#lore accurate blade (refusing to die) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alittlepieceofwarcraft · 6 years

Text

Forsaken: A Character Guide

This isn’t to try and tell you what to do and what not to do; this is for people who want more lore accurate characters and don’t know where to start.

SOURCE

Tip jar

Ko-fi

Paypal

History

Evolution (Year -16,000): The Forsaken are a faction of undead that have regained their free will and only have occurred in the last century and they originally mostly are made up of deceased Lordaeron citizens. However, undead beings created by various magics have existed long before this. Trolls practised voodoo could have been as early as their origins in -16,000. The Burning Legion have been known to raise the dead long before they encountered Azeroth. While no date is given for this, it can be assumed it was somewhere before -10,000 as the nathrezim attempted to raise Broxigar during the War of the Ancients.

Lordaeron (-2,000): Lordaeron is founded.

Modern Azerothian undead:(Year 0): The first modern undead were skeletal warriors created by necrolytes in the Horde in the First War.

First death knights (Year 4): Gul’dan creates death knights.

Birth of the Lich King (Year 8): Kil’jaeden uses Ner’zhul’s soul to create the first Lich King, the leader of the the undead and the previous leader of the Forsaken.

The Scourge (Year 15-18): Lich Kel’Thuzad begins spreading the Plague of Undeath throughout Azeroth to try and weaken the mortal defences, forming the Cult of the Damned.

Scourge invasion of Lordaeron (Year 20): The Cult of the Damned begin spreading the plague throughout the kingdom. Prince Arthas Menethil investigates the spread and finds that the grain in Stratholme has been poisoned by the plague and kills the populace to prevent further infection. Kel’Thuzad reveals himself and tells Arthas to find his master Mal’Ganis, in Northrend. Arthas slays him. He travels to Northrend only to come into contact with the cursed blade Frostmourne, whose whispers drive him mad. He became a death knight, murdered his own father and unleashed the Scourge upon Capital City. Arthas then turns his attention to the Sunwell of Quel’Thalas to use to raise Kel’Thuzad. The quel’dorei, or high elves, put up a resistance but eventually the city falls and their Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner is risen as a banshee. Kil’jaeden fears that Ner’zhul is trying to use the Scourge against him and enlists Illidan Stormrage to eliminate Arthas. They come to blows and Arthas is weakened, leaving Ner’zhul to urge him to come and merge with him as one. They do so, but Arthas kills the side of Ner’zhul in him, becoming the sole Lich King and is left in a state of dreaming. His control over the Scourge wanes and some Forsaken, including Sylvanas, regain their free will. They take to below Capital City and rename it Undercity, making it the Forsaken capital.

The Forsaken (Year 22): Sylvanas rallies the aware undead and becomes their leader, the Banshee Queen. She sends missives to the Alliance, hoping that they would accept their former allies into their ranks. They are refused, being seen as abominations, and so the undead call themselves the Forsaken as they have been abandoned by their families, friends and peers. They are instead accepted into the Horde.

The Lich King Arthas (Year 27): Arthas reawakens and beings to use his Scourge against the mortal races. Putress betrays Sylvanas by unleashing a new strain of plague that affect the living and the dead at the Wrath Gate. Arthas is killed by adventurers. Sylvanas sees her task as done and throws herself from the top of Icecrown Citadel. She is shown visions of a hellish afterlife and Val’kyr offer to bind themselves to resurrect her.

Gilneas (Year 28): The Forsaken attack and take Gilneas, starting a long feud between the worgen and themselves.

Warchief (Year 32): Sylvanas is appointed Warchief and the Desolate Council is formed to lead in her absence.

The Gathering and Battle for Lordaeron (Year 33): King Anduin Wrynn proposes that Forsaken and humans should be allowed a small meeting to see if they could live in harmony. While many reunions go sour, Sylvanas sees that some go well and the Forsaken are showing signs of defection. She kills the Forsaken on the field of meeting, including most members of the Desolate Council. She leads an attack on Teldrassil. In retaliation for the destruction of the night elf capital, the Alliance storm Undercity. Rather than lose the battle and give up her city, Sylvanas ordered plague explosives to be set off and the city is destroyed. Forsaken refugees take up a camp atop the Gates of Orgrimmar.

Physical traits

Life expectancy: Prior to undeath, playable Forsaken are Lordaeron humans who have been known to live up to 100. In undeath, Forsaken are effectively immortal.

Height: Like humans, they average to about 5-6 foot.

Eye colour: Most Forsaken have glowing yellow eyes, but have been known to have blue ones.

Cosmetics: Forsaken often have to reattach new limbs onto themselves due to decomposition, meaning many may not match,

Personality traits

For the Dark Lady: Many Forsaken view Sylvanas as their saviour, therefore are fiercely loyal to her. On the other hand, some wish they had not been risen and wish to die, feeling she doesn’t consider the well being of her people. This can cause a political divide between the two ideals.

Other races: Forsaken are viewed as abominations by many. Darkspear and Zandalari trolls may raising the dead as stealing of Bwomsandi, whereas Tauren may see it as a slight against nature. Due to Putress’ betrayal, many of the Horde treat the Forsaken with suspicion. Humans see them as imitations of dead loved ones and worgen are hostile due to the fall of their city at their hands.

Other creatures: Skeletal horses and bats are the most commonly used mounts for them.

Culture

Languages: They speak Gutterspeak, a lower form of Common, and Orcish.

Government: Sylvanas is the sole leader of the Forsaken. For a time during her absence as Warchief, the Desolate Council was formed as governing force. She dismantled them by killing the majority of their members during the Gathering.

Military: The Forsaken have a wide array of military forces. The bulk of their armies consist of deathguards, dreadguards and death knights, their officers being Executors. High elven undead rangers were raised into Dark Rangers and are now training new human undead into the organisation. The main guard of cities and outposts are Abominations, with ranks up to General. Deathstalkers are a Forsaken rogue group, their stealthy non-combatant Shadowstalker cousins working as spies. Troopers are granted powers of the Val’kyr to raise new soldiers.

Religion: Many Forsaken still adhere to their old ways of the Holy Light and even Forsaken priests still practice it.

#wow #world of warcraft #BFA #Battle for azeroth #forsaken #undead #slyvanas windrunner #arthas menethil #the lich king #illidan stormrage #the horde #the alliance #the burning legion #gul'dan #kil'jaeden #broxigar #orc #worgen #guide

239 notes · View notes

peachhoneii · 7 years

Text

For @donaldtheduckdad‘s birthday, this short ficlet is set in their Lost Twin AU with my personal interpretation of how things went down. Includes other things too.

If you don’t know Lost Twin AU is where Donald goes missing instead of Della. I strongly recommend you to visit their page under the Lost Twin AU tag. It’s so much fun, and they deserve it!

Happy birthday, and I hope it’s a great one!

It’s the stories she never tells.

She is twenty-three years old. Young, beautiful, and most importantly, daring. With daring comes boldness, and she is that too, dangerously so.

But she does not realize this yet.

The bullet grazes her shoulder. Latex comes apart in a silent burst. She sees the reaction more than she feels the pain, and someone calls her name. It is a stunning tale of events. Someone screams her name; she hears his voice soaring towards her. Or is it pummeling towards her in a nosedive?

Della discovers she cares very little. Pain and shock are irrelevant as she strides towards the villain. Her flamed glare tells him what her raised fist and grappling hook does not, and soon, as another strike aims for her heart, she sidesteps in the nick of time. Another curse, another scream (yes, these screams are collateral), and she slams her fist against his bill. There is a horrible crunch. A horrible, bloody crunch on the other side, but she barely notices as a freakishly large grin takes hold of her bill.

He lies beneath her. His fingers are bent unnaturally, zigzagged and backwards. Observing him from above, Della cannot determine if this is a reaction to her or to how he crafts his abilities. She knows her punches did not go below, and her wires confined him to the floor. So what happened to his fingers? Della tilts her head to the side and sighs, and winces as she is reminded of her shoulder injury.

“What do you think you were doing,” he rushes to her side, concealing his weapon under his cape. Della raises her head and pulls back stiffly. His presence is easily forgotten, and she rather him not know that.

Before she can dismiss his concerns, or curb his attention to the villain lying at their feet, his dark glare falls on her injured shoulder. He hisses darkly, muttering a curse or two, and pulls a roll of gauze from his suit. What else do you have in there? His stare locks on her eyes, and its severity compels her to silence.

“Did it go through? He starts to unwrap the gauze, “Duck Avenger, did it go through?”

“What?” She glances at her shoulder and scoffs, “Oh, yeah, I saw the bullet. It grazed me, Darkwing.”

Her insufficient explanation fails to reassure him. He wraps through her pouting, rolling eyes, and Damn it, DW, I can do it myself. The process lasts no more than a minute, and he surveys his work, releasing his hold on her shoulders when the binding fits his satisfaction. Once finished, sits on the ground near the unconscious villain, and he follows suit, sighing. A grimace ties to his lips, and for some inexplicable reason, she feels responsible.

“You could’ve died.” He says quietly, “And that…is why I work alone.”

“I could die crossing the street. I could die going to sleep tonight. You think this is my first time?”

“Is it?”

She reminds herself to not shrug, “Yes,” he smacks his lips, “but I have been stabbed by the undead, if that counts.”

“Being stabbed isn’t the same as getting shot.”

“And I didn’t get shot.” Her annoyance starts to show as she heaves, “A graze is very different from a shot, just as it’s very different from getting stabbed.” A ghost of a scar lingers on her left shoulder blade. Too many details can reveal her identity, and although she trusts him to not let her die, extending it to her secret identity is deadly.

Hand covering his eyes, he shakes his head, “If you had followed my plan to -,”

“Your plan was bust the moment Pinstripe discovered the doll was a dummy,” she corrects him sharply. As the sting makes way to his face, she huffs, trying to dodge the incoming guilt, “Look, a good place will always be filled with holes the second an enemy becomes unpredictable. Improvisation was necessary.”

“It could’ve killed you.”

“And it saved you.”

A moment passes, then two. After four he crosses his arms and spits to the side. The villain groans in pain, and Della senses this is the time to inform the cops where they are. It is also the moment she notices the rips on his sleeves, and the stiffness in which he sits.

“Do you need gauze?”

“Will I have to thank you for that too,” he spits.

She reaches for the roll and imitates him to the best of her ability. Pinstripe’s favorite knife is habitually sharpened, and the blood flowing freely from his left arm doesn’t surprise them. But it does leave a ghastly stain on his dark violet uniform, and as she tightens the gauze, patting it gently, she suspects this particular uniform may have to be retired.

“I wouldn’t expect it.”

“Do we leave him for the cops?”

Pinstripe is in a daze on his back. Drool escapes his mouth and forms a pool around her his head. She frowns in disgust, “We should make sure the cops can find him. His goons led them on a goose chase to the north side.”

As she retrieves her grappling hook from underneath her cape, she fights the tremor lodging in the middle of her spine as his eyes trail after her.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve done it before.” And she has. She will not tell him more than that.

“It’ll increase the bleeding, and make a mess everywhere.” He looks away, debating, “I can drive you in my car, and from there, we can notify the police together.”

She arches an eyebrow at him, “You want to share.” His humility precedes him greatly; to where him portraying a sense of it is unthinkable, “For my sake, lets not. It’s easier this way. Duck Avenger flies in Italy, as you know.”

“You can’t say I didn’t offer.” His accent is flippant. He may want to say more, Della realizes. His bill seems to pucker in a way she never thought possible for someone like him. He wants to say more. He will not relent into more, “At least let me drive you on your way. It’s ridiculous to take the long way home.”

The gauze quietly grows crimson in the night. Letting the wound grow worse will do her no favors. Fine. Taking him up on his offer would not be the dumbest thing she has done tonight. She confirms with a nod and a smile, giving him freedom to guide them down the fire escape. Rusted metal squeaks, threatens to collapse in their palms, but it is stubborn and holds until her boots slam onto a dirty rain puddle.

In his car, which is impressive in retrospect, she lets the drum of his engine lull her to a short nap. He remains pensive, refusing acknowledge Pinstripe’s unconscious body behind them.

Della slips under the radar. Apologizing is the morally acceptable action, and she feels inclined to do so as darkness begins to sprinkle drops on her. It is not appeasing. She takes hold of stubbornness and lets her mind wander under the engine’s drumming helm.

She keeps her thanks in her left pocket for later.

All tragedies start as an idea. The idea may be fatalistically stupid or extraordinarily clever, neither is required. An idea alone is useless.

An idea given action becomes dangerous.

The Spear of Selene is a 2,700-year-old idea. It has cost past civilizations nothing except for distorted lore and long forgotten pasts.

Della is fifteen when she discovers The Spear of Selene in one of her uncle’s book. Its contents are written in ancient Greek, and she can recall the smooth bumps under her fingers as he passes her hand across the pages. A ripple of excitement climbs up her spine as she rushes to find her uncle.

He glances at the book with a dim smile on her face, “Ah lass, many have tried and failed, even I. No man has come close to catching the faintest glow of Selene’s spear.”

His motivation tactic is surprisingly thorough. Scrooge has a tendency for this. He dares people into action, and a mischievous gleam crinkles in his eyes as he resumes his work. His challenge lies thick in the air, and Della smirks under the mischievous gleam fermenting in his eyes. He resumes his work with an annoyed burst of energy; his accountants have always been vultures.

His frank dismissal perturbs and excites her. This is where everything begins to fall.

Seasons change consistently over the past decade. The same can be said for the lunar phase. Her meticulous planning and unbridled ambition sustains her during extraneous nights of charting geographical maps. Her eyes sting above ancient Greek texts, and she records the lunar phases over the span of ten years, searching for the dreaded blue moon night. The constellations are brightest on this night, and she knows the time has come.

Her idea is not her own. It is old and used, charred and burned, bitterly stain with the tears of its forefathers, and she takes it by the reigns and makes it hers.

“Della, are you sure about this?”

She will remember this day. This day will sear its cold edge onto her delicate memory, and it will haunt her, as it should, from then on.

Twenty-five and unafraid, she ignores the warnings her predecessors have left behind.

“Donald, this going to be no different from any other mission we’ve gone on.” Uncle Scrooge has gone ahead of them, but she warns him of the peculiars of The Halls of Selene. She is a brilliant goddess, mysterious and forlorn, and if the scripts are accurate, Della knows they are, vengeful is on the list.

In less than two hours she will realize the wrath of an angered god.

“Donald, do you see it?”

A sigh above, “Yeah, I can, where are you?”

“Higher up than you, I think.” They lose each other in the maze of the temple. Selene’s temple is breathtaking and mind numbing. A terrible beauty it is, Della observes.

She hears the cling of coins in the distance. Uncle Scrooge must have found the offering room, at least. A momentary detour for the duck; she wants him to enjoy his time here as well. Her finger grasps at stone, climbing up to the spear’s pedestal is faster than she things. They have avoided the majority of the booby traps, and battled with the undead handmaidens, their skeletal remains now piles of crumbled dust.

Glory resonates in her soul as she reaches the top. It’s ghastly blue light swarms around them, illuminating the room far brighter than any jewel could.

“Seriously, we could’ve gone to the park for all of this,” Donald says behind her. He is deliberate in his climb, ever watchful of another attack from above, or to his greatest chagrin, to the side, “and didn’t you hear what that old oracle said?”

“You mean the crone who warned us about meeting our inevitable demise?” Her childish giggles baffles him, and she blinks down at him, watching as his perplexed expression strains into one of annoyance, “Donald, you can’t tell me it doesn’t excite you!”

“I’m more excited about living.” The distance between steadily declines. His annoyance easily gives way to anger, and anger is adrenaline for him.

“I promise Daisy will forgive you.”

“Yeah, but she won’t forgive you for keeping me for so long.”

“True!”

Gasping, they reach the top where the glow is brightest. Their eyes quickly adjust, and she strides to the spear on its golden spot. The crystal tips glow dully, but it’s a beautiful dullness that alarms them. It’s an all around frightening experience. Della loves it.

“There it is Donald,” she whispers. So caught in the overwhelming emotion of this discovery, of its very presence before them, so ready and willing, Della covers her mouth.

“Yes, yes, I can see it.” He crosses his arms and huffs, “A stick. A glowy stick.”

“A glowy stick of unimaginable power, Don,” she claps her hands like a child in a candy store, “a glowy stick only the greats could describe based on their expectations, and trust me, it has exceeded every last description. Ha, suck on that hemlock.”

She should pause. She should think. Preferably, she would do both, but Della does neither. She grips the cool surface of the spear’s metal body, and raises it off its pedestal.

What happens after she cannot describe in great detail. She is standing, proud and elated. She stares down and sees her uncle. He is holding something, something in his hand, and he is not smiling. She looks to Donald. Fear ripples his expression, but Donald is always afraid.

Donald is always afraid. Donald is always there. Until he isn’t. Until he moves, and she feels her body falling to the side, spear slipping from her fingers.

“Donald?”

He knows. Looking at him, he knows what is about to happen without truly understanding it himself, but a light so bright, so blinding, so hungry engulfs him.

And suddenly, there is one.

“Donnie?”

“Donnie.”

“Huey!”

No. This cannot be happening. This is not happening. It is Della. It is happening, and you must hold on. He feels so small in her arms, so small and tiny. This terrible smallness has not been felt since he was two, and it has been so long, Della thinks, since he has been two.

“Della?” Another voice comes up from elsewhere, maybe behind. Della cannot tell. She doesn’t care, “Della, you need to let go.”

Why is she breathing so hard? A million thoughts try to connect to each other in her head. None of them can. She is holding something firmly, and her brain reacts, forcing her eyes to see at last. Her hands have gripped his arm so tightly she fears bruising, and how small they are, in her arms. She releases them cautiously, shaking her head, and she raises her eyes to meet his.

Tears are ready to spill over the rim, and he stares into them, unsure and afraid. He is afraid, poor child, and doesn’t understand.

Her hands stop at his. She can’t think, and someone’s hand is on her shoulder. She wants to shake them off. It doesn’t seem right to do so, and she needs to tend to Huey. She’s frightened Huey.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah…are – are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You’re not, Dels. She clasps his hands fittingly. A mark will not be left on a single feather, “Huey, I’m sorry. It’s…um…a lot has happened, hasn’t it?”

He scrutinizes her expression. He has reached an age where questioning authority is sensible if not necessary to shape his viewing of the world, “Mom, you’re not okay.”

It is easier to lie. Soothe the pain with pretty words that will wash away their concerns. Huey is not the type of child to lie to. He is smart and will overthink. His brain snatches words, tossing them overhead and under until their meanings are plain to read.

“No. I’m not, but I’m glad you are.” She wrap her arms around him, angry at the tears spilling down her cheeks, “And…what you did back there, for Dewey, was so unimaginably brave. I’m proud of you.”

“Della?”

Oh right. He’s still here. Della wipes her eyes and stands, “Thanks Drake, you didn’t have to do -,”

“Uh…what are old friends for?”

The children watch from the sidelines. Their wide stares lock on her, asking more questions she feels read to answer, but she feels the deadline is already passed.

His fingers linger on her shoulder. A thin, jagged edge scar is all that remains of the wound. When his fingers press on the shoulder, the accompanying pain is completely absent, and is replaced with a faint tingle.

Huey could have died. But he didn’t. She could have died. But you didn’t. Her head spins. Her feet are grounded, and she looks at the three children huddled near her. Drake’s daughter stands near Launchpad.

She remembers her uncle’s stories. She remembers siting at his side as he recited him. His tone thrilled them, leaving them hanging at the edge of the rugs.

His stories are important. His stories hold truth and false promises. They are not the ones Della will tell them tonight. She is certain of it. Good.

#donald duck #della duck #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #darkwing duck #drake mallard #dralla #lost twin au #mywriting

91 notes · View notes

fe8meta · 7 years

Text

The Sacred Twins and their Mythos

Anyone who looks into the names of FE8′s Sacred Twins will know that all but two of them have basis in Norse mythology. The two outliers, Latona and Excalibur, have basis in Roman and Arthurian legend, respectively. Why? Because they can.

Mind you, even I can’t make much sense behind the names of these Sacred Twins. The only one that makes a margin of sense without heavy extrapolation and theorizing, is a margin of sense that people blow out of proportion in favor of a certain pairing, so that’ll be discussed at the very end of this meta. (Yes, I’m talking about Sieglinde and Siegmund, but the reference is most likely only a surface-deep reference to them being twins and nothing more.)

Excalibur, as many people probably know, is the sword of the legendary King Arthur, after which legends surrounding him are named after. In the Fire Emblem series, FE8 included, Excalibur is... a wind tome. FE8 at least grants it the epithet “wind blade Excalibur” to acknowledge the whole sword part of its original namesake. I don’t know why FE8 reused the name Excalibur, considering it was technically only used in the Archanea games and Gaiden before that; FE7′s Excalibur was named Gigascalibur in the Japanese version.

Latona, meanwhile, is the Roman name for the Greek goddess Leto. For some reason, the writers of FE8 really couldn’t find a Norse name to use for them, I guess. It’s especially odd when one background character, Saaga (the court troubador who inspired L’Arachel to go on her journey), shares the Japanese spelling of their name with Sága... a Norse goddess.

All I’m really gathering, from what I can find about (Roman) Latona, is that (Magvel) Latona was probably foreign to Magvel, and that’s why their name isn’t rooted in Norse mythology. We really can’t even say that Latona was a woman, despite the name’s female origins. The Japanese script didn’t assign Latona a gender, but used 司祭 to talk about Latona. (The word translates to “priest,” specifically Christian priests, who have traditionally been men.) The English script referred to Latona as Rausten’s “most holy father” due to that. There aren’t any references or possible ties to Roman Latona other than the name, so...

For the next several I will talk about, I have come up with a wholly self-indulgent explanation for their names. It probably doesn’t make complete sense, but it's more than the game’s nonexistent reason for the references. The Sacred Twins in question are Nidhogg, Vidofnir, Garm, and Audhulma.

They’re all from Norse mythology, and more specifically, creatures from Norse mythology. My explanation behind their names is that the weapons were used to defeat especially powerful monsters created by the Demon King, then had parts of those monsters forged into those weapons.

(As it so happens, Shadows of Valentia did something similar, with the Blessed weapons being able to be forged into Regalia. I didn’t notice this parallel until after I came up with this explanation, though.)

Nidhogg, the Serpent Bow. In Norse mythology, Nidhogg is indeed recognized as a serpent or dragon. (On that note, the word for “dragon” comes from, at its furthest root, the Greek drakon, which means “serpent.” Dragons were also originally depicted as serpentine creatures before gaining legs and becoming more lizard-like, at least in Western media.) In FE8, dragons gained a weakness to bows. (In the Elibe games, dragons had no such weakness.) So it would be appropriate for the bow that slew Nidhogg to become known as the Serpent (Slaying) Bow. It could also explain why it belongs to Frelia, the country with pegasi—pegasus knights could take the battle to the skies instead of having to remain rooted to the ground the whole while, making the battle against the great monster easier. (FE14 introduced Kinshi Knights, fliers who can use Lances and Bows. Like FE15, it’s giving me some precedence to support my theory.)

As for Vidofnir, it is a rooster in Norse mythology that sits atop Mímameiðr (often taken to be the same as Yggdrasil, the tree whose roots Nidhogg gnaws on). Vidofnir is referred to as the “tree snake,” harking back to serpent symbolism. By stealing Vidofnir’s tail feathers, the giantess Sinmora will grant a person the sword Laevateinn, which can then be used to slay Vidofnir. After doing so, one can take its two wings and serve them to Odin’s hounds, Geri and Freki, to sneak past them. In-game, Vidofnir is referred to as the Winged Lance.

Garm, the Black Axe, is named after the hound that guards Hel’s gate. Garm’s howling heralds the coming of Ragnarok; after Garm’s first howl, Fimbulvetr (the great winter) puts an end to life on earth. (Fimbulvetr, in FE, is a tome that attacks the enemy with a blizzard. Already more accurate to its source than the rest of the Sacred Twins.)

Finally, Audhulma, the Ice Blade. In Norse mythology, Audhulma is a primeval cow who licked an ice block until she unfroze a man named Buri. I have no idea what this means for the FE8 weapon, as Audhulma is not capable of summoning a Fimbulvetr-like attack and only grants a Res boost. It’s further proof that whoever picked out these names probably just skimmed a Japanese book on Norse mythology and went “oh look, there’s an element referenced here, let’s use it.” I mean, the best thing I can say for “why a sword” is that Audhulma was a cow, so the blade was... a glorified butcher knife, I guess?

(When I was discussing this theory with someone else, they mentioned that some of FE8′s monsters could also, at least loosely, tie back to the respective creatures. Necrodragons for Nidhogg, Gargoyles for Vidofnir, Mauthe Doogs for Garm, and Tarvos for Audhulma.)

For some more “shit that just works,” we have the Dark Tome Gleipnir. It’s also from Norse mythology, but it is neither a person nor a creature. Rather, it is the chain that binds Fenrir until Ragnarok. As it so happens, Fenrir is a tome in the game: specifically, it’s used by Lyon in Chapter 17. So there’s a bit of symbolism in Gleipnir being the tome left behind by Lyon, which is then acquired by the heroes in their attempt to stop him and the Demon King.

(As for Naglfar, while I’m at it: in Norse mythology, it’s a boat made by the fingernails and toenails of the dead. Commanded by Loki, it carries the undead on their assault on the gods. As for “why fingernails and toenails,” apparently some Indo-European beliefs state that improperly disposing of hair and nails will “threaten the well-being of” the cosmos. Make of this what you will.)

As for Ivaldi, I genuinely have no clue how its legend is supposed to inspire it. In fact, the character Ivaldi himself is barely referenced in Norse mythology itself, as his name is referenced through his sons, who crafted some cool stuff for Freyr, Odin, and Sif. The closest thing I can dig up regarding Ivaldi’s in-game epithet as the “Glorious Light” is the fact that the Sons of Ivaldi made... golden hair to replace the hair Sif lost to Loki.

Finally, the notorious use of Siegmund and Sieglinde as Renais’ Sacred Twins. In all honesty, they were probably only used because those two characters are twins in Norse mythology, nothing more. I’ve seen claims that the incest between the twins at one point in the legends is “proof” that Eirika/Ephraim is basically canon, but said “evidence” runs into problems.

The first issue is the fact Siegmund and Sieglinde in-game have zero similarities to their legendary selves outside of their names. In lore, Siegmund used a sword, and there is no association with him to fire whatsoever. So how it becomes the Flame Lance in FE8 is a mystery. In fact, fire would be associated more with Sieglinde—who kills herself by burning to death with her husband, Siggeir, as penance for making Siegmund murder her own children and tricking him into an incestuous affair for the sake of revenge. Sieglinde in legend isn’t depicted using a weapon ever, and has absolutely no association with thunder. So her name being attached to the Thunder Sword came out of IntSys’ booty.

The second issue is the implication that the writers actually knew the contents of the legends they were referencing. If they knew what they were doing, they wouldn’t be using Excalibur, Latona, or Ivaldi. Considering that I just came up with my theory for Nidhogg, Vidofnir, Garm, and Audhulma, and there’s no actual in-game basis to suggest any of it, those names may as well have been picked out of a hat too. As mentioned above, IntSys completely made up the Flame Lance and Thunder Sword epithets, and they have no ties whatsoever to Sieglinde or Siegmund’s tale. So there’s no reason to assume that the writers knew, or cared about, any part of the legend outside of “they’re twins.”

Considering all the other Norse references in FE8, the reference to Siegmund and Sieglinde would also be rooted in Norse mythology more than Wagner’s Die Walküre. The Norse version of their story makes the incest a lot less consensual than Wagner’s version; Sieglinde tricks Siegmund into sleeping with her by disguising herself as someone else. Siegmund doesn’t find out until he and their son kill Siggeir. It is then that Sieglinde reveals the truth, and walks into the fire to burn to death as penance for her deeds. Then Siegmund goes and marries another woman. Oh, and before Sieglinde had her affair with Siegmund, she had Siegmund kill the “unworthy sons” she had with Siggeir since they didn’t prove themselves strong enough for the revenge she wanted. It’s because Siegmund refused to keep killing innocent children that she gets desperate enough to sleep with him. Eugenics, I guess. So the whole “Siegmund and Sieglinde are incestuous twins” thing is a lot more complicated than just that.

TL;DR: The names behind Magvel’s Sacred Twins basically have no connection to their namesakes at all.

#FE8 #magvel #worldbuilding meta #renais #frelia #jehanna #rausten #grado

29 notes · View notes