#longer arrows are gaining fashion | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starshiningsirius · 4 years

Text

Prunelle de mes yeux (Yandere Rook x Reader)

When I heard the love of my life liked poetry, 😍😳🤤.

"Oh Mon cheri,

You are the one I wish to strike by my arrow of love.

Once you were in my sight,

I became blinded by your radiance and beauty.

I want to sing my love for you to the heavens above,

So that you could hear me.

Dearest love you are the one for me,

You truly are the prunelle de mes yeux.

So, won't you please accept these gifts from me?"

As the poem came to an end her face was redder than the apple mentioned in the text. The words were sweet and heartfelt but what was unnerving was the gifts had been placed in a basket.

Quite a few of her favorite things were placed in the basket, from her favorite flowers in a bouquet, to a few of her favorite snacks. Not only that but the admirer asked to meet within the forest of Pomeifore.

So does that mean her admirer is really handsome? Only good looking people get assigned to that dorm. It's far better than having to go to Savanaclaw at least.

She's still weary about the situation at hand though, on one hand her admirer knows a bit too much about her and on the other hand it would be rude to not show up considering they did all of this. Furthermore she really was curious about who this person was. It was already a given how eloquent they were to write ths poem in cursive none the less.

A little bit of doubt sprung up in her.

"Pomeifore, how can anyone so beautiful from that dorm possibly fall for someone like me?" She voiced aloud to the slight breeze she felt.

She wonders if her admirer could see her love for the gift she was given. How unaware she was that he did see all of it a smile gracing his lips.

"Aw ma chérie, I'm flattered to hear you think I'm beautiful. Truly such an honor that is from a graceful mademoiselle as yourself. Not even the heavens above will stop me from professing my love and affection for you.'

A figure stepped from behind one of the old trees in the area surrounding Ramshackle elated to have heard her reaction to his gift. A good hunter always knew to conceal their presence from their prey.

He would have loved to hear her reaction in person, alas that isn't how he planned it though. He had to set a trap for her in order to confine her from all others.

But in due time it wouldn't be long before his prize for being so patient would arrive.

. . .

The plan was to meet as soon as it was near sunset at around dinner time as the note instructed. She wondered if her admirer had planned to eat with her in beautiful forest scenery that surrounded her. She decided to go in the end cause her conscience wouldn't let her sleep to know she didn't thank the person who went through such efforts to confess.

More and more steps she traveled deeper into the eastern forest of Pomeifore hearing few birds chirp occassionally.

'Head straight from the right side of Pomeifore castle where you'll find a forest beyond the small tower, until you come up to a flat rock. Then you'll find a sign from me there.' Simple instructions.

She saw what she believed to be the rock mentioned and stood there for a moment.

"I wonder if your already here?"

She noticed a paper sticking up from a tree settled behind the rock taped there. It was folded in half and had four words scribbled on the front.

"Prunelle de mes yeux." Was what it said.

'That same phrase.'

She opened it to find even more words scribbled inside.

"You've arrived and have yet to see me, Mon chèri.

I'm sure you're eagerly awaiting my presence, as am I with my overwhelming desire to introduce myself to your wonderfully bright e/c eyes.

But as eager as we both are all good things come to those who wait, as they say.

How about we play a little game?"

Toward the sea,

You shall go,

West from thee

Is where you'll find me.'

"West?"

She could see light trying to break through the foliage of the trees to the right of her.

"The sun sets in the west. So towards the cliffs."

As she walked past a few of the trees, she couldn't help but anticipate meeting this stranger. After crossing the threshold of forestry, she came to face with a sunset that was beautiful beyond words. She was so mesmerized that she didn't noticed the smile directed toward her.

Most definitely she didn't notice his footsteps, as silent as his true intentions.

"Enjoying the view, mon cheri?"

She jumped with a squeak in which had to pull her closer in fear of her falling.

As she looked back at her savior he found himself gazing into flustered expression, that was cute with a faint innocence and shyness that expertly glowed in Rook's green eyes.

She on the other hand noticed his hat that was about to blow off and fall into the sea. Which made her grab it before it could, slipping one of her arms out of Rook's hold. It definitely took him by surprise to see her act with care toward such an insignificant thing. His hold on her did loosen and she was able to get and face him with a reserved nature then the determination he had just saw.

"Ah, I'm such a clutz, here I wouldn't want you to lose such an important item just because you saved me."

"I'm flattered mon amour, but your far more important than some silly hat. Risking your life for something like that makes that beautiful visage shine even brighter." His bright smile definitely had her heart beating at a rabbit's pace not only that but his words weren't something you would hear from any normal student of Night Raven College.

The tone definitely matched the letters she had been sent.

"Your the person who wrote those letters."

"Dearest, prunelle de mes yeux you are indeed correct. Rook Hunt, a pleasure it is to finally meet you up close after seeing you afar." Even though she should've she didn't think too much about the last part of his statement only one phrase in particular.

"What does that mean, it is French right? You said that in your first letter, I recognize the common phrases of love but this one is more complex." As she finished her question she felt as though his happiness visibly increased.

He came a bit closer cupping her cheeks in his gloved ones, a subtle smile but with evergreen eyes that hid so much behind him.

"It means apple of my eye, I'm so glad you remembered that part." He was so close you could definitely see why his soul was chosen to be apart of Pomeifore.

Before she could take a second to admire him longer he had took her hand leading her about a few yards from where they were currently. When he moved to the side there sat a table, two chairs and plates, silverware, an appetizer and a small macaroon tower. Not to mention the small lit candle out of three in between, it was strange since the sunset provided a enough light already.

"Shall we commence our date then? How about we get to know you more personally and me the same?"

. . .

The date was enjoyable to say the least for both parties. She enjoyed his personality and theatrics while he enjoyed her company and entire being sitting across from him, listening to every word she said.

Even after the food was eaten and they stayed in each other's company. It was dark now and Rook had lit two more candles with his pen to add some extra light as he urged her to continue on with her story. The flicker flame kind of casted an eerie shadow over her companion.

Overtime she started to feel insanely sleepy. Yawning in the middle of yet another of their conversations. She apologized for the umpteenth time, as she believed it was because of her herself being tired. It was still rude of course though.

He found it cute, smirking with hidden intent as his plan was working. He was currently teaching her words in French upon asking for more terms he could teach her.

"It's okay, mon amour. You seem sleepy no? How about we get you home?"

The nickname still didn't sit in her mind in complacency causing her to blush. He had already gotten up from his place bringing along the candelabra closer to her face to extend a hand to her.

As soon as she took his hand getting up however she could her eyes automatically closing, and body shutting down. Before she could fully fall into slumber her legs were swept up into the arms of her captor who had placed the candelabra a far enough distance on the table.

Holding her in a bridal fashion Rook examined the unconscious female. As he gently caressed her lips and admired all that was before him in that moment he had her in his arms.

"Words enough aren't able to convey my love to you ma chérie for you are the prunelle de mes yeux after all, and one spell was all it took for me to be able to gain such an astonishing view of your visage." He held her delicately in his arms brushing away some of her hair on her face, gently laying her head on his chest.

"Too curious and naive for your own good, that is why I must take you away so that no one will ever taint that beauty of yours." He says with a calm smile painting his expression as he headed toward Pomeifore.

Masterlist

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #my rook simp hours #twisted wonderland rook #rook hunt #yandere rook hunt

148 notes · View notes

grailfinders · 3 years

Text

Fate and Phantasms #148: Jaguar Warrior

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re making the fast and the furryous Jaguar Warrior, the vessel for an anime girl, and to a lesser extent, a god. Taiga is a Totem Warrior Barbarian for some animal instincts, and a Drunken Master Monk to turn her unorthodox fighting style into a force to be reckoned with.

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: Mr. Break Yo Meta

Race and Background

Taiga’s still mostly Human (er, servant), and we’ll use the variant rules, because feats are fun. This gives you +1 Dexterity, +1 Wisdom, Animal Handling proficiency to watch over Quetz’s pets, and the Mobile feat for ten feet of extra movement speed and the ability to ignore attacks of opportunity from creatures you hit.

You’re technically on the same side as Quetz for this one, so that makes you a Goddess Alliance Legionnaire too, giving you proficiency with Athletics and Intimidation.

Ability Scores

You definitely have some force behind your strikes, but you’re also really mobile, so we’ll start with Dexterity being highest. You’re really mobile, but you also have some force behind your strikes, so Strength is next. Your power partially comes from being a jaguar, so your Wisdom should be next. Your Constitution isn’t bad either- anyone who can survive a direct blow from Quetz is tough. Your Charisma isn’t amazing- you’re quick with a joke, but your main audience isn’t a big fan. Finally, dump Intelligence.

Class Levels

1. Monk 1: Starting as a barbarian would give you a lot more HP, but you only get the first Unarmored Defense you come across, and we like basing our AC off of Dexterity and Wisdom more than constitution. Now you can wear your fancy outfits without worrying too much about dying.

While you’re here though you also get Martial Arts, giving you a baseline of 1d4 damage when using monk weapons. You can also use dexterity instead of strength when using monk weapons, and if you attack with your main action you can make an unarmed attack as a bonus action.

You also gain proficiency with Strength and Dexterity saves, as well as Acrobatics and Stealth.

2. Barbarian 1: Barbarian gives us our real meat an potatoes of combat, with a Rage that you can activate as a bonus action for up to one minute, or until the fighting stops. Currently you can rage twice per long rest, but that will change as you level up.

While raging, you get advantage on strength checks and saves, deal extra damage with strength-based attacks, and have resistance to physical damage.

You also get another Unarmored Defense, but it doesn’t stack with the first, so it’s not that important.

3. Barbarian 2: Your Reckless Attacks make you a terror on the battlefield, giving you advantage on your attacks for a turn in exchange for other creatures having advantage against you for the next round.

You also get a Danger Sense, giving you advantage on dexterity saves against things you can see. You’ll really want to avoid that fireball, burnt fur smells terrible, trust me.

4. Barbarian 3: While you get your power from being a Jaguar Warrior you don’t actually turn into a big cat, so Totem Warrior is probably your best option. When you take the subclass, you become a Spirit Seeker, letting you cast Beast Sense and Speak with Animals as rituals. You also gain a Tiger Totem Spirit, adding 10 feet to your long jump distance and 3 feet to your high jump. Cats got ups.

Finally, you get Primal Knowledge as well, giving you proficiency with Nature checks. You are literally an animal, you know a thing or two about animals.

5. Barbarian 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Dexterity for more accurate attacks and a higher AC.

6. Barbarian 5: Fifth level barbarians get an Extra Attack each attack action, letting you attack twice per action or three times with your bonus action. You also get Fast Movement, increasing your movement speed by 10 feet.

7. Monk 2: Going back to monk gives you Ki points equal to your monk level each short rest. You can spend them to attack twice, dodge, disengage, or dash on your bonus action.

You also get Unarmored Movement, increasing your speed by another 10 feet, and growing as you level up.

8. Monk 3: Drunken Masters have surprisingly little to do with actual alcohol, and much more to do with acting drunk, which you do every day. You get proficiency with the Performance skill, as well as a Drunken Technique when you use your Flurry of Blows. Attacking twice with your bonus action now comes with the benefits of disengaging, and your walking speed increases by yet another 10 feet.

You can also Deflect Missiles as a reaction, blocking damage from an arrow or thrown weapon. If you reduce it to zero, you can also spend a ki point to throw it at another creature.

9. Monk 4: Use this ASI to bump up your Strength for stronger rage attacks. You can also Slow Fall as a reaction, reducing falling damage thanks to landing on your feet.

You can also spend ki as an action for Quickened Healing for a bit of spirit origin correction.

10. Barbarian 6: Going back into barbarian gives you the Aspect of the Beast, though unfortunately Tiger’s kind of useless to us at this point. Grab Wolf instead for fast paced tracking and normal paced stealthing while traveling.

11. Barbarian 7: Seventh level barbarians get a Feral Instinct, giving you advantage on initiative rolls. You also can ignore being surprised if you rage at the start of combat. If you’re going to overreact in a comedic fashion, it’s best not to overstay your welcome.

You also gain an Instinctive Pounce, letting you move up to half your speed when you enter a rage. Your base speed is currently 60 feet, so that’s not a small jump.

12. Barbarian 8: Use this ASI to bump up your Strength so your rage attacks can match your non-rage attacks, and to further increase the power of your ups.

13. Barbarian 9: Ninth level barbs get a Brutal Critical, giving you an extra die of damage when you deal a critical hit to a creature. You’ve got four attacks per turn with advantage, it’ll happen at some point.

14. Monk 5: Fifth level monks get an extra attack you can’t use, but they also get a Stunning Strike by spending a ki point to force a constitution save (dc 8+wis mod +proficiency) on a creature they’ve hit. On a failure, that creature is then stunned for a round, giving you free advantage against them without having to be reckless about it.

You can also spend ki points on your Focused Aim to try and turn a missed attack into a hit, with each ki point spent adding 2 to the attack roll.

15. Monk 6: Our last round of monk gives you Ki-Empowered Strikes, making your unarmed attacks magical for overcoming resistances. Like half the people you fight in Babylonia are some kind of god, that’ll be useful. You also gain a Tipsy Sway, letting you stand up from being knocked prone for only 5′ of movement and spend ki to redirect attacks that miss you, sending them towards another nearby creature instead as a reaction.

16. Barbarian 10: Tenth level totbars are Spirit Walkers, letting you Commune with Nature as a ritual, giving you near info about the area around you through your Nagual.

You also get another round of Primal Knowledge for Survival proficiency.

17. Barbarian 11: Your Relentless Rage lets you make a DC 10 constitution save when you drop to 0 hp to try and stick around at 1 hp again. Each time you succeed, the DC goes up by 5. After a long rest, the DC resets. Do you want guts? Cus this is how you get guts.

18. Barbarian 12: You may have noticed by now that we haven’t even touched your final ascension. Well no longer! Use your final ASI to become a Master of Disguise, bumping up your charisma score by one, giving you proficiency with the disguise kit, and letting you make a disguise after spending an hour watching a creature and eight hours crafting the disguise. The important thing here is that you can don the disguise in 1 action, letting you quickly change into your “you, but a mafia boss” disguise faster than most people can put on their armor.

19. Barbarian 13: Thirteenth level barbarians get another Brutal Critical, giving you yet another extra die of damage on critical hits.

20. Barbarian 14: Your capstone level grants you a Totemic Attunement, and while the tiger and wolf options are both cool, I think the Eagle totem option suits you the best, giving you a flying speed while raging, with the caveat that you can’t end your turn in mid-air. Before this level, you could jump 56 feet horizontally, and 20 feet vertically. Now you can jump 195 feet in any direction if you use your action and bonus action to dash.

Pros

You’ve got a base speed of 65 feet and the ability to fly for five minutes a day. You’re really, really mobile, is what I’m getting at. Heck, you’re technically better than Quetz at piledriving people, if you really wanted to go that route (don’t tell her I said that).

This also means that, similar to our other cat-themed build, you can combine point one with your burst damage for solid hit and run tactics. You can run in, hit an enemy four times with advantage and suped up crits, and run out past most people’s normal movement range with no problem. That makes you very scary for anything that lacks a ranged attack.

You also come jam packed with a lot of Utility, with plenty of skills and random little bits of knowledge to have use outside of combat.

Cons

Your Ki is very limited, stunting the amount of times you can use flurry of blows to boost your speed and power with flurry of blows.

Master of Disguise is a neat little gimmick for playing to character, but it’s not actually that good for the build. I’d either take the Tough or Resilient feats for the extra not-dying they afford.

Our two big stats for this build are Strength and Dexterity, which have a lot of overlap in their use. We easily could have just focused on dexterity and ignored the bit of damage from rage, and we’d have way more HP and AC to show for it. It’s probably not going to be a huge issue when you’re half a mile from combat anyway, but it’s still something to note.

#FGO #Fate Grand Order #Jaguar Warrior #D&D 5e #DND 5e #Monk #Barbarian

38 notes · View notes

theuniversitychallengereview · 3 years

Text

UC 51.03 - London Business School vs Hertford, Oxford

Since it was introduced at the 1988 Olympics, every single Gold Medal in the Women’s Team event in the Archery has gone to South Korea. Including yesterday’s win that’s nine straight victories, and their period of unparalleled dominance continues. The men’s team have also won six of the nine they have contested, and a mixed team won the first staging of that event in Tokyo too. Adding their success in the individual events, South Korea have won 26 gold medals, and 42 in total, in the 43 archery events which have been thus far staged at the Olympic Games.

As Twitter’s own @tarequelaskar pointed out in the brilliant article which alerted me to this story, this is a perfect example of specialisation, an economic concept whereby countries or companies focus intensely on one particular aspect of a given industry and come to serve that niche in such a specialised fashion that they become the ultimate experts and nigh-on irreplaceable. This is done in government and business by providing companies with incentives to specialise, and supporting those who succeed at it.

With respect to Korean archery, similar forces are at play. There are a bunch of professional teams and leagues in the country, giving archers financial stability while they focus on their training, something not as common across the world. Said training involves such things as practicing in live baseball stadiums and replicas of the Olympic venues, to mimic first the atmosphere and then the conditions that will be present on the day of the actual tournament.

This philosophy of marginal gains - the same system used by Team Sky and Chris Froome to win multiple Tour De Frances on the trot - puts their preparation miles ahead of the competition, which goes some way to explaining their dominance. It is not the only reason. Before the fine-tuning of the elite shooters comes the discovery of the promising young ones, and the inspiring nature of past success (along with a historic national love of the sport) helps to create a virtuous cycle which give Korea a far larger number of archers to choose from than any other country. This greater choice means that there is a greater chance of finding the next Gold medallists.

Making the argument that professional footballers are at a higher level than other elite sportspeople, Michael Cox used this same argument in a recent article for The Athletic. To summarise, he stated that because there are a far higher number of people who wish to become professional footballers, that must mean that the ones who do make it are at a higher standard than those who make it in other sports. Initially, I was drawn in by the pure maths of this point, but having thought about it some more I’m no longer sure to what extent I agree.

Now, the fact that hundreds of millions more people play football than rugby, or basketball, will certainly confer some level of “eliteness”, but only up to a certain point. Because football has been so popular for so long, the general standard of the play, relative to what it used to be, has had longer to improve. In the same way that if you transplanted a 100m runner from the Olympic final in the early 20th century to now they probably wouldn’t even qualify for the games, a footballer from the 80s would stand less of a chance of making it were they playing today. Many other sports don’t have that level of natural progression, afforded by decades of technical and tactical advancement - at least not globally.

But the numbers argument only goes so far, as can be demonstrated by the Korean archers. Yes, there are more archers in Korea than anywhere else, relatively, giving them a higher chance of uncovering those with a natural aptitude, but the reason behind their bow and arrow dynasty is the specialisation. The hyper-detailed level of training and focus which allows them to be the best they can possible be.

Now, archery is unique in that there is a theoretical maximum score (I understand that this is to some extent arbitrary, and related to the rules of the game as defined by some human being, semi-randomly, but it works in terms of this argument, because it gives a percentage score of how good the archers are based on the agreed-upon parameters of the sport), which, at the Olympics, is 720. The Olympic record is 700 (held by Korean Kim Woo-jin, giving an implied “eliteness level” of 97.2%.

The best player in the history of football (don’t @ me) is Lionel Messi, and few would doubt that he operates at or above that level of perfection in his sport. But I also don’t think you could doubt that Novak Djokovic, or Serena Williams in her pomp, were similarly magnificent at tennis. Cyclists on the Tour De France put their bodies through more in three weeks than most people endure in a decade, and have every aspect of their training and diet strictly controlled so as to bring them as close to perfection as possible. There will certainly be a higher number of these elite performers in football, because there are a higher number of paying jobs for said elite performers, and because more people attempt to become elite performers, but I don’t think that it follows on from that that they are better at their sport than other elite athletes, all of whom have undergone years and years of specialised training to get them where they are.

Does any of this matter, in terms of how each sport should be enjoyed? Probably not, but its interesting to think about, and kind of awe-inspiring to try and appreciate just how good those at the top of their respective games are. And if there is some discrepancy in the level of eliteness between the different sports it doesn’t detract from the fact that they would handily dispatch any civilian challengers without breaking a sweat. The joy comes from watching people who are good at stuff doing that stuff - and, as evidenced by the crowds which gather for non-league football, it doesn’t matter whether or not they are at the absolute pinnacle of said stuff. They’re still going to be much better than the rest of us.

Competitive quizzing is different from the activities previously mentioned in that any normal person can have a guess at pretty much any question, with a chance that they’ll get it right. What sets the contestants apart on shows like University Challenge is the speed of their recall under pressure - the quickness of their knowledge as well as the knowledge itself. But there are plenty of armchair quizzers who think they could wipe the floor on the show, so just how good are the actual contestants? (Compared to an elite footballer or archer on an imaginary scale that accounts for relative skill in all disciplines?). I don’t know (and in case you hadn’t noticed by now I’m just fascinated by people who are really good at anything, and wanted to share some of that fascination with you all), but I’ll try and have a go at answering it anyway.

So, the World Quizzing Championships have been dominated by British and Irish quizzers since its inception in 2003, with 16 of the 18 winners coming from either Britain or the Republic of Ireland (who have four wins courtesy of The Egghead Pat Gibson). This, in my mind, makes this neck of the woods comparable to South Korean archery. It is a hotbed of talent, and the infrastructure is in place to encourage and aid talent maximalisation. Indeed, if you scroll down the list of highest ranking players at the WQC in any given year you can see a significant cohort of UC alums, so clearly there are a number of elite quizzers who have passed through the show.

This specialisation can be seen in microcosm with the preponderance of top-level quizzers produced by Oxford and Cambridge, who both have a long-standing culture of competitive quizzing far beyond other Universities. The debate is there to be had on the fairness of each institution having so many teams, but clearly they produce enough elite players to compete with far bigger Unis when entering as (sometimes tiny) colleges.

In conclusion, I think it is pretty obvious that UC is a breeding ground for world-class quizzers, and though no one has won a World title straight off the bat after appearing on the show, there are top-50 and top 100 finishes abound, which is still greatly impressive, and helps to give an idea of just how good these students really are.

Hoping to justify the 1000 words I’ve just written about their exceptional talents are two teams from the London Business School and Hertford College, Oxford. The Oxford side have never made it beyond the second round, but LBS reached the semi-finals in 2006, their only previous appearance on the show. Anyway, there is quite literally no time for me to recite the rules; here’s your first starter for ten...

Paxman mentions that LBS were in the show in 2006, but doesn’t mention that they reached the semi final, which is lazy imo. A bunch of them are studying for MBAs, which makes sense. He doesn’t mention Hertford’s previous appearances either, but that’s more understandable.

Hertford’s Hitchens takes the first starter with Kennedy, and the Oxonians added a full set of bonuses on words made up by authors - including a couple of educated guesses. LBS hit back with the next question, but can only manage one bonus on famous scientists. One of the two they miss is Rosalind Franklin, and Paxman teases them for not spotting an apparently obvious clue within the question.

The first picture round is on national emblems, and LBS are first to recognise that of Vietnam for the starter. They don’t know Laos or Belarus, but do know that Mozambique has a machine gun on its one. Butterworth then jumps the gun with argon on the next starter, giving his answer just as Paxman says it in the question. Butterworth makes up for it with the music starter, recognising Fat Boy Slim before anyone else, and LBS know Primal Scream and Wu Tang Clan too. They’re still fifty points behind though, and will need a big second half to turn things around.

This task gets more difficult for them, as Hitchens takes another starter. Lloyd adds a second in a row for Oxford and they are nearly one hundred points clear. LBS really need to get some points on the board, and Ruess duly obliges, knowing that there is a massive sculpture of a spider called Maman, which sounds needlessly scary, to the extent that I’m not even going to google it.

The comeback is ended before its even begun as Oswald takes a starter for Hertford, which gives them the picture bonuses - the starter having been dropped by both teams. Lloyd produces another excellent guess of Reuben, demonstrating how useful it is to have vague knowledge as well as specific knowledge. This is one of probably five questions he has answered in a throwaway manner, but which turned out to be correct.

By this point LBS seem to have accepted defeat. Ruess takes another starter, but there is little to no urgency on the bonus questions. They’re right, granted, to have none, they have no chance of winning, but if they gave it a go they might scrape a high scoring loser spot. Ruess is the only one who seems bothered, and bags himself ten more points. They have an amusing discussion about methods of poisoning in Agatha Christie novels (’it was used as a curry ingredient?’, Ruess wondered aloud, trying to figure out which spices could be poisonous, before Butterworth pointed out that it wasn’t something commonly used as a curry ingredient, prompting respectful mirth from the audience) on the bonuses, but still languish miles behind.

Lloyd grabs the last starter of the night for Hertford, who win by eighty at the gong.

Final Score: London Business School 100 - 180 Hertford, Oxford

At the end, Paxman mentions Hertford’s stellar guesswork, which means I wasn’t chatting nonsense (at least on that front, the jury is out on the rest of it), and says that they’ve done a really good job. Incredibly effusive praise for a score of 180. He really is going soft in his old age.

Phew, that was a long one. If you made it through the intro you deserve a prize. And that prize is that you get to come back next week for the next episode of this blog!! Woop woop!

And if this wasn’t quite enough UC content for you then you can subscribe for extra blogs on my Patreon, which features Retro Reviews from the 2015/16 series of the show. Ta x

#london business school #hertford #oxford #bbc2 #quizzy mondays #jeremy paxman

7 notes · View notes

andie-cake · 3 years

Text

Tag! You're It

Second DT Drabble, y'all! Just a heads up, this takes place in between chapters 18 and 19 of DTfiles, though I still recommend that you read chapter 19 before reading this.

Emma turned off the sink of the Watcher World's women's restroom, pumping out two sheets of paper towels from the dispenser. God, this place really was old-fashioned, wasn't it? If they couldn't afford an air-dryer or two, couldn't they have at least gotten one of those motion-activated towel dispenser things?

As Emma finished drying her hands, she couldn't help but feel like she was being... well, watched. Undoubtedly due to some chucklefuck's brilliant idea to have eye designs plastered throughout the restroom. Seriously, she could understand wanting to adhere to the park's theming, but this was just too much.

Still, she forced herself to disregard the weirdness of it all. She had a boyfriend waiting outside the Drowsy Town Theater who was probably worried sick about her. Maybe she should've asked Paul to walk with her to the restroom, might've quelled their worries a bit. Again, Emma shoved the thought aside. She was here for business. Business she wasn't getting paid for, mind you, but business nonetheless.

But as Emma stepped out of the restroom and into the balmy 70° air, she was met with a sight she wasn't expecting. The Blinky mascot she and Paul had encountered in the gift shop, standing mere feet away from the entrance to the women's restroom. Staring directly at her.

"Hello again~" Blinky greeted her in that familiar childlike voice. "Did you miss Blinky?"

"Not particularly, no," Emma replied in a deadpan tone, not willing to deal with more bullshit from this creep who threw Paul into a panic attack earlier. She attempted to walk around the stout purple cyclops, only for him to sidestep into her path. "Mind getting out of my way? I've got places to be."

Blinky didn't respond, simply choosing to stay frozen to his spot and wordlessly peer down at her. Emma could've sworn she heard him breathing heavily.

"Fucking move, dude!" she groaned irritably, attempting to step around him once more. Once again, Blinky shuffled into her path. "I don't have time for this!"

"Hehehehehe~" Blinky giggled. Did... did his lower eyelid just twitch? "Little Emma's getting grumpy~"

Emma froze. How did he know her name? She hadn't mentioned it during their first encounter, had she?

"Still afraid of what daddy told you~?" Blinky continued. "Still think that Blinky likes to hang around little girls?"

Emma's heart leapt into her throat, her eyes widening. "Wh-what!?" she sputtered in shock. How the fuck did he know about that!? Dad had always said it out of earshot! Not to mention that it'd been almost two decades since her last visit to Watcher World. Emma swallowed, attempting to hide her unease. "L-look, what do you want with me, man!?"

"You said to stay away from Paul," Blinky recalled, raising his arms up. "So Blinky wants to play with you instead~"

Blinky swung his arms out to grab her, and Emma narrowly dodged out of the way, stumbling to the ground. She looked around at the passing park-goers, who all appeared blissfully unaware. Had nobody seen that!? Emma looked back up at Blinky, who was slowly approaching her.

"Hehehehehehe~ Little Emmy Doll wants to play tag~" he chortled gleefully.

As Blinky came closer, Emma began to consider her options, trying to remain calm. Blinky was blocking her way back to the Drowsy Town Theater, and he'd probably grab her if she tried to charge past him. Not to mention, Paul was most likely still there, and Emma feared what would happen if she led Blinky back to him. She had no choice. She had to run in the opposite direction and hope Blinky lost track of her.

Not willing to let the cyclops come any closer, Emma rushed to her feet and sprinted off. As the distance between her and Blinky grew longer and longer, she could hear him burst into another giggle fit. She chanced a glance over her shoulder, and saw that Blinky was now giving chase, running after her on all fours like an animal. He appeared to be gaining on her, which gave her a jolt of adrenaline that allowed her to speed up a bit. God, of all the days to be chased, why'd it have to be the one where she chose to wear sandals?

Emma continued to run through the park, the sound of Blinky's ecstatic giggling growing closer by the second. She could still see the other park-goers in the corners of her vision, but they weren't doing anything to help her escape from this... thing that was clearly chasing her! If anything, they were just watching the chase play out!

Up ahead, Emma saw an opportunity to take a sharp right turn. An arrow-shaped sign pointing in that direction that read "This way to the Eye-Drop!". Emma continued to run straight for as long as she could before suddenly bolting to the right. When she glanced over her shoulder again, she saw her plan had worked. Blinky had anticipated that she would keep running straight, only to realize he had to force himself to turn at the last second, causing him to awkwardly skid to a halt. She could just barely see him tumble over as she turned back around. Emma took the opportunity to hide, ducking behind a wall and nestling herself between a vendor cart selling purple lemonade (whether it was actual grape-lemonade or just regular lemonade with purple food coloring is not something Emma was particularly concerned with at the moment) and an overflowing trash can.

Catching her breath, Emma cautiously peeked out from her hiding spot, surveying the area in case she had to start running again. The Eye-Drop, apparently a log flume ride, looked to be at the edge of the park. So unless she wanted to try her luck at climbing over the chain-link fence and escaping into the Witchwood surrounding the park, Emma was stuck in a dead end. The best case scenario was that Blinky walked into the center of the clearing without seeing her, so Emma could carefully sneak back out the way she came to go get help.

But when Emma glanced back towards the entrance, she saw that Blinky was just standing there, blocking her only way out as he scanned the area with his massive yellow eye. Emma wanted to scream. She was trapped, she was terrified, and her lungs felt like they were on fire from running. She had an idea. An idea she didn't wanna go through with lest it put Paul in danger, but an idea nonetheless.

Pulling her phone from her pocket (thank fuck she wore shorts with real pockets today), Emma tapped on Paul's contact, marked with his name and a pair of blue heart emojis. She considered calling him, but quickly banished the thought. If she called, Blinky would hear her. She just had to send Paul a quick message to let him know something was wrong, where she was, and that he needed to get to her ASAP. Thinking quickly, Emma typed up a message.

"PAUL SOS IN FRONT OF EYE-DROP"

Emma sent the message and put her phone away, praying that Paul didn't leave his phone on silent again. But just when she thought she could take a moment to breathe, the massive yellow eye of Blinky came into view, and Emma let out an instinctual scream of terror.

"Peekaboo, Emmy Doll~!" the cyclops exclaimed mockingly.

Before Emma could protest, Blinky lurched forward and grabbed her, lifting her from the ground with ease. He wrapped his bulky purple arms around her waist, pressing her back against his belly and pinning her arms to her sides. Despite how his tight grip was quickly squeezing the air from her lungs, Emma screamed as loudly as she could muster, kicking her legs out wildly as Blinky carried her out to the center of the clearing.

"No! No!" she cried, tears of fear stinging her eyes. "Put me down, please!"

"Hehehehehehe-HAAAAH~" Blinky giggled, punctuating it with a disgusting croak. "You're a squirmy little wormy, Emmy Doll~"

As Blinky stopped in the center of the clearing, he lowered Emma back down. He didn't release his grip on her, but her feet were touching solid ground again. Emma continued to scream, begging the people around her for help. But they didn't come to her aid. They just watched, with wide smiles and hungry purple eyes. Had they always been that color? Anyone who wasn't in line for the Eye-Drop or operating the ride had crowded around, presumably to watch Blinky do... whatever he was planning to do to her. Torture her, most likely. The reality of the situation began to sink in, and Emma's screams devolved into desperate cries.

"Please, just let me go!" she pleaded, hating how vulnerable and weak she sounded. She continued to try and thrash out of Blinky's grip, to no avail.

"We'll have none of that, miss!" an unfamiliar voice spoke up. "Here at Watcher World, we have a strict 'No crying' policy!"

Emma opened her tear-filled eyes to see three purple-outfitted people standing in front of her. A smiling man in a barker's outfit, a little old woman wrapped in a starry robe and shawl, and a stone-faced man in an usher's uniform.

"Wha...?" Emma huffed out tearfully. "Who-?"

"We're here to bring you to your big star turn at the Drowsy Town Theater, miss!" the Barker cut her off. "You've got a knack for this acting thing, don't you, miss? After all, you were in Brigadoon in highschool, and you fucking killed it, correct?"

Emma could only err and stammer in confusion as the Barker rambled on. She didn't even bother to ask herself how this random stranger knew about her 2003 portrayal of Bonnie Jean in Hatchetfield High's production of Brigadoon.

"Look at the poor dear!" the old woman spoke up, her voice pitying and condescending. "She's all shaken up!"

"Must be having stage fright," the Usher man said, his voice as flat as his appearance. He looked to the white-haired old woman. "Why don't you do your thing, Madame Iris?"

"Gladly, my boy!"

The old woman- Madame Iris apparently, stepped forward and raised her wrinkled, bony hands. The tips of her long, talon-like nails grazed Emma's face, sending a shiver of repulsion down her spine. The robe-clad old woman muttered a string of nonsense under her breath, and her appearance began to change. Her withered skin became smooth and youthful, her frizzy gray hair turned brown and silky, clean white teeth began to sprout out of her gums where they hadn't been before, and her robes and shawl morphed into a yellow tank top and jean shorts. Soon enough, where the old woman once stood, was a mirror replica of Emma herself.

The crowd around Emma cheered and clapped. Blinky- who still had Emma trapped in his arms, giggled in delight. Emma herself looked down at her legs, relieved to see that she hadn't somehow shifted into the haggard old woman. The woman wearing Emma's skin laughed, with Emma's laugh.

"Ah, look at me!" she cried happily, relishing her new look. "I'm a knockout! I'm as spry as a bird!"

Emma could've vomited watching this batshit old crone dancing around in her skin, running her hands over the skin of her arms and laughing in her voice. Though Emma did notice one thing off about her little spell.

"Nice try, dumbass," she spat bitterly. "My eyes are brown, not purple."

The not-Emma merely shrugged in reply. "We can't get rid of Lord Blinky's mark on us, no matter how drastically we change our appearance," she explained casually. "I'm sure it'll still be enough to fool your little boy toy, my dear~"

Emma's heart nearly stopped. "Wh-what're you going to do with Paul!?"

"That's not important, miss!" the Barker chimed in, stepping back up. "What's important is that we get you ready for your big debut at 5!"

"What the fuck does that mean!?" Emma demanded, trying once more to futilely worm her way out of Blinky's iron grip. "What're you going to do to me!?"

The Barker stepped aside, allowing the Usher to take his place. The Usher stooped down so he was at eye level with Emma, gently took her chin in his hand, and locked eyes with her.

"Aren't you tired, sweetheart~?" the Usher asked in a soft, strangely familiar voice. "Don't you want to sleep~?"

Emma felt her eyelids begin to droop, and her heart rate slow. "Puh-Paul...?" she asked drowsily.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart~" Paul- no, the Usher, no... Paul... told her gently. "Come to Drowsy Town with me~"

Emma fought to stay awake, but Paul... God, his voice was so soothing... And his hand felt so gentle on her face... So familiar, so reassuring...

She couldn't help but drift off.

#tgwdlm #black friday #nightmare time #hatchetfield #dtfiles #dt drabbles

18 notes · View notes

partial-boner · 1 year

Photo

Guy Bourdin

#guy bourdin #longer arrows are gaining fashion

95 notes · View notes

musical-in-theory · 3 years

Text

Caught in the Crossfire

Chapter 3: Did Someone Say Rebellion?

Chapter 1: x Chapter 2: x

Wilbur fidgeted with his beanie in his hands. His fingers trailed roughly over its fabric and caught on its worn through holes. The poor piece of clothing had seen better days, but barely anyone had ever seen the man without it. Even L’manburg’s revolutionary army could tell you he wore it underneath his tricorn hat.

Now it was being wrung through his hands in worry. Dream was supposed to meet with him hours ago, but the masked man was nowhere to be seen. He needed to get back to Tommy. They only really had each other, despite having the equivalent of a god on their side. Wilbur trusted Tommy with a lot, but Tommy had already shown that he couldn’t be trusted with his own safety. Ever since he lost his second life in the duel, Wilbur hadn’t been able to completely relax while his little brother was out of sight.

Wilbur shivered and clutched at his coat. It was nearly nightfall, and Wilbur knew all too well how the cold could settle into his bones once the sun set. He made as if to turn back the way he came and start the walk back to Pogtopia when he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Leaving so soon?” Dream said with a teasing lilt to his voice.

Anger blazed through his worry and frustration, or perhaps the rage was heightened by it. “Where the fuck have you been? I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I don’t exactly have all the time in the world for you to decide I’m worth yours! So unless you’ve brought something that could make up for the two fucking hours I just spent waiting on you, I’d suggest you go back to sitting on your goddamn high horse to keep looking down on us mere fucking mortals, your Highness.” Wilbur’s shoulders heaved as he tried to breathe through his outburst.

He shook his head and put his beanie back on, steeling his expression to keep from giving away his own surprise. He worked so hard for so long to keep his emotions in check, only ever letting them out for his music. In conversations, he stayed professional, in control. He needed to be the level-headed one to his brothers’ chaos. He didn’t know what it was about Dream that allowed this control to slip away from him. It was like the green bastard could read him like a book.

Wilbur looked back up at Dream expecting to see signs of aggression or retaliation, but instead his shoulders were shaking under the force of barely contained laughter. “Wow, it’s been a while since anyone’s had the gall to yell at me like that. If it were coming from someone who actually posed a threat, I might have even been scared. It’s kinda refreshing.”

Wilbur resisted the urge to glare at him for the backhanded compliment. He kept his stare blank and his face neutral in a practiced fashion as he could hear the unsaid threat that loomed underneath the statement. I could destroy you and you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

Dream cleared his throat and continued, “I do have something that could be of some value. I have an idea about our next move. As I recall, one of my most devastating moves was recruiting a spy on the inside.” Dream walked over to Wilbur and circled behind him. He placed his hands on the ex-leader’s shoulders and whispered, “As luck would have it, Schlatt is keeping quite the promising candidate close to his side. His right hand man, I believe he called him?”

Wilbur wrenched himself from Dream’s grasp and put distance between the two of them. “Tubbo? I don’t know, Dream. Eret’s situation was different. His life was already on the line with the war. It wasn’t as if he was risking anything new in that scenario. Tubbo has so much more to lose if he’s caught as a spy…” Wilbur looked away towards the direction of Manburg.

Dream put his hands up in a placating fashion and chuckled. “I get your point. I do, but he’s also your only option. Nikki is the only other one that’s shown even the slightest bit of sympathy towards your cause, but Schlatt obviously trusts her about as much as he can throw her. She’s been very… outspoken about her dislike of his administration. Tubbo can be persuaded out of his shaky allegiance to Schlatt. He’s Tommy’s best friend. You can use that.”

The thought of using Tommy and Tubbo’s friendship for his own gain sat like lead in his stomach. It was far too much to put on the kid’s shoulders. Wilbur sighed tiredly. The anger-fueled adrenaline had all but drained from his veins. “We made a deal, Dream. What you say goes. I don’t like this at all, but-” He was cut off by more laughter from the other.

“Soot, this isn’t- this isn’t an order. This is just a suggestion. Trust me, you’ll know when the time comes for me to give you an order. For now, I just want to advise you on how to get your little rebellion off the ground. You can say no, but I’d strongly advise you to reconsider.” Dream shook his head. “Just sleep on the idea. You can give me your answer the next time we meet. But you should probably head back. It’s gonna get cold soon, and we don’t have any burning flags around to warm us up.” With that, Dream turned on his heel and walked back into the forest the way he came.

Wilbur watched his retreating back for a moment before doing the same. That was the thing about Dream he hated the most; He was always able to point out the difficult truths. Wilbur despised the idea of using a child as a spy, especially when it was Tubbo. He already felt enough guilt about having him and Tommy fight in a war that he should have been able to prevent. But Dream was right about needing someone on the inside.

Wilbur shook his head and picked up his pace. He could think about that later. He needed to get back to Tommy quickly. The kid had been acting off for half a week. Anytime Wilbur would seek him out for something, he’d start fidgeting and avoiding his eyes. Tommy was nervous, and it set Wilbur on edge. Now wasn’t the time for Tommy to start keeping secrets from him. Not when it was practically just the two of them left.

His shoulders sagged in relief as he finally saw the mound of dirt that signified Pogtopia. The dirt that disguised the opening was a bit shifted out of place, but Wilbur learned early on that it was just another way to tell that Tommy had gone out and come back. He didn’t have a reason to suspect anything until he hit the stairs down into the ravine.

Two voices sounded from below. They were hushed which immediately set Wilbur on edge. His mind raced. He was terrified of the prospect that someone else had found their base and had already found Tommy. He could easily pick out his little brother’s voice despite his unusually quiet tone. Images flashed through his head of arrows raining down on his head, chasing him, piercing him, killing him, as he fled from people he used to trust. Worry that one of them had finally found the duo had his mouth filling with bile.

That’s when he heard the unmistakable baritone of the other’s voice. It froze Wilbur where he stood. It brought back far too many memories, almost all of which had been tainted by the bittersweet passage of time. He quickly shook himself out of his stupor and dashed down the rest of the stairs.

His eyes immediately focused on the shock of bright pink hair standing in the middle of the walkway. He missed the look on Tommy’s face of both fear and hope. Instead, he could only watch as the man that had been speaking with the young exile turned around to face him for the first time in years.

Technoblade had joined the game.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4 days earlier

Techno put the last of his netherite scraps into his chest and shut the lid with a sigh. His latest trip to the nether hadn’t been as productive as usual, but that couldn’t be helped. The mobs were starting to grow restless in this world, and a small part of Techno sympathized. This had been the longest he’d ever stayed in one place since he’d parted from his family.

He cringed inwardly as he thought about the people he left behind. He never meant to be gone as long as he had been, but it seemed like the longer he was gone, the harder it was to return. More often than not, he’d just force himself to stop thinking about it or throw himself into another meaningless battle.

The relentless buzz of his communicator drew him from his thoughts. His eyes widened in surprise. It was Tommy. Years ago Phil had helped code their communicators so that they could all message each other no matter if they were all on separate worlds. Not that any of them had particularly used this feature other than Phil making sure none of them were dead.

TommyInnit: hey there bitch! wilbur needs you to come to the dream SMP land. we kinda bit off more than we can chew, and this guy schlatt went and fucked everything up. not that I don’t have everything handled and shit. being a Big Man and all. but maybe you could just stop bye and help out for a bit, yeah?

Techno snorted. He knew immediately that this was Tommy’s way of trying to brush off the fact that he needed help. He looked over the message a few more times and tried to ignore the slight sting that accompanied it being Tommy and not Wilbur that reached out. It was clear that the two of them were together, but he’d only heard from one of them.

He looked out the window. Night was beginning to fall, and Techno could see mobs already spawning. He sighed at the thought of going through the motions of getting rid of the ones that strayed just a little too close to his base. It all had become too monotonous lately.

He eyed the communicator again and smirked. Perhaps it was time for a change of pace. From what he heard of Dream’s land, a fair amount of people lived there. Plenty of people to fight, especially if Tommy was there to rile them up.

Technoblade: What’s in it for me?

It was less than a second before Tommy responded. Techno laughed as he read over the message, although deep down it worried him how desperate it felt.

TommyInnit: WOMEN

Technoblade: I guarantee you don’t know any

TommyInnit: i’ll get wilbur to spar with you again

Now, that sparked Techno’s interest. He was going to say yes anyway, but getting to fight with his twin was too good a chance to pass up. He wanted to see if Wilbur had improved any from the last time they’d seen each other. It was a question that popped up every so often when his brothers’ safety ever came across his mind.

Technoblade: You’ve got yourself a deal. I need to tie off a few loose ends here, but I’ll be there in a few days. Keep an eye out and stay safe, gremlin child.

The buzz sounded again, but Techno didn’t look. He could live without the rant about being called a child. He left his communicator on the table while he left to start gathering up the necessities for world travel.

TommyInnit: please hurry…

Thanks everyone for reading! Also thanks for being patient. Finals kicked my ass and I needed some time to focus on that. Thanks once again to @the-ruler-of-rabbits for being such a lovely beta reader! I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I’m really excited for the next one. Wilbur and Techno get the chance to talk, and it might not go how either of them expect it to.

Taglist:

@obsidiancreates @strawberiitea @coindoesstuff @unlikelypaperwitch @corrine-370 @crazymecjc @ducklingqueen @idkhowbutimgayer @whydoilovesomanyvillians @anne-the-historian-ish @wilburs-soot @belonginthesky

Message me if you want added to or taken off the taglist!

#writing in theory #dream smp #dream smp fanfiction #mcyt #mcyt fanfiction #dreamwastaken #wilbur soot #villain wilbur #tommyinnit #tommy innit #technoblade #tubbo #tubbo_

27 notes · View notes

greenfurblueskin · 3 years

Text

just realized i never posted my dnd character here !! (not been used in a game yet but thats because i do not have enough irl friends for that) Name: Kanashii (Cahn - Ash - She) Kantora (Cahn - Tor - Ah)

Codename/Nickname: Fuan ( Fuwan , Fwan )

Body Age: 89 ‘Human’ age: 23

Gender: Genderfluid Pronouns: He/She/Her/Quee/Re/Hit/Hine/They/Them

Height: 5’7

Weight: 237 lbs

DOB: <to be decided depending on what we play>

Species: Unclear. Species similar in various fields to Aquatic Elves, however she displays a distinct lack of gills.

Alignment: Chaotic neutral

Team/Partner: <to be decided depending on what we play>

Allegiance: <to be decided depending on what we play>

Living family: Slightly younger sibling. Whereabouts unknown.

Friends: <to be decided depending on what we play>

Allies:<to be decided depending on what we play>

BFF/Closest Friend:<to be decided depending on what we play>

Significant Other(s)/Love Interest(s): is a simp. Not that hardcore of a simp tho Sexuality: Ace Romanticity: Biromantic

Mental Illnesses: ADHD, Anxiety

Physical Illnesses: Broken nose

Job: STEALIN YO (and also <insert small grocery store that fits whatever we do>)

Skillset: The ability to spend 54 minutes underwater without needing to come up for air or facing other backlash from being underwater, +,, other basic rogue things. Besides lying, canna lie for shit dude

Kill Count: 2.

Hit Points: 10 Proficiencies: Stealth, Sleight of Hand, Investigation, Athletics Expertise: Thieves’ Tools, Stealth Level: 1 Class: Rogue Strength: 13 Dexterity: 18 Constitution: 11 Intelligence: 12 Wisdom: 12 Charisma: 6

Main weapon: Harbinger of Dawn Other weapons: Rapier, Shortbow (20 arrows), two daggers, thieves tools. Items: Burglars Pack (Backpack, 1,000 ball bears, 10 ft of string, a bell, 5 candles, a crowbar, a hammer, 10 pitons, a hooded lantern, 2 flasks of oil, 5 days rations, a tinderbox, a water skin, and 50 ft of hempen rope strapped to the side of the pack.), GP: 11

Armor: Leather Armor

Random stuff D&D beyond gave me: Darkvision

Accustomed to twilit forests and the night sky, you have superior vision in dark and dim conditions. You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light, and in darkness as if it were dim light. You can’t discern color in darkness, only shades of gray. Keen Senses

You have proficiency in the Perception skill.

Fey Ancestry

You have advantage on saving throws against being charmed, and magic can’t put you to sleep.

Trance

Elves don’t need to sleep. Instead, they meditate deeply, remaining semiconscious, for 4 hours a day. (The Common word for such meditation is “trance.”) While meditating, you can dream after a fashion; such dreams are actually mental exercises that have become reflexive through years of practice. After resting in this way, you gain the same benefit that a human does from 8 hours of sleep.

Ability Score Increase

Your Intelligence score increases by 1.

Elf Weapon Training

You have proficiency with the longsword, shortsword, shortbow, and longbow.

Fey Step

You can cast the misty step spell once using this trait. You regain the ability to do so when you finish a short or long rest. Thieves’ Cant: During your rogue training you learned thieves’ cant, a secret mix of dialect, jargon, and code that allows you to hide messages in seemingly normal conversation. Only another creature that knows thieves’ cant understand such messages. It takes four times longer to convey such a message than it does to speak the same idea plainly.

In addition, you understand a set of secret signs and symbols used to convey short, simple messages, such as whether an area is dangerous or the territory of a thieves’ guild, whether loot is nearby, or whether the people in an area are easy marks or will provide a safe house for thieves on the run.

Sneak Attack: Beginning at 1st level, you know how to strike subtly and exploit a foe’s distraction. Once per turn, you can deal an extra 1d6 damage to one creature you hit with an attack if you have advantage on the attack roll. The attack must use a finesse or a ranged weapon.

You don’t need advantage on the attack roll if another enemy of the target is within 5 feet of it, that enemy isn’t incapacitated, and you don’t have disadvantage on the attack roll.

The amount of the extra damage increases as you gain levels in this class, as shown in the Sneak Attack column of the Rogue table.

History: This is going to vary depending on what we play, what world we set it in. I’m not gonna fill that in till thats sorted out ;;; its so very long ik but thank u for reading :))))

#dnd #dnd character #how does one even tag this #oc????#art #uhh idk ig this is it

4 notes · View notes

mecomptane · 3 years

Text

MQ: Barnabas of the Adrestia

Part one of... many. So many. Oh no.

Also, my italics for Greek and/or emphasis no longer exist, so that’s great. 10/10. Might try uploading to dreamwidth first from now on, and then copying/linking in to here.

“Kephallonia is… here?”

Barnabas leaned over from the wheel, turning so that his good eye focused on where Kassandra was pointing. “Hm? Aye, that’s Kephallonia--and just to the north, there, that’s Ithaka!”

“I know Ithaka,” Kassandra retorted, toeing the island painted on the deck of the Adrestia idly. “I’ve looked at it almost every day.”

The real Ithaka--and Kephallonia--were well behind them, bare specks on the horizon. She’d spent the first few hours since departing sitting on the stern bench, watching over her shoulder as the land she’d spent the last twenty plus years on slipped away. They weren’t home, not really: not Ithaka where she’d honed her hunting skills, and not even Kephallonia, though all the friends left to her in the world lived there.

But a job was a job, and between the plague slowly spreading over the islands and the sudden hush of contracts that came in the wake of facing off against the only other mercenary on the island in spectacularly violent--and public--fashion, there wasn’t much work or coin coming her way any time soon. Kassandra sighed and scuffed her toe against the painted map again, slowly cataloguing the different lands and waters, so carefully rendered. So many places to see, so many people to meet, armies to fight… and somehow, with all those people and across all those lands, Elpeanor managed to find her. Decided to hire her.

To kill the Wolf of Sparta.

Nikolaos hadn’t been a young man when Kassandra was growing up, a General of Sparta and one of the greatest warriors the city had seen since the death of King Leonidas. He’d gained fame within Sparta for his tactics and skillful maneuvering, and renown through the rest of the Peloponnese for his treatment of enemies and allies alike. Not merciful--he was Spartan, after all--but a certain amount of respect. Other generals might take prisoners as slaves; Nikolaos was more likely to ransom them back to their cities or, if seriously injured, grant them an honourable death.

“It’s so isolated,” Kassandra remarked, still staring at the map. “But I can see the coast of the Peloponnese from my house.” House, shack, hut. It was newly built a hundred years ago and left to ruin sometime after; she’d claimed it and fixed it up, but it wasn’t any sort of luxurious.

Barnabas laughed at her, gesturing to the map as he turned back to the helm. “You can? You must have the sight of the gods, then!”

“Or maybe I just have two working eyes,” she snarked back. Sight of the gods, right.

But Barnabas laughed again; did nothing upset this man? “Or perhaps four eyes; I see you talking with that eagle of yours!”

The eagle in question--proud, defiant, and a mother hen in turns--was perched on the wooden screen that shielded part of the stern bench, alternating between watching the sea and watching Kassandra and Barnabas. Kassandra clicked her tongue to get his attention; Ikaros shrilled at her, fluffed his feathers, and turned back to the sea.

She sighed at him; her oldest friend was an eagle. A stubborn eagle, at that. “The only thing we talk about is him taking off to hunt and me scolding him when he shows up just in time to annoy me.”

Kassandra looked up just in time to see Barnabas shaking his head, his whole body shuddering. “Hey! Are you laughing at me?”

“You talk about your Ikaros like my old friend talks about his wife.”

She snorted. “You live with someone long enough, I suppose it all starts to sound the same.”

One of the skeleton crew below called out for Barnabas and instructions; as the old captain saw to his people and ship, Kassandra lounged back against the bench, tilting her head towards the sun.

They were heading for Megaris, which Barnabas assured her was the current major battleground in the war between Athens and Sparta. Elpeanor had said that Nikolaos would be there, but she trusted the old seaman over some shady mainlander who let his guards get killed as a test to see her skills. Or however he reasoned it; she didn’t want to ask, because that meant interacting with him more. Whether he was hiding out on Kephallonia to avoid Nikolaos and the bounty he’d put on the Wolf’s head was Elpeanor’s way of avoiding some consequence, or if he was on Kephallonia for another reason and wanting Nikolaos killed was incidental, she didn’t know that, either.

Kassandra shifted, pulling out the old broken spear her mater had given her, so long ago. She’d never taken a bounty contract before--the closest was hunting down a handful of local thieves (who were a drachmae a dozen on Kephallonia; the island wasn’t entirely made up of criminals, but it was probably a fifty-fifty split between law abiding citizens and those who just did not care). The contract to kill Nikolaos was more an excuse to get off the island that’d been her home since she was eight, see more of the world, make a name for herself. That didn’t mean she didn’t intend to uphold her end, and to do that… sword, short sword, spear, bow and arrows would all work, but using the broken spear wouldn’t just be effective. It would be poetic justice.

The man who married Leonidas’ daughter, killed by Leonidas’ own broken spear. One of the kings had sent Spartans to recover the spear from Thermopylae at the same time as they recovered Leonidas’ body for a burial with honours, and it had been given to Myrrine after the internment. Or, knowing the woman, she had demanded the last relic of her father to be handed over immediately, and everyone who stood in her way suffered for it.

Kassandra ran a finger down the edge of the spear’s blade, testing the sharpness and checking for rust. None, as normal. As much as she liked to think it was all the maintenance and care she paid to the old weapon, the metal shone in a way that she’d never seen before and no matter what she stabbed or threw the spear into the edge never dulled. Good for a quick kill, then, and that’s what this would have to be: a quick kill. Stealthy, maybe. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that between Nikolaus’ skills and the Spartan army, there was only one way she could really hope to complete the contract: a proper assassination.

“What are you frowning about, o mighty misthios?” Barnabas’ voice broke her from her thoughts.

She startled upwards, coming to her feet and not-so-accidentally treading on the painted islands in the process. “Barnabas! Don’t startle me like that.”

“Eh, I know you wouldn’t hurt this poor old, one-eyed man,” he shrugged off her annoyance. “I need to go below; do you know how to handle a ship?”

That brought her up short. “Do I know how to… what?”

He waved her forward to the helm. “Come, come, let me teach you quickly. We have another day of sailing before we make it to Megaris, more than enough time for lessons!”

She reached out to grab the old wood, worn smooth by many hands over the years. “What am I--what do you want me to do?”

“Keep her on the same heading, there--no, no, sun just slightly behind and to the right, we want to head east-south-east,” he instructed. “There we go! See? I knew you’d be a natural!”

Kassandra flexed her fingers, checking her grip. “And I just… stand here?”

“Exactly! Any questions?”

“Yes: why are you trusting me with this?”

He laughed and patted her shoulder. Flinched slightly away when his hand contacted the hard lines of metal and buckles that were hidden by the Shroud of Penelope Kassandra had wrapped around her shoulders and head. “Well, obviously you have sailed before! How else would you get from the mainland to Kephallonia?”

She tried not to stiffen or show another reaction, but from the corner of her eye she could see Barnabas looking at her worriedly. “Me? From the mainland?”

“From the Peloponnese, somewhere, probably,” Barnabas confirmed, would-be casually. “You sail as long as I have to as many places as I have, and you can pick out details like that, too. A bit of an accent, and a way of framing your sentences that sounds more like Lakonian or Messenian, maybe Arkadian. But most of the time you sound Kephallonian! If that’s why you’re worried, the accent of your latest home comes through clearly.”

She shook her head at him. “Kephallonia isn’t my home.”

“Even after… however long you’ve lived there?”

“No,” Kassandra confirmed. Even with Marcos and Phoibe and the few other people who were almost friends, almost family. “No, not Kephallonia.”

Barnabas hummed, apparently having forgotten being called away. “Then… wherever you were from before? Is that your home?”

She couldn’t help herself; she snorted. In her mind’s eye she could easily picture the spear, Myrrine, Nikolaos, the masked men, baby Alexios, the mountain. “I might have been born in Sparta, but I was never really Spartan.”

“Spartan?” Barnabas asked, surprise lacing his words. “And you’re looking for the Wolf of Sparta?”

Kassandra nodded; Barnabas had said he took no side in this war, even having been an Athenian captain, once upon a time. Still, Kephallonia supported Athens, and so far most of public opinion--that Kassandra had heard, anyway--swayed in favour of Athens, too. It would make sense for her to be after a Spartan General if she had been from Athens or somewhere that was firmly part of or on the side of the Delian League. She could see why Barnabas would be surprised.

“I am,” she confirmed, her lips curling upwards. Not a smile, not a sneer; she wasn’t sure what she was feeling about this, but it wasn’t anything good. “I’m going to track Nikolaos down, and before I kill him I am going to get some answers.”

“Answers?” Barnabas parroted.

She nodded, shortly. “Answers. When I was eight, the oracle said that my baby brother--who was in perfect health--would bring about the fall of Sparta if he was allowed to live. Mater fought against the order, but we were all brought up Mount Taygetos and---and Alexios was thrown off the mountain cliff.”

Barnabas hadn’t completely retracted his hand before from her shoulder; he rested it again against the shroud, patting gently. “That must have been difficult to witness, Kassandra. I am sorry. ...but what does that have to do with the Wolf?”

“He was there,” she answered after a minute. She had to refocus; Barnabas had actually sounded sincere. When was the last time someone had actually meant what they said to her? “He was there, he let them kill Alexios… and when I fought back, pushed the priest who had thrown Alexios off and killed him…. Nikolaos threw me off Mount Taygetos, too.”

She could feel Barnabas withdrawing, air abruptly sucked through clenched teeth. “And you survived?”

“I did,” she nodded. “That’s the night that Ikaros found me.”

“So you’ve known him for a long, long time,” Barnabas surmised, looking up at the eagle. Ikaros’ attention was focused wholly on them; she’d noticed the minute he’d zeroed in on them, but the predatory gaze had long been comforting. “But you know what happened then. What answers are you looking for?”

Kassandra shrugged, careful to not jostle her hands and change their heading. “Just one answer, I guess,” she conceded. “I want to ask him… I want to know why, when the priests said that Alexios would bring us to ruin, when they told him to kill me in return for the life of one of their own…

“I want to know why he sided with them over his own children.”

#fic:Mercenary Queen #Assassin's Creed: Odyssey #KHR #KHR/ACOdy #meco writes

2 notes · View notes

adaaam07 · 3 years

Text

How to grow a youtube channel

Step #1: Build Videos Around a Single Keyword/Topic

It may seem obvious, but building your video around a single topic/keyword is the best way to get the traffic you want and grow your audience. It’s important to pick your keyword before you even build your video content because it helps you construct the best information around that specific topic. Despite popular myths, the most successful videos on YouTube are typically less than 5 minutes long, so don’t feel you have to make a film or write a novel.

Step #2: Reformat Existing Quality Content

Of course, the easiest way to grow your channel is to build great content. Some of your best videos can be built from engaging, valuable, useful and actionable content you’ve already created. Look at the blogs, guides, and other high-performing pieces you currently have and think about how to make them into cool videos.

Step #3: Engage with Your Audience

If you’re just posting videos without encouraging comments and discussion, you’re missing a trick. YouTube rewards channels with great engagement, including overall time spent on channel, watch time, likes and dislikes, and most importantly, comments.

Step #4: Get Branded

So your content is great. But is your channel itself visually appealing? If you want visitors to take your YouTube channel seriously and subscribe to your channel, you need to look professional. Branding your channel will also help users immediately recognize your content. Here’s an example from fashion brand ModCloth.

Step #5: Promote Your YouTube Videos on Other Social Channels

One of the beautiful things about social media is that you can cross-promote content on different channels. What channels are you on? Facebook, Linkedin, Instagram, Pinterest? There are many from which to choose. Don’t forget about your blog; you can post your videos there as well!

Step #6: Show Up

If you’re running YouTube by yourself or as part of a small organization, it can be extremely beneficial to put your own face on screen. This is especially important for bloggers; fitness, life, or business coaches; and solopreneurs. Additionally, if you are this type of YouTuber, use a photo of yourself on your channel .

Step #7: Post Great Thumbnails

They may seem like a small thing , but thumbnails can have a big impact. The same goes for YouTube search. Videos with a catchy title and appealing thumbnail usually rank higher, even if the content itself isn’t as valuable, because they have a higher click-through-rate . To get your CTR where it needs to be, try using tactics such as highlighted areas, arrows, large text, and unexpected or unusual images.

Step #8: Leverage YouTube Cards

We’ve already discussed the fact that YouTube rewards channels that keep viewers on their pages longer. These longer average watch times mean people are truly engaged with your content. . By adding YouTube cards, you can add additional recommended videos at the exact point where users are currently dropping off.

Step #9: Push for Subscriptions

One of the ways you know for sure that viewers are engaged with your channel is when they "subscribe’ to see any new videos that are posted. Never pay for subscribers. Remember, if you don’t ask your viewers to subscribe, you may be missing out on a lot of potential followers.

Step #10: Increase Your Uploading Frequency

This tip may sound intimidating at first, but to grow your audience, you need to increase your posting frequency to at least one video a week. Today’s smartphones offer excellent video recording ability, and tools such as Animoto make editing videos easy for anyone. Try to post at the same time each day or week , and keep your subscribers updated about when new videos will arrive.

Step #11: Use This Site

This platform is simple and very easy to use ,it will get you views by putting your videos in front of a right audience through Google Ads and will thus ensure your video goes viral .You can get huge results with a small budget .Click here to gain access http://bit.ly/sprizzyInfo

#graw marketing youtube make money online easy money #my love #free traffic #easy ways to get free traffic #trending #trafico #travel #fitness #health

1 note · View note

jbuffyangel · 5 years

Text

Second Chances: Arrow 8x04 Review (Present Tense)

Holy frack there is a lot to unpack.

Ha! That rhymes. Let’s dig in….

***Skipping the Quick and Dirty because this review is very late, so I figure y’all know the basic plot from other sources by now.

Oliver and William

Let’s start with the simpler of the two relationships between father and child. Oliver is still reeling from Mia’s, “Dad?” when William runs into his arms because he is the softest bear to ever live.

Source: norahasotherstuff

He’s missed his dad so much and it’s pure, overwhelming joy that propels him forward without a minute of hesitation. I love how free William is with his emotions. He’s a bursting ball of light and love. Reminds me of someone.

Oliver’s understanding of who this is sinks in when he feels his son’s arms around him. SOB.

Source: olicitygifs

William is the first of anybody to understand they are in the past. Or present. Or something. The lack of crappy makeup and horrifically bad wigs in the first tip off, but the fact Oliver isn’t six feet underground is the primary clue for this Hardy boy.

Source: feilcityqueen

Oliver and William are given some time to catch up back at the apartment. Oliver’s immediate instinct is to call Felicity and tell her what is going on.

Look my friends! The writers remembered there are things called PHONES on Earth 1.

Isn’t honest and communicative Oliver so refreshing? It’d be so nice if his wife could enjoy it on screen.

William shuts down getting in touch with Felicity because he doesn’t know the time travel rules.

Are we Back to the Future or Avengers Endgame? William doesn’t know, so they shouldn’t contact Felicity yet.

Honestly, this entire conversation is just to address the perfunctory, “How do we handle MIA Emily Bett Rickards?” question.

For the record, I think Oliver not calling Felicity even once onscreen is bullshit.

But here’s the thing – Emily is not part of Arrow Season 8 until the finale. End of discussion. We’re going to get lots of Felicity references and I think the writers have done a marvelous job of giving us content so far despite an unavailable actress. Could they write one-way phone conversations or throw texts up like Jane the Virgin? Sure, but this is Arrow and simple/logical resolutions aren’t their wheelhouse.

Regardless, they certainly aren’t going to deal with the EBR issue every week in every episode. The fans watching the show have to accept at a certain point that Emily Bett Rickards left the show and this is the reason why Felicity is not doing X, Y and Z. We do not need it spelled out for us every week.

Source: olicitygifs

Olive is desperate for some good news in the future. This is such a fucking Season 7 mood.

William obliges and tells him that he’s a billionaire corporate tech tycoon. So between his son and Felicity it no longer matters that Oliver signed over his children’s inheritance to a woman he banged one night in Russia. (I added that last part in).

Source: olicitygifs

Oliver is so proud he cries. I sob whenever my child accomplishes pretty much anything, so I feel this is a very accurate representation of parenthood.

It also opens the door for William to come out to his father, which he never had the chance to do.

My favorite part was when Oliver confessed to William that he and Felicity knew he was gay… because parents always know whether they can admit it or not.

Source: tylerposey

Oliver cries again (right there with you buddy) and it’s a lovely scene. The basic takeaway is just love your kids.

Source: olicitygifs

Bless William for being excited about what I am excited about – they have a second chance to get to know each other. It’s easier for William and Oliver because they already built the foundation. There’s a lot to catch up on, but the bond between father and son is established. William has spent the last 20 years wishing he could talk to his dad and he’s not wasting this opportunity. No matter how bizarre it is.

William is the one to tell Present Team Arrow about how awful the future is and again, we’re already changing the future if this, in fact, Back to the Future rules. Rene knows his daughter dies and he becomes a corrupt politician. Oliver knows that Star City is still going to hell in a hand-basket despite all his sacrifices.

Barry gets a coffee and the key to the city in the second season. Oliver has been hero-ing for eight years and things still turn out crappy in the future. Sometimes it really sucks to be an Arrow fan. And yet I stay because I am a masochist who enjoys pain and excruciatingly difficult hero’s journeys. Something is seriously wrong with me.

Oliver is deep in brooding mode, sharpening arrows, after Mia yells at him for “playing dad” and leaves with L*urel. William wants to know why he didn’t stop her and the truth is Oliver thinks she’s right. He chose to leave. He has not earned the right to be her father. Not like he has with William.

But Oliver is forgetting he went through this with William. He blamed Oliver for his mother’s death.

Yes, William is a child and Mia is an adult. Yes, Oliver had to break his promise. He physically walked away to save their lives. But he remained devoted in his love and all the rest all remains true. The only way to earn being someone’s parent is to be their parent.

William’s grief over losing his mother was overwhelming. He was angry with Oliver, resented his choices and the way he was parenting him. Oliver and William had a very rocky start, but those rocks are the foundation of their relationship today. It’s the reason why Oliver and William know they can start again because they have done it before.

All of William’s pain and suffering has made him into exactly the kind of brother Mia needs now. He understands her anger at Oliver. He also knows that despite her anger and whether she can admit it or not, Mia desperately needs Oliver.

William’s experiences also made him into the kind of son who can guide his father’s hand. William is saying, “Hey. You’ve been here before. Remember? You found the way with me and you can find the way with Mia.”

Felicity would be proud.

This also gives William the opportunity to hash out some remaining issues with his father because things are not all roses with them either. Oliver is still hurt William left to live with his grandparents, because it happened a few months ago. William is the weathered soul in this war and has gained an interesting perspective on the experience.

Oliver: I thought you hated my guts.

William: I hated you for abandoning me.

Oliver: I tried.

William: True, but I wanted you to try harder. Push a little more. I think that’s all any child wants from their parents.

Oliver and Felicity can argue William moving in with his grandparents was the best thing for him at the time, but I refuse to believe anyone is better for him than his parents. William has realized deep down he never wanted his dad and Felicity to let him go. Kids test their parents and this was a particular test William wished his father fought harder.

And I have to agree. I thought it was insane that Oliver and Felicity let William go live with his grandparents. I can’t remember if S7 Jen thought that, but S8 Jen sure does.

The reality of their living situation hadn’t really changed all that much from when Oliver first became William’s primary care giver. He was the Green Arrow the entire time. That’s why they hired Raisa. A couple bad guys break into the apartment and they ship the kid off? William is ticked at Oliver for going to prison, so he decides to LEAVE? How does that make sense? And why are we letting the 13 year old call the shots? I honestly couldn’t believe they agreed.

And we all know Oliver and Felicity’s reasoning is faulty because the writing doesn’t make any sense. The worst thing about these flash forwards is William not knowing who Mia is in order to keep the reveal a shock. They really expect us to believe Felicity never comes back for William? Gimme a break. I’m all for surprises, but not at the sake of the story.

The writers are trying to clean up the mess and resolve some of the drama, but it is Oliver and Felicity who unfortunately end up holding the bag. It doesn’t make either of their characters look great, but I can ultimately forgive it as well because it feeds a much larger truth about parents and their children.

Parents – you’re going to screw up.

Kids – you have to decide how much those screw ups will screw you up.

This is why Thea’s words to Oliver last week are so important. He was going to make mistakes whether he stayed with his family or not, but those mistakes do not diminish his love for his children. It all forms who his children will become. And hey – nobody is as messy as Robert and Moira Queen and the Queen siblings turned out okay.

Oliver and Felicity made a mistake by letting William leave. They aren’t perfect parents. Nobody is. The point is to learn, keep trying and fight harder. Ultimately, it’s up to William and Mia to decide whether or not to forgive their parents for being human beings. Every child must come to terms with the mistakes their parents make, weigh it against their intentions and love, and then decide whether or not to forgive them. This is part of becoming an adult.

Oliver: I’m sorry.

William: It’s ok. Dad, I’m glad that you’re in my life. Then and now. And Mia will be too.

William chooses to forgive his father. It’s a beautiful and honest moment between father and son. This is exactly the kind of bonding and healing I wanted Oliver to have with his children – a second chance.

Oliver and Mia

Let’s keep in mind the last time Oliver saw Mia she was in her crib, so seeing a fully grown young woman before him requires some adjustment,

Source: lucyyh

but Papa Bear rebounds nicely. Stephen Amell mixes pride, confusion, joy and love in this perfectly delivered line.

Source: olivergifs

In typical Oliver fashion his first question is if the kids are okay. He steps toward Mia to hug her, but she is in complete shock and totally overwhelmed.

Source: olicitygifs

The barrier between her dead father and her very much alive father is breaking down with the reality of their situation, but Mia cannot accept it yet. Her pain is almost immediate and she steps away from Oliver. A line in the sand is drawn. He can’t come closer. It hurts too much and she’s not ready. Reminds me of someone.

It hurts Oliver just as much as when Felicity did the same thing.

Mia should have been wearing The Red Coat of Pain.

Source: olicitygifs

Look, if my 34-year-old daughter time traveled from the future to the present it’d be a puzzler for sure, but cool as hell and I’d smush her perfect face in a microsecond. Way to represent Oliver.

Rene and Dinah are extremely confused why Oliver has a daughter and he’s all, “Oh yeah. Cool story.” He’s explaining to Thing 1 and Thing 2, but Oliver is really talking to Mia. He doesn’t take his eyes off her and he shares the story of her birth. SOB.

Source: olicitygifs

I love Diggle’s they-told-me-because-I’m-not-just-anyone look here. Oliver apologizes to Dinah and Rene for finding out about Mia like this and they immediately understand why he lied and have zero problems with it. It’s your basic personality lobotomy because this is the final season (kumbaya) and there’s no time for the newbies to be their usual toddler selves.

Rene wants to know when the kiddos can fill them in on all the 2040 gossip and hey that’s a good point. (Holy hell I’m agreeing with Rene. It’s the end times my friends). Dinah and Rene don’t find out about Mia until twenty years later, so the future has already begun to change. Oliver wants the kids to share all their Back to the Future goodies once they’re comfortable.

Spoiler alert: They’re not comfortable.

Connor tells Mia and William he was about to kill his brother (there’s your confirmation if you were in any way unclear about Connor’s intentions). Mia has zero problems with Connor killing JJ, but is angry he escaped. Yup, this tracks with Mia’s morality since she’s basically Season 1 Oliver. William reminds her that it doesn’t really make a difference now because JJ is five and they can’t Baby Hitler him.

I saw that look Mia Smoak Queen.

Source: amunetblack

She decides as team leader they should keep their mouths shut because nobody wants to tell Diggle his biological son goes all evil and kills Rene’s daughter. I mean… yeah… tricky conversation starter. Do you do it over coffee? Vodka. I feel booze could really help the situation a lot.

This means that FTA is going to lie to OTA and William correctly asserts this plan is insane because this is Original Team Arrow. They aren’t dummies. Well sure, now they aren’t but oh kids. Do I have some stories for you.

Oliver takes the kids back to his apartment and Mia gets the first real sense of what it was like for Felicity to live with Oliver.

Source: olicitygifs

I know Felicity had pictures of Oliver in the cabin, but this is their life before Mia. A life she was not part of yet. My mother once took me to the house she grew up in and the owners allowed us to look around. It was so wonderfully odd to put a place to all the stories I heard growing up, but nothing was like I imagined it.

The shock is wearing off and this is the first moment Mia’s anger bubbles to the surface. This was supposed to be her home, where she grew up with her father, mother and brother. None of that happened because Oliver “disappeared” according to William.

It would seem like a simple answer - wouldn’t it? Felicity took the children to Oliver’s grave. One can naturally conclude this means he is dead, but William says he’s not sure what happened. Y’all, if you are still stressing about Oliver remaining dead after this show goes off air then turn your attention to the Grand Canyon sized back door the Arrow writers just wrote in. They can’t even say he is dead.

Oliver has been pondering his mortality for 12 years, and particularly now, so he absorbs this information extremely well. But the hits keep on coming as William fills him in on the rest – how he didn’t grow up with Mia and never saw Felicity again until 20 years later.

Mia chimes in with a bitter, “Yeah it was just me and Mom at the cabin.” Oliver’s pain when he realizes his “disappearance” is the trigger for his precious family splintering apart is just gut wrenching.

Source: feilcityqueen

Yes, he saved their lives, but it was not the life he hoped for any of them.

Oliver wants to catch up on 20 years of history, but Mia’s not looking to hug and cry and learn and grow. The chill when she leaves the room to go to bed let’s Oliver know exactly where he stands with his daughter. She’s freezing him out.

Oliver is worried Mia will never give him the chance to get to know her, but William reassures his father. Mia is stubborn and hard to read. I’d like to add distrustful, moody and impulsive.

As Oliver’s mini me it’s perfectly acceptable to hold him accountable, which leads to some warm and good-natured ribbing between father and son.

Source: olicitygifs

Mia reassures Present Team Arrow the Deathstroke gang isn’t a problem in the future after they blow up the hospital. Deathstroke gang? Pfft. Never heard of them. I’d also like to add liar, liar pants on fire to the personality traits Mia shares with her father.

And since they’re on a roll, Mia and William also reassure they are still friends with Zoe and she’s farting sunshine and rainbows.

Source: renesramirez

Ugh. Brutal.

Mia and Connor are convinced JJ is the leader of the Deathstroke gang. William tries to reason with them. He suddenly has a gang and is organized enough to start blowing up buildings within a few hours of arriving from a different time period? When you talk it out it doesn’t make sense. (She says to Last Week Jen who totally though JJ was the leader of the Deathstroke gang in present time too).

They go to the original Deathstroke hideout and discover it’s really Grant Wilson. It’s a nice tie into the Legends of Tomorrow’s “Star City 2046” which is the first time we met the wonderful David-Joseph Jones.

Present Team Arrow shows up to save their asses and Oliver gets to rescue another Smoak female from a bomb.

Source: felicitysmoak

Ah… memories.

When all the lies come tumbling out it’s not pretty.

Rene picks Zoe up and plans to work his way through a pint of mint chip with her, which is an extremely valid life choice given the news he’s just received. But could you get the kid some ice cream she actually likes? I agree disliking mint chip is MADNESS, but she’s going to die in twenty years so chocolate it is.

Dinah meets up with Rene and tries to convince him the future can be changed.

Rene: How am I supposed to wake up every morning knowing how many days we have left together?

Dinah: By trying to change what happens. Trying every single day.

Arrow is known for their less than subtle cuts and what immediately follows Dinah’s statement is an argument between Oliver and Mia.

Source: Paige

She is unable to sit on the sidelines anymore while the team researches Grant and his Deathstroke gang. Oliver wants to help Mia with her grief, but she can’t even admit her grief let alone desperately needing her father.

What’s so sad about this scene is Oliver is right. He’s been there. He understands exactly what Mia is feeling. All of Oliver’s loss and suffering have made him into the man and father his daughter needs. But Mia won’t let him in and a large part of that is because she’s just like him. It’s like a mirror of himself eight years ago is being reflected back at him.

Oliver and Mia are put their cards on the table. She is right. Parenthood is earned. It is not something that is magically created from biology. Anyone can have a child and call themselves a “parent”, but a real parent puts their child above their own selfish needs and wants.

And that’s what Oliver Queen did. There is no place on earth Oliver wanted to be more than in the cabin with Mia, Felicity (and William) for the last twenty years. If Oliver was a selfish man, he would’ve spent the rest of his days with them and let everyone perish in the Crisis. Oliver was going to die no matter what, so why not hold on to the only peace and happiness he’s ever known? At least they’d be together.

But Oliver could never make that choice because he is selfless. Mia is right – Oliver is a hero, but his need to be recognized as such is not the reason he left her. Oliver wanted Mia, William and Felicity to have the life they deserved – even if it meant one without him. He is willing to die for them.

His decision cost Mia her father, but it was a price Oliver was willing to pay. The only thing more unimaginable to Oliver than missing out on raising Mia is Mia not being part of this world. Oliver put his child’s life above his own because his precious, remarkable, beautiful, strong, and smart Mia is his world.

Do I think Mia is being cruel to Oliver? No. I think she’s being honest. This is how she feels.

Children have a remarkable way of blaming themselves for decisions their parents made.

Oliver is fighting the good fight like it’s any other day. There must have been something deficient in Mia that made moving on from his daughter so easy.

Source: arrowdaily

Mia may be grown, but she’s still a child in so many ways and particularly when it comes to father. All she can see is the man who chose to leave her. All Mia can feel is what she lost.

We cannot cheapen the depth of her grief by expecting Mia to be okay with her dad dying. Yes, he’s saving the world (and she is in the world), but Oliver didn’t need to save the city or the universe to be Mia’s hero. Nor can she accept the why because the result is the same.

Oliver missed Chrismukkah, trick or treating and birthdays. He missed snuggling on the couch and reading stories. He missed teaching Mia how to tie her shoes, ride a bike, shoot an arrow, defend herself or drive. Oliver missed comforting Mia when she was sad and sick. He missed making her laugh. He doesn’t know when Mia took her first steps, or her favorite food, or the name of her kindergarten teacher, or the grades she got in school, or the first boy who broke her heart. Oliver missed twenty years.

Mia didn’t lose a biological parent. She lost a man who loves her with every cell. Mia lost a man who would’ve shown up for her every day. She lost a man who would’ve protected, taught and loved her unconditionally. Mia Smoak Queen lost her DAD.

She’s supposed to what? Get to know Oliver? Mia’s supposed to accept all the stories Felicity told about her father were real, so the depth of her loss can be driven deeper because now she knows how wonderful he is?

Uhhh… pass. It’s easier for Mia to hate him. Of course, it’s easier.

It wouldn’t be a Queen family reunion without a little physical violence. Mia threatens to throw down with Daddy if he doesn’t get out of her way. Honestly, letting her get a couple good swings in Oliver might be highly therapeutic. I clearly didn’t study psychology, but I’m just here thinking my thoughts.

Oliver must be “some guy in her way” because the alternative, letting her father all the way in only to lose him again, it’s unbearable for Mia at this point.

Source: miasmoakdaily

Oliver decides to try harder with Mia after William harnesses his light, which means FATHER/DAUGHTER IN THE FIELD TIME!

Oliver’s protective dad mode is fully activated, but Mia has other plans. She’s about to take Grant Wilson out when Oliver ties him up with an arrow rope. Undeterred, she switches a knife for an arrow and takes aim.

Oliver calls out to Mia in his deep, growly Arrow voice, which gets her attention because it’s scary and it gets everybody’s attention. IT’S STERN DADDY TIME! YASSS!!!

Oliver physically steps in front of Grant Wilson because this is road he has gone down and as long as there is breath in his body he will not watch his daughter go down it too.

This is what is so satisfying about Oliver Queen's story.

He has learned from his mistakes and can be the hero, and father, his daughter needs now.

Mia can hate him all she wants, but Oliver will not let her kill anyone.

Mia listens because what she needs more than anything right now is her dad. It’s a real and honest moment between the two where Oliver uses everything he’s learned to help Mia make the right decision. And Mia, whether she can admit it or not, wants to learn from Oliver. He earns being her dad by being her dad.

Stick a fork in me because I AM DONE. Do you know this moment is everything? Because it is EVERYTHING. First, Mia may not let Oliver hug her, but she lets him ask if she’s okay and even answers. This, my friends, is what we call progress. Mia also has to know Oliver’s history and she doesn’t want her father to think she didn’t have the stones to kill someone.

But it’s what Oliver said in return that is so meaningful because he knows after killing someone all that is left are the dark questions that haunt you. Did I do the right thing? What kind of person does this make me?

Of all the terrible holes Oliver had to crawl out of, this was his darkest. This was the secret Oliver feared was true. This lie was so easy to believe because Oliver blamed himself for Robert’s death. What kind of person kills their own father? What kind of person keeps killing? It was so frightening for Oliver to confront that he lost Felicity to avoid it. Then it was forced out of him only after being tortured for days by Adrian Chase.

Mia would’ve killed Grant Wilson because she thought it was necessary. She believed it would serve the greater good and save lives. But it doesn’t mean Mia would’ve enjoyed killing Grant Wilson. It doesn’t mean she is undeserving of love, unforgivable or irredeemable. It doesn’t mean Mia is a monster.

The questions are already haunting Mia. Oliver can see it in her eyes, but he has the answers for her. Oliver tells his daughter who she is and Mia knows he truly sees her. And her wall starts to come down.

Source: oliverxfelicity

This show began as a story between father and child and, for better or worse; this is where it will always return. Arrow is about family, generational sin and atonement. It will always come back to Robert Queen.

Oliver takes Mia to her grandfather’s grave because this is where the violence, loss and guilt all began. It swallowed Oliver whole for so many years. It was an agonizing hole to climb out of. He wants Mia and William’s life to be better. Oliver didn’t truly understand his father until after he was dead. He wants it to be different with his children.

Source: oliverxfelicity

Mia’s journey started with the “death” of her father. Just like Robert. Her mother is “gone.” Just like Moira. Zoe died protecting Mia. She was the hero Mia was trying so hard to be. Just like Tommy. Mia made a decision and it cost someone their life. Just like Shado.

And on and on it goes. All that’s left is the crippling guilt of survival.

All Oliver can offer Mia is the truth.

It’s a truth he’s learned the long, hard and painful way.

“This guy's walking down a street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep, he can't get out. A doctor passes by, and the guy shouts up, "Hey you, can you help me out?" The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a priest comes along, and the guy shouts up "Father, I'm down in this hole, can you help me out?" The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a friend walks by. "Hey Joe, it's me, can you help me out?" And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, "Are you stupid? Now we're both down here." The friend says, "Yeah, but I've been down here before, and I know the way out." – Leo McGarry, West Wing

Oliver knows the way out of the hole Mia is in because he’s been there before. Her father reaches for his daughter’s hand and she reaches back. Oliver had to find his light these past eight years, so he could be the light for his children. Hopefully, her father can make Oliver journey a little easier and a little brighter for Mia. That’s all any parent wants to do for their children.

Source: olivergifs

Oliver makes his world famous Monte Cristo for William.

He introduces Mia to them the same way Felicity introduced William to these delectable late night snacks.

Down to the freaking mannerisms. Well done Ben Lewis.

These are the kind of stories Mia heard, but never experienced. These are the moments she and Oliver missed. The moments neither of them thought they’d ever get back.

The wall comes down. Not all the way, but enough. Mia lets her dad make her a snack. And begins their second chance.

Source: olicitygifs

Diggle and Connor

I said last week it’ll be interesting how Diggle reacts to a son he doesn’t even know he’s going to have. Well… it was a lot like this in the beginning.

Ouch. Sorry Connor. In Diggle’s defense this is a mind blower and the kids don’t know when they’ve landed. Connor doesn’t understand why his father can’t recognize him as a son, but Diggle hasn’t adopted him yet. The last time Diggle this child’s perfect face was when he saved Connor and Sandra, his mother.

The whole custody issue is problematic and John has to download a lot of information, with some sobering realizations, to comprehend what happened. Put it this way. If you discovered you have a kid that you didn’t know about it would take more than a few minutes to sink in.

It does eventually sink in, but Diggle and Connor are still a little uncomfortable around each other. Unfortunately, Mama Lyla is unavailable to serve as wing man during the uncomfortable getting-to-know-you phase. Diggle offers a very sweet, “We always wanted a brother for JJ.” HOW ABOUT A SISTER? (side eyes Barry Allen).

Connor responds to Diggle’s attempt at bonding by lying through his teeth about JJ. Sure, Dad we’re best friends. No Diggle brother curse in the future? Noooope.

Although, from Connor’s perspective, John’s remark could be taken from a slightly different slant. Diggle’s first real moment of warmth was connected to JJ, his biological son. The son he has a relationship with already. John is leaning into what he knows as he navigates this new relationship - not unlike what Oliver is doing with William and Mia.

But John must look at Connor through a JJ lens in order to act paternal towards him. Diggle didn’t do anything wrong and he certainly didn’t mean anything by it, but this doesn’t put Connor at ease. Particularly since he almost murdered the only son Diggle knows and loves. It’s easy to see why he’s keeping that information close to the chest.

Dinah hears through the door Connor calling Grant Wilson JJ, which is a pretty weak plot point, but it gets us where we need to go. Connor tries to cover his lies by telling Dinah she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but we get a very stern Papa Diggle in response.

John: Then you tell me Connor.

This is the first glimpse we’ve seen of John being the firm disciplinarian who holds his sons accountable for each other’s actions. It was hard to imagine Diggle this way when JJ and Connor were reminiscing about their childhoods, but David Ramsey made me believe it in one line.

This is the father Connor knows. Nothing like a little parental authority to make a kid crumble like dominoes. He comes clean and we get a little history too. Grant Wilson did bring the Deathstroke gang to Star City, but JJ eventually inherits the leadership position and is the craziest of all the cray.

Rene is understandably heartbroken over Zoe, in a rage over JJ, and a little pissed off at John. I’m always uncomfortable when this show makes me sympathize with any member of NTA, but here we are, nonetheless.

Diggle just found out his son is a murdering psychopath, so it hasn’t been a great day for him either. However, it seems Diggle is the only one who watched Back to the Future and believes this horror show we affectionately call the Flash Forwards can change. It could even be the reason why the Monitor sent the children to the present. Jesus, let it be true.

The writers wouldn’t have brought it up if they weren’t going to change some things about the future. I still don’t think we’ll avert the twenty-year separation. (Can the writing gods be that kind?) But Present Team Arrow will help Future Team Arrow become better heroes. Zoe will survive and JJ, by not killing Zoe, will become a redeemable villain. I’m sure some other stuff will change too, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Connor: It was like I stole the love that should have been his.

UGH. Kiddo that is so not how parenting works. Connor is overwhelmed with guilt over JJ and completely blames himself for his actions. It’s not difficult to understand why he feels this way. This is how John raised them. When one brother did something wrong the other was held accountable. But now Connor and JJ are flipped from their childhood. The “good brother” became the “bad brother” and vice versus.

Diggle: What do you want me to say?

Oof.

This is not Diggle’s best parenting moment, but let’s juts call a spade a spade. The reason why Diggle is not acting like a father to Connor is because he doesn’t feel like his father. John and Lyla haven’t adopted Connor yet. Diggle doesn’t know him. The stranger standing before him now has lied from minute one about the only son he does know.

He has a nice heart to heart with Dinah once he’s calmed down. It took John all of 5 seconds to draw the Andy comparisons, so he’s just piling one guilt on top of another and blaming himself. Hmm… I wonder if that’s where Connor gets it from?

Dinah: Knowing what’s happened can either destroy us or save us. We’ve seen our worst. Now let’s be our best.

Damn. This is a seriously great speech. Holy crap I enjoyed a Dinah moment. I can’t remember the last time that happened.

If you think this series is ending with the future destroyed and everyone being their worst then I’ve taught you nothing. Follow the yellow brick road. We’re almost home.

Diggle can finally see through his anger and pain when he watches Connor at his best. John can finally see who Connor is when he defuses the bomb.He sees Connor’s intelligence, composure selflessness and bravery. Diggle sees his son. And Connor is everything Diggle dreamed a son could be.

Diggle: You read to go home?

Connor: You don’t have to do that. I don’t want to be a reminder of everything bad that happened to JJ and to your family.

Source: Paige

It’s everything Connor needed to hear and more. Father and son find their way to forgiveness and it’s a path to a second chance.

And because Arrow loves us this means shirtless father/son training session. Well, half shirtless. This is the content I am here to see.

Source: Paige

L*urel L*nce

L*urel goes with Mia on recon so she doesn’t slug her dad in the face. She also knows Mia is going to kill Grant Wilson.

L*urel: Clearly no one has informed you that I used to play for team villain. And I can spot a murderous intent a million miles away.

Is L*urel’s background and history being used for a plot point in a way that makes total and absolute sense? The mind reels at the possibility.

Mia’s reasoning for killing Grant Wilson is sound. They tried locking him up in the future, but he always escapes which helps earn his cult status and JJ’s admiration. Mia believes if she kills Grant Wilson then Zoe will live. The guilt she feels over Zoe’s death is too much to bear. She will do absolutely anything to fix it – even if it costs Mia her soul.

Damn… I wonder where I’ve heard this story before.

L*urel knows a thing or two about vengeance and tries to reach Mia by explaining how Felicity was once in a similar position. L*urel talked her out of killing Ricardo Diaz and SAVED THE DAY!

I’m not gonna say anything. It’s fine. Inaccuracies happen all the time in this show. I can let this go

No, I can’t let this go.

This isn’t exactly how things went down with L*urel, Felicity and Diaz. Yes, L*urel gave Felicity a similar “once you let the darkness in it never comes out” speech in early Season 7. However, she wasn’t overly vexed about Felicity doing some violence. In fact, she was damn near proud of her every time Felicity crossed a line. And L*urel was right there with her. when she did.

Nor was L*urel the reason Felicity didn’t kill Diaz. The first time she pointed a gun at Diaz was when she finally captured him. Felicity was about to pull the trigger when Laurel came in and said she made a deal with the Feds. Oliver would be released from prison if he helped the FBI with their case against Diaz. Yes, L*urel told Felicity she didn’t want to kill Diaz, but she was not the reason Felicity put that gun down. Oliver was.

The second and final time Felicity threatened to kill Diaz she convinced herself. Felicity realized he was no longer a threat. She decides not to kill Diaz because she’s stronger than him. Felicity Smoak is a BAMF and nobody gets to take this moment from her.

I’m not saying L*urel doesn’t deserve any credit. She does, but in typical arrogant BC form she beats the self-congratulatory drum too loud and makes herself the sole savior of Felicity Smoak. No, honey. Not even close.

It’s also frustrating because I wish it was Felicity telling this story to her daughter and not LL. Just one of the many “It sucks that Emily wasn’t in the episode” moments.

Source: dcladies

At least L*urel recognizes Felicity and Mia are not “women who allow themselves to be talked out of anything.” But this statement negates the “Because I talked her out of it” nonsense she was spewing 15 seconds earlier. Sigh. So close yet so far.

Can we just have one episode where this character makes total and absolute sense? Just one episode we hit on all L*urel cylinders. An episode she feels relevant, doesn’t act like a judgmental, hypocritical, ungrateful asshole, and her history isn’t blatantly ignored for the sake of plot contrivance, and doesn’t contradict herself every five seconds? It would just be nice.

Stray Thoughts

Nothing makes me sadder than the director choosing a more toned-down delivery of Ben Lewis’, “Excuse me what year is it?” than the one in the promo because the line in the promo was hysterical.

Dinah wonders why The Monitor didn’t bring L*urel back to Star City too - once again highlighting how annoyed The Monitor is she’s still alive and how inconsequential she is to any of his plans. Snort.

To be fair, (because I am for neutral reporting here and Something To Live For) Rene wonders why The Monitor didn’t bring Zoe and JJ back. He probably would have if she wasn’t dead and JJ wasn’t evil.

Connor’s, “Hey are you okay?” to Mia was so soft and nearly identical in tone to whenever Oliver says “Hey” to Felicity, which this means he wants all the babies with her. That’s the maths.

Did they blow up the doctor?

Oliver bragging William is a billionaire to Rene was the cutest to ever cute.

“You’d be proud.” William’s emotional double meaning requires beaucoup de tissues. Yeah, I’m tossing some French you’re way. Gotta keep things fresh.

“Ugh. Curtis. I did not miss you. Not even a little bit.” From my notes watching live.

I feel like this Councilman Rene thing kind of came out of nowhere in the present time, but I’m not actually invested in it so whatever.

“I cannot believe that is your son. I can however definitely believe that is your daughter.” Okay, this was funny and only made funnier by Oliver’s annoyance. Curtis is there for a hot minute and already bugging him. Dude so much same.

Yes, canaries are plural Dinah. Nobody is happy about it.

The Canary set up for the spin off was LAME.

Connor: There’s a Canary network in the future.

Dinah & L*urel: Let’s eat French fries dipped in milkshakes (trademark LL bonding) and create a Canary network.

Soooo… killing Vinny isn’t a thing anymore? When did that not become a thing? Dinah and L*urel have barely spoke this season and now they are besties? I see shoehorning canaries into plot because of contractual obligations will continue in the spin off. Yippee.

“At least we didn’t die.” Oliver Jonas Queen, God gave you a daughter just like you because He is a just and fair God.

I cannot call it Original Team Arrow because they are missing an original member so it’s Present Team Arrow until Felicity’s return.

“I’m not exactly a big fan of your father’s. He’s kind of a dick.” Should’ve let her fry, Oliver.

“John, we’re good. You too, Connor. I can’t be mad at either of you for something I will never let happen.” WHY ARE ALL THE CHARACTERS MAKING SENSE AND SAYING THINGS I LOVE? I’M SCARED HOLD ME.

I am Oliver. My twenty-something friends are William. LOL Source: felicitysmoak

How has Mia not watched The Shawshank Redemption?

"Mom really liked playing fast and loose with the fourth amendment huh?" WILLIAM’S. BEST. LINE. EVER.

They brought in Curtis to usurp William's skills. Yup, he really is Felicity 2.0.

Has Mia been wearing a Green Arrow suit the whole season and I never noticed or was she just in really great leather this week? I can’t tell on my TV screen.

OMG this moment gave me LIFE. I will be abusing that gif of William. Source: arrowdaily

If Connor learned what an intervalometer bomb is from John then did John learn it from Connor? Wrap your noodle around that time travel mind bender.

Mia’s hair was so extra this week. Source: miasmoakdaily

All I wanted this entire episode was for Mia, William and Oliver to bake cookies. So I will take payment in the form of Monte Cristos. I’m getting my way a lot this season, so I would also like to ask the Arrow writers for a million dollars. Thanks a bunch.

“Or we make our own hope.” Deathstrokes are off the board for the time being. The future is getting a second chance too. You can’t hear me but I’m singing the times they are a-changin’

A very special thanks to Muriel for editing all the gifs. You are a live saver and I am so grateful for your help!

Disclaimer: Any gifs on the blog are not mine. If you would like a gif removed from my reviews, please message me. 8x04 gifs credited.

If you’d like to support the blog, please buy me a cup of tea!

82 notes · View notes

redisaid · 5 years

Text

Night is Falling Across the Sea

Happy Falling anniversary! I started the series a year ago today. I can’t believe it’s already been that long. Thank you for taking what ended up being a very emotional journey with me.

I hope this adds some clarity to Sylvanas’ mindset at the end of the series...

1987 Words

Read it on Ao3!

It was a strange thing to have a desk again. Not even a very nice one. But it was hers. Just having anything that was hers alone was still something Sylvanas was getting used to.

Even as she wrote out this last missive, she found herself looking at her hands. Ungloved, they were ashen and strange, yet formed the letters of her handwriting as they always had. They remembered how to write flowing Thalassian script and more rigid Common letters. They were still making their best attempt at crude Orcish runes. And yet she couldn't help but eye them warily, both the one held the paper and the other moved the pen, as if they would at any moment stop following the words in her thoughts, and instead obey another's command.

Sylvanas found herself seeking places of silence lately, if only to confirm that the only thoughts she could hear in her mind were her own. She wondered when she would be able to give up that new habit. She wondered if she ever could.

But this desk. This office. These chambers. Like everything the Forsaken had left to them, it was all salvaged from the ruins of Lordaeron, then dragged down into its catacombs to fashion something new out of the wreckage of the old.

Sylvanas wondered at what human might have written at this desk. Some officer, no doubt, who had spilled a pot of ink in one of the drawers, who had probably discovered the same creak on the corner if one leaned too much of one's weight there. Such rambling, useless, sentimental thoughts. But they were hers. Only hers. No one else’s.

A knock interrupted them. Having a door to hide behind again was another old, but new experience, as was being in the company of beings civilized enough to remember knocking and other polite niceties.

"Enter," Sylvanas said.

That voice. She still wasn't used to it. In the months now that she had spent back in this body, barking orders, commanding again, she still couldn't stand the sound of her own double-toned voice. Physical and ethereal. Dead, and something too close to living.

Another that must have understood her struggles well moved quietly through the door frame before shutting the heavy door behind her. Clea's body moved as it always had in life, though she had only gained it back mere months ago. Sylvanas had to wonder if she too watched her hands write, or lace up her boots, or draw arrows from her quiver.

"I have reports," Clea offered as she approached the desk. Yet she wasn't carrying any papers.

"I see none in your hand," Sylvanas indicated.

Clea's voice switched to the native Thalassian so suddenly that it hit Sylvanas like a rogue wave, "That's because I bring news of things you had requested me to investigate quietly."

"Ah, and quiet you are," Sylvanas responded in kind, hating how her voice grated on the flowing, musical language as if it were a mouthful of sand. "Speak then. Your silence can end here."

"I was able to get an audience with the garrison commander at the border to Quel'thalas. Thankfully, the elves are still as informed of the goings on of this world as they always have been," Clea stated, speaking as if she did not possess the same long ears and glowing eyes as she always had.

But, those eyes glowed crimson now, not blue. Those long ears were no longer flushed pink with blood and life. And the woman beneath them? The banshee that inhabited the corpse of her fallen body? Well, she wasn't at all the same. Was it fair to call her an elf? To even think of being part of the people that had borne her?

No. Not if Sylvanas wouldn't call herself the same either. Not anymore.

"Lor'themar Theron rules in Kael'thas' stead as Lord Regent. Little has been heard from the prince since he departed for Outland, but the Blood Elves remain confident he will return," Clea went on.

Sin'dorei. The word turned over in Sylvanas' mind. An echo of the old songs, of struggles many generations passed. What an appropriate name, though, to describe the pitiful remainder of the kingdom she had died for, and the people that had managed to survive.

"I'm sure Lor'themar is thrilled," Sylvanas drawled, feeling the ghost of a smile threaten at the thought of her former second in command ruling an entire nation.

"The commander didn't offer insight into that," Clea told her. "But he did confirm that there are no other full Lordearon regiments remaining in the north, only outlying survivors that haven't made their way to other kingdoms yet."

"Finally, some good news. What of Gilneas?" Sylvanas asked.

"Still shut away behind their wall. There are rumors of a sickness plaguing them from within, though," Clea reported. She shifted so that her hip bumped the creaking corner of the desk, though she seemed to take little notice of it.

"Not the plague that caused all of this?" Sylvanas questioned, though even utterly unbothered Clea would have been a bit more animated if she was reporting that.

"No," Clea confirmed with a shake of her head. "Lycanthrope."

Even her laugh sounded strange. It felt even stranger. "Serves them right. Fools."

Clea was silent. Silent in a way only her risen rangers could be. No breaths to disturb the air. No shuffling of feet. No beating heart. Perhaps, just waiting to be dismissed.

But Sylvanas was not ready for that yet. "I asked you for one more piece of news. I take it the commander was not forthcoming with that, or perhaps he doesn't know either?"

"She lives."

Two words Sylvanas had expected to hear. She was in no way surprised. But as to what she did feel, it was a cacophony of emotions that her disconnected body and soul were in no way prepared to process. But if there was anything that her living days lent to her that mattered now, it was that learned ability to keep her emotions from showing on her face. She remained, as ever, like the porcelain mask her new people had begun to paint on banners and sew into their cloaks, despite the turmoil that was going on inside of her. Looking as though she did not feel what she thought she no longer could.

But she did.

"Lady Proudmoore leads a band of Lordaeron survivors across the sea in Kalimdor now. They have founded a settlement there called Theramore. Rumor is they worked with the Orcs to fight the Burning Legion there, and that they have stumbled upon the Night Elves," Clea went on to say.

"Night Elves," Sylvanas mused. The Thalassian rolled off her tongue with yet another word that came from old songs and legends only--Kal'dorei.

And now Jaina stood with them, these ghostly ancestors from her grandfather's tales.

But more importantly, Jaina stood. She lived. She had escaped Dalaran before it too had fallen.

But Sylvanas' body didn't know how to react to that. Relief should have washed over her, loosening tightened muscles and easing her mind. Pride should have welled up in her, lifting her shoulders just a little higher as she rejoiced in how strong and confident the young mage had become. How capable she was now, leading her own army. And something else. A longing to be there with her, to be the Sylvanas Jaina remembered. That one she could feel closest to what it should be. Her heart hurt, or maybe it was just the place where her she'd been run through. A heart that couldn't beat couldn't hurt, after all, and if there was one thing this body did correctly, it was phantom pains.

That had to be it, right?

"It is said that they defeated the demon lord that was summoned in Dalaran," Clea said after a moment.

All this hearsay, all this third-hand information. It was infuriating. Sylvanas was so used to being in the middle of the action. And she had been, yet again. But her little rebellion of sentient undead was only a small part of this massive picture, of a world thrown into chaos, greater than any it had ever known.

But worst of all, Jaina had been out there, fighting this whole time. Doing exactly what Sylvanas had warned her against when they both yet lived and breathed, but exactly what she knew she would do anyway. And what was so bad about it was that she could still register the part of herself that longed to be with her. To drop everything and sail to Kalimdor.

Irrational. Emotional. Heated.

Everything this body was not. Everything that her continued existence in this world could no longer afford to be.

"Thank you," Sylvanas said as Clea’s silence rang out, deafening in it’s own way.

That was it. That was all. No details. She wouldn’t know if Jaina was happy. If she was truly safe. If she slept well. If she was warm at night. If, perhaps, another kept her warm. Or if she mourned her. Or missed her. Or if she even knew what had happened in Quel’thalas. What had become of her lover.

Or if she cared at all.

Clea nodded, taking that as her cue to leave, and blessedly shut the door behind herself on the way out.

It was one thing to be sure of her thoughts. To know they were her own. And Sylvanas knew that. She was sure, in this moment. No one else could feel like this. No one else could know this particular bit of torment.

Oh, she had suffered. She had suffered as no one else could possibly suffer. She had been used. She had been betrayed. She had watched as her own ghostly hands delivered blows that helped to reduce the kingdom she had spent her life fighting for to ashes. She had watched the Sunwell itself become corrupted and fouled.

But none of that prepared her for how she felt then. For the memories of Jaina’s warm smile and soft skin. For how she knew, all at once, that though she might remain in this world now, a ghost among the living, that she could never have that again.

And that, despite it all, despite every battle she had fought, within and without herself--she would still want for it. She would still remember. She would still feel something, the same, but different. Disconnected, but present. An echo of love. Bells ringing in the distance, too far off to really pinpoint their direction. A sweet song that she didn’t know the words to, but desperately wanted to sing.

This was all that was left to her, and it was maddening.

But Jaina. Jaina was alive. She was intact. She wasn’t broken, or at least not in the way Sylvanas would always be. She was...she was herself, still.

And in the end, as Sylvanas stood and left her desk behind, moving out of her chambers and into the comfort of assessing her troops, of asking after the construction of this new city beneath of the old, of ensuring her defenses were prepared for any possible assaults that the outlying humans might make against their undead kin, a smile finally crept onto her lips.

Jaina lived. She would thrive. She didn’t need Sylvanas to do any of that. She didn’t need a walking corpse. She was fine on her own. Sylvanas was content to just be a memory.

At least, until Jaina might find out her fate. But at least the violent seas between them might protect her from that a little longer. If Sylvanas still felt as though she could pray to Belore for that, she would.

But no, she did not. Instead, she found a quiet place to enjoy the music of her thoughts. Somber, though it might now.

But it was hers alone.

#Sylvanas Windrunner #Jaina Proudmoore #sylvaina #falling #fanfic #happy falling anniversary #you monsters

55 notes · View notes

jahaanofmenaphos · 4 years

Photo

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

FANFICTION.NET

TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 11: SLISKE’S ENDGAME

QUEST SUMMARY:

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske’s games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat’s design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske’s madness once and for all…

CHAPTER 6 - DARE TO DIE

His green eyes no longer shone emerald. Instead, they were sunk into their sockets, white and lifeless.

This was not Ozan.

His hair was a tangled mess, not the perfectly layered quiff and bangs that usually framed his handsome face.

This was not Ozan.

He carried himself like a broken puppet on a string, not with the suave bravado and swagger he was famous for.

This was NOT Ozan!

But even if this figure standing before Jahaan wasn’t Ozan, it broke his heart all the same.

He wanted to call out to his friend, to beg him to remember who he once was, that he’s not just a thrall of Sliske’s… but he knew it was hopeless. Wights couldn’t be reasoned with, and Jahaan knew Sliske would get some perverse pleasure out of watching him hopelessly beg for his friend’s sanity. But Jahaan couldn’t help but gormlessly stand there, heart pounding in his throat and threatening to jump out of his mouth.

Sliske knew his nightmares, and this was one of them.

Mercifully, Jahaan regained enough composure to register Ozan readying his bow and arrow, managing to start running out of the way just before the arrow would have careened into him. A bow and arrow was far superior in accuracy and power compared to Karil’s crossbow, especially in Ozan’s hands. He was one of Gielinor’s finest archers, and even as a wight, his prowess would be second to none.

Fortunately, even Ozan’s arrows weren’t strong enough to penetrate Jahaan’s armour, but they packed a punch. As he was running from one point of cover to another, Jahaan felt one slam into his side, the arrow shaft splintering on the impact. Perhaps the shock was worse than the pain, but it wasn’t an experience he cared to repeat.

Ozan was positioned by the remnants of the Stone of Jas, the crumbled remains of the universe’s most powerful artefact. And as the next arrow whizzed by him, an idea clicked into Jahaan’s mind.

When wights are bested in combat, they don’t die, for they’re already stuck in a perpetual state of ‘undeath’. Instead, they rejuvenate, ready to be summoned again. How long this rejuvenation process takes depends on the prowess of the summoner, but for someone as powerful as Sliske, the wights could be back at full strength within a couple of hours. If the summoner died while the wights were rejuvenating, the souls of the wights would be released to the afterlife - only then would they finally ‘die’. Most likely, the same thing would happen if wights were active when their master perished. But a small part of Jahaan wondered… if he killed Sliske while Ozan was summoned, would the Mahjarrat’s control over him be broken? Would he be free?

It seemed like a long shot; Jahaan wished he’d asked Icthlarin more questions on the matter. But even if there was the slimmest of chances he could save some part of Ozan, he was going to try.

So, instead of working to destroy Ozan’s wight form, Jahaan tried to impair him, to render him immobile for the rest of the battle.

Kerapac’s armour was dropped a little ways across the cavern, and Jahaan wanted to reach it before heading towards Ozan, just to give his head some protection in case an arrow accidentally targeted his skull instead of his protected chestplate. Sliske must have known that Ozan’s bow and arrow was not enough to physically debilitate him. But battles fought against the mind could leave greater scars than any carved on the body. When it came to battles against the mind, Sliske could be considered a warmaster. The Mahjarrat was smart. Twisted, malicious, but smart.

So Jahaan tried to pretend the man attacking him wasn’t the warped shell of his oldest and closest companion. Alas, it didn’t work that easily, but he kept trying. Jahaan found small comfort in the knowledge that he would soon channel all the rage, all the sorrow and all the grief that Sliske had caused him, and use it to beat the teeth out of Sliske’s skull.

Fortunately, no arrows were embedded in his head by the time he made it to Kerepac’s armour. Standing side-on to Ozan, Jahaan held the armour-plate tight against his head and edged closer to the wight, only peering out briefly to make sure he was walking on target. Naturally, this slow and straight movement made him easy pickings for Ozan’s arrows. Jahaan prayed that his armour would hold up.

The first arrow connected underneath his rib, arrow splitting in two with each end flying in a different direction. The second bounced off in similar fashion. At this rate, Jahaan realised the greatest danger was the unpredictable direction the arrowheads would fly in.

When Jahaan got too close, Ozan started to back away, edging even closer towards the Stone. Arrows that caught Jahaan at this distance packed a severe punch. One winded him as it crashed into the middle of his ribs. Groaning, Jahaan slipped one of his swords out of its sheath and kept on going, tanking another arrow hit.

Peering out from the side of his make-shift shield, Jahaan saw Ozan knock into the debris pile of the Stone behind him, staggering backwards slightly as the wight worked to regain his footing.

That was when Jahaan struck, a precise slash of his sword that cut the longbow in half. Using the wight’s confusion to his advantage, Jahaan dropped his sword and shield in quick succession, then launched himself at Ozan, a fierce knock to the side of his head making the wight stumble backwards and trip over the Stone fragments. With Ozan on the ground now, Jahaan capitalised on his crude plan to incapacitate the wight.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…

Jahaan tried not to feel bad, reminding himself over and over that wights do not feel pain, that they do not suffer, regardless of what injury is inflicted upon them. Still, as he smashed the rock down on Ozan’s ankle, Jahaan himself let out a hoarse cry, but he masked it in a whimper.

I just want to help… I’m sorry...

He couldn’t look Ozan in the eye. Undead wight or not, this was his friend he was hurting, and the sickening crunch of the shattered bone made Jahaan feel sick. But since the World Guardian wanted to disable the wight, not kill him, this was the only thing that came to mind.

Ozan made no protest, only swinging his arms in weak defiance, just like a zombie would. Before Ozan could shuffle himself into a crawl, Jahaan began piling debris from all around the Stone onto Ozan’s legs, effectively trapping him there. It was a long shot, and a desperate one at that, but if he could just say put, if he could remain in this realm...

When the last piece was in place, Jahaan moved to the side, tentatively examining what Ozan would do. The wight tried to shift, twisting to face Jahaan, but it couldn’t find enough purchase to lift the debris from the lower half of its body.

Suddenly, a bolt of energy connected against Jahaan, forcing his back to arc in anguish. The jolts of arcane magic caused his entire body to spasm. When the stream of shadow energy ceased, Jahaan collapsed to the ground, twitching and panting from the aftershock.

“Honestly,” Sliske grumbled, teleporting down from his high perch and into the chamber-turned-battleground. “If you want something done right, do it yourself…”

Jahaan forced his head to the side, to look at the debilitated form of Ozan, and watched with gut-wrenching dismay as Sliske caused the wight to vanish with a wave of his hand.

The plan to try and save Ozan had failed. That hurt more than Sliske’s attack.

“You know, you’re really starting to irk me, World Guardian.”

Jahaan heard heavy footsteps move towards him, then a firm boot stomping on his back, forcing his face to smash against the ground.

“Come on, get up,” Sliske’s voice had the remnants of a growl lodged in his throat. “You risked both our necks to start a fight, so let’s get on with it.”

Groaning, Jahaan went to prop himself up, but it was a struggle. In his peripheral vision, he saw Sliske lean towards him again - and that’s when he struck.

Whipping around quickly, Jahaan threw a blinding smoke spell into Sliske’s eyes, causing the Mahjarrat to cough and choke. Using the distraction, Jahaan scrambled to his feet and gained some distance from the Mahjarrat, readying a smoke barrage to capitalise.

The spell connected, knocking Sliske back a pace. Growling, he teleported to the other side of the chasm before Jahaan’s next spell could strike him, countering with a wave of shadow magic.

Sliske’s attack hit dead on, forcing the World Guardian to the ground, but he recovered quickly.

“I see you’ve been dabbling in some of the darker arts,” Sliske sneered, shadows dancing and curling around the base of their master. “Good. I was hoping for some semblance of a challenge.”

Finally, the battle commenced in earnest.

Jahaan weaved and ducked out of the way of oncoming fire, tanking the odd hits he couldn’t quite slip out of the way from. Fortunately, his armour held up well. Memories of fighting Zemouregal told him he couldn’t rely on absorbing every hit - his ribs were a weakness to him as it was. But he could take enough without too much pain or damage. It was very reassuring, being enveloped in such strong armour.

In return, he fired back when he had the chance, smoke and blood barrage spells slipping easily from his gloved palms. He could feel the burning heat against the skin of his hands, thankful that the material his gloves were made out of provided the wearer with some form of spellcaster’s protection. Many people preferred fighting with a wand or staff for greater accuracy, avoiding the scorched palms in the process. Not Jahaan. To him, staves were cumbersome and wands were flimsy. Learning to palm-cast was harder, but it was much more useful for someone who predominantly fought with melee items.

Besides, it was much more satisfying to watch Sliske feel the pain from a spell summoned from Jahaan’s own hands.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for what you did to me,” the Mahjarrat hissed, blocking a smoke spell with a shadow-esque shield.

“What I did to you?!” Jahaan spluttered, indignantly. “You nearly beat me to death! You killed my best friend!”

“You broke your promise,” Sliske countered, coldly. “You gave me your word, and you betrayed me.”

Shadow hands emerged from the ground, clawing at Jahaan. While he kicked one of them away, another grabbed so tightly onto his left arm that it threatened to crush the armour. As quick as he could, Jahaan unsheathed a sword and hacked through the arm clutching at him, dashing away from the remaining ethereal limbs.

“You’re delusional, Sliske,” Jahaan couldn’t even put enough venomous emotion into the statement. There was no sense in arguing with someone so lost in their own fables.

Then again, Sliske felt the exact same way.

Sliske’s attacks were wild and vicious, and he had no problem in hitting Jahaan when he was down. Arcane energy in the form of lightning strikes would crash down from above, hitting the ground around Jahaan’s feet, causing it to crumble and quake. The World Guardian would fall to the floor, greeted half a second later by a thunderous blitz of shadow magic against his downed frame.

Jahaan predicted that, with each spell and attack Sliske summoned, he was rapidly drawing away from his life force. Without the Stone’s power, and without his energy having been rejuvenated in the last Ritual, Sliske was running on empty. In a way, Jahaan thought it best to prolong this fight as long as possible, to force Sliske into wilder and more powerful spells that would sap his energy. This would weaken him quicker. However, this was a double-edged sword, for stamina worked both ways - the longer the fight lasted, the more likely Jahaan was to make a mistake, one that Sliske could capitalise upon to fatal ends.

Occasionally, a handful of unstable wights would be conjured and sent to attack Jahaan. These were easy to kill, slow and unresponsive, and served as a distraction more than anything so that Sliske could exploit the situation. Usually Jahaan would find himself tangling with a wight, only to be struck across the side by a bolt of shadow energy.

These wights didn’t seem to be as robust as the Brothers - far from it. Sometimes they would explode before even reaching Jahaan. Occasionally they would explode just before Jahaan could kill them, sending out scolding particles of arcane energy. If he was unfortunate, these particles would singe Jahaan’s face, already adding to the collection of burn marks he was sporting.

Jahaan didn’t think this was all that intentional, but instead a by-product of Sliske’s rapidly draining power, making him unwilling to part with large chunks of energy in order to fuel an army of strong wights. The Barrows Brothers alone must have drained him considerably. Perhaps he was grasping at the severity of his situation?

Looking carefully, one could notice how sunken Sliske’s eyes had become, receding back into their hollow sockets. His grey skin was tighter against his chin, clawing away from him and fraying at the edges. In some places, where the flesh was closer to the bone, it had peeled away completely, showing the animated corpse beneath. His breathing was shorter now, tighter, as if he was inhaling through a thicker, unfamiliar atmosphere with untested lungs.

It seemed as if Sliske was growing aware of this himself. Gazing down at his hand, the Mahjarrat removed a glove and felt his heart sink at the confirmation. The cracking sound as his skinless fingers clenched into a fist only served to make Sliske even angrier, and he took it out on Jahaan.

Fortunately for Jahaan, the more heated Sliske seemed to get, the less accurate his attacks were. More and more, the World Guardian could counter one of the Mahjarrat’s spells with an attack of his own. Smoke and blood spells connected against Sliske with increased power and precision.

Occasionally the fight was brought to the Shadow Realm, usually by Sliske, but Jahaan would chase him there, refusing to give him enough respite to calculate his offence. But even without entering the Realm, Jahaan could trace Sliske’s movements inside of it, tracking where he would emerge.

“I’m really regretting my choice of gift,” Sliske chided as Jahaan pursued the Mahjarrat into the Shadow Realm once more.

More shadow hands reached for Jahaan, their translucency a trap as they would cling onto their prey tighter than any mortal arms. Thankfully, Jahaan evaded them this time.

With a hoarse groan, a smoke barrage collided with Sliske at full force, causing him to double over and clutch at his stomach. Ragged breaths slipped past clenched teeth, tight and laboured. By now, Sliske’s eyes seemed far too big for his face, as if his skull had shrunk. Flesh hung loosely from his gaunt, jutting bones. In the patches where it hadn’t receded completely, his skin was like paper.

Unfortunately, the effects of the battle had been taking their toll on Jahaan too. He couldn’t think how long the two had been duelling, but the exhaustion was really starting to kick in now. Underneath his armour he could feel the swelling and tenderness of bruises starting to form. Sweat poured down his forehead, coating his black locks and sticking them to his cheeks. He flicked his head to one side, trying to detach them from his skin.

More than anything, Jahaan didn’t want Sliske to know that the fatigue was getting to him. Knowledge like that could give Sliske a confidence boost, one that could work severely against the World Guardian.

Still, he needed a few minutes to catch his breath and compose himself, even if such respite gave Sliske a breather in the process. Without it, Jahaan feared he would collapse. Adrenaline can only take a man so far.

The last thing Jahaan wanted to hear was Sliske’s honeyed voice grating against his eardrums, but if it provided some respite to his attacks, then he’d suffer it.

“So come on,” Jahaan huffed, wiping his brow with a gloved hand. “Seeing as we’re near the end of all this, you can tell me the truth now.” Sliske’s stance was guarded, but he seemed to be in favour of their unspoken time-out, deciding against conjuring another attack. “The truth about what?”

“About why you wanted my soul,” Jahaan replied, resting his hands on the hilts of his swords. “You’ve met thousands of people across hundreds of lifetimes - surely you could have used any one of them to get a soul!”

“Don’t you think I tried?” Sliske barked back. “Hundreds upon hundreds of failed experiments! I tried everything, got lost in my research, but none of them were compatible with me… but you would know all about that, wouldn’t you, you prying little World Guardian. Even when I had the Staff, nothing would take.”

“And so you took the word of a madman to come after me? All because he plucked my name out of thin air?”

“You don’t believe much in destiny, do you?” Sliske chided. “It’s such a romantic concept. I knew - all the way back then, I knew - that if I were to acquire a soul, it would be yours. You’re… special. Always have been.”

Jahaan didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he decided to end their little respite before Sliske could dive into a vexing soliloquy. There was only so much the World Guardian could take. Fortunately, the Mahjarrat didn’t react in time and took the full brunt of a smoke barrage. The spell caught onto the fabric of his robe beneath his chin, incinerating a small portion of it and burning the flesh below. Seeing the opportunity, Jahaan channeled a delicate and precise blood spell, one that targeted the blood seeping from Sliske’s wound. Soon, the ink-like substance that came from the wound was under Jahaan’s control. The World Guardian pulled the blood out like it was a weed. Thin and sticky vines defied gravity as they were wrenched out of the Mahjarrat’s body.

Roaring in anguish, Sliske forcefully pressed a palm to the wound, desperate to stop the essence being dragged from his body. Realising the effort was for nought, he fired a wild spell in Jahaan’s direction, missing the mark but close enough to get Jahaan to break his concentration on the spell.

Sliske stumbled, hunching slightly as he panted for breath, the heat of his palm trying to nurse the wound. Baring his teeth, seething eyes glared daggers at Jahaan. “Did Azzy teach you that one?”

Jahaan’s lips curled with a tinge of cruelty.

Sliske fought back with increased venom, a wave of shadow magic storming across the chasm and crashing into Jahaan. The World Guardian tumbled to the ground, rolling at speed into a pile of debris. Once the world stopped spinning, Jahaan became aware of an acute pain in his jaw and the unmistakable taste of iron in his mouth. When he spat out, blood came with it, alongside a fragment of tooth.

Groaning, Jahaan tried to pull himself to his feet, but a blast of shadow energy put paid to that. In fact, several more bolts connected with him as Jahaan desperately tried to crawl behind a downed pillar for cover.

Gasping for breath, Jahaan tried to reorient himself and prepare to counter. But by the gods, was his back killing him. That last onslaught had really done a number on his already aching muscles. But for what it was worth, that last onslaught had also taken its toll on Sliske.

“You just wanted to make me one of your thralls!” Jahaan called out from behind cover, stretching out the kinks in his back, trying to shake off the pain in his aching muscles. “You pretended to care about me, but you were just using me all this time. So don’t get pissed just because I used you. It’s a two-way street.”

Jahaan flinched as a bolt of arcane energy careened into the remnants of the pillar, shattering his stone cover.

“I would have given you eternal life,” Sliske’s voice was low and ever so slightly shaky. “I would have given you power, a place in this world. You would have had purpose. I would have let you keep your free will.”

“Until you got bored,” Jahaan countered. “And stripped that away from me with a click of your fingers.”

Sliske shook his head lightly. “Not you. I would never have done that to you.”

The worst part was that, despite everything, a part of Jahaan believed Sliske. The Mahjarrat was a master of manipulating emotions, and Jahaan had to remind himself that’s exactly what this was - a manipulation. Sliske was trying to get under his skin to throw him off balance, nothing more.

Nothing more?

Shaking the cobwebs from his mind, Jahaan readied himself and dashed out from behind cover, a forceful retaliation of spells at his fingertips.

Sliske tried to keep up, but he was weak, weaker than he’d ever felt before. Five hundred years pass between each Ritual, and yet even after all that time he’d still have enough in the tank to fight to the death beside the Marker.

The words of his half brother began to repeat inside his mind, ‘And what would happen if all your plans fell apart and you were finally cornered?’

In his arrogance, he had shrugged off his brother’s concerns. There was always another plan, after all.

He’d have to think fast, have to calculate his next move. Was escaping even an option? Jahaan had stopped him last time and he could again. But regardless of that, Sliske didn’t want to run away this time. What was the use? The state he was in, he could wither and die all alone before he came up with a solution to rejuvenate himself.

He just had to think. While there was still hope for his plans to succeed, he would keep trying.

He still had the Staff. He still had a chance.

This was not over yet. Far from it.

At least, that was what Sliske thought...

Before long, Sliske’s spells became weaker and harder to cast, the strain on each one hurting himself more than the spell’s target. All the while, his brain racked for a way to turn the tables in his favour, to get the soul he needed now more than ever. If he was to die in this world, that soul was his only chance of living on in the next.

With the Staff, the Siphon, there was a way. Jahaan just needed to be debilitated as the extraction was a delicate process.

But Jahaan was fighting with more vigor now - perhaps he could sense Sliske’s withering and desperation? Perhaps it was spurring him on, giving him enough adrenaline to counter each of Sliske’s attacks with a thunderous rebuttal.

The World Guardian was gaining on him, closing the gap between them. Each hit Jahaan tanked didn’t slow him down as much as Sliske needed, and it didn’t deter him from pushing onwards. Sliske tried to hold his ground, but the more powerful attacks winded him, causing him to cough and splutter up mouthfuls of acidic bile. The next bolt of blood magic smashed into his gut, causing the Mahjarrat to double over, now finding blood dripping out from between his teeth and pooling in the black of his throat.

He didn’t notice Jahaan slip the dagger out of its sheath until it was far too late.

Jahaan leapt into the air, runite dagger held high. The sharp tip of the blade was angled towards the top of Sliske’s skull. Starved for reaction time, all the Mahjarrat’s instincts allowed him to do was to bring his right arm up to intercept the dagger’s path.

The dagger embedded itself in the lower part of Sliske’s right forearm. A sickening squelch would have normally been expected, but there was not enough flesh to garner such a noise. Instead, it was worse - a nauseating snapping sound as the blade tore through weakened muscles, then followed by the dull, heavy knock against bone. The crushing force of the hilt smashing against Sliske’s increasingly frail arms caused a large chunk of bone to shatter in the Mahjarrat’s arm. At the same time, the hilt of Jahaan’s dagger cracked and the blade dislodged from its perch inside the handle.

Howling in agony, Sliske tried to summon a spell to fend off Jahaan, but the act made him lightheaded. This time though, the World Guardian didn’t capitalise, instead watching numbly as Sliske staggered back into the cliff wall behind him. Wheezing and panting, each heavy breath strained to free itself from his throat. The Mahjarrat coughed, bringing forth blood as he did so.

The dagger in his arm had been the final straw. Even though he’d protected himself against the killing blow, Sliske already felt blackness crawling into the corners of his eyes.

Shaking hands clutched onto the wound the dagger had made. He felt the crumbled bone rattle in his arm, a quiet yet deafening sound that made Sliske want to retch. Some fragments had come loose, tumbling out of his sleeve and scattering across the ground like marbles.

And still Jahaan didn’t move. He was rendered immobile by the sight before him, struck dumb by the realisation that he had won. This was it. It was so nearly over.

Everything started to feel unreal, almost hollow. It was a clouding sensation Jahaan couldn’t quite grasp, but it refused him the luxury of any prevailing emotion. No elation at victory, no relief that all this madness was nearly at an end. Just… emptiness.

Sliske all but collapsed against the rock behind him, scraping down the jagged edges until solid ground halted his descent. Panting, he gazed up at Jahaan through blurred eyes, trying to end the double vision so he could sharpen the world around him.

“It seems you’ve got me in a spot of bother,” he winced through the words.

Rolling his shoulders and clicking his neck from side to side, Jahaan stretched the stiffness out of his aching muscles. The swords felt like tonne weights in his hands. He held them limply, not having the strength to sheathe them completely. Darkness floated into the edges of his mind, his eyes begging for momentary release, but he fought to keep them open.

His attention was pulled back into reality by the sound of tearing material. Glancing over at Sliske, the Mahjarrat was using the edges of his robes to bind his wound.

“I was a fool to think I could skip a Ritual,” he muttered, cringing as he tied the material tighter around his forearm, letting out a strangled cry as he squeezed the wound. After the pain had subsided from blinding to just plain agony, Sliske calmed his ragged breaths and reached around to unhook his shoulder armour. The weight of it suddenly felt unbearable, like gravity had turned malicious and was using the metal to crush him. His molded torso platebody also felt far too constricting - he removed that too, letting it fall to his side. Finally, he could breathe.

“I didn’t know the drain would be so fast, so intense,” Sliske continued, “I thought I would have TIME, time to find a source of energy to tide me over until the next Ritual. How was I to know this would be the last one? That Mah would drain us for all we had? I suppose the Stone really was keeping me afloat. When the Dragonkin destroyed it, the cord was cut, and thus my power, my energy, my… my life is being drained from me, quicker than ever before.”

“You’re dying,” Jahaan surmised, bluntly.

Scoffing, Sliske smiled in surrender. “Always the wordsmith.”

The two were silent for a long while. No malicious teasing from Sliske, no foolhardy defiance from the World Guardian. It was tangible, the space between them. Jahaan felt like he could reach out and mould something out of the thick air.

Exhaling deeply, Jahaan nodded to himself, growing in certainty as he did.

Dropping his swords to the ground, Jahaan began the task of unhinging his plate armour.

Seeing this, Sliske offered him a puzzled look. “What are you doing?”

“Making this a fair fight,” Jahaan simply replied, removing the last section of his platelegs. He picked up one of his swords and tossed it over to Sliske’s feet. “Can you fight with your left?”

Sliske blinked. “Of course. But why?”

“It’s simple, really. You’re not going to live, but I’m not going to let you die. You’re going to fight, and I’m going to kill you.”

The Mahjarrat’s face cracked a thin smile, but the gesture was weak, a pretender, a shadow of its former self. “Would that make you happy, Janny? To drive a blade through my cold heart once and for all?”

Shoulder’s sagging, Jahaan sighed in frustration, rubbing his pounding temples with his free hand. “I don’t know anymore, Sliske. I just don’t know.”

After regarding Jahaan carefully for a long, pronounced moment, Sliske took the sword and forced himself to his feet, stumbling slightly as he was painfully reminded of the weight of his own body.

Testing the weight of the sword in his uninjured hand, Sliske said, “If you have a deathwish, I suppose I can oblige. But what do I gain from killing you, hm?”

“Don’t kill me - bring me close,” Jahaan replied, “Do that, and you can finally get what you’ve always wanted... you can have my soul.”

This made Sliske’s eyes light up. “Well, that's an offer I simply cannot refuse. Let’s dance.”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

Previous chapter / Next chapter

#runescape #sliske's endgame

3 notes · View notes