EXCUSE ME?

You can’t tell mw a four year old is expected to understand that (or didn’t kill somebody by accident via cursed speech. That MUST have happened at least once).

This is all an elaborate way of saying please give us Inumaki backstory, I’m very curious.

Anyways, thank you for reading my post, and I hope you have a nice day!

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ponett · 4 years

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As I said in my thoughts on The Color of Magic, I’d been told many times that the Discworld series started out rough as Pratchett found his voice over the course of the first few books. Going into the second book, which is a direct continuation of the first, I was braced for more of the same: an enjoyable but very uneven genre parody starring Rincewind the funny wizard and Twoflower the fantasy tourist. An amusing but unambitious bit of pulp fantasy writing, with lots of fun moments that don’t quite come together to form a cohesive whole

So I was very surprised to find that, while we still haven’t quite reached the proper Discworld style I’ve heard so much about, The Light Fantastic was a huge improvement over its predecessor, and a book I had a great time reading

The Light Fantastic is essentially The Color of Magic: Part Two, picking up exactly where the first book left off. Rincewind and Twoflower had fallen off the edge of the world, their fates uncertain. This book begins with reality itself literally being rewritten to place our heroes back on the disc, safe and sound

There’s a reason for this: as established in the first book, Rincewind's head contains the eighth and final spell from a legendary tome known as the Octavo, which is said to have existed since the dawn of the universe. The Octavo had been kept in the wizarding university Rincewind previously attended, you see, and he once read it on a dare, at which point the eighth spell decided to quite literally live in his head rent free

Spells in the Discworld universe are sort of alive and have their own free will, and this one has been both a blessing and a curse for Rincewind. On the one hand, the Spell has been secretly manipulating reality to keep him alive all this time, giving an in-universe explanation for how the shittiest wizard ever has managed to get out of so many near death experiences. On the other hand, this one huge spell has left no room in his brain for any others. He’s tried for years to memorize other, more useful spells, but these lesser spells are “too scared” to stay in the same mind as one from the Octavo. While a little of this was established in the first book, it didn’t really go anywhere, so it’s nice to see it expanded upon here (and to learn what the Spell actually does in the thrilling climax)

The Spell is at the center of something The Light Fantastic has over its predecessor: a plot! Whereas The Color of Magic felt like four short stories stapled together and called a novel, book two has an honest to goodness narrative. The world turtle that carries the Discworld is headed towards an ominous red star, and the wizarding community believes that reading all eight of the Octavo’s spells is the key to their salvation. The fact that one of the spells has lodged itself in Rincewind’s brain is the central source of conflict that ties the events of the book together into a cohesive package

As part of this newfound main plot, book two also features a central antagonist in the form of a rival wizard named Trymon (played by Tim Curry in the TV adaptation). Trymon is a cold, calculating wizard who values organization over the chaos of traditional magic, and who wants to use any means necessary to put himself in a position of power in the wizard community. The book regularly checks in on him and the other wizards back in Ankh-Morpork as Rincewind is off having more misadventures with Twoflower, and he also sends multiple groups of mercenaries out to retrieve Rincewind. While book two still features a lot of standalone setpiece moments along the way, having this threat looming in the background from page one gives everything a sense of urgency and importance that was sorely lacking the first time around

The biggest and most consistent change, however, is the prose. I don’t know what happened in the three years between the first two books, but Pratchett’s writing has gotten so much snappier and funnier. While I almost dozed off a few times reading The Color of Magic in spite of its fun ideas, it feels like nearly every paragraph of the second book has at least one fantastic line, and the dialogue is a treat

Perhaps the best example of this newfound creative confidence is a new main character introduced partway through the book. The Color of Magic featured Hrun, a buff and not extremely bright hero who was quite blatantly modeled after Conan the Barbarian. He was present for about half the story, existed to poke a bit of fun at the archetype, and then got unceremoniously dropped from the story before its final act. This time around, he’s been replaced by a character named Cohen the Barbarian. The name’s a dead giveaway, but yes, this guy’s still a Conan parody. However, instead of just being a straight expy of Conan to poke fun at, Cohen is something more interesting: he’s a version of that archetype who never stopped adventuring, even past his prime, and is now still fighting evil at the ripe old age of 87

Cohen is a lot of fun to read and a much more well-rounded character than Hrun ever was, and it’s not surprising for me to learn that he kept popping up in future books. Of course, for as much as I liked reading about him, Cohen also comes with some baggage that proves I’m still not quite out of the weeds. While Pratchett was definitely starting to move towards more empathetic writing, the Discworld universe is still a pretty cynical place in many respects, and the characters often exist more to be the subjects of mockery

Cohen caught me off guard when he suddenly announced to Rincewind that he had plans to marry Bethan, the fourth member of this makeshift adventuring party, who’s introduced as a sacrificial maiden who the protagonists rescue against her will. (She briefly complains about how a life spent among druids has now been flushed down the drain if they aren’t going to sacrifice her after all, and how she could’ve spent all those years doing anything else.) The problem here is that Cohen is 87, and Bethan is 17

Rincewind does immediately point out that this is extremely weird, of course, and the wiki tells me that the two apparently got divorced off-screen shortly after the events of this book. I know it’s not Pratchett advocating for 70-year age gaps or anything. It’s supposed to be absurd. It’s poking fun at how this Conan-style hero is still only interested in young maidens even in his 80s. And Pratchett thankfully steered clear of the Master Roshi style “pervy old man” trope, instead focusing on how Cohen likes that Bethan knows how to straighten his aging spine and things like that. But still. Before this, a heartwarming little moment where Cohen realized that Twoflower still saw him as this awesome, legendary hero had me thinking that the tone of the series was shifting more rapidly than I expected. But I guess we’re not there yet

Similarly, a bit about how Rincewind and most other wizards had a misogynistic bias against the types of magic women tended to perform and didn’t allow them to study as wizards made me think a little less of him. Again, while the characters are growing, there are still more instances where we’re supposed to laugh at the characters instead of with them. In many respects, they kind of intentionally suck as people

To put it in terms of modern sitcoms: tonally, we’re not at something like The Good Place yet. It’s closer to Always Sunny with wizards. But for now, that’s not such a bad thing for it to be

Some stumbling blocks aside, I found The Light Fantastic to be an extremely enjoyable read, and a clear improvement over its predecessor. While first book was a series of random events that just sort of stopped at an arbitrary point, this one offered a complete adventure that allowed the characters to grow a bit and left me satisfied. I’d list more funny moments that gave me a chuckle, but there are too many to list and this post is already long enough

I was also very intrigued to see Pratchett lay the groundwork for the next two books. As mentioned, the gender divide between witches and wizards was briefly established, and will be explored more in the next book, Equal Rites. (We also met a male relative of Granny Weatherwax at Unseen University, although poor Galder is quickly killed by the Luggage.) And Death has already moved past his shtick of trying to take Rincewind’s life. In a scene at his home, we got a tease of his personal life, and the fact that he has an adopted human daughter was revealed. Big things are on the horizon in this series, and after how good this second book was, I’m now even more pumped to get to these new stories

#bobby reads discworld

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askaceattorney · 5 years

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Dear rogertheegg,

As mentioned before, any of the Mods are free to write whatever they want about whoever they want, so there’s isn’t really an established system there.

And I don’t believe the Twisted Samurai has an essay just yet, so if you would, please join me in a moment of

Simon Blackquill, your unfriendly neighborhood convict-samurai-prosecutor combo. I can only imagine what the writers at Capcom were thinking of when they came up with him, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it went something like this:

Head Writer: “So, we’ve already had a corrupted childhood friend, a ruthless perfectionist, his whip-happy daughter, and a smooth-talking coffee lover for a prosecutor. How can we top that?”

Writer 2: “What about a samurai?”

Head Writer: “A samurai prosecutor? That doesn’t sound very believable.”

Writer 3: “What if he’s also a psychology expert, and he knows how to manipulate others’ emotions?”

Head Writer: “That sounds even more far-fetched.”

Writer 4: “What if he’s a convicted criminal?”

Head Writer: “PERFECT!!”

After doing some research on his wiki page, I discovered that the contradiction of his being both a criminal and a prosecutor was part of his design from the very beginning. Whether this sort of thing could happen in real life, it makes for a very intriguing concept -- someone who is paying a (supposed) debt to society while at the same time attempting to collect that debt from others of his kind. Or in his words...

Like many of the prosecutors Phoenix and the gang have faced in the past -- scratch that, like all of them -- Simon Blackquill’s story is shrouded in mystery. For all we know, he could be guilty as charged of a heinous murder -- and a very violent one, as indicated in his opening cutscene.

Nonetheless, the Chief Prosecutor (whom we later learn to be a familiar face) has no qualms about letting him prosecute as long as he’s kept under surveillance. Despite being less than trustworthy, even taking pleasure in scaring those around him, he has an undeniable talent for forcing the truth out of criminals. As an expert in psychology, he’s mastered the ability to use emotions to his advantage.

Say...is it just me, or does that sound like someone else?

Before seeing him face-to-face, we’re informed by one Bobby Fulbright that his conviction was the main catalyst for the Dark Age of the Law. He sounds like the last person anyone would expect to serve as prosecutor, but on top of that, he and Athena have some form of connection between them. I don’t know about you, but that had me raising my eyebrows.

And then we get to see how he operates in court.

Like any other Ace Attorney prosecutor, he refuses to let court proceedings go any way except his way. Rather than using a forceful or intimidating attitude, however, his weapon of choice is the power of suggestion, which he clearly knows how to use well. In a matter of seconds, he’s able to convince the judge to do his opening statement for him, all while poking fun at his age and lack of hair (not that it’s very difficult to sway this particular judge).

One part I love about his introduction is how much more intense the air becomes when we find out his shackles aren’t made of titanium, as Apollo was hoping.

I honestly started fearing for Apollo’s life for a moment the first time I saw this. Luckily, the only harm Simon meant to do was psychological.

So far he’s pretty much par the course as far as prosecutors go, outside of being an inmate and a psych expert. The only thing he’s missing is some form of physical abuse.

Whoops. Spoke too soon.

And that’s just the beginning. On top of his “Simon Says” games and samurai speak, he uses his fellow and former inmates as examples for his arguments, making for some interesting (if disturbing) tales of the clink. Speaking of...

His feathered companion has a way of showing up out of nowhere, adding yet another layer to his intimidating nature. Besides providing another pair of glaring eyes from the prosecutor’s bench, Taka acts as Simon’s “henchman” of sorts -- distracting the defense, grabbing evidence for him, and even holding documents as he reads them. Once again, I have to give those writers credit for making him the most sinister ambiance possible. Even Jinxie thinks he’s a “Leader of the One Hundred Demons.”

On that note, the most satisfying part of a courtroom battle against this fiendish prosecutor is seeing his defeat.

It’s almost like beating a final boss in an action/adventure game. In fact, I’d say it’s exactly like that in some ways.

After defeating him three times in court, we still know very little about him, until our “good” detective friend lets us in on something he heard him say:

Being his shadowy, secretive self, Blackquill refuses to say anything on this subject when Phoenix brings it up. It isn’t until Athena becomes a murder suspect, his desperate sister takes a number of hostages, and he’s finally called to the witness stand and given an Athena-style therapy session that his tight lips begin to pry open:

To the surprise of many -- the judge, his sister, the courtroom, and -- most importantly -- the player, he spills his guts on what truly happened the day his mentor was murdered. In other words, it could be said that Phoenix gets someone to “confess” to their innocence for once. And it’s this very reluctance -- a reluctance to tell a truth that would literally set him free -- that sets him apart from every other antagonist (perhaps even every other character) in the series. What could drive someone to confess to a crime they didn’t commit, remain a prisoner for seven years, and be willing to face execution?

After the case surrounding him, Metis, Athena, and the Phantom is brought to an end, he finally gives an answer to that question:

What seemed like sheer stubbornness up until now turns about to be the loyalty of a samurai. While this doesn’t quite excuse his brash attitude, his violent tactics in court, and his morbid jokes, it does help you see him less like a villain and more like a hero in disguise (or an antihero, at the very least). Like his sister, his actions were questionable at best, but his heart was in the right place, just as Athena suspected all along.

One other thing I enjoyed about his character development was how it ended up being the mirror opposite of “Fool Bright’s” development. The buffoonish detective who seemed to have a Gumshoe-esque loyalty to Blackquill ended up being one of the cruelest and most uncaring villains in the whole series. It wasn’t until Phoenix unmasked him that he and Blackquill flip-flopped their roles as protagonist and antagonist. The irony in this series never fails to satisfy, does it?

We only get to see the Twisted Samurai for a single case in the next game, where he has the same harsh-but-caring personality that made him so memorable before. While his faith in Athena isn’t as strong as you would think (considering she helped save his life and all), it’s clear that he still sees a lot of undeveloped potential in her as an attorney, and even offers to help bring it out...in his own special way.

As that lovely image becomes ingrained in your mind, I’d like to conclude by saying that Simon is living proof that appearances can be deceiving. Much like the Phantom (and a certain green ogre), he has a number of layers to his personality; some are pleasant and some are unnerving, but like his mentor and her daughter, he’s all heart.

-The Co-Mod

#rogertheegg #Simon Blackquill #Mod Post #Co Mod #Character Essay

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ryouverua · 6 years

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ragnar-viking replied to your photo “You can find Kokichi’s dashboard on the wiki if this image doesn’t...”

I think the "Suspicious" is only directed at Maki, otherwise he probably would have done the same as he did with the monokubs having a category, which fits with how antagonistic he was towards her if he suspected something about her. Also, with the Shuichi one, its notable he also put a ? at the end, whether that is his general distrust or still being unsure where Shuichi falls (specifically in Ouma's and Kaito's battle for how to approach a case) is harder to say.

pretends tumblr isn’t on fire, proceeds as normal

Ah that makes sense. I was wondering if it could potentially go up/down columns which would have interesting implications, but the arrow seems pretty self-explanatory.

I’m sure he had some questions about Shuichi! He was the one who espoused the belief that you couldn’t trust anyone, and even Kaito said you can’t know everything about a person. Honestly, I think the fact that he put the word trustworthy on the board at all is still really significant!

apeironstella replied to your photo

“You can find Kokichi’s dashboard on the wiki if this image doesn’t...”

Yeah, suspicious is most likely for Maki as ragnar-viking said, and also on Shuichi, there is also how it was in Japanese version as well to add to the uncertain tone to that "Trustworthy", actually! This post explains it rather well, I think <3 http://oumakokichi.tumblr.com/post/157201628290/komaedamnit-here-it-is-a-better-picture-of

So I think it is fair to say that he HOPED Shuichi would be the one he could possibly trust (especially after seeing some of his Date events, not going to spoil them but just will say that I highly recommend to check the A/V room if/when you date him in Salmon Mode) but also seemed to be uncertain on, as while Shuichi did rely on logic, his entire arc being about being afraid to uncover the truth while also simultaneously being against Kokichi's lies as well, regardless of if they are "good" or "bad" lies? That's the vibe I get, at least?

WAIT, THAT LINK HAS SPOILERS WHILE DESCRIBING KEEBO SECTION I JUST REMEMBERED THAT I'M SORRY--

So, without going into spoiler territory, In Japanese there is " 油断ならない? " right next to Shuichi, which they say means "tricky", and checking online dictionaries, seems to be fairly accurate. "Yudan naranai" seems to mean that a person makes you feel somewhat uneasy/you are unable to figure out what makes them tick/in general there is a sense of off-ness with that person or situation. Literally, it means "Can not drop [my] guard [around that person]" so I guess while that's not the exact meaning there, still carries a sense of guard/trouble trusting? But still, he did seem to want to trust him, especially given his FTEs/Dates/even Love Hotel scene later on, so <3

It’s okay, I saw the other messages before I checked the link! I’ll save it for later though; it sounds like a good read.

Oooh yeah, ‘tricky’ is very different than ‘trustworthy?’. That’s pretty interesting tbh - I wonder why they made that particular change. I know a lot of people have been telling me about all the changes the translators made that, by accident or on purpose, may have made Kokichi come off a little more malicious, but this seems to be walking it back in a big way - and honestly, going farther than the japanese version. ‘Tricky’ implies evaluating a potential opponent - ‘trustworthy’ implies evaluating a potential ally.

Of course, if we want to read into the literal sense of ‘cannot drop my guard [around that person]’, maybe you can interpret that literally? Like, he challenged Shuichi by keeping up with his mask/lying that much more? Though ah, he still did approach him near the end of Chapter 4...

It would be interesting to take a closer look at Kokichi’s ‘should I / shouldn’t I’ struggle with Shuichi tbh! I’ve definitely neglected Saiouma recently (both platonic and romantic) so maybe that’s part of what I’ll do when I finally finish his FTEs ~

#ragnar-viking #apeironstella #sorry this particular response took so long!#and on top of that with everything going on...#drv3 ask #spoilers #drv3 spoilers #drv3 reading list

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thydungeon · 3 years

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“Break”

In the fall of 2018, Stoic Studio held a short story fan fiction contest because they were publishing a compilation for The Banner Saga.

I really loved this game, but for whatever reason I didn’t play the second and third games until a week-long stretch in 2018 when Emily was out of the country. I stayed up until 5 am to finish the third game!

But then I saw the contest and I thought, “oh my god, this is perfect!”

They didn’t pick my story, and I have never been sadder about any personal creation of mine. I spent a lot of time on the story and had a lot of help editing from Russell and Emily, overcoming elements of some fairly old-timey fears. Obviously, the hard truth is that I’m not that good of a writer, but I struggled for a long time with whether or not to really regret a series of design decisions. That is, I wrote the story that I wanted to, the way I wanted to, but I wonder if the following needed to be true:

Why did I write a story that features only varl and literally no humans (read: no women)? Why did I write a story that covers the scope of only violence, something I’ve never been comfortable writing? Why did I write a story with only original characters, so out of the way of the games? Why did I make the first 270 words in the style of an emotionless recounting of strategic and tactical failures? Why did I develop only one character, with essentially no emotional arc?

Regardless, I do like the piece. I think I wrote it reasonably well given the above handicaps (that, again, I chose because I wanted them). And now, reading it two years later, it’s pretty clear it’s “about” switching roles at my old job in the US; the feeling of losing your position and drifting away from people is/was a common theme in a lot of things I’ve written, so go figure lol

Since Russell is the only person who ever read this with the full context (having played the games), here are some background details:

1. The game takes place in a Norse/Nordic setting. The antagonist is a Jormungandr figure, all the main characters have Germanic-sounding names, it’s Viking age tech, and the world is snowy.

2. Varl are like giant human-oxen hybrids; there are only so many of them because each one was literally created by a real, physical god who has since disappeared. Hence, the number of varl will never increase, only decrease (this doesn’t appear to have any kind of Krogan Effect, in case you’re wondering). The process of creation is apparently quite unpleasant and is one of the reasons they fear (and I mean really fear) fire. They share the world with humans, but generally do not intermingle.

3. Dredge are rock-like humanoids who communicate with vibrations and live underground. They fought a tremendous war (the “Second Great War”) against a combined human-varl alliance. Certain dredge who are very powerful are called Sundr and have English names that reference an attribute (canon Sundr include “Bellower” and “Raze”). I don’t remember if they are physiologically different from other dredge or just the classic video game “hero” unit.

4. Per the Wiki, “varl who are close knit enough to be family refer to each other as kendr.”

5. This is stretching my memory, but I believe the title is a play on the basic combat mechanic in the game series - your units can choose to attack an opponent’s armor or health. If you attack their health, your attack damage subtracts the opponent’s armor amount before dealing any health damage, but health damage reduces the opponent’s ability to do damage back. Get it? Breaking their armor? The story is about a breakout as well. Also, it wouldn’t be an early period (2015-2018) piece if it wasn’t about burnout, i.e. breaking down.

As for why I never posted this on Tumblr, it’s because, honestly, I thought Tumblr had a character limit on text posts?

Grofheim burns.

The largest city in the north, the varl capital, lies in ruins after an avalanche of dredge like none had seen before. A few weeks earlier, a handful of reports from northern patrols suggested a massing of dredge in the abandoned, half-sunken city of Skrymirstead; further warbands detailed a sturdy garrison increasing in size with each sighting. A dozen leaders forged north with a host of five thousand to meet them but limped home a mess of several hundred. Survivors spoke of organized dredge armies moving like appendages of the Sundr. Concentrated force separated our army amid a blizzard and obliterated them.

Eager to see the army for ourselves, we awaited their arrival at the city's gate facing the Valkajokull. To our surprise, the dredge struck first from the south, having passed between the Varlsmarch and King’s Barrow hills, and only then advanced from Skrymirstead, placing a hammer against an anvil with Grofheim in between. In the days of old, we expected battles like these to slow to the crawl of a months-long siege, but this generation of dredge attacked with unique urgency. We saw Sundr everywhere: Driver, Rampage, Dread, others we remembered from ages past. The walls collapsed on the eighth day of battle, and dredge poured into the city. After only two weeks of fighting within the walls, their advance was nigh-unstoppable, and we had lost entire sectors of the city, guard towers and homes alike reduced to rubble. By the end of the third week, our encirclement was almost complete and only slivers of light in an ocean of dredge gave us hope for survival.

Shortly after the dredge breached the city walls, Jorundr and many of the remaining varl had rallied to a fortress in the center of the city. Harald, captain of the city patrols, and I, his right-hand man, joined them with a fraction of the varl we had led previously for years; all others had fallen either at the wall or in the ensuing crush. At the top of one of the fortress towers, we pored over a map resting on a rickety table. Wooden figurines shaped like varl and dredge littered the map’s surface. We used to play chess with the little pieces.

Light filtered into the spacious room from all sides, but it illuminated nothing of renown. A couple of spears leaned against the wall, and a handful of varl were resting, drinking water and munching on dwindling provisions. We looked a sorry lot, even more bruised and unwashed than the typical varl cohort. Harald could no longer grip his shield due to a mangled left arm, so we fastened them together, hoping the banded wood would hold. Fiery debris had caught me at the wall, covering my face in cuts. Outside, we could see the dredge burning heaps of fallen varl, challenging us to come out and avenge our dead.

I ran my finger across the map from our location to one of the gates. A few hours’ march stood between us and the world beyond the city walls. “We have less than five days holding out here. By that point, we’ll be surrounded, and they’ll start breaking us apart group by group. The fortress will hold for maybe two more days after that. What’s the plan, Harald?” I lifted my finger from the map and found myself biting the nail of my thumb unconsciously. The sharp taste of iron-flavored blood crusted underneath snapped me back into the moment.

Harald moved a pair of dredge pieces between us and the gate. “From what we gather, the dredge that breached the southern gate destroyed everything from Skyhorn west through the Varlsmarch, but they are now less than full strength.” He moved several other pieces above us on the map. “Jorundr did not move any troops from the northern wall to fend off the surprise attack in the south, so the dredge advance from Skrymirstead was not a total disaster. Still, that group is reportedly much larger, so a breakout that way is not possible.”

“Eamonn and his whole clan stayed at the western tower,” I said, pointing to an ornately decorated tower on the map. “Heard a rumor that Roland and his folks battled back to the wall, actually. Either group is probably a heap of bones by now, though.” Looking over the map, I realized that every painstaking detail on it had been rendered worthless by the dredge.

“I do not blame them,” said Harald. “From all of our experience, dredge grant no quarter, and some varl may be looking for revenge after hearing what happened in the blizzard.”

“I heard it might have been an accident,” said Ismail, one of the younger guards and a fixture of Harald’s patrols. “The leaders out in the wastes forgot to put out a watch as they slept, and the dredge caught them unawares, daylight and all.”

“With dredge, there is no such thing as an accident,” said Harald. “Whatever happened out there does not bode well for us here.” His eyes dimmed and I could see the truth beginning to settle.

“I know Jorundr’s been quiet about where the dredge are coming from, but what have you heard?” I asked. “Did some idiot kick over a hornet’s nest?”

“We only saw the dredge near Skrymirstead and nobody saw them coming from the east,” replied Harald. “It is no coincidence; something is driving them, and it must be more than memories of the second war.”

“We have a dozen ideas what it might be, but nothing with real evidence,” added Ismail. “Jorundr has been tight-lipped about it, but I think it’s because he doesn’t actually know. I’ve heard everything from new leadership among the dredge, a misunderstanding at the border, to some faening scheme by the Valka.”

“No need to gossip on my account, just curious,” I said, turning back to the map. “What’s left for us here?”

“It all depends on how many dredge are out there and if you want to be hopeful,” said Ismail. “Me, personally...I would rather not.”

“The southern walls have been entirely leveled, but that may work to our advantage,” said Harald. “If we can cut a path through the dredge between here and there, we can escape with no bottleneck to hinder our advance. But numbers are not on our side.”

“It’s always possible there is relief on the way, maybe runners found their way to pockets of varl beyond the city,” suggested Ismail. “Can’t change how many dredge are here, but it helps if there are more of us.”

“Now look who’s being optimistic,” I grumbled. “If they got past the forts without any trouble, then that means we’re the only varl for days in any direction. From here, we’ll have to write our own stories.”

“So then getting away is our only real choice,” said Ismail.

“If we all make a break that way to the south, they will pursue,” I said, moving varl pieces down the map and dredge pieces in pursuit. “And we won’t make three days out of Grofheim before they catch us. Some of us must split off to hold or divert them. If not, we’re faened as soon we’re free of the city. The only question is how many and where we put them.”

Harald knew this but remained quiet. He had a way of settling his gaze into an intensity that bordered almost on horror. I never thought to say anything about it after years and years, but over time I understood it as his way of focusing. We all knew that the number of varl who escaped Grofheim would be however many would fight the rest of the war. Vognir’s entourage, the varl in Strand, and any others scattered across the mountains would not be guaranteed to join in time, if ever.

“We estimate there are four thousand of us remaining in the city that can be readied to evacuate at once,” began Harald. “A tenth of that number should be the maximum committed to a diversion.”

“Do you think that’ll be enough?” Ismail asked. My instinct was that we needed a thousand, but I always used more force than necessary to get the job done. Either way, I was happy to let Harald make the assessment. He was always better with strategy.

“We need to make sure we have a force worth carrying into human lands,” said Harald. “We do not know what Jorundr has planned long-term, but we have to give him the best chance to... win.” He almost said ‘survive.’

“Fair enough, then. We hardly ever know what’s on his mind, but that’s never stopped us before. Who’s going?” I asked. Around the room, everybody stopped and looked at me and Harald like awaiting a death sentence. Varl lead long lives, but we are seldom fearless as we pretend before the moment of truth. It is the best trick we play on humans.

Harald looked at me and lowered the shield still wrapped around his arm. For the first time, I noticed the streaks of grey among black in his hair and beard, the weariness in his posture, the chips in his horns, and his tired, deep eyes. His teal tunic rested on top of bandage after bandage; it was caked with blood and pockmarked with cuts and tears.

“As good a time to go as any, right?” I joked to the room. No one said anything.

“Could you give us a minute?” Harald said to the others in the room. They quietly filed out. “I’m sorry to have announced it in front of the others, but at this point, I may be a liability with this,” continued Harald, gesturing to his arm and shield. “I trust you to handle this task. It may be the most important of our lives.”

“Harald, I understand,” I replied, smiling through. “I’ll take the remaining guards we have and hunt for volunteers. Do you need to speak to the other clans to set the plan in stone? Wouldn’t want to ruffle any feathers before we get rolling.”

“I did before I came up here,” said Harald, smiling back. I started to leave but turned back at the door.

“Harald...are we really leaving Grofheim?”

It was a ridiculous question, but it nagged me, and I needed to hear him to make it real: to leave our home, to abandon it to destruction. I was loath to leave everything behind forever: my home, our monuments, the legacy of centuries of varl.

“There is no other way,” replied Harald. “If we were going to stop them, it would have been before they reached the city.”

“We were so sure we would beat them in Skrymirstead and, failing that, here at the walls. What went wrong? The second war took years and years, we were there.”

Harald shrugged. I knew it was futile to ask, but I had become so used to him having an answer. “We will find out once we... regroup.”

I slung a hammer high on my shoulder. “Nothing to do, then. I’ll get your four hundred in the next two hours. In the meantime, I look forward to your plan for our friend down there.” I gestured to the window, where far below at the head of the black sea was a tall dredge dressed in red robes, holding a glaive in each hand. The varl in his vicinity either stood dazed in his presence or routed in cowardice. Harald peered below at the Sundr and I could feel the stress rising in him.

“This is it, this is how it happens,” he muttered, still facing down below. I never knew if he meant for me to hear it.

I went to my makeshift quarters to pick up any remaining equipment. Sitting down on the bed, I dusted off my clothes and shook off stiff boots. The beautiful release of sleep had only found me once in seven days and I longed to just rest for a moment.

After floating down the river of a dream, I opened my eyes and sat up. As I slowly remembered the broken state of my body, I felt my left horn, jagged from days of shrapnel and glancing blows. I traced a line from the tip down to a matrix of scabs dotting everything from my left eye down to my right jaw.

It was time to take stock of everything before our final rush to the city walls. My boots were finally dry after a week trudging through snow; my armor had hardly any straps left to tighten, but I kept reinforcing it with bits and pieces of metal I scavenged; daggers and knives picked up along the way found homes in my belt. I still held onto a hammer I had picked up on the fourth day of fighting. The head had delicate twists and turns carved throughout, and the rune-covered haft was smooth from centuries of use. It sang every time it stung rock and crushed everything it touched.

Down in the courtyard, my remaining guards stood at attention, tired and injured but still eager to make their mark. Another couple hundred from across the city stood nearby, joining. I felt good knowing I would run with so many familiar faces, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of leading them all to a shallow grave.

Nevertheless, we moved over to one of the few gates in the area free of dredge; this exit was where we would perform our illusion. The dredge knew we were cornered and they would be expecting a breakout and a sacrificial diversion. The switch was simple: the initial attack would in fact be the vanguard making the escape. The diversionary force would be disguised as trying to escape, conspicuously filtering out from the side. Some of the worst mistakes we made during the second war had come from believing our enemies were incapable of strategy. Our lives now hinged on whether we had learned the lesson.

Harald emerged from inside the fort, shield still locked to his arm, spear resting on his shoulder. He had patched up the remaining cuts and bruises on his body and looked ready for battle (or as ready as he would ever be). Beyond the gate, we could see figures in the distance, working their way through houses.

“Where are we meeting you when this is all over?” I asked, forcing optimism to my voice.

“The old capital, across Burra Pass,” replied Harald. “A week away if we make haste. Once we break out, Jorundr will send scouts in all directions for help.”

“Look forward to seeing you there,” I said. “Are you ready? Four hundred of yours first, then four hundred of mine.”

“If all goes well, we should have a couple thousand outside the city by the time the dredge realize the game.” Harald gritted his teeth. “Not enough down the line without the menders or humans, but this gives us hope.”

“And the Sundr?”

“You’ll have to take your chances with them,” said Harald, shaking his head. “We cannot use the same tactics as when we had true armies during the wars. We had our hands full even then.”

“Captain, we’re made of flesh and bone.” I slumped while standing for the first time all week. Harald always had an answer, but was this the best he could offer me?

“I know... reports from across the city tell us that every Sundr we can name is here. My gut tells me if you see them, you should just run.”

I forced my face into agreement, but I couldn’t let it go. “How did this happen?”

Harald blinked and his mouth settled into a frown. “We will have more time to ask questions in Einartoft. For now, we just have to escape.”

His tone was final. He seemed prepared for, even unbothered by, our impending departure. Was this all he had to say after spending a hundred years together? Did it not trouble him that those years were spent defending a city now burning to the ground? But I looked into his unmoving eyes and realized my irritation was only immaturity. He knew every bit as much as I did that the world we had built was being undone. We had been colored and shaped by a duty to our home, a duty that we had chosen, a duty that was now sunsetting. Perhaps that spoke enough for both of us.

I felt the questions inside me slowly trickle to a halt. I stared at him, trying to force myself to remember the look of his calm, unshaken face. I could see the determination, the readiness to face our final hours. Varl are seldom fearless as we pretend before the moment of truth. It is the best trick we play on humans, but, finally, this was no trick. I realized I had been staring at him for perhaps a whole minute.

Thus ended my last interaction with Harald in Grofheim. I have a painting of him in my memory of that last scene before I turned to leave. It was in that moment that I knew Grofheim was gone.

The first gate opened and Harald’s four hundred varl rushed out. They pushed away from the gate, plowing through an initial wall of dredge. Once they cleared the first group, I could see a few grunts begin to give chase before the Sundr called them back to the fortress. We then clattered our way out through the side entrance. As expected, the wave of dredge charged in our direction, a contingent ten times our size, howling and humming as they slammed into us.

I swung wildly and tossed aside a dredge grunt. Another swing, another grunt. A third swing buried my hammer into the shield of a stoneguard, but a timely blow from a guardsman freed it again. With simultaneous strikes, we felled the stoneguard and pushed onward. As we nearly broke free of the circle, I could see the lone dredge from before, taller than any of us and shrouded in crimson robes: Dread. It planted both of its glaives into the ground and began shaking violently. We had heard stories of its powers, and I was hesitant to witness them firsthand. But then, I thought, if I could do it, perhaps end the battle immediately and save the lives of those around me--and slay a dredge legend... Stonesingers can be interrupted, one heavy strike would work.

As I neared, I swung back my hammer, twisted my hips, and stretched to meet him, hammer to Sundr. But before I could make contact, a vibration knocked me onto my back and everything around me disappeared.

I found myself floating in calm darkness for a moment before a great wall of flame surrounded me and began to close in. Memories of creation flooded my mind as the flames licked my clothes, but this was different, a perversion. The wall came closer and closer until every part of me was engulfed in flames. Links of chainmail resting on my skin branded themselves into flesh, while the skin itself peeled away and the nerve endings frayed into nothingness. An eternity passed. I saw my skeleton blackening in the deepest fires of the universe, and when the last bone disappeared into ashes, I felt suspended in nothingness. My voice was gone and the only thing I could feel was my mind trying to claw its way back to something tangible.

The hollowness subsided, and I found myself in the physical world, staring up at a sky of clouds and sun blurred together. The world was eerily quiet for that moment. The loud clanging and screams of battle gave way to dull thuds like the sound at a butcher’s. I looked back at Dread and saw it walking away with one glaive resting on a shoulder, the other at its side. It seemed so calm and pleased with its work, not even giving me a second glance.

As my senses sharpened, I saw peril everywhere. My companions were in the state of illusion that had captured me, now lying on the ground with vacant eyes while dredge bludgeoned them to death. I turned and saw one varl after another dying, eyes locked in a gaze into nothingness, not reacting to hammers crushing bone and rupturing viscera and muscle. We existed only like wheat waiting for the scythe. We weren’t even fighting. We weren’t anything.

The feeling of a weapon bearing down on me finally snapped me into action. I could almost see surprise in the grunt’s eyes as I batted away its strike. One swing from my hammer shattered its stone armor and a follow-up caved in its chest. As the light faded from its eyes, I took satisfaction in ensuring its final emotion was shock.

I turned and crushed another dredge, hammerhead vibrating from the point of contact down to my trembling hands. Rage boiled within me and I was ready to charge at Dread, ready to even the score. But my tunnel vision subsided and I realized the true danger to our mission. The Sundr was already leaving and there were plenty of other dredge to handle. The glory of battling a Sundr beckoned, but I knew I owed it to those around me to struggle a different way. I had to escape.

The situation was collapsing. The longer we lingered, the more enemies swarmed to fence us in. Before Dread arrived, we had been close to breaking free and dispersing, but now, we found ourselves surrounded. Neither vigor nor ferocity would save us. I spotted a solitary varl, covered in cuts and missing an arm, waving a red banner, trying to rally us to an alleyway. This was enough of a plan to survive: no glorious final stand, no victory of arms. Along with a few others snapped out of Dread’s illusion, I followed the banner and we began hacking through the crowd of dredge. The already injured varl was cut down as I arrived, but the rest of us barreled down the alleyway as the buildings on both sides began to collapse, supports chewed away by fire. I hated the thought of deserting those I led into the fray, but I decided I would see Harald again; I owed it to my kendr.

By the time we cleared the alley, only a couple dozen of us remained. I could still hear fighting from the other side of the rubble and the awful warping noise of Dread’s glaives. Thoughts of fire continued to race around in my head, but I was able to quell the fear. With the Sundr and its dredge on the other side of the fallen buildings, I assessed our state. So much for our plan: the diversion scattered and smeared into the streets. I could only hope Harald and the others had made their escape. I rallied those with me, a few brothers in arms for years, other newly made friends, mostly strangers in a dire situation, and we started moving toward the city gate to escape. At least there were no other Sundr in the vicinity, and the dredge we did see were not very interested in fighting us, some even running away on our approach. After we felt a safe distance from the violence, we rested in an empty temple dedicated to Hadrborg. It had already been in disrepair by the time the dredge attacked, but I felt the sadness of leaving behind yet another place that harkened to a golden age: lost glory, faded away.

“Where now?” asked Ismail. In the chaos of the breakout, I hadn’t realized he was with us. In fact, I was so sure he escaped with Harald. Selfishly, I was glad to have his shield and spear, but I also wished he were far away and safe.

“It’s another hour to the gate,” I replied. “We’ll need to run. There’s nothing left here for us.”

“Do you think Jorundr and the others escaped? Harald?”

“We can ask questions in Einartoft.” I don’t know how much I believed it now that I was peddling Harald’s words.

As we advanced toward the gate, we got an eerie feeling. The only sounds we could hear were the far-off city buildings crumbling in flames. There was no fighting. Was every other varl in the city already dead? Had the dredge caught Harald and ended all hope? In the long stretch between the final row of houses and the city gate, we saw a crowd of dredge gathered. It was small enough for us to directly engage but large enough that I knew most of us would not survive. And yet, beyond the dredge was a field of corpses, mostly dredge, and only a handful of varl--Harald and the others had broken through!

I exchanged glances with my surviving varl. This was no time for subtlety, and we were in no mood for anything of the sort so close to freedom. We charged.

In the ensuing chaos, I swung my hammer with the feeling that I was gliding into the end of days, with no caution left to spare. With swing after swing, I felt the vibration and resistance resonate throughout my body.

Chance blows may have broken a rib or two, but I felt immersed in my own world. By the time I stopped feeling the weight of the hammerhead against stone, I looked around and realized that I was entirely alone for the first time. Everybody was dead. I never saw Ismail go, or Stefan, or Jorgen, or Thorvald. We had so long to live and I had missed the opportunity to say good-bye all the same. We can ask questions in Einartoft. My final, anti-climactic words to them. The final event of my life in Grofheim. Over in minutes.

Looking up, I saw that the way out was laid bare. Slowly, I realized the only thing left was for me to leave. The gate loomed over me, silent. It struck me as a cruel joke that everything around it had been obliterated, but the gate itself was left unscathed. I had defended it after all.

Not a moment after I took my first step into the snow a mace swung down at me. My forearm flung up by reflex and I felt muscles bruise and bones crack. I stumbled backward and fell into the snow onto my knees. I looked up and saw a lone grunt before me and another figure in the distance. My hands reached furiously in the cold white, reaching and reaching before I saw I had dropped the hammer behind the grunt.

I inched away from the grunt, feeling the desperation and panic of one nearing his end. I could neither find the hammer nor even see it, but I remembered the knives and daggers on my belt and I hurled one at the grunt. A miss. I scrambled for a second knife and didn’t even aim. A thud. A scream, the kind I had heard a hundred times before. The figure in the distance began running toward us, and I rose and charged the grunt. Exhaustion permeated every fiber in my body. Muscle memory drove me to dodge the grunt’s clumsy swings. It was holding onto its side, clutching the embedded knife, as desperate to end the fight as I was. Finally, it committed too far on a downward swing and missed. I held down its mace with my boot and drove my remaining dagger into its face. It crumbled to the ground in a heap without even a whimper. One long exhale later, I gave the grunt’s head a forceful kick, yanking free the blade.

I hastily placed the dagger back into my belt and found my hammer a few steps away. Just as I turned to leave, a whizzing rock smacked one of my horns. I was stunned for a moment. When I recovered, the figure was close enough to see: a smaller dredge with a sling, something I had never seen before. With no shield for defense, I braced for another attack, but it never came. Instead, the dredge dropped the sling and ran to the dead grunt, cradling the body and touching it forehead to forehead, letting out a painful drone.

I knew what I had done. We always knew. Something in me wanted to stay at the gate forever, to die defending something like the grunt had. But I couldn’t bear to look at him and I couldn’t bear to look at her.

At last, I was clear of the city. I was alone. As I walked, the hills leading away from the city gave way to a snowy and steep incline. My legs forced me forward, following the trail Harald and the others had made as they fled, but each step up the hill resounded in my head. The ringing in my ears became unbearable. I turned around to look one final time and my heart cracked at the sight of the rising pillars of flame. Years and years walking the streets, patrolling the walls, drinking myself to sleep, growing camaraderie, watching the world go by. How could I forget what I had seen? How could I let it go? What future was waiting for us? But to live--to Einartoft!

#fiction #The Banner Saga #2 years later

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carcinoaquarium · 7 years

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alright kk, don't say i didn't warn you lmao: Dearest Karkat, I am the anon whom you blessed with that dragon age tangent and i was bettered for it bc that tangent was great. When I played da:i I knew jack-all about the characters and literally only chose to be an elven female bc she had the most romantic options and I was going in thinking 'hell yeah imma romance the first available qunari of the series, you kidding me?' (1/7)

And then i chatted w solas and the literal first 'flirt' option w him is to tell him you aren't going to harass him for being an apostate and that was so /sad/ to think about, like he's so...lonely? Not to mention his greatest fear is dying alone?? Also he was hella intelligent and had interesting conversations and was suave as fuck, and I ended up being like "iron bull who?" and got my hEART RIPPED FROM MY CHEST, OW because solas has gotta be one of my fave villains in media to date. (2/7)

Also loghain, whom I didn't really appreciate until after I'd beheaded him. Whoops. Actually, I'd love to keep talking to you about dragon age?? i haven't been able to chat w a new(ish) fan in ages and these games have such depth. (also, dorian was absolutely my inquisitor's moirail, too, tbh. Although that's technically a romantic relationship, and Dorian is gay...? They're def BFFLs, tho, once Dorian was less racist against elves. Everyone in dai was kinda racist against elves.) (3/7)

Actually, elf Inquisitors kind of got a really fucking short stick in da:i. Not only did all of thedas hate them for being an elf, but there wasn't a single elf in that party that didn't challenge and beat on their religion (which is worse if they weren't already questioning it, as my inquisitor was), and even the people you can date don't seem to comfort you once your entire understanding of the world comes crashing down around your eyes. (4/7) (shit, i might hit the ask limit)

To a lesser extent this happens to the dwarves, too! Like, idk if you played the Descent dlc, but spoiler-free the dwarven religion is kind of picked apart and in the Tresspasser sequel we find out the ancient elves did a lot of shitty subjugating of the dwarven race, and not to mention the qunari are implied to be a race made through scientific genetic SPLICING of human and/or elven genes with fucking /dragons/, and it's like?? Man, give these fantasy races a break. (5/7)

Humans were the only ones who weren't really fucked with, they just kinda showed up from the north and invaded thedas while all that other political stuff was going on. But playing as a human's always seemed so boring to me, lmao. Did you play DA:O and DA2, too? (6/7) I feel like 200% nerd power right now,but the amount of effort and heart bioware put into these games is fascinating and i can't help but love dissecting it. Feel free to respond in private if u don't wanna clog ur blog w DA. (7/7)

YES. LET’S DO THIS. PROBABLY GOING TO BE A LONG REPLY SO I’LL READ MORE THIS SHIT.

ALTHOUGH I ONLY PERSONALLY PLAYED THROUGH ONE ROMANCE I OF COURSE HAD TO WATCH ALL OF THE COMPILATIONS ON YOUTUBE BECAUSE THAT’S JUST THE KIND OF GLUTTON I AM. SO YEAH. I AM FAMILIAR WITH SOLAS’ ROMANCE ARC. AND MAN I HAVE TO SAY YOU HAD TO BE MASOCHISTIC AS HELL TO RIDE THAT ONE OUT AND ENDURE THE MOST HEARTBREAKING OUTCOME OF THEM ALL. BLACKWALL WAS BAD ENOUGH, BUT AT LEAST, YOU KNOW, IT GETS BETTER IF YOU CHOOSE IT TO.

DON’T GET ME WRONG, IT PLAYED OUT BEAUTIFULLY. BUT SADFPSDHFHSDF I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN ABLE SEE THAT THROUGH.

AND I SERIOUSLY DID NOT SEE SOLAS’ TURN COMING. IT WAS AMAZING. HE WAS SO CONVINCING THE ENTIRE TIME. JUST THE BOOKISH APOSTATE ELF WHO LIKED TO PAINT MURALS AND FANBOY OVER THE FADE IN IAMBIC PENTAMETER. FUCKING. IAMBIC. PENTAMETER. THAT WAS PRETTY AMAZING. ERIDAN APPRECIATED THAT. ALTHOUGH IT WAS HARD NOT TO THINK OF SOLLUX WHEN WE SAID HIS NAME. ESPECIALLY ERIDAN.

fuckin sol

BUT HOLY SHIT. I NEVER SAW IT COMING. AND YET WHEN YOU PLAYTHROUGH A SECOND TIME YOU SEE ALL THE LITTLE HINTS. MY SECOND PLAYTHROUGH WAS FULL OF ME SCREAMING AT THE SCREEN

“OOOOOH, SUUUUUUURE. TELL ME YOUR VAGUE ASS REASON FOR BEING HERE AGAIN, YOU LYING PIECE OF SHIT.”

“I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE, DREAD WOLF. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE.”

“YOU KNOW WHAT? THE FADE IS BORING. SPIRITS ARE BORING.”

“MAYBE I SHOULD SKIP THESE ELVEN PUZZLES THIS TIME, EGGSPONGE. OR MAYBE PISS IN THIS WELL. OR FIGHT THE IMMORTAL ELF DUDE. HMMMM??"

“I’M RUBBING MY BULGE AAAAALLL OVER THIS FEN’HAREL STATUE. YEAH. THAT’S RIGHT. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT??”

“WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO GIVE YOU A *HAND* WITH THAT QUEST??? OH I BET YOU WOULD.”

SERIOUSLY THOUGH I THOUGHT THE WAY SOLAS’ CHARACTER ARC UNROLLED WAS MASTERFUL. THE WAY HE PULLS THE INQUISITOR ASIDE NEAR THE END OF THE MAIN GAME TO TELL THEM THAT THEY EXCEEDED HIS EXPECTATIONS AND THAT HE TRULY VALUES THEM AS A FRIEND... I DON’T THINK I’LL EVER REALLY KNOW IF HE MEANT IT BUT I LIKE TO THINK HE DID. AND THAT IT GENUINELY SURPRISED HIM THAT THE PERSON HE WAS OUT TO MANIPULATE NEARLY CHANGED HIS WORLD VIEW IN THE END. THAT’S HOW YOU WRITE A THREE DIMENSIONAL ANTAGONIST.

FFFF. THE RACE SHENANIGANS. DRAGON AGE AND SKYRIM REALLY LIKE TO PLAY UP THE DISCRIMINATION AND OUTRIGHT PERSECUTION OF ELVES, WHICH STANDS IN SHARP CONTRAST TO THE TOLKIENIAN LORE IT ALL STEMS FROM WHERE ELVES ARE (MOSTLY) POWERFUL AND RESPECTED AMONG HUMANS. I LIKE IT THOUGH. IT’S AN INTERESTING SPIN. THE DWARF HATE TOO. I FUCKING LOVED THE WAY THE ORLEASIAN COURT NOT-SO-COVERTLY THREW SHADE AT YOU IN THE WINTER PALACE FOR BEING A DIRTY LOWBLOOD INFERIOR RACE. IT MADE PUTTING THEM ALL IN THEIR PLACE A WHOLE LOT SWEETER. AGAIN. WISH FULFILLMENT.

I HAVE TO AGREE THOUGH THAT THE GAME SOMETIMES KIND OF DID A SHITTY JOB OF ACKNOWLEDGING THE ELF AND DWARF INQUISITORS’ PERSONAL STRUGGLES WITH THEIR RACE, AND I GUESS THAT COMES DOWN TO THE SHIPLOAD OF DIALOGUE CUSTOMIZATION THE DEVS ALREADY HAD ON THEIR PLATE. I REMEMBER BEING ESPECIALLY PISSED OFF TALKING TO DAGNA WHERE SHE FUCKING SEEMED TO FORGET NELLIE WAS *ALSO* A DWARF HALF THE FUCKING TIME.

AND THEN OTHER TIMES THE GAME WAS RANDOMLY REALLY GOOD IN THAT REGARD. IT WAS HIT AND MISS. ERIDAN DID AN ELF PLAYTHROUGH THAT I SAT IN ON AND I REMEMBER HOW COOL IT WAS BEING ABLE TO INTERACT WITH THE DALISH CLAN IN THAT INSIDER KIND OF WAY. BUT IT’S TRUE THAT PRETTY MUCH NONE OF THE ROMANTIC INTERESTS GIVE YOUR RACE MORE THAN *ONE* PASSING MENTION. CULLEN’S ROMANCE WITH A MAGE PLAYS WAY MORE HEAVILY INTO THINGS THAN SAY THE FACT THAT MALE LAVELLAN CAN DATE A GODDAMN *TEVINTER* ALTUS AND THE SLAVE THING IS BROUGHT UP A GRAND TOTAL OF ONCE.

AND AS A SIDENOTE THE FACT THAT IF YOU CHOOSE THE NECROMANCER MAGE SPECIALIZATION, DORIAN-THE-GOD-DAMN-NECROMANCER HAS FUCK ALL TO SAY ABOUT IT. EVEN IF YOU ROMANCE HIM. WHICH AMPORA DID. AND HE WAS PISSED.

SPEAKING OF AMPORA, HE ACTUALLY DID ROLL A HUMAN AT FIRST, BUT FIVE MINUTES IN HE WAS SO BORED WITH HIS CHARACTER HE ALMOST GAVE UP THE GAME FOR GOOD. SO YEAH. I FEEL YOU THERE.

BUT YEAH. THE SUGAR COATING ON THE CONFECTIONERY ITEM IS DEFINITELY THE FACT THAT THE GAME HINGES ON BASICALLY SOLAS DESTROYING DALISH LEGITIMACY. AND AS A DALISH INQUISITOR IT’S LIKE. OH. OK. SURE. MY LIFE WAS A LIE. NO BIG DEAL. NOW WHO’S READY FOR A VACATION IN TEVINTER BECAUSE BOY HOWDY ME AND MY QUNARI FRIEND ARE DOWN FOR SOME FIRST CLASS NORTHERN HOSPITALITY.

AS MUCH AS I CAN COMPLAIN ABOUT A LOT OF IT I LOVE IT SO MUCH. I NEVER PLAYED THE PREVIOUS GAMES BUT I ABSORBED THE DRAGON AGE WIKI AND I THINK I HAVE A PRETTY GOOD UNDERSTANDING OF WHAT WENT DOWN. I HAVE DA:O AND I DO PLAN ON PLAYING IT SOME TIME.

THE SADDEST PART IS THAT IT SEEMS PRETTY CERTAIN THAT THE SERIES IS PERMA-DEAD. AND I ACTUALLY WAS REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO WHERE THEY SEEMED TO BE TAKING IT. IT’S A FUCKING SHAME.

#DA:I #DRAGON AGE #KARKAT VANTAS #INQUISITION #saccharineomens

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