#smodur the unflinching

[i-mybrunettelady]

Just one mistake (is all it will take)

Summary: Smodur the Unflinching and Alysannyra Ainsaph have a difference of opinion. Renira wants to know more about it. Content warnings: Mentions and allusions to shooting. Spoilers: General spoilers for Icebrood Saga’s episode No Quarter. Title taken from Centuries by Fall out Boy. Also this is a long one.

It’s cold in Drizzlewood. Renira almost envies the charr, who have all the fur on their bodies to keep them warm; she has no such luxury so she has to rely on other means to preserve bodily warmth. It’s less than satisfactory sometimes, though. Sharp wind blows hair into her eyes, and she has to risk getting her fingers out of the hot press of her legs to nudge the thick, woolen coat tighter around her body. 

Yet today the Imperators have decided to convene and discuss strategy. As a Pact Commander, Renira has to attend. What gives her a little comfort is the fact that the rest of the humans find themselves in a similar predicament - Nyra’s pale cheeks are bright red from the cold, Kasmeer Meade sits stiffly on her chair and Logan Thackeray is the only one seemingly unfazed by the weather. Renira knows better, though. He’s shivering slightly as well. 

She settles more into her seat and her oversized coat. Words reach her ears, a diplomatic response from Crecia Stoneglow, and she wills herself to forget the fucking cold and focus on what’s being said. She doesn’t know if her superiors at the Order will require reports, but she needs all the things she can reasonably get to even work here.

“Wise information to remember,” Malice Swordshadow whispers in Renira’s ear. “It’s about troop numbers. One of my agents gave his report to Crecia two hours ago.” 

Renira feels her ears tingle hot under her hair. Her face betrays nothing. “They’ll be written down and given to us later as reports.” 

“Us spymasters need to help each other out when we can,” Malice says smoothly. “Your all-charr Whispers unit has given the Legions a lot of usable information, so I wanted to return the favor.” 

Renira smiles. That unit’s an idea she’s vaguely proud of, inspired by Laranthir’s Pale Reavers of the Maguuma campaign. “Much appreciated,” she replies. Malice certainly caught her drifting off for a minute, though, if the glint in her eye as she leans back is any indication. 

“That’s not going to work, Smodur!” Nyra’s voice booms, firm and unrelenting. Her face is tighter than usual, brows furrowed just that much more. “We’re lacking in proper manpower. If I’m seeing correctly, we’re lacking fifteen people for that little operation of yours. And how many people did you shoot last week?” The sound that leaves her is best described as an aborted breath of overflowing frustration. “Fift–” 

“They were defectors, Ainsaph, not just any soldiers!” Smodur says lazily, tapping a claw against the table. “I’m sure even young commanders understand that we don’t need traitors on our operations.”

Nyra breathes deeply. Renira’s eyes are trained on her, on the tension in her neck. She isn’t blinking, staring Smodur down like he isn’t around three and a half times her age and height. “Do not speak over me, Smodur,” she says. Her voice is colder than the sharp wind around them. “Do not interrupt me when I’m speaking and do not, for fuck’s everloving sake, patronize me.”

She then straightens her back and lifts her chin. “You shot fifteen people last week, Smodur. Reconsider not wasting manpower when we need every fucking head in this war!” 

“You’re not listening, Ainsaph. They turned their backs–” 

“Stop it, both of you!” Crecia yells and everyone almost cricks their neck to look at her. Smodur huffs and growls and Nyra’s eyes are harder than steel. Rytlock Brimstone, who’s been blessedly quiet next to her, leans down to grumble something into Nyra’s ear. “If you have any issues with each other, I’ll have to ask you to sort them out elsewhere. Here, we are a unified front and you’ll have to act like it.” 

“Nobody’s gonna hear us, Cre,” Rytlock says. “Especially not Ryland.” 

“He’s too busy doing other things,” Nyra adds, voice strained. “He’s not gonna pay attention to us here. Bangar won’t either. We’re certainly not louder than his ego. I should know. My ego’s as big as his.”

Renira shakes her head. Nyra’s statement would’ve been slightly amusing if it wasn’t for her stiff posture and the unblinking stare she keeps pointed at Smodur. She looks like a predator ready to strike, one bad word away from giving him a fist to the face, and Renira knows her well enough to say with certainty she would attack. 

She knows people like her. She’s sustained by ego, an idea of inherent self-importance that Renira’s seen in her since their first meeting back in Ebonhawke all those years ago. In another life, she may have been bitter about that fact, that Nyra could afford to have the sense of grandeur because of her high birth. To Renira, though, that’s a statement of fact. Alysannyra Ainsaph has brown hair and ego the size of Tyria and Elona combined. 

In no life, however, would she call that idea a delusion on Nyra's part. She knows what she’s capable of, she knows what she must do to satisfy it, she holds herself to impossibly high standards in achieving her goals. She wields it like a weapon and as a driving force. It is a source of power. 

It’s made her look a god in the eye, rise from the dead and pay him back double. 

Renira’s still a little hung up on rising from the dead, actually. Death’s always felt a little strange. Regardless of any of that, Nyra’s ego is a big, glowing spot in every room she’s in and Smodur’s just stepped on it carelessly, like he’s frolicking on a meadow. 

This is going to end in a murder attempt at some point. 

“We were talking about the new report on troop numbers,” Renira says conversationally. Kasmeer shoots her a grateful look. There’s a feather-light feel of magic and Nyra’s face loses all tension and remains as impassive as it usually is. 

“Yes,” she says, much calmer than a moment ago. “The new report on troop numbers. Crecia, the word is yours.” 

*** 

There’s meatloaf in her hands. A good meatloaf, all things considered - Tybalt would enjoy it, if that’s any indication of its quality. Renira’s always maintained that she has better tastes in food than her friend does, to which Tybalt’s first response would always be that not everyone can look at Queen Jennah’s feet when working. 

Renira likes shoes. It’s a weird luxury that Jennah can avoid them, but she’s not the one to judge such matters. In Drizzlewood, anyway, shoes are a must, as is strong, hearty food that can keep you fed for long watches and missions. 

She looks at the meat in her hands. The slice is big enough for both her and Nyra to share, a perfect opportunity to discuss whatever the fuck came to be in the Impretarors’ pavillion a few hours ago. 

She finds Nyra in her tent - a somewhat bigger than most, perks of being a commander on the field - seated on the bed. She’s rested her elbows on her knees and is rubbing her temples, hiding sighs of lingering frustration. Her hair, once in a tight braid, now falls messily over the furs on her shoulders. There are no torches, so the lingering source of light is the cool, icy shine from her crystalline weapon, Lightbringer, that she’s willed to form a lamp.

“I brought you food,” Renira says, certain Nyra’s heard her steps. 

“Soon, we’ll be fighting the Dominion with meatloafs,” Nyra replies. Renira bites down a chuckle. “I’m not complaining. It’s good meatloaf. Once we kick Bangar’s ass, though, I never want to see it again.” Ever the optimist, their Commander. 

“At least this one feeds you,” Renira shrugs. “I know many people who could not stand the bread they ate during the Zhaitan campaign.” 

“We don’t have a choice during a war,” Nyra lifts her head. Her eyes are muted and unreadable, yet her voice gives away the tiredness. “So they better get used to standing both the meatloaf and the bread. I’m a little hungry.”

Renia sits beside her on the bed and puts the plate between them. Nyra divides it and bites into her slice. “If you tell me we can’t choose allies either, I’m going to smack you.” 

“What you told Smodur–” 

“Was deserved. He needs to get called out more and if I need to be the one to do it, I will.” Nyra purses her lips. “I just don’t understand him. He’s wasteful. He doesn’t offer second chances. Nobody with a head for strategy will make them squad leaders or officers, or even leave them unsupervised, but he’s being.. Wasteful.” She lets out a long breath. “I said that already.” 

“So you support defectors, then?” Renira daintily bites into her own meal, licking her lips clean. It’s salty. “Traitors?” 

“Gods, no. We just disagree on what a defector is.” 

“Definition of a defector is very clear,” Renira says slowly. Without judgment. “Not all people are worth saving, Nyra.” 

Nyra frowns. Her lower lip pales with how harshly she’s biting into it. “I’m tired of losing people, Ren. They may be monsters and traitors and whatever else, but who’s to say we’re not, to them?” She kicks her foot. “War is ugly and unfair and brutal. They may have defected, but I don’t think they should have their personhood denied for it. We should be inspiring them to stay with us rather than scaring them into joining the other side!”

Other, rather than the enemy side. Renira would call them the enemy side, but Nyra’s always been the more sentimental one of the two. “So you agree with the shooting, as long as Smodur accepts them as people?”

“I don’t know,” Nyra says after a long pause. “I guess I’m just.. Upset about it. It distresses me, seeing prisoners and traitors killed. How do you look at that and still say you’re a good guy in the end?” Her eyes water slightly and she blinks it away. “He asked me to drop a bomb down a stuffed bunker. I chose to not say fuck you, no and did it anyway. I can say without a shadow of a doubt I am not a good guy. But guess what? Neither is he.” 

You’re better than most, Renira wants to say. She knows it won’t go anywhere. Nyra’s walls of guilt are too strong and impenetrable right now. 

“I’m afraid I’ll hear the rifles go off when I lay down, and think why I didn’t do anything,” Nyra continues. Her voice is wobbly. “I should’ve yelled, ordered, argued, anything, but instead, I just walked past like I’m some sort of powerless mouse and not…” She laughs bitterly and points at her chest. “Whatever the fuck I am right now.” 

“You couldn’t do anything,” Renira says gently and places a hand on Nyra’s. “They would have hurt you too.” 

“One of them asked for mercy,” Nyra whispers. “One was unrepentant, but the other asked for mercy. The rifles were louder than both.” She wipes her hand and rubs the tears off her cheeks. “I’ll remember the rifles when I go to sleep.” 

“Nyra–”

“Mercy, Renira, he asked for mercy and I didn’t do anything!” Nyra stands up and holds her hands near her face. They’re shaking. The burn marks on them are still harrowing to look at. 

Renira’s on her feet as well, towering over Nyra in what she hopes is a comforting shadow. “You may not have saved him,” she says softly, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder. Nyra’s cheeks are wet. “But you can save many more. I know it’s distressing, I know it’s overwhelming, but you shouldn’t try to save everyone at your own expense. He made a mistake and he paid for it.” She wraps an arm around her. Nyra digs her face in Renira’s neck. 

“He cried for mercy,” Nyra repeats. “He cried for mercy and was denied.” 

Charr Legions are not well known for their mercy. But that’s their business. Renira knows better than to questions as firmly established as the Legions, especially as their ally. Besides, it’s not like the Whispers’ conditioning is any different in that regard. But Nyra’s a different kind of beast altogether, half-way heroic, half-way self-serving. There’s no way she could fully understand. 

Renira doesn’t begrudge Smodur for doing this. But if she had to pick sides, she would immediately side with Nyra. 

“Then you make sure as few people as possible have to plead like this,” Renira says into Nyra’s hair. Nyra’s hands tenderly wrap around her waist. “Then you make sure the Legions are victorious. You, Crecia, Efram, Rytlock. Hell, even Logan and Kasmeer. You’re not alone, remember?” 

“I suppose I have to remember that,” Nyra whispers. There’s wetness on Renira’s neck. She presses a kiss to Nyra’s temple and doesn’t let go for a long time. 

The rifles do not go off that night. 

[commanderhorncleaver]

Papaoutai--unfinished fic

A gentle breeze swept through the valley, bringing with it a swath of ashamed-looking soldiers that all seemed to be making their own ways back from the Ash encampment. It was a grim sort of march–in spite of the scents wafting from each and every one who passed, no charr looked particularly pleased about the activities of their night. Gaius supposed he could understand–Carvecia had gotten him in much the same way, years ago.

“You’re a hard one to read, Commander,” Imperator Smodur said beside him as the pair marched on, soldiers dispersing like ants as they passed. “Can’t tell if you’re disappointed in the chumps or if you’re sad you missed out on the inaugural songbird competition.”

Gaius chewed on that before shaking his head, as if to relinquish himself of the memory’s cloying webs. “I think it’s in my best interest not to answer that, sir.”

“Ha! And Kindleshot says you’ve no sense of humor; I can’t help but notice that Ash Legion cub of yours isn’t at the rally.”

Gaius felt his eyes narrow, and remained quiet. The paths diverged; the pair kept to the right, away from where the road led deeper into the valley, and towards the smoking quarry of the Flame encampment. He felt his blood sing in a way that was oddly familiar, though he couldn’t quite pin the cause. 

“Anyway, Horncleaver, I do thank you for coming with me to speak with the New Flame Imperator.”

“And I appreciate the invitation,” Gaius responded dutifully, despite having received no such invitation and instead being intercepted moments after taking his morning piss. He had been handed a uniform in the colors of Iron, and without question buckled it on.

The dusty brown charr barked another laugh as he led them along their way. “It’s important we make a show of Iron’s finest.”

Gaius watched the ground beneath their footpaws shift from pleasant, springy grass to harsh dirt and stone. There was a time when hearing those words from his imperator would have been a highlight. “And I’m Iron’s finest, sir?” 

“Humor and skepticism.” Smodur gestured to a lone charr heading the same direction they were, decked in the colors of Flame. “You’re better than most chumps.”

The rest of their trek was made in silence, naught but the crunch of packed dirt beneath their paws and the clinking of armor punctuated their march. As they grew closer and the ground turned to stone, Gaius recognized that the singing in his blood was becoming electric as they closed their distance with the Flame camp. It was an uncomfortable feeling, particularly because he was so sure he’d felt it before, but he couldn’t focus on it; he had to make nice, show not only that Aurene wasn’t a threat to anybody, but also that he was a loyal soldier.

Charr milled about in an unremarkably normal fashion. The primary camp of New Flame was built into the wall of the quarry, various overhangs and outcroppings creating tiered space for the charr to make shelter, as well as a large jutting throng of stone connecting to three strips of ground that seemed to hang over an open pit. As they approached, Gaius peeked over and saw, perhaps unsurprisingly, that the bottom of the quarry was filled with lava. 

He frowned. “Did they renovate the place themselves?” 

They were noticed before Smodur could respond; Gaius looked up from the pit as a voice hailed them. 

A pale ginger charr in shaman garb waved to them from the uppermost tier of the quarry wall–Gaius shielded his eyes, following the charr’s approach, noting that he was shadowed, slowly, by several other shamans. His fur began to prickle, and the blood roared in his ears and as they drew nearer, it became harder for Gaius to focus on the individuals in front of him.

“Welcome,” the golden-brown charr greeted them with a dip of his head. “Imperator Smodur the Unflinching of Iron Legion, to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“The pleasure is mine, Imperator Greetsglory.” Smodur purred smoothly. “I’ve merely been parading around the Commander–it’s his first time in the Valley, and I thought it’d be a good opportunity to introduce him. He does have a habit of keeping himself under the radar,” the imperator added with a glance at Gaius, who shrugged indifferently. “You caught a glimpse of his elusive dragon, and so here is the even more elusive Gaius Horncleaver.”

The shaman stepped forward, and Gaius clasped his offered paw, finding his grip to be comfortably warm. “On the contrary, I’m not the Imperator of Flame, I’ve merely organized this faction, and done my best to broker this opportunity for us.”

“Then I’d say ‘acting-Imperator’ is fitting,” Gaius grunted through narrowed eyes at the discomfort swathing him. “I’m sure we all know how difficult it is to organize charr for much of anything.”

“You do me an honor, Commander.” Greetsglory chuckled. He had a humble, if tired, air to him that Gaius could empathize with. Though he didn’t expect to engage with him much–if things went to plan–it was somewhat a comfort to meet a charr who’d put in the work but was leery of the credit and power that came with it. He was, briefly, made curious as to how Greetsglory came to such a position, but before he could ask, another charr spoke up.

“You certainly deserve the honor, given what you’ve given to get us here,” a voice said, deep and sonorous, not unlike Gaius’ own. The humming beneath his skin crescendoed into an awful chorus of tingling across his skin–he felt, as he turned, the disgusting urge to yank out his fur in an attempt to quell it. As he faced his sire, the pain and irritation came to a sudden end–he stifled as a growl as he finally recognized it as the pull of Oryen’s blood magic.

Greetsglory frowned, but Gaius’ attention was no longer on him as his vision tunneled on the black-masked eyes of his sire. “It was a sacrifice…” Curiosity prickled at Gaius’ mind for the barest moment before Oryen takes the group's attention with a clap of his paws.

“The prodigal son does return!” Oryen Crimsondew wore shaman’s garb that matched the acting Imperator’s, his deep russet fur, just shades lighter than Gaius’ pelt, glossy in the sun. “I did promise you we’d meet again.”

[meeeeeeese]

Wanted to do a writeup of Rugan's thoughts around his (former) imperator, Smodur so here goes:

So Rugan grew up idolising Smodur, since he was Iron Legion he swallowed all the PR surrounding him; that he was a brilliant innovator, he saw what none of the other imperators didn't and that he was a wise and respected soldier. This got reinforced through his early interactions where he saw a smart, pragmatic man who... also did a hell of a good job talking Rugan up and making him feel appreciated.

And then the civil war happened and everything went to shit. Smodur got his back against the wall and, thinking he was a shoe-in for khan-ur, started throwing his weight around, some of which was directed at Rugan as a dominance play to remind the commander that the imperator still owned him. All very grating, but Rugan took it in stride and kept following orders and supporting the war effort, up until Smodur tricked Rugan into slaughtering a lab full of unarmed researchers. Whoops.

At that point Rugan was ready to strangle Smodur but kept his fury in check because as bad as Smodur was being, performing a coup in the middle of a war would be a really bad idea. As popular as Rugan was with the general soldiers of Iron, the upper brass would loathe the idea of Rugan taking the top spot and not one of them. And more discord in the united legions was the last thing he needed.

Unfortunately however Smodur just kept getting worse, clearly indicating that it was his way or the highway by disrupting the Cinder negotiations and shitting all over Braham's secret passage plan. So by the time Smodur was assassinated Rugan felt nothing, a man he idolised and once deeply respected got killed in front of him and the most guilt he felt was that he didn't feel anything at all.

Strangely though Rugan's opinion on Smodur would rise after his death and over the course of champions as he reflected on events and saw the atrocities Ryland would commit. After everything Ryland did, Rugan began to wonder if Smodur was right to push so hard for slaughtering Steel, that if they'd killed Ryland when they had the chance they could have stopped things before they even began. Though He doesn't anywhere near forgive him for the warcrime and sabotaging a plan everyone else had agreed to.

Maybe it's just Rugan trying to reconcile his old image of Smodur with the new one, but in the years after Smodur's death, Rugan's view of him only became more muddied. However he's very unlikely to ever admit it to another soul, he really doesn't want it getting back to Rytlock that He thinks Smodur might have been justified in pushing so hard to execute Ryland instead of getting him back. So, he mostly keeps quiet around Smodur, stewing in his complicated thoughts around the old man.

[ceresoktavia]

Before anyone was able to answer, they realized how the world around them started to slow down until eventually everything was frozen in place. From the chattering soldiers to birds flying around between the trees.

“Okay?”

“Overkill much …”

“Brimmstone!”

“Let him, he’s right. But we can’t risk anyone eavesdropping.” Once again smirking, Pyre wiped his claws on his shirt and dragged a chair over to sit down himself. “After all, you’ll be let in into Ashes most sacred secret.”

The flicker and telltale magical shatter of Mesmer illusions took the view over the ash tribune. Once they were able to see him again, eyebrows were raised.

And Efram screeched and fell over backwards with his chair, his fur puffed out.

From one second to the other, Pyre’s fur had turned from ginger to snow white, his fur marks now being gray. So was his hair. Purple eyes with a strange glow had replaced the ember ones they had come to know.

Somehow Efram seemed completely spooked.

“H … how are you … you’re …”

“Supposed to be dead? Well, apparently death doesn’t want me. So here I am.”

“Efram? You okay?” Crecia stood, trying to help the rather massive charr back to his feet.

“Okay? OKAY? DON’T YOU RECOGNIZE WHO HE REALLY IS? THAT’S THE TITAN SLAYER!!!”

“Nonsense! The titan slayer is but a myth.” Waving off, Smodur shook his head. “Tribune Dustclaw merely was covering his old age.”

“What Efram says is true.” Wide eyes were directed at Malice, who looked around with a dead serious expression. “He is Bengar Dustclaw, the titan slayer.”

Chuckling, Rytlock leaned to the side in his chair. “Yeah, okay … good one Malice. If the titan slayer had really lived he would be about 500 years old by now.”

“689.”

“What?”

“It’s 689, my age I mean.”

“Bullshit!”

“Alright smartass.” Again smirking Bengar held his arm in Rytlocks direction. “You’ve studied the Foefire like no one has. Tell me, what does this look like to you?” Flames with a ghostly blue-ish sheen started to lick around the white charr’s arm, slowly roaring to life to cover his entire body.

“What the fuck?” Rytlock instantly jumped to his feet. “That is the Foefire!”

“Exactly.” Pulling his hand back to rest it on the chair’s armrest, Bengar extinguished the flames. “I was there when Adelbern released his curse. It branded me, but did not consume me.”

“But the Foefire happened 200 years ago.” Smodur’s claws trembled, while he clutched to his chair.

“I know it’s a shock, that’s why Ash keeps it, him, hidden.” Malice looked over to Bengar, who just nodded, then back at the table and sighed. “He had been serving the Legion even before the times of the shaman reign.”

A still puffy furred Efram reached for a drink on the table with trembling hands. “Oh I know. Everyone in Flame knows. The titan slayer is our personal boogie man.” He took a shaky sip, almost dropping the mug. “They teach it at the Fahrar. The story of the brother of the last ash imperator before our shamans took over, who singlehandedly massacred an entire army and the titans accompanying them.”

“Don’t know how your primus blew the story up, but I assure you, it was not like I breezed through. And they took some pieces of me with them.” Purely for emphasis, the white charr tapped against his broken horn with a crippled claw.

“Maybe.” Efram took another shaky sip, this time dropping the mug into Crecia’s already waiting hands. “But you were alone. The few who got away told the story of monster in charr’s fur.”

“Now that is true.” Bengar sighed. “I am a monster in charr’s fur.”

After sitting the completely scarred Efram back down on his rearranged chair, Crecia directly went over to eye to living myth over. “Something about you is off. I can sense the magic in you, but it’s too wild to be what we know.”

“Times were different back then, and as I said, I am a monster.”

“No wonder you always gave me the creeps.” Rytlocks hands and eyes were twitching.

“Sorry Brimmstone. Your instincts are very good though.”

Smodur cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice to mask his shock and fear. “You call yourself a monster. Why?”

Bengar looked over to Malice, who just sighed. “No use in holding any intel back now.”

The white charr took his imperators words as an order. “Because I’m not entirely charr. My mother, imperator Aurelia Ashseeker, once tried to find means to protect her legion during the wars for the Khan-Ur throne. In her desperation she sought out a demon.” He ran a claw through his hair. “The demon promised her bloodline would get all the power needed to keep the legion safe forever if she killed a particular being framed as some kind of god. So she did go out of her way and actually managed to pull it off.” A sigh escaped his lips. “Though the promised power didn’t fall into her hands, but to her unborn cub. Which, you can guess, is me.”

“According to all the research Bengar and my predecessors conducted he is mostly a charr in the physical sense. But his magical abilities and some perks of his physiology are demonic.” Malice tapped a claw on the table.  “He’s been watching over the legion ever since his brother died, serving every imperator since as advisor.”

“Advisor? Hah! Knew you had some ambitions!”

Bengar pinched the bridge of his nose. “Brimmstone, please … I’ve been there to help if asked, but otherwise I took a backseat and followed orders.”

“Curios to hear a charr referring to his dam as mother.” Scratching his nose, Smodur stood to stretch.

“Ah yes … the nonsense about charr not having family in the same sense as other species.” Bengar just shook his head. “You know that this is just a remaining relic of shaman reign, right?”

“Pardon?”

“When I was a cub we too were trained and educated at the Fahrar, but our parents didn’t drop us off there and vanished from our lives. That only took root with the shamans taking over. No better way to indoctrinate the youth than to drill loyalty to the legion alone into their brains from a very young age.”

“That … well …” Smodur dragged a hand over his face. “Shit.”

Crecia circled around Bengar, still eyeing him over. “What did you mean by times being different?”

He just laughed. “You know how it goes at the Fahrar? They determine what you’re good at, what you align with and train you in those arts. When I was a cub it was mostly the same, but we also learned the basics of other magics, other techniques. See it as basic education in your specialty and overarching training with the rest.” Stretching his arms over his head, Bengar rolled his head around. “They determined me to be a Mesmer, but since my basic training I’ve also learned about and the use of necromancy, pyromancy, cryomancy, aeromancy, geomancy, ranger techniques, warrior techniques as well as magic and techniques of foreign lands.”

Everyone stared at Bengar with wide eyes.

He just had to be joking.

“To calm your nerves some, my long lifespan definitely helped in learning this much.”

“I bet it did.” Rytlock slumped back into his seat and dragged a hand over his face. “So what now?”

“Now we’ll take pressure off of the commander’s back.”

“And scare the ever living shit out of our own troops. Just like with Efram.” Bengar shook his head. “Not to mention other consequences I’d rather not think of.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion, Tribune.” Malice growled.

Bengar sighed and bowed his head. “As my imperator wishes.” He stood and put the chair back to where he had gotten it from before he restored the illusion concealing his true looks. Once he was back in his previous place time started to slowly run again until finally catching up.

Nobody seemed to notice in the position switches and just went on with their business.

“Alright.” Dragging her claws over the table, Malice stood. “I guess we’re done for now. Tribune Dustclaw will be at your strategic disposal now.” She nodded and vanished into nothingness.

The remaining two Imperators, as well as the two Bloodlegion Tribunes, more or less showed their disbelief.

“Dustclaw?”

“Yes?”

Smodur grimaced, tapping his claws on his chairs armrest. “What were you and Malice signing there. You were the one starting it if I saw right.”

“Ah … yes …” Bengar sighed, running his claws through his hair. “I asked her not to even think about revealing who I was.”

“Bet you like the anonymity.” Rytlock snorted. “Not that it does you any good since everybody still knows you.”

“The dumb jokes about me and my posture … yes, I know them.” Shaking his head, Bengar slowly walked around in small circles. “But it’s easier to be just the charr having swallowed a broomstick than being the charr who’s been slaying an entire army.”

Slowly managing to calm down, Efram looked over to Bengar. “So what are your orders exactly? Malice didn’t specify anything in a way we could understand.”

Stopping in his tracks, Bengar growled, his back still turned to everyone else. “My order is to show Dominion why Flame still fears the titan slayer.”

[alcairsei]

i was yesterday years old when i realized liam o'brien plays smodur the unflinching. didn't pay attention around lws2 but i suddenly noticed in icebrood saga. it's great listening to certain voice actors a lot (mainly through critical role in my case) because suddenly you become aware of their specific voice quirks so even through some editing and general acting for a character like a charr i can tell "hey... that sounds familiar... liam o'brien??" and be RIGHT

[anghraine]

Speaking of giving credit where it's due in GW2 wrt human characters getting to have human-specific feelings about the brutal charr conquest, the treatment of Ascalonian artifacts, the horror of the Foefire, etc, some credit for unusual understanding of that has to go to ... Imperator Smodur the Unflinching???

[Smodur: We may be here on a fool's errand, but it's worth a try. Rytlock has done the impossible before. These ghosts have plagued my people for too long. I spend every day looking for ways to end it.

Gwen: If this works, it would be a boon for both charr and humans.]

Personally, I have no tears for the charr having to deal with actual consequences, but the ghost situation is really awful for the Ascalonian ghosts themselves and their living kin being forced to attack them. Releasing them from the curse definitely helps humans, too.

But then!

[Smodur: True. It must be infuriating for humans, even those who aren't descended from Ascalonians.

Gwen: It's heartbreaking, especially when I'm forced to kill them.]

Damn, Smodur, that is ... unusually empathetic. Gwen is Ascalonian (canonically, since I selected an Ascalonian family background in the Missing Sister storyline) and that is exactly how she would feel, actually.

I wouldn't have been surprised at a callous reply from him, but instead:

[Smodur: Yeah. All the more reason why this needs to work. Your help is not going unnoticed.]

Well. Huh. Acknowledgment of how shitty the situation is for humans, from a charr imperator no less, was unexpected! So that was pretty cool, actually.

[brightwingedbat]

Wanted to do one of these, trying to drag up characters who have traits of what make Vindicta Endmaker herself.

Left column - Dragon Rider Vindicta (RuneScape) Nemesis (Resident Evil 3) Undyne (Undertale) Right column - Judge Dredd Zenos yae Galvus (Final Fantasy XIV) Smodur the Unflinching (Guild Wars 2)

--- Headshot art of Vindicta Endmaker by @wilsons-journey

[cindermetalheadgw2]

some facts about the metal warband

-the warband consists of Cinder on rythm guitar, Bertha on bass, Gunhilde Thrashmetal as keytar and tech expert, Dinky Heavymetal on drums, Shred Metalriff on lead guitar, Blaze Metalscream on lead vocals, Alder as “manager” (nobody actually knows what he does but boy does he do it), and Pyro Metalblast as the actual manager, merch guy, and special effects/pyro expert.

-a lot of their instruments are made from the weapons they used to use in the legions. this ties into the themes of their music- their hope that charr society can transition to times of peace after being centered around war for so long, and become something new and beautiful

-Dinky is known for his incredible skill and extreme speed and stamina at drumming. he is also known for accidentally breaking a drum at LEAST once per show, so random objects have to be substituted in as drums giving each performance a new, unique, and different sound. The drums in some of their older tracks are completely unrecognizable live

-Pyro is prone to dissappearing for long periods of time, even on tour. (don’t worry he’s not secretly evil or anything) Gunhilde and Shred don’t mind stepping in to take over his job on occasion, and the band trusts him and respects his privacy. but they do worry about him sometimes. Alder especially, though he’d never admit to ever being worried about anything at all in his life. He’s so carefree haha! Outwardly Alder encourages Pyro’s mysterious outings, which he usually comes back from with valuable artifacts and treasures, but he feels guilty when he does

-when they’re not on tour they have a side business making whiskey. Cinder is loves gardening and grows all different types of grain. Bertha likes to taste test the final product. and hoard a secret stash of the product. uh oh! looks like someone’s batch got lost in the mail again! what could have happened to it? don’t look at Bertha she has nothing to hide with her ash legion tricks, she’s just a humble connoisseur of fine food and drinks who loves sharing and not stealing things! blame black lion

-as a side note, Cinder was based on the “tough stoic metalhead turns out to be big soft sweetheart and environmentalist” archetype, which is true of pretty much every single metalhead and band i’ve encountered irl. and she’s named after my cat Cindy

this is cindy :)

-Smodur the Unflinching had a personal vendetta against the metal warband. He hated that one of his best soldiers Gunhilde Thrashgear went “soft” and “lazy” and left to join “some preachy cubs afraid to handle a gun,” changing her name to Thrashmetal. He also suspected them of harboring a sylvari criminal he had some history with. He was correct, their “manager” being Alder in a fake mustache using the fake name Limeblossom. Smodur did a whole political smear campaign against them once. When he died Gunhilde wrote the band’s danceable power metal pop song Karka Rave (i imagine it as having a lot of synth and the guitar part being really relaxed, similar to Battle Beast’s Touch in the Night) of course, nobody needs to know it was about Smodur. that would be... controversial

-Blaze became a revenant because they were inspired by Do It for Kalla by Dragonwatch Orchestra, i decided yesterday immediately after first hearing Do It For Kalla

[red-catmander]

smodur

i'm

[i-mybrunettelady]

Hello guys we’re in No Quarter (aka my all time fave episode of Icebrood Saga) here in Neroland and naturally, it’s time for my IBS lore posts! Haven’t had one of those in a hot second, but hey. I am still in IBS defense squad.

This time, I wanna talk about Nyra and Smodur - ages ago I made a post about Nyra’s ego being bruised by Canthans not believing she’s a real person and mentioned that this is a much more harmless bruising of ego as opposed to Smodur’s, but I never really made a follow-up post. So, here it is. Why Legions are wary of Nyra and why she hates Smodur this much.

(Spoilers for Icebrood Saga episode 4: No Quarter.)

By the time we get to Icebrood Saga, Nyra is in her late twenties. She has a lifetime of war behind her, she’s led armies to victories; yes, she is rather young, but she’s also very good at what she does. She earned the right to speak and be treated as an equal to the Imperators at the very least.

Smodur knows this and even he expends a certain level of respect. But he also doesn’t give her the level of respect she thinks she deserves, on account of her age. She has the skill, the talent, the victories, the experience, but not as much as he does, not against charr, not like this.

They butt heads more often than not. Their tactics differ. She doesn’t want things to get too ugly between them, so whenever they have a clash of opinions, she only stands her ground and tries to be reasonable as much as she can. (Knowing Nyra, she’s only moved from her position by literal millimeters though.) She can wrestle against one (1) Imperator not treating her right when the rest of them do.

But it adds up. Then he sends her on scrapper duty essentially, talks to her like she’s his soldier and not his equal. Of course she bristles against that. She listens, however, cognizant of the fact she can learn from him, if only what not to do. It doesn’t mean she does it quietly or without complaint. You can see her manually calm herself down. Ren, who by that time is in Drizzlewood representing Pact forces and working with Malice, does, Ren knows how much Smodur’s scratching at her ego but keeps that knowledge to herself (and tries to contain Nyra’s displeasure as much as she can, privately.)

Then Smodur tells her to destroy the base. Nyra hesitates, but she does so anyway, never a stranger to bad decisions. When she hears the screams, however, any and all respect she has for him vanishes. She barely contains herself enough until she marches back into camp, back straight, looking like she’s ready to murder someone.

And she is. It’s the first of her two murder attempts on Smodur. She’s stopped, barely. She vows to herself Smodur won’t see the end of the war alive, be it from her hand or someone else’s. Nyra attempts to kill him again after Turnabout, injured from fighting the Frost Legion and in her dragon champion form, so she can sustain herself and not, yk, keel over. Sensing this, Aurene pulls the magic back and Nyra physically can’t do much anymore. Seething (and she hasn’t been this angry and determined to see someone dead for a while) she’s flown away to the Grove, to Trahearne, to recover both physically and mentally before the fighting gets worse.

Of course, every interaction they have after this and before Ryland shoots Smodur is either shut down by Nyra or just so hostile and antagonistic that it’s genuinely scary (mostly from her end! I don’t want Nyra to hate me this much!)

I am having Nyra feelings and as a side note, please don’t aggrieve her this much, she isn’t afraid to murder :))) chaos dottir

[commanderhorncleaver]

Gaius's thoughts on Smodur? (@ratasum)

Gaius, for an extended period, rather idolized Smodur? This tapered off long before Icebrood Saga, but the most notable point for it during the run of the game is the early part of LW1, when the player is allowed to investigate/meet with the refugees in the Citadel, as well as dick around and see what the defense Quorum is up to before meeting with Rytlock. Apparently, the guards aren't supposed to let people through, but the commander's got special privileges, and you can talk to Smodur there--though I imagine the interaction is brief, as it is in-game, Gaius comes away from it all but preening.

Smodur, for all intents and purposes, was the epitome of what it meant to be Iron Legion, so Gaius had an inextricable desire to impress him. And then Gaius' viewpoint continues to grow and develop, on account of being the commander and most notably, while dead, he meets the ghost of a charr who died in a skirmish with Flame, and he suddenly recognizes how it all sucks.

IBS comes along and he's... not in a much happier spot. Smodur totes him around, and where just years ago he'd have reveled in it, he recognizes just how shitty it is. Then of course, killing Cinder.

Overall, his feelings towards Smodur are complicated--as someone who was also very much part of the War Machine of legion life, someone who lived and aspired to be part of the propaganda, he understands where Smodur is at, especially because not only is he a part of it, he is in charge--Smodur has very real responsibility, and in the face of that, it's hard to face change.

Gaius doesn't agree with most of the things of his relevance during IBS, or even political things we aren't necessarily privy too, but he also knows that Smodur was pretty progressive in a lot of ways, too, and appreciates that.

[guildwuff2]

last two charrtobers! 30, legion, and 31, eternal

[hedjeroo]

still not feelin it so a bunch of sketches of some charr

barnabus, ryland, smodur and crecia...

[sandcharrart]

Grothmar Special Edition Playing Card Set Commissioned by Centurion Shadesword of Ash, from Sandshifter Tea of the Olmakhan, a memento of the All Legions Rally- 200 sets were given out at the party.

[commanderlore]

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BONGO CHARR!

Imperators edition

[commanderyes]

The Commander And Dented Iron