#because she says that that’s not who ‘Ruben hopclap’ is

[asteriskemily]

The fact that Ruben doesn’t remember what happened is absolutely sending me.

Like, imagine your name is Ruben Hopclap. You wake up in front of a ruined school gym wearing clothes you don’t recognize and missing your favorite necklace. You don’t remember falling asleep. Your chest hurts.

Uncle Henry is there talking to principal Auegfort over scraps of a robot. For a moment he looks at you like you’re a ghost before wrapping you in a tight hug. He asks what you remember. You tell him you remember packing your bag to go to the mountains of chaos for your spring break quest. You don’t remember anything after that. He hugs you again.

Your party’s there too. Most of them at least. Along with another party that you recognize as the Bad Kids, the most infamous party in your grade, maybe in the whole school. You tamp down any jealousy you might feel about that when you see the way that Mary Ann Almost-but-not-quite smiles at their barbarian. Instead you go to where Oisin and Ivy are huddle together, speaking softly to each other.

You ask where Kipperlily is. They look uncomfortable. For a moment you think about asking after Buddy, but then you realize you don’t know who that is. They keep avoiding answering the question, so you walk away. You almost go to talk to Lucy, but you see how uncomfortable she looks, how she flinches away when you start to move towards her. You decide to leave her alone.

Eventually Henry takes you home. On the drive home he turns on the radio and you hear yourself singing a song you’ve never heard. It’s loud and chaotic and so so angry. The sound of it makes you want to throw up. You turn it off and ride in silence back to the house.

The walls of your bedroom have been painted a deep, bloody red. There’s an electric guitar that you don’t know how to play leaning against the wall. Your desk is covered in notes and plans, some of it written in codes you can’t decipher. That doesn’t really matter because you don’t understand the stuff that’s not in code either.

Your parents look almost scared of you when you ask where your normal clothes are. They tell you that you got rid of them. They keep apologizing, like they think you’ll get mad at them. You tell them it’s okay, but still search your closet for something a bit more your style. You find a box shoved into a corner, under some clothes. Inside is your puka shell necklace and your ukulele. The string on the necklace is broken like it had been ripped off. The body of the ukulele is cracked like it had been thrown to the ground. You decide to deal with that in the morning.

You fall asleep and you dream of a girl. She’s a tiefling with red and black raccoon streaks in her hair. She smiles at you with lips painted black. If you stare at her for too long you can see blood dripping out of those lips and a crossbow bolt lodged in her side. You look at her and feel longing, feel grief, feel betrayal. You want to stop dreaming of her, but some part of you knows that any other dream would be filled with blood and crystals and rage. You accept that you are doomed to Wanda.

[fanstuffrantings]

Honestly, I hope Ruben is related to Professor hopclap by being his Nephew/son/cousin or whatever. Because the idea of the Rat grinders building up thoughts that the bad kids have unfair advantages when all the advantages the bad kids have mirror the Rat grinders would be so juicy. Kipperlily being a rich kid matches up with Fabian already. It would make their arguments petty and superficial, which completely tracks for teenagers.

Teenagers get emotional and reactive. This isn't me saying that teenagers are terrible people and that they're wrong for their feelings, but more so that teenagers tend to be incredibly hormonal and impulsive, which high school doesn't help. Their jealousy makes it so that all of their arguments about how unfair it is that the bad kids get preferential treatment far outweighs the sensible thought that the bad kids are just as privileged (maybe even slightly less so depending on how supportive the parents are) as the right grinders.

Sometimes, hatred you have for people doesn't make complete sense. The bad kids largely are very welcoming and friendly. Some of them can be knuckleheads, but for the most part what they do is always to help others. They're the cool kids in school even if we as the viewers don't always notice it because we see them for the dorks they are. In freshmen year they got arrested for murder charges, broke out of prison after a few months, and saved the day from the vice principal who they'd been actively investigating for months.

In sophomore year both during spring break and summer they save the world 2 more times when their spring break quest unfolded into something bigger.

They're legends at Aguefort and that means all of their classmates probably get incredibly overshadowed.

They see the accomplishments without the sacrifices. They don't think about Kristen dying in the nightmare forest and having to revive herself because no one else could or how tough it's been for her becoming disillusioned with her faith that told her she deserved to burn for who she was. She's the lesbian cleric who broke away from her faith, started 2 religions, weight lifts now, and is chill enough to run for president and jump into a pool of sauce on the back if a flaming motorcycle.

They don't think about Fig finding out she was a child of an affair leading to her father saying she was unwanted and her having to find who she was, something she's still doing. They see fig as the Rockstar revolutionary girl who befriends the outcasts, is the arch devil of fhe bottomless pit, daughter of Gorthalax, and person willing to smoke at any opportunity regardless of whether she'd get in trouble for it.

Fabian isn't a guy unlearning his ingrained toxic masculinity after killing his dad and being raised to believe money, intimidation, and brute strength were how you get through life. They see the captain of the football team who hosts parties at his massive mansion, rides a demonic motorcycle, has a mom dating the vice principal, and is a world class dancer.

Riz had to work through the death of his father at a young age, constant ridicule from peers who didn't want him, and a desperation to do whatever it takes to be wanted that he still hasn't gotten over. But most people see a classmate who has everything figured out and the ability to connect the dots at all times. Plus a nickname from the football team that's said with love.

Adaine with her social anxiety she's now medicated for, parents who never loved her, an older sister she's only barely starting to bond with, and a barely passing grade in her class because she has no money to make ends meet. But she's also the elven oracle, cool party wizard who summons mephits to chill drinks, magically gifted in truly amazing ways, and will always remember your name after speaking to you.

Gorgug who was lovingly raised but always felt disconnected due to his parents not being able to understand him, who had to push against porter for 2.5 years before finally getting a chance to be taught by someone who didn't talk down to him, trying his best but failing so often. But to most he's a football player, rock star, hyper intelligent mechanic, rebellious teen, and now dude who oinked at a fed.

We all as viewers are aware of their flaws and their awesome moments, but the school at large only knows their moments that gained them more attention. Of course the Rat grinders would become jealous and angry when things seem so much easier for them. Of course they'd perceive any instances of the bad kids being friendly as them looking down on others because obviously they're too popular to be genuine. But if the rat grinders can prove the bad kids are the horrible people they think they are and stop them from succeeding, then it just puts things right doesn't it?

[maxdurden]

but slowly the instinct takes root in her throat

read it on ao3 here!

Story: but slowly the instinct takes root in her throat

Chapter: 1/1

Characters: Kipperlilly Copperkettle, Ruben Hopclap, Porter Cliffbreaker, Jace Stardiamond, (mentions of other Rat Grinders)

Summary:

Kipperlilly has been chosen by a nascent god of rage. She's proud of that fact, excited by what it might mean for her future. In the meantime, she's stuck on night watch during her sophomore spring break with Ruben Hopclap, her least favorite party member. She's been told to worship her rage, to accept it in all its savage glory. What could go wrong? -- A one-shot about my head canons for how the Rat Grinders' first quest to the Mountains of Chaos went down.

“It’s cold out here.” 

The knife in Kipperlilly’s hand stuttered over a knot in the stick she was carving into a stake. Her motions were harsh and confident, but not well practiced. Woodcarving wasn’t a hobby of hers, but she would have done just about anything to dull the boredom in this moment—and to distract her from the incessant whining of her companion.

That she was being asked to keep watch at all was an insult. The thought sat under her skin like molten metal, but she pushed it away. Not only had she been chosen, she’d risen to the challenge. She could feel the symbol under the stiff, pressed fabric of her shirt, and the memory of the ritual was still fresh in her mind. Jace’s magic, the glittering red shatter star, the oath she had sworn to the god of rage. 

Jace had continually checked his notes as he administered the oath, and Porter had seethed at the indignity. “Maybe I’d remember this better if I’d had the chance to undergo it myself.” The sorcery teacher was cool and unbothered around most of his students, but Kipperlilly had come to know him as a perpetually exasperated presence in her life. “But, no, it wasn’t this easy for me.” He said as he traced a slender finger down the page of his notebook.

“An eye for opportunity is well rewarded.” Kipperlilly had chirped unhelpfully. She smiled smugly in the direction of the barbarian teacher who, in an official capacity, was not meant to be attached to this quest at all. Even the rest of her party didn’t know he was here with them in the Mountains of Chaos. But he had revealed himself to her for this ritual, because she was his chosen, because he trusted her—

“It’s cold and boring. And doesn’t it freak you out that things are so dangerous here that we need a nightwatch?” The drone of Ruben Hopclap’s incessant complaints pulled Kipperlilly back to the present moment. 

The stick in her hand snapped under the pressure of her knife. It was no real loss. She didn’t need a stake, just a distraction. She needed Ruben to shut up.

“It’s the Mountains of Chaos.” She responded curtly. “Of course it’s dangerous.” 

“I heard Yolen Harris’ party is going to Harroway Bay to fight a sea serpent or something.” As he spoke, Kipperlilly grabbed a new stick to resume her carving. Something about the steady motion helped to ground her, and she needed that more now than ever. “I bet the serpent won’t be fun, but think about it: Toes in the sand and crystal service! Now that’s a decent spring break.” 

Kipperlilly watched as the wood parted from itself in thin, curling layers and grit her teeth. “It’s also a monumental waste of time. People kill sea serpents all the time. No one’s gonna remember that quest in a month.” 

She shouldn’t humor him with responses. Of all the people in her party, Ruben was the most indolent. Not that he lacked ambition; He envied Figueroth Faeth in all her stardom. He just didn’t have the actual follow through to do anything about it. It made Kipperlilly sick, and it was the lesser of the two things she hated most about him.

Kipperlilly was proud to say that Lucy Frostblade was her best friend. But, since they had met Ruben in middle school, she’d suffered the slight of having to share the claim to being Lucy’s. 

“Who cares!” Ruben whined. He was always whining. She found herself wishing the high-pitched frequency of his voice would drive a nearby pack of wolves into a slavering bloodlust and they would come here to rend him limb from limb. As she turned the stick in her hand, and notched her knife into it once again, she imagined the violent scene in great detail. It brought her some solace. “I’m cold! I’d rather be at the beach! Who’s gonna remember us for coming to this empty, useless temple and looking for a dumb name, anyway? Even if we find it.”

He didn’t know the plan. He didn’t know they would change the world someday. That they’d create their own god, raise him from his mortality. That they would carve Elmville from its stubborn mundanity and reform it in the image of something worthy. They would be greater than the Bad Kids, or any adventurer who had ever graduated from Aguefort. Many alumni of the school had saved the world, but none of them had ever remade it. 

“You’re probably cold because you dressed for the beach. Like an idiot.” She snapped, pointing with her knife toward his sandaled feet. 

“Dress for the job you want!” 

Kipperlilly felt hot, buzzing rage rising in her throat. It was a familiar feeling, like boiling water overcoming all her senses.

Her grandmother had once tried to endear her to her family legacy. She’d taken her to the kitchen, and showed her the Copperkettle, the magical item from which her family got their name. Most halfling families got their names this way, from heirlooms that often harkened back to a time before they came to Elmville. The Copperkettle was barely magical. 

Newly immigrated to Elmville, the family had struggled to make ends meet, and the Copperkettle had kept them fed anyway, against all odds. This was the only version of the story worth telling, but her grandmother had embellished it with all kinds of details—the names of her ancestors, what kinds of stew the kettle had produced, the tale of their eventual agreement to share the stew. The story dragged on until there was nothing but a frustrating buzz in the back of Kipperlilly’s young head where the anger rose to meet it. She didn’t want to be standing in her kitchen, listening to a lecture about the history of the most boring family in Elmville—She didn’t want to be reminded that she was a part of that family. 

She tried to sit still and quiet, to listen politely like her parents had taught her, but the anger ballooned inside her until it was too big for her tiny body to contain. She had felt near tears with it by the time she admitted it to herself, and acted on it. In her anger, she had scurried forward and kicked her grandmother’s knee—anything to get her to shut up. 

She remembered being dragged away by her parents. They had sat her on the cold cement porch stairs outside their family home, wagged disapproving fingers in her face. And she’d known then that they were right—or thought that they were. Anger was something to ignore, to push down and suffocate. 

Gods forbid it have the ability to suffocate back. 

That night, with Ruben seemingly incapable of shutting his mouth, the same anger was starting to expand hot and fast in her chest. Her anger was always vicious and strong, oftentimes stronger than her, but there was something new this time too. 

With the feeling, the symbol on her chest burned steadily. For a moment it was a grounding feeling. She could honor this anger, just like Porter had taught her. She could feel it and savor it—The way her face burned and the way her focus on the world sharpened until there was nothing but Ruben’s voice, and the knife, and the wood. 

“And this job sucks. Even if it was memorable, we’ll always be remembered as the dumb kids who needed a chaperone on our sophomore project.” Ruben filled the silence when Kipperlilly didn’t respond. 

Her stick snapped again, but this time in the tightening grip of her hand rather than under the pressure of her knife. 

“And the solution to that is to resign ourselves to a lazy beach week?” She let the words claw their way from her throat, and seep through clenched teeth.

Her hand held tight to the pommel of her knife. Without the grounding repetition of sliding it along the wood, she started to think of other things she could do with it. She thought of nothing but wolves, and blood, and the heat of rage that clung to her every breath. 

Ruben’s sniveling answer fell on deaf ears. She wanted nothing more than silence. She wanted peace. She wanted to not have to endure his weakness and whining. 

The first plunge of the knife came without thought. It was a mindless thing that drove her to stand, approach and attack. It all happened in the flash of prickling anger that overtook her senses and mind. But the scream that came with it pulled her back to reality, made her angrier. 

Kipperlilly was often angry. She had felt the urge to destroy—to tear the world apart, ruin her friends’ moods, to see things burn because of the fire in her stomach and on her tongue. But she had always felt remorse, too. That destruction, the harsh words, the cruel actions had always stopped her before—she always ended up just the same as that kid on the porch stairs, crying as her parents wagged their fingers in her face.

But not this time. This time, she relished in the anger. She did just as she was told. She let it consume her. It was like falling away from herself and being more present than ever all at once. She viscerally felt the skin and muscle part under her knife, felt as the blade scraped and stuck into ribs. She heard every scream, felt Ruben’s hand clawing at the sleeve of her pristine, white blouse. She saw the terror in his eyes fade into glassy, distant nothingness. 

But the whole time she was wrapped in the resplendent ecstasy of wrath. It kept her distant and safe. It kept the fire in her belly roaring and hungry for more. It smoothed over the edges. It distracted her from the way her hand slipped on the blood slicked grip of her knife and the way the blade cut into the flesh of her own palm. It held her anxieties about being heard and her guilt at a distance. 

She sat back from the unmoving corpse underneath her, and stared at the shredded chest of a boy she’d known since middle school. With shaking hands, she set her knife down beside them, in the fast collecting pool of blood. There was a fist-sized bloodstain on her blouse where Ruben had clung to her, but he’d long since lost the strength for that. Her sweater vest was ruined. Warm, tacky blood adhered her tights to her knees. Everything smelled so strongly like blood that she could taste iron on her tongue. 

And then there were Ruben’s dark eyes, staring, staring, staring, and seeing nothing. 

Kipperlilly lurched to the side and retched, but nothing came up. The weight of what she’d done settled on her like the sky falling. Tears blurred her vision, and she was grateful because she didn’t want to see. Whether they were tears of contrition or self pity, she couldn’t say. 

Somewhere nearby her party was asleep, if they hadn’t already been awoken by the screams. Sometime soon, they would see what she’d done—or otherwise notice Ruben’s absence. And Lucy. What would Lucy think? How would she ever look at her again?

Sitting there over the dead body, for maybe the first time in her life, Kipperlilly couldn’t think of a plan. She could think only one thing: Porter. 

She’d done what he’d said. She’d given into her rage. He had to help her fix this. He was the only one who would understand—even if he couldn’t have possibly foreseen that it would come to this. 

She tried to stand and her polished bar shoes slipped in the blood, sending her tumbling downwards and face to blank, pallid face with the corpse. It was washed in the sickly green light of distant beacon fires, which only made the quickly paling skin look worse. She couldn’t leave it here. This time, she knew the thought was one of self-preservation. 

Pulling herself to her feet, Kipperlilly carefully sheathed her bloody knife. Then, she gathered the body in her arms, and pulled it up the stone stairs into the temple. She slinked through the shadows, past the alcove where the rest of her party slept. It was some distance away and, by then, her arms ached under the weight but she hoped that the distance meant there had been no disturbance here. The rock face that made up the temple echoed with every sound, but things were quiet. There was no sound of confusion, or people rushing to arms. 

She kept moving, past towering statues of proud warriors and their flaming horses, past the walls scrawled with words of prayer, until she reached the chamber where she knew Porter was staying. His presence was still unknown to the rest of the party and, at least as recently as the ritual, he wanted to keep it that way. This place, deep within the temple, was cavernous and massive. It was the place she had undergone her ritual earlier in the day but now, returning to it, she felt so far from the victorious spirit she’d clung to then. 

She stopped once inside, letting the corpse slump to the ground far from the giant altar at the other end of the chamber in front of which a bedroll was laid out. Porter wasn’t sleeping, though, he was standing on one of the staggered platforms, facing the iron brazier that dominated the center of the altar. 

Words failed Kipperlilly. She stood over the body and stared across the wide space between herself and the barbarian teacher—the soon-to-be god—who she’d worked so hard to impress, and couldn’t bring herself to speak. He had put so much faith in her, and surely this would be a grave disappointment. But in her panic, she didn't know where else to go.

“Kipperlilly?” He turned before she had to say anything at all, those dark eyes widening in shock. It must have been quite the sight. She was usually so well put together, but now she was disheveled and blood splattered. Not to mention the corpse at her feet. “What in the world have you done?”

“I—I didn’t mean to.” Now that she had found them again, words came tumbling out of her without her control. “He made me so mad. You said to lean into the anger! I pledged myself to it! It was supposed to be—You said it’d be holy, that it would be sacred, but I—” She got stuck on this word, stuttering it out too many times before the sentence died altogether in her throat. She couldn’t say it. 

She’d killed him. 

Porter jumped from the platform in one fluid motion and strode toward her. His features were pinched with a deep concern, but he didn’t seem panicked. Some small part of Kipperlilly wished that he did—maybe so she wouldn’t be alone with the suffocating feeling, or maybe because she thought it’d make her feel less small.

“Why didn’t you bring him to Lucy? She has diamonds, doesn’t she?” He demanded first, coming to stand in front of her and the corpse. She had to angle her face up to see him, always, but now she looked elsewhere. Anywhere but at him or the bloody mess at her feet. Her eyes fixed on the pictographs of war lining the temple walls. 

The thought of bringing the mangled body to Lucy made her throat close up. She thought of her gentle friend. She tried to imagine the way hate would contort her features but, for all the awful things she had done, all the ways she had failed Lucy in the past, she had no frame of reference. She knew that even now she was avoiding the full reality of what she’d done. Facing Lucy would mean facing this, and she couldn’t do either.

“I can’t…” 

Slowly, Porter nodded, “You’re right. She’d never forgive you.” He admitted callously. “None of them would ever look at you the same way again.” 

There was a pause. Wind whistled through the colossal, empty stone halls. “You were right to bring this to me.”

She was right. No one else would understand. She sniffled, trying to pull herself together. “There has to be something—” Something that didn’t involve a cleric. “Professor Stardiamond could summon something.” Just like their training in the woods. All the appearance of danger with none of its teeth.

“How would a monster have gotten here?” Porter asked, shaking his head. “No, that’s sloppy. You can do better.” He pressed. Then, “You wanted Ruben dead, didn’t you?” 

“No,” Kipperlilly said with so much conviction that she surprised even herself. She angled her face up to see the disbelieving expression looming over her. She allowed herself a glimmer of self-reflection, just a moment of honesty, to decipher her own meaning. “I wanted to kill him,” she admitted, “But I didn’t want him dead.”

“Those are the same thing.” 

They weren’t. Kipperlilly struggled against the fog of panic and misery in her head, trying to piece the words together. She had wanted the violence. She had relished sticking a knife between his ribs, but the consequences of those actions weren’t welcome. She hadn’t thought about them before they were real. But Porter was right; How could she have been so stupid? 

“I might be able to help.” Porter turned his eyes toward the still body between them. “But this wasn’t the plan. You were the one who agreed to the ritual. You were supposed to be my chosen.” He ground out the words in frustration. 

“What?” 

Some selfish dark thing seized in Kipperlilly’s gut. She remembered how she had felt special during the ritual. She had known that she would be relied upon. She would be great, with her name raised above the rest, when it came time for Porter to ascend. Despite the dead boy at her feet, she didn’t want to let that go. 

“The others will know something has happened, but they’ve already made their choice. That’ll need to be fixed.” 

“Fixed?”

“Go get Stardiamond.” Porter said, tone dismissive. “Bring him here and we’ll catch him up on the plan.”

“What do you mean fixed?” Kipperlilly had not asked for much. She obeyed dutifully. She paid her dues. She would follow Porter through the nine hells if it meant she got her shot at greatness; If she could be a legendary adventurer; If she could be better than the fucking Bad Kids. But, this once, she demanded an answer. 

“Even if we bring Ruben back, they’ll see you as a monster. We’ve got to get them on our side.” As if from nowhere, he produced a shatter star. It bathed the chamber in a low, pulsing red light, shifting as he examined it. It tore itself apart into fractal pieces and slammed back into itself. 

“How? They already made their choice.” 

Some more than others. Oisin, under the right circumstances, might have been convinced. He had a legacy to live up to; He understood ambition. Porter had talked about not giving up, about continuing to evangelize about rage, and the unnamed goddess. The others were never to know about Porter’s plan to ascend. But, they could be won over with stories about a plan to resurrect a dead goddess, with the promises of the glory that that would bring. But, these weren’t the right circumstances.

“We would have had time to change their minds.” Porter’s words were harsh, but grounding. It was Kipperlilly’s loss of control that had brought them here. Even if she couldn’t own up to the rest of it, she had to own up to that. “But there are other ways. Watch.” He instructed, and stepped forward to kneel over the corpse. 

The shatter star leapt forward from his hand, burrowing into the mutilated flesh in front of them. The forward motion was violent and eager, and the corpse thrashed disturbingly like a rag doll limp in the mouth of a vicious dog. Kipperlilly watched with wide eyes as blood splattered upward onto her already ruined clothes. 

The motion stopped and, for a fleeting moment and eerie peace settled on the room. Kipperlilly looked up, half panicked, to see the way Porter’s steady, focused eyes were fixed on the body between them. Before she could demand to know what was happening, a rasping breath shattered the silence and Ruben came flying upwards, sitting ramrod straight. 

An animalistic growl issued from somewhere deep in his chest. Kipperlilly stared—in horror or in awe she didn’t know—as Ruben’s wits returned to him and he turned on her with a murderous glare. 

“You fucking killed me!” He roared, launching toward her with a ferocious speed. She stumbled backwards in surprise, still not having fully processed that he was alive, and fumbled for her knife. 

Ruben’s hands were outstretched, his face contorted into a mask of animus and hostility. He was inches away from tackling her when he suddenly froze. He shook his head, and was left blinking in dazed confusion.

“We’ll have none of that.” Porter spoke, standing from where he’d been kneeling at eye level. “If you need to fight it out, let’s do it when there isn’t already a monumental mess to clean up.” He grumbled.

Ruben looked down at his bloody clothes, then back between Porter and Kipperlilly. “You killed me so I’d have to worship your stupid rage god?” His anger seemed more directionless, now, and that must have been just as well to Porter, who shrugged.

“You’d have to ask Kipperlilly why she killed you. My god and I just brought you back.” Porter brushed a speck of blood off his hands and onto his pants like it was a meer inconvenience, and added, “You’re welcome.”

“You’ll have to kill the rest of them?” Kipperlilly was slowly piecing it together.

Panic kicked at the inside of her ribcage. A tidal wave of thoughts came crashing down on her. This was her fault. Everyone could have had more time. She could have convinced them all eventually, the right way. But she had fucked it up. She had forced Porter’s hand. Ruben had chosen to worship rage rather than die. Everyone else would have to as well. But Lucy would never. 

Lucy would never. 

“Lucy’s stocked for revivify.” She blurted out, the words leaving her before she’d had time to process. “If she’s here while you’re killing the others—She can’t be here while you’re killing the others.” 

She could feel Ruben’s glare boring a hole in the side of her head, but she kept her eyes fixed on Porter. She would follow him through the nine hells. She would convince her friends to worship rage. She would kill them all, or let them die, if she must. But not Lucy. 

Lucy wouldn’t come back. Kipperlilly needed more time. She would have had it, if not for her own miserable wrath. 

Porter seemed to consider her words. “Get Stardiamond, tell him to bring the others to me. You keep Lucy busy. Tell her you don’t know where Ruben is, make her heal that cut on your hand. I don’t care, just handle it. You’ve made enough of a mess.”

Relief rushed over her, and Kipperlilly nodded, ever the dutiful soldier. “Right, of course.” Her eyes flickered briefly over to where Ruben’s burned into her like hot coals before she turned to carry out her marching orders. 

As she backtracked through the empty, echoing halls of the temple, she recalled slights against her and held them close to her chest like kindling for a fire. The way Oisin and Ivy would whisper behind their hands and snicker at her; Mary Ann’s brutal dismissal when she tried to bond with her; the betrayal of everyone when they changed their party name. The Rat Grinders could die. It was a price she was more than willing to pay for her own chance at greatness.  It was easier to take ownership of it all. To foster the anger inside and pretend that this was how she wanted things to go, rather than admit to losing control. The symbol of an unnamed god burned quietly against her chest.

[princessdarth-vader]

cant stop thinking abt the ratgrinders' like... parents after this ep. trying not to be disappointed at the kill all enemies approach to this combat. i understand we have a different experience of the campaign to the pcs. but what i hope for is brennan taking a moment to focus on the families and loved ones of these kids who were manipulated and forced and used for porter's means. Who had their free will taken away from them, and their anger used against them.

Like, after all is said and done, we see a gnome couple; maybe they were sort of friends with the Thistlesprings, since Ruben's whole deal before being emo was like, that vibe. Maybe they knew their son had changed, was angrier and more sad, but they gave him the space to respect it. And Wilma and Digby see themselves reflected in the Hopclap parents' faces as they mourn their son, who they never got to properly say goodbye to. They didn't even realise how far gone he was.

If Sklonda, seeing the grieving parents of another sharp and ambitious rogue, determined to be the best, desperate to prove herself, realises that that could've been her. Wondering what she would do if it were Riz who had his own rage used against him, and ultimately dooming him to be the villain of the story.

Do the church mourn Buddy, who was let down by every adult in his life? Who learned to follow and obey before he learned free will. Will they even care, since he turned his back on them, when faced with the choice of oblivion or rage? Or will his parents quietly swallow their grief, and privately hope that, maybe, he got a second chance to find Helio again.

Imagine losing your kid to rage. It becomes hard to talk to them, to forgive them, because of that rage, but you don't understand it. You try and try to get through to them, but all your conversations end in fighting. You resent them, because you don't know what you did wrong. And then, before you can understand, and before you can apologise, before you can tell your kid you love them one more time, they're dead. They died at school, because of teachers they were supposed to be able to trust. And you learn that the rage wasn't natural, that they were used. It's not fair.