#pannion domin

[iwillberunningfromdemons]

The inn commanding the southeast corner of old Daru Street held no more than half a dozen patrons, most of them visitors to the city who, like Gruntle, were now trapped. The Pannion armies surrounding Capustan's walls had done nothing for five days and counting. There had been clouds of dust from beyond the ridgeline to the north, the caravan captain had heard, signalling... something. But that had been days ago and nothing had come of it.

What Septarch Kulpath was waiting for, no-one knew, though there was plenty of speculation. More barges carrying Tenescowri had been seen crossing the river, until it seemed that half the empire's population had joined the peasant army. "With numbers like that," someone had said a bell earlier, "there'll be barely a mouthful of Capan citizen each." Gruntle had been virtually alone in appreciating the jest.

Memories of Ice, by Steven Erikson (Malazan Book of the Fallen #3)

[shyce-overgod]

He Pannion on my Domin 'til I Capustan

[elan-morin-tedronai]

I often see people criticise the way romantic relationships are done in Malazan, but somehow I've always enjoyed most of them. I wish I could properly articulate why... but I’ll try.

One main criticism I see is that they're underdeveloped. The way I see it is that they're just not given a lot of screen time.

Korlat and Whiskeyjack spent a lot of time together on the march to Pannion Domin, and if Malazan was a romance, sure, you'd expect more focus on how they grew to appreciate one another as a person in the midst of dealing with the logistics of their respective armies... but it's not a romance, and sometimes feelings just happen though they're not the focus of the story.

Same with Barathol and Scillara, though there's focus enough on her feelings, because she's kind of actively looking for something. (And she looks for it elsewhere, too, before turning to Barathol, and I love that the story allows her to do that while not devaluing either her struggles with the thing with Cutter or her relationship with Barathol. And the story allows Barathol to address his insecurity about where he stands in this picture without slut-shaming her. Like, holy shit you guys, when do you ever see this in fantasy literature?)

Tehol and Janath I personally don't really care about, but (besides the ~problematic~ factor of the circumstances under which their feelings develop) I don't really see it as particularly badly done; again, a lot of the development happens off-screen but there's very clearly space in the story for it to have happened. I'm not yet far enough in my reread to judge Brys and whatsherface (no, really, I don't remember the character's name) but I recall thinking roughly the same about them (minus the ~problematic~).

Seren Pedac and Trull Sengar, while I love them to pieces, is probably the one major 'ship with actually next to no development; they never had the chance to interact much, even off-screen, because they simply weren't in the same place at the same time. But even then, I don't think it was bad; on the contrary, it had many interesting elements that, again, I've not seen in fantasy literature elsewhere.

Seren pretty much refuses to acknowledge the possibility that it might be real until right at the last moment. She entertains the thought, for a while, as they're travelling, thinking it 'safe' because Trull is dead (or so she thinks) and she's not going to be able to 'destroy' him. (Guess who related to this pretty hard when I first read this? Guess who'd taken to thinking of celebrities and fictional characters as 'safe' to crush on because they weren't going to reciprocate and I couldn't possibly fuck them up when I'd inevitably fail at being a good partner? Yeah.) And yet, though she tells herself it's not real and he's dead anyway, she keeps thinking about it, and in her mind, it grows in proportion.

We don't see Trull thinking about her as much while they're both having their adventures in different realms, but when she comes up, it's clear that he's going through something similar. Well, minus Seren's particular brand of self-loathing, but, you know.

Of course, by the time they meet again, they've both convinced themselves of their love. And then, of course, he dies before either of them can be disappointed... But I like to think that they would have still felt the same after getting to know each other properly. Oh, sure, it would take work, but any relationship does at that. (As a side note, I'd love to know Steven's thoughts on this; if Trull had lived, what then? Not in terms of the House of Shadow and the Knight situation, who cares about that, but with Trull and Seren.)

I can't remember if I had something else in mind but this is probably enough text for now anyway.

[nikihawkes]

Book Review: Memories of Ice by Steven Erikson

Book Review: Memories of Ice by Steven Erikson

Title: Memories of Ice Author: Steven Erikson Series: Malazan #3 Genre: Fantasy Rating: 5/5 stars The Overview: The ravaged continent of Genabackis is a terrifying new empire, the Pannion Domin, that devours all. An uneasy allliance resists: Onearm’s army, Whiskeyjack’s Bridgeburners and former enemies – forces of Warlord Caladan Brood, Anomander Rake and his Tiste Andii mages, and the Rhivi…

[flippingpagesturningthoughts]

Alright. This Pannion Seer. Balls-to-the-wall insane.

[iwillberunningfromdemons]

The grip on the sword did not falter. The burning blade continued to spread its devouring flame outward, incinerating as it went. Screams filled the air.

Urdomen closed in with their short, heavy blades. Began chopping.

Thr Mortal Sword's intestines, snagged on a sword tip, unravelled like a snake from his gut. Another axe crashed down on Brukhalian's head, splitting the heavy black-iron helm, then the skull, then the man's face.

The burning sword exploded in a dark flash, the shards cutting down yet more Pannions.

The corpse that was Fener's Mortal Sword tottered upright a moment longer, riven through, almost headless, then slowly settled to its knees, back hunching, a scarecrow impaled by a dozen pikes, countless arrows.

Kneeling, now motionless, in the deepening shadow of the Thrall, as the Pannions slowly withdrew on all sides - their battle-rage gone and something silent and dreadful in its stead - staring at the hacked thing that had been Brukhalian... and at the tall, barely substantial apparition that took form directly before the Mortal Sword. A figure shrouded in black, hooded, hands hidden within the tattered folds of broad sleeves.

Hood. King of High House Death... come to greet this man's soul. In person.

Why?

A moment later and the Lord of Death was gone.

Memories of Ice, by Steven Erikson (Malazan Book of the Fallen #3)

[iwillberunningfromdemons]

Itkovian had never witnessed such a horrifying sight. For all his battles, for all the terrors of combat and all that a soldier could not help but see, the vision before him swept all else from his mind.

As peasants fell back, tumbled their way down the slope of corpses, women leapt at the men among them, tore at their clothing, pinned them in place with straddled legs and, amidst blood, amidst shrieks and clawing fingers, they raped them.

Along the edges of the dead and the dying, others fed on their kin.

Twin nightmares. The Shield Anvil was unable to decide which of the two shook him the most. His blood flowed glacial cold in his veins, and he knew, with dread verging on panic, that the assault had but just begun.

(...)

There would be no rising from his Grey Swords. Not this time. Indeed, he could not see a single familiar surcoat. The Tenescowri closed on the Shield Anvil from all sides, a man's height's worth of bodies under their feet. And somewhere beneath that heaving surface, were Itkovian's soldiers. Buried alive, buried dying, buried dead.

He and his horse were all that remained, the focus of hundreds upon hundreds of avid, desperate eyes.

Captured pikes were being passed forward to those peasants nearest him. In moments, those long-handled weapons would begin jabbing in on all sides. Against this, neither Itkovian's nor his horse's armour would be sufficient.

Memories of Ice, by Steven Erikson (Malazan Book of the Fallen #3)

[iwillberunningfromdemons]

He had changed, not a difficult truth to recognize in himself. His soul torn by the horrors he saw all around him, the sheer amorality born of hunger and fanaticism, he had been reshaped, twisted almost beyond recognition into something new. The eradication of faith - faith in anything, especially the essential goodness of his kind - had left him cold, hardened and feral.

Yet he would not eat human flesh. Better to devour myself from within, to take my own muscles away, layer by layer, and digest all that I was. This is the last remaining task before me, and it has begun. None the less, he was coming to realize a deeper truth: his resolve was crumbling. No, stay away from that thought.

He had no idea what Anaster had seen in him. Toc played the mute, he was the defier of gifted flesh, he offered to the world nothing but his presence, the sharpness of his lone eye - seeing all that could be seen - and yet the First had descried him, somehow, from the multitudes, had dragged him forth and granted him a lieutenancy.

Memories of Ice, by Steven Erikson (Malazan Book of the Fallen #3)

[iwillberunningfromdemons]

The Tenescowri ringed the city in a thick, seething band. A third of a million, maybe more. Such a mass of people as Buke had never seen before. And the band had begun to constrict. A strangely colourless, writhing noose, drawing ever closer to the city's feeble, crumbled walls and what seemed but a handful of defenders.

There would be no stopping this assault. An army measured not by bravery, but by something far deadlier, something unopposable: hunger. An army that could not afford to break, that saw only wasting death in retreat.

Capustan was about to be devoured.

The Pannion Seer is a monster in truth. A tyranny of need. And this will spread. Defeat him? You would have to kill every man, woman and child on this world who are bowed to hunger, everyone who faces starvation's grisly grin. It has begun here, on Genabackis, but that is simply the heart. This tide will spread. It will infect every city, on every continent, it will devour empires and nations from within.

I see you now, Seer. From this height. I understand what you are, and what you will become. We are lost. We are all truly lost.

Memories of Ice, by Steven Erikson (Malazan Book of the Fallen #3)

[iwillberunningfromdemons]

"The foreigner had his own soldiers break down the door into Tular Camp. He demanded that its inhabitants come out and fight. For their children-"

"And he convinced them?"

"Sir, he held in his arms what was left of a child from Senar Camp. The enemy, sir - the Pannions - someone had begun to eat that child-"

Karnadas moved up behind the young man, hands settling on his shoulders.

"He convinced them," Itkovian said.

The messenger nodded. "The foreigner - he then... he then took what was left of the child's tunic, and has made of it a standard. I saw it myself. Sir, I ceased arguing, then - I'm sorry-"

"I understand you, sir."

Memories of Ice, by Steven Erikson (Malazan Book of the Fallen #3)