Dtmahanen
Witnessing (and participating in) shenanigans
Posts: 123
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Post by Dtmahanen on May 16, 2018 13:15:17 GMT
Pantheon. Derived from the Greek roots of Pan (all), and Theos (God/Holy), this word is representative of a gathering of the gods, on display for all mortal men and women to witness. One of the most iconic ancient buildings in Rome, which uses this word as its name, was originally built as a temple to house the images and auras of every god worshipped by the city of Rome, and perpetuate the stories and myths that defined their greatness. These are those stories. The Pantheon Book 1: The Spider's Web Athena, looking down from her perch on the Spear Pillar, was troubled. The small, yellow-and-grey pixie was marveling over the world that her ancestors created, and the life, and even civilization, that she had kickstarted with her siblings. Villages had sprung up from the aether, humans and pokémon alike, but what she was truly intrigued by was the interplay between the two. Never in her father Arceus’ wildest dreams did she think that humans and their more bestial cousins would interact so freely, even working together to improve their lot in this harsh, chaotic world. The sacrifices made in her honor didn’t hurt, either, as the scent of freshly cooked meat, wine, and other savory treats filled her and her family’s nostrils at the top of Mt. Coronet every single day. It was a welcome addition to her waking moments. Which is why what her half-brother Apollo had shown her troubled her so much. She remembered the conversation quite clearly. She had been watching over the world through her mind’s eye just the other day, focusing her power through the jewel on her forehead, when she felt a tug on her psyche and Apollo’s voice whispering in her ear. [Such an interesting world this is, indeed, dear sister,] he said, [and what fascinating antics they get themselves into.] "And what, by Arceus, do you mean by that, brother?” she asked aloud, turning to the sneering azelf by her side. “Surely you have good reason for snapping me out of my vigil, unlike the past fifty or so, when they were naught but childish pranks." “Ah, I’m so glad you asked, my stormy-eyed sister,” Apollo crooned. “Why, it can’t have been more than, say, a few weeks ago. I was floating around the Eterna village, minding my own business, and generally enjoying my time. Flowers had just started to bloom, and-" “Get to the point, Apollo!” the irritated uxie interjected. “By the gods, you have wasted so much of my time over the eons with your pointless drivel!” “I prefer the term philosophy, Athena.” “You don’t love wisdom, you rat, but merely to hear yourself speak. So speak. Tell me, succinctly, what you meant by antics.” “Ah, but hear oneself speak will soon become the way by which men gain their fame, my dear, closed-minded sister,” he shrugged. “I have foreseen it. The Pythia herself can attest to my claim. But, if you must know so desperately, I recently encountered someone who dared to claim he was greater than me. Me, of all people!” he repeated, raising his voice in faux-exasperation. Athena couldn’t help herself from chuckling. “Oh no, who could possibly claim to be better than you at anything, dear brother? Or perhaps I would remind you of Demeter, who taught the mortals how to farm, or even Poseidon, gods through him down a well, for guiding man across the sea, and even birthing the Horsea line, by himself, no less, onto the world! Or, pray tell, can you do those things better than the gods themselves? Hmm?” “But that is the issue, sister,” Apollo said, suddenly adopting a more serious tone. “It was not an immortal who said these things. It was a mortal. A human.” This stopped Athena in her tracks. That was an unprecedented action. A human, thinking themselves above their betters. It was an almost blasphemous concept. “That is…odd, to say the least,” she muttered. “I will allow you to elaborate, just this once.” “There was a human man,” he said. “Marsyas, I believe his name was. He claimed to be more skilled in the art of music than I could ever be. And I will grant, he was rather skilled. Not a match for a being on our caliber, mind you, but adequate, especially for a mortal. But he had the gall to challenge me to a contest of singing, thinking that he could best me, and proclaim to the world that he was a better singer than Apollo, which would increase his mortal fame throughout all of Sinnoh, no doubt.” “I take it he lost.” “If I remember correctly, I sang so well-" “Read, loudly.” “-that some sort of red ichor was leaking from his nose before he collapsed. Judging from the reactions of the crowd, he may have died due to the sheer beauty of my voice.” Athena sighed heavily. “Brother, did you use your Hyper Voice on a mortal again?” “The point is,” Apollo continued, “is that the humans are starting to become ungrateful of our blessings. I would be watchful, sister, as it may come to pass that a human may try to slander your name.” “I will keep it in mind, dear brother.” And remember it she did, as she had begun conducting vigil on the region more frequently since their talk. She had become convinced that someone, somewhere, was trying to demean her, lower her status, to that of a mortal. And lo and behold, as she looked down upon the Celestic village, she saw her fears manifest in physical form. A human woman – no, girl, more like it – and her companion, a large, red-and-yellow-and-purple insect – an ariados, if she had remembered the human name correctly – boasting about the pattern they had woven to a large crowd of mortals, human and pokémon alike. With the spider’s web, no less, all she was doing was giving it orders. Athena scoffed at the human's blathering talk. This is not her work, it is that of her pokémon partner. And then she heard these words through her mind’s senses: “Isn’t my creation utterly breathtaking? No one could create such a marvel. Why, not even Athena herself could weave such a beautiful web!” The anger that filled her heart was strange. It was not logical. She was the goddess of wisdom! She should not be thinking so irrationally about this. And yet. This girl was getting under her skin. And she would pay for her hubris. ------------------------------------------------- When Athena arrived at the Celestic village, the crowd had more or less dispersed. Granted, when she flashed into existence in the mortal realm, some surprised humans poked their heads out of their rudimentary huts. She made no attempt to disguise herself, or her anger, and the girl was quick to notice her presence and go prostrate at her knees. At least some of her wits remain with her, Athena thought. "Lady Athena,” the girl exclaimed, “what matters bring you to our lowly realm, and grace us lowly vessels of clay with your divine presence?" Athena, however, would not be moved by her winged words. "What is your name, girl?" she ordered. "Speak." “W-w-w-why must you know, goddess?” she stammered. “Surely y-y-you are above the affairs of mortals. Why even associate with us, let alone have need of our names?” “Ah, but your affairs are, in fact, important to me,” the uxie replied. She floated over to the web plastered on the wall. It was, truly, an immaculate design. Layers on top of patterns of intertwining web, so intricate and finely detailed, yet easy for the eye to follow. It was a thing of beauty. “Who taught you how to make this, girl?” the pixie inquired. “I, um…” The girl hesitated before answering. “It came to me over time. My partner, Thora, and I have been weaving webs like this for years, and this is our greatest design yet.” As she spoke of her art, her eyes lit like candles in the dark. “It truly is a special piece, isn’t it? I planned its structure, and Thora was gracious enough to lend me her webs in crafting it. It’s a design worthy of the go-" She stopped, seemingly realizing what she was saying. The look on her face changed, from one of delight to one of knowing dread. “You were about to say ‘worthy of the gods,’ weren’t you, mortal?” Athena asked. The girl, shaken, could only nod in response. “As I thought,” she muttered. “And who, then, would be the best among us to truly determine whether or not this is the case, if not a goddess?” She snapped her gaze to the ariados, which was standing by its master’s side. “I believe your human companion called you Thora, correct? I wish for you to make a web for me. Prepare your webs, and I will instruct you on a design of my choosing. We will compare the two works afterwards, to truly test her bold, blasphemous claims to the people of this village.” She directed her gaze entirely at the girl, who had slowly shrunken in on herself upon hearing Athena’s challenge. The ariados, meanwhile, began spooling web from the glands at the roof of its mouth, ready at a moment’s notice to obey the commands of the goddess. It knew, from the moment that its master had made her boast, that she would bring trouble. Pokémon had a keener sense for the will of the gods than did their human peers, and Thora had no intention of further stoking the legendary presence's ire. The way it made the girl recoil in horror was not something it wanted to contend with. Soon enough, the ariados received instructions in its mind about a design to web. It immediately got to work, weaving a design between two trees close to the town center. The intricacy of the previous design was very much present, but woven in the design were layers upon layers of patterns, three-dimensional shapes, and other constructions that when looked at together, created an image so complex, that everyone who would gaze upon it for years to come would see something different within the confines of the webs. After it was finished, even the previously arrogant girl could only stare at it in awe. “This is the work of the mind of a goddess, child,” Athena said. “Do you still think that your piece is worthy of such magnificence?” “…I could never make something like this,” she mumbled under her breath. “You still have not answered my initial question, girl,” Athena continued, inching closer to the frightened human, eventually facing her at eye level, but with her eyes clamped shut. “Tell me your name, so I may know the identity of the girl so arrogant as to proclaim herself the better of a god.” “A..Arachne.” “Hmph,” the uxie exclaimed. “A fitting name, befitting of the tangled mess of a web you had your partner weave on the wall beside us.” She floated a few meters away from the child, then stopped, as if lost in thought. “I wonder, how might I best punish you for your arrogance against the gods?” “W-w-wait, what?!” Arachne sputtered. “What did I do that was so wrong? So what, I may have said that. It was a thoughtless, careless act! I meant no wrong!” “It was that very thoughtlessness that must be punished!” Athena roared. “I am the goddess of wisdom, of rational, measured thought, not merely of the arts and crafts. Your foolishness, your rash, unbridled stupidity, is dangerous, and were others to see that you managed to degrade the name of the gods, even unknowingly, without punishment, who is to stop other mortals from shunning our gifts, our protections, because they do not acknowledge their betters? You disgrace the arts with your hubris, and you mock the very concept of wisdom with your loose tongue and thoughtless drivel!” Taking a deep breath, she continued. “I could turn you into an ariados, like your partner,” Athena quipped, knowing full well that this ability was not actually in her moveset, but also well aware that mortals didn’t know this. Seeing Arachne’s stunned reaction, she smirked, gleeful that her ruse had been successful. “However,” she continued, “I feel that fate would be…too good for you. You could still weave your treacherous web that way. Your human form is too limiting for your grand ideas anyway.” She suddenly flew directly up to Arachne’s face, stopping only inches from her nose. “I think I will take away what you hold most dear to you. Your ideas. Your so-called wisdom. I’ll even take away your stupidity, your arrogance, even your very words and ‘intelligence’. You will be left a shell, unable to conjure up a single, solitary thought. And even if your fellow mortals deem it fit to help you, raise you back to a barely functioning level, you will not be Arachne anymore.” She gave the girl a wicked smile, showing her teeth in an almost primeval display of intimidation. “Have you anything to say before your demise?” Arachne, who, mere minutes before had been openly boasting for all the world to see, could only find the strength to stammer, "I’m sorry." It did not matter, though. Athena, quickly checking if anyone else was within her line of sight, opened her eyes. The gray-white glow stunned the girl, whose mouth went agape. They stayed that way for a few seconds, and once Athena closed her eyes once more, the human formerly known as Arachne crumpled to the ground, unmoving. "She is still alive, mortals," Athena exclaimed. "I am not my brother or my father; I do have mercy. You may care for her if you wish. However, I leave you with this message. Engrave it in your hearts and minds for all time." With that, she blinked out of Celestic, journeying off to her home on the Spear Pillar, but not before leaving one thought on everyone's minds: [Remember, you are but men. Know your place.] ---------------------------- Optional reading: This myth was prominently featured in the sixth book of Ovid's Metamorphoses. I've provided the full story here. Links through Perseus Digital Library. Arachne Myth Part 1Arachne Myth Part 2
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Dtmahanen
Witnessing (and participating in) shenanigans
Posts: 123
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Post by Dtmahanen on May 19, 2018 0:15:42 GMT
Roman mythology was different than most. While many ancient cultures focused their stories on gods and monsters, larger than life and with deeds to match, the Romans...took a more grounded approach. Sure, many of their stories featured men doing deeds unthinkable for the common man, it was the man - or the city - that was most important. As such, the men of Rome were narrativized and mythologized in ways never truly replicated. It allowed men...to become gods, in a way. Book 2: Triumph Octavian was tired. He could feel his body slipping into exhaustion as warm water soaked his skin. The last few days – no, make that the last few years – had worn on his mind and body, and he just wanted to relax in his personal bath, not worrying about how anyone saw him, or how he had to maintain a very specific image of himself. Every waking moment. Of every. Single. Day. His bath didn’t care, so why should he? Just as his eyes were beginning to droop due to the comforting warmth, his mind picked up on another presence in the room. Irritated, Octavian rested his right arm on the rim of the bath, making sure to display the sharpened spike extending from his elbow. For good measure, he extended the tip with psychic energy, letting the intruder know his frustration and anger. “Did your father not teach you manners, miscreant?” the gallade growled. “Or perhaps your pedagogus did not sufficiently reign in your flippancy during your early years, allowing you to conclude that it was polite to invade a man’s privacy without giving the courtesy of a knock?” “Ah, I mean no offense, Thurinus. In my efforts to see your future, I seem to have lost my earthly courtesy. Carry on.” “Do NOT call me by that name!” Octavian shouted, rising suddenly from his tub, covered in water and scented oil with eyes of white flame. “Only Antony called me by that blasted title, and he is languishing in Hades with the shades of the damned. You will address me as Caesar, or may the gods allow me, I will gut you where you stand!” However, where any other Roman would cower, the intruder was chuckling to himself, hiding his face behind a light green wing. “I am glad to see your morning soak has not dulled your nerves, Octavian, even this early in the morning.” Sinking back into the tub, the gallade rested his face in his arms, now facing away from the xatu, who was reveling in Octavian’s irritation. “What do you want, Lepidus?” he groaned. “Ah, taking me seriously now, Gaius?” the xatu crooned, clapping his wings. “Splendid, splendid. If only you had done so when we were triumvirs together. What a marvelous team we could have been.” He sighed, approaching the tub. “All joking aside, Gaius, I have done what you asked. Your fortune for this final triumph has been laid bare before my eyes.” “And?” Octavian asked. “What did the gods tell you, pontifex?” “Good fortunes all around, it seems,” the bird intoned. “As I was gazing into the sunrise, gleaning all I could from its rays, a flock of wingull passed through my vision. The leader of the flock faltered, its right wing shivering, but after uttering a resonant screech, it righted itself and led the rest onwards. Thinking this a sign, I made a quick sacrifice to Phoebus Apollo. The entrails told me a similar story. It seems Fortune is tipping your favor, as my auguries have yet to fail.” “Well, what exactly does it mean?” Lepidus placed a wing under his chin. “I interpret the message as such: your procession today will proceed normally, as the two before it. The right axle of your chariot will either buckle or break, but the Roman masses will not care, as you will win them over with a winged speech the likes of which our dear departed Cicero would be proud, after which point you will finish the procession unfazed.” Octavian couldn’t help but grin. “The gods continue to favor me, Lepidus. Even through such adversity, both Fate and Fortune continue to grant me their blessings. I cannot help but be touched by their generosity. And what of the games?” Lepidus let out a deep sigh. "You of all people would know that I don't need an augury to see how that will play out. All you need is a program. The main draw at today's games is a match between a Spartan toxicroak and a Thracian incineroar. They're coached by the same handler, so more than likely you'll be asked to give one of them orders. Which would you prefer? I've heard rumblings that the incineroar is scheduled to lose today, so I'd suggest the toxicroak." "Oh, Arceus, not another hand-to-hand bout. Would it have been such an effort to schedule more flashy fighters for such a spectacular event? Some greater level of garishness and spontaneity would have been nice." "Would you prefer swords and spears?" Lepidus sneered. "And if you're so into spectacle, why not participate yourself? It is sure to cause quite a stir, and besides, you would not be the first high-born sort to sell himself to the gladiators." "Oh, please," Octavian scoffed, "don't link me with such barbarity. I would not dare to squander my gods-given blessings on the likes of those infama." “Careful, Gaius, the gods are fickle. Must I repeat the creed to you?” “What, that old slave mantra? Lepidus, I have not forgotten my mortality, my insignificance compared to the gods. I am merely suggesting that the gods favor me, like they did with my father, and the heroes before him.” “Yes, clearly the gods favor you. They gave you Agrippa and drove Antony into the hands of Egypt. Hey, would you mind spreading some of your ‘blessings’ to me? I could really use some new furnishings for my beach house in Circeii.” He leaned closer to Octavian’s face. “You know, the house from which I cannot return without your express permission? As you exiled me there?” “Bygones, my friend, bygones,” the gallade replied, placing his hand on Lepidus’ shoulder. He then used that shoulder as a handhold, pushing the xatu’s shoulder down as he rose out of the bathtub. “And when you return to Circeii after the triumph has concluded today, you can be content with my clemency towards your presence here today. For even though you invaded my privacy, not to mention the fact that it only through my leniency that you are still alive so close to the borders of Rome, I will let you live to tell the story of how you told the future of Gaius Octavius Caesar.” Octavian exited the tub, grabbing a towel from a stool positioned close to the door. As the door closed behind him, Lepidus stared at the door, eyes narrowing in anger. “Oh, I’ve read your future, Thurinus,” he muttered, “and you’ll be happy to know that you will be exalted by your peers. Called Augustus, even!” He spit into the tub in a fit of rage. “I despise you, Octavian, and it gives me no shortage of pleasure to know that, though you will be great, gods curse you, you will be the last, nay, only great man of your line. All of your successors will be incompetents at best, and downright freaks at their worst, and the wretched empire that you seek to create will collapse on itself with your legacy being tarnished and forgotten!” Lepidus sighed, hanging his head. “But you will still be great.” Lepidus prepared a Teleport spell, readying himself for returning to his home, or perhaps prison, in Circeii. And as a bluish-white glow enveloped him before he departed, he spit in the tub one final time, and said, with both voice and mind: [“You are not worthy to call yourself Caesar, Gaius, let alone Augustus, as they will call you. You fancy yourself a dictator, a king even, but you are nothing more than a petulant brat. Know that for the rest of your days.”] And with that parting shot, and content with the knowledge that Octavian had heard him, Lepidus blinked out of existence. ------------------------------ Lepidus’ words stung, to the point where, even amid the procession, Octavian could not focus. The exultant crowd chanting his name around him, the soldiers and senators marching behind him (a first in Roman history), the sight of the Egyptian loot and prisoners in front of him, nothing could ease his mind. Not even the presence of the children of Cleopatra in his chariot, the two young riolu, the twins who represented the only significant challenge to his rise to ultimate power, being trapped in the confines of his chariot – not even that could assuage his growing sense of dissatisfaction. Was it due to the events of the past two days? This was, after all, the third day in a row he had triumphed, and he was worn out. But no, that couldn’t be it, a triumph was the greatest honor that could be bestowed on a Roman. If anything, the experience should have been invigorating. Was it the presence of Antony’s children? Or perhaps the implication that Antony was an integral part of this whole ordeal? He looked out at the procession of bounty and prisoners collected from Egypt, and gazed upon the effigy made in Antony’s likeness. The graceful figure of the disgraced mienshao was turning quite a few heads. From the stray thoughts that he gleaned from the crowd, Octavian began to put a name to his unease. Their thoughts were on the figure of Antony, and how grand and magnificent it was. And why wouldn’t they be? Antony was a hero from the days of Caesar, his adopted father, and the figure made to represent him was grandiose and elaborate, much like the man himself. He was beloved by the masses, like Caesar was. Most did not even pay any mind to the fact that he had betrayed them for Egypt. For Cleopatra. And begetting the children now gaping at the crowd from his chariot. Octavian’s thoughts were interrupted by a rumbling from beneath his feet. He turned towards the slave standing to the side. The golden laurel that he was holding above the imperator’s head was shaking as the young man tried to keep his balance. After a quick glance, Octavian could see that none of the other figures either in front of or behind him were giving even a shudder. He breathed a sigh of relief. Neptune was not angry with him, praised be the gods. However, that did not stop a peg of the right wheel of his chariot from snapping, rattling the wagon and everyone riding on it. Everyone on the chariot had the presence of mind to grab the railings, so as not to fall off the chariot as it skidded to a halt, but this did nothing to help Octavian’s unease. Why now? he thought. Why can’t things just go more easily? Are the gods truly ignoring me today?But then he remembered. Lepidus said this would happen. In all his years as pontifex maximus, he was never wrong when performing an augury. So, what else had he said? Octavian smiled. “Camus, you and the other slaves parading behind us get to work fixing the wheel,” he commanded, gesturing to the slave holding the laurel. “You do not have to hide it; everyone can see that it is broken.” “And what will you do, imperator?” Camus responded. “You must be careful with how you proceed, or you will befall the same ridicule as Magnus did during his third triumph.” The proud gallade chuckled. “Not to worry. I will turn Rome’s attention away from you.” He turned to the mass of people to the chariot’s right, flipping the skin flap on his back like a cape so it would catch in the breeze. Octavian never tired of bragging to everyone he knew about how the gods blessed him with a form that could transform, making him grander, more intimidating in appearance, merely by concentrating on a tiny stone. The more evidence that Octavian was favored by the gods the better. He scanned the crowd. They were all chatting amongst themselves, not paying attention to any one thing now that the procession had stalled. Some were pointing at the slaves laboring to fix the chariot wheel. That needed to be amended. Clearing his throat and focusing his mind on the crowd, he spoke. ["My fellow Romans! May I have your attention for but a brief moment?"] His method of speaking both vocally and telepathically worked. Everyone’s eyes, straying before, were now fixed on his tall, regal figure. Their mouths, continually flapping before, were silent. Smirking, he continued. [“The gods see it fit to humble me today. My chariot has lost a wheel. No one is hurt, thank Arceus, but this grand ceremony has slowed to a crawl.”] He let out a quick laugh. [“But that does not bother you, does it? This is the third day of festivities in a row. You have all seen this before. Some may even be sick of seeing my face in public by now. I know I tire of painting this blasted red pigment on my face.”] He gestured to his face, which was indeed painted a stark shade of crimson. Every triumphator painted their face like this, and every one of them thought it was silly, Octavian included. Apparently, so did the crowd, as chuckles and chortles rippled through the mass of people. He’d succeeded in shifting their focus. Now the fun could begin. [“But as I stand here, face itching with this blasted ink, I am reminded of a mantra that has been handed down by those who triumphed before me. My friend, Lepidus, told me of this phrase before his own procession. ‘Remember, you are but a man.’ And these…inconveniences, if you will, have reminded me of this fact. It is true. I am a man. I am mortal. Like you.”] He paused, milking the crowd’s anticipation. [“But the more I think on it, I hit a quandary. Are we, but men, fellow Romans?”] The crowd grew quiet immediately. What did Octavian mean by that? Men, but somehow not? Confused murmuring rippled through the masses, trying to wrap their heads around what the imperator had said. Perfect.[“Just look at what has occurred today, my brothers,”] he continued. [“The gods have spoken to me, given me a sign that they are watching over me. And they are watching over all of Rome as well, else we would not be having this celebration today. Need we forget all the favors the gods have given us?”] He spread his arms towards the crowd of people. [“Let us not forget, Venus guided her son, Aeneas, to the shores of Italy with the sole intent of fostering a great people.”] He chuckled. [“It would make a great epic, if one were to write it down.”] Thankfully, the people watching laughed along with him. He wasn’t actually joking, though, he was thinking of having a poet do it. Now, though, he knew Romans would read it, thank Apollo. [“Our glorious founder, Romulus, was beget by Mars himself,”] he continued, [“and my father, Julius, was descended from Iulus, who was the grandson of the great goddess Venus! Can we not deny that the great men of Rome were touched by the gods?”] The crowd was getting into his speech, chanting " divus" at the sound of Caesar’s name. He was made a god, after all, thanks in no small part to Octavian’s efforts to glorify his name. [“I know how much the great Caesar meant to you all,”] he said, waving down the growing fervor of the masses. [“And as you all well know, I wish to continue his legacy. And thus, I have come to a decision.”] He motioned to the children standing beside him. [“I believe these two need no introduction. It is not my place to tell you that these young ones, Alexander Helios and Cleopatra Selene, are the son and daughter of Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra Ptolemy.”] The names uttered elicited boos and jeers from the audience, but Octavian waved those down as well. ["Now, now, hold your ire, Romans. I know those names may be as poison to your mouths. But we are not barbarians, you and I. How could we be, when we have borne witness to the clemency of the great Julius Caesar.”] He placed his hand on Alexander’s shoulder. [“I wish to continue my father’s legacy, and I will begin by showing this same clemency to these children and their servants. For they did no harm to Rome, and besides, the gods have granted that we bring Egypt into our fold, like they permitted with Gaul, Hellas, and even, dare I say it, Carthage.”] The crowd erupted in cheers again, and this time Octavian did nothing to stop them. He did, however, turn to the two riolu, and smiled. [You should be grateful, you know,] he messaged to them. [Pray you take this kindness to heart, lest you end up like your half-brother.] The children began to quake in the chariot, but Octavian paid them no further mind, as his attention was focused back on the crowd. [“These gifts are but a few paltry reminders that we are most loved by the gods of all men of the world. Just look at our stadiums, our arenas, filled to the brim with pokémon from all over the known world! They, and those Romans who see fit to deny themselves the pleasures of our society, perform magnificent displays of power for our viewing pleasure. They serve us with their bodies, like the infama they are, and it is our role to take pleasure in their barbarism."] The crowd laughed. ["But that is not all, my friends. All that we see, all that we touch, we better. We took the madness of Carthage and quelled it. We took the squabbling of the Hellenic cities and gave them Roman virtue. And we took Egypt, mighty Egypt, and brought her under our yoke so that we may benefit from her bounty. So, I ask you once again, my people. Are we but men? I say, nay, we are more than mere men. WE ARE ROME!”] The masses erupted in applause, and Octavian couldn’t help but bask in it. So this is what Cicero must have felt after a great speech. He felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Camus, signaling that the wheel had been fixed. With a nod and a gesture of his hands, the chariot began to move once again. The procession began its march onward, its destination, the Temple of Arceus Optimus Maximus, waiting for him to enter and conduct the final rites of triumph. His unease, his anger, it had all dissipated. Truly, no one in history had been so close to the gods. --------------------------------
Optional reading: I've provided a link to Suetonius' Lives of the Caesars: Divi Augustii. It's long, and I don't expect you to read the whole thing, but if you're in the mood for one of the more thorough accounts of Octavian/Augustus' life, then this is it. Translation published in the Loeb Classical Library. Life of Augustus
Terms and Clarification: -Thurinus: Octavian’s true last name. Last names in Rome were actually nicknames given to a man by their peers. Thurinus was a reference to an ancestor of Octavian, and often used as an insult by Antony. Caesar refers to the type of haircut that the man liked to wear. - Pedagogus: Far from a teacher, a pedagogus was actually a slave who accompanied their master to schooling. They were tasked with keeping track of the boy’s books and making sure they were behaved and disciplined. Bad behavior was often blamed on the pedagogus. -Lepidus: He was exiled in 36 BCE and never returned to Rome. His presence in the story was fictionalized. -The children of Cleopatra: Cleopatra had 4 children: Alexander, Cleopatra Selene, Ptolemy, of whom not much is known, and most famously, Caesarion, who is the half-brother mentioned by Octavian. He was most likely the son of Julius Caesar, and was executed by Octavian in 30 BCE. -Imperator/Triumphator: Words used to describe a conquering general. Triumphator specifically refers to someone commissioned a triumph, as not all imperatores were given the honor, including Cicero.
-An epic poem written about the journey of Aeneas: Obviously, a reference to the Aeneid, an unfinished epic poem commissioned by Augustus and written by the scribe Vergil.
-Augustus: This was not the first title that Octavian and the senate was thought to have considered calling himself. Their first idea? Romulus.
-Arceus Optimus Maximus: The Pokémon version of Jupiter Optimus Maximus.
-Infama: A term used to describe someone who makes a living through use of their bodies, such as actors, gladiators, and prostitutes. They have rescinded their social status or reputation, or "fama," and are unable to hold public office otherwise participate in society. It's not a title you want to have, but many Romans, needing money, become gladiators, as it is actually rather lucrative if you're good. They were basically the sports celebrities of Rome, albeit with no social standing.
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Dtmahanen
Witnessing (and participating in) shenanigans
Posts: 123
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Post by Dtmahanen on May 20, 2018 23:48:18 GMT
Book 3: Pieces of the Dead There was blood on the floor. No body. No weapons. No trace of the victim except for a pool of red lining the patterned blue tiles. Another smattering of the crimson ooze lined the throne, these splotches hand-shaped. There was no trail. The victim was not dragged out of the room, and the bits of gore spattered throughout the blood puddle suggested a far more loathsome fate. It took all her strength for Queen Isis not to scream. She did not need to see a body to know what had transpired. This throne room belonged to her husband, the great god-king Osiris. She had returned from her daily vigil to the city of Memphis, checking on its inhabitants and tending to the weak, relieving them of their nightmares, if they had any. Her role was often small, however, as Osiris’s reign was nothing if not benevolent towards its people. He was kind, and brought order and prosperity to Egypt. Under his rule, the Nile shores never failed to run red with nutritious silt, and harvest was always plentiful. Why had Ra forsaken him, after giving him such a prosperous reign? “Lady Isis…what is this?” Turning to the door, the cresselia noticed that she was not alone in the room. Her sister, Nephthys, stood just as mortified as the queen at the sight of the horrors in the room. She gingerly entered the room, taking care not to place her soft blue paws on any soiled tile or let her flowing purple mane touch any defilement. She couldn’t stand the sight of such corruption, but at this moment, her sister was more important. “What else could it be, sister?” Isis murmured, turning back toward the main blood puddle. “Osiris has been murdered.” She floated closer to the mass of red. “And perhaps worse, if these bits of f-flesh are any indication.” Tears flooded her amethyst eyes. “What sort of monster would do such a despicable thing?” “I think…I may know.” She bowed her head in shame. “My lover, Set, has grown worrisome of late. He rants and raves about his superiority to your husband day and night, often for hours without end. He tosses and turns in his sleep. I fear he is going mad with, what, jealousy? Spite? For his own brother, no less.” She looked at Isis again. “I fear that he may have gone too far this time. This is his doing, I am sure of it.” Before Isis could respond, her sister summoned forth a storm of rain, wetting the floor with pure, icy water. She calmly strode across the floor, and with every step removed another chunk of blood and gore. It was a well-loved trick of hers, and one that made her popular amongst the mortals whenever blood was spilled. “It would not do for the Pharaoh’s throne room to be defiled so.” She walked up to Isis, who was resting on the floor, and placed a paw on her shoulder. “If it will ease the pain you are feeling, I will help you find Osiris. Set has more than likely gone insane, but even he, in all his power, cannot annihilate the body of a god-king completely. We will find him, piece him back together if it comes to that, and give him the proper funerary rites. I know this is callous, but it is the only thing we can do for him now.” Isis glared at the suicune. “If Set was so far gone in envy of my husband, why did you not stop him, or at the very least warn someone?” “I did not know he would go this far. I already told you this. It was a horrible oversight, and I cannot begin to express how regretful I am that I did nothing. But now, it is all we can do to pick up the pieces.” “And it’s pieces that we will find him in, no doubt,” Isis deadpanned. “I am grateful that you wish to help me find his body, for I would have made you assist me even unwillingly. Who better to find a dead man than a goddess of death?” Nephthys gave the cresselia a wry look. She knew something that her sister did not. “Perhaps the son of a death goddess.” -------------------------- Anubis was an odd creature for an immortal. He wore the head of a jackal, similar to Nephthys’ own dog-like face, but he stood on his hind legs alone rather than on all fours. His fur was mixed with both the soft blue hew of his mother, but also the blacks and browns of his father. It was his father that made Isis so skeptical of his usefulness. “Nephthys, remind me why we are bringing the son of Set to help us find Osiris,” she growled. “Is it not wrong for a son to go against the actions of his father?” “I have no love for Set,” Anubis tersely replied, his eyes aglow with a metallic blue sheen. “I may be his child, but he is no father to me, only rage against my uncle. And besides, Mother always told me my future duty was to judge the souls of the dead before entering the Underworld. What better soul to judge than that of the great god-king Osiris?” Even in her mournful state, Isis could not help but smile at the boy’s words. He was so young, and yet already well on his way to taking his place amongst the gods, if his mannerisms were not false. “Well then, my dear son,” Nephthys interjected, “why don’t you show us the way to the great god-king?” “With pleasure.” Anubis closed his eyes and focused his thoughts on a space between his hands. After a moment of concentration, a bluish-white shape began to materialize out of thin air, warping and twisting as it sprung into existence. The lucario reached his hand towards the shape, which had by now taken shape as a long, cross-shaped loop. An ankh. Grabbing hold of the rod, it solidified into the glass-like, bluish-green substance that the People of the Nile valued as faience. “This will guide us to him. It allows me to channel my aura senses to pinpoint any traces of a life source. If Osiris is truly a descendant of Ra, I’ll be able to track his life force. Or at least, what’s left of it.” He held out the ankh in front of him, and it began to emit a faint bluish-white light from its three tips. As he moved the rod around him, the tips grew stronger or fainter as he turned. “It’s rather fitting, isn’t it?” Nephthys remarked. “A spawn of the dead, using the symbol of life to find the pieces of Osiris. He’s a talented boy, is he not?” Her remark let out a rare chuckle from Isis’ lips. “I’m more pleased that your son is helping us. It is nice to know that the gods have not forsaken my family.” “I would not be too sure of that, Aunt,” Anubis interrupted. “I think I’ve found the pieces, and they’re not in great shape.” “What do you mean?” The lucario gestured for the two goddesses to follow him. Isis was a little confused by the boy’s trepidation, but Nephthys showed a look of growing concern, and perhaps even fear, due to where the ankh was pointing. The Nile. --------------------------------------- “Thousand arms of Ra protect us, what have you done, Set?” The river, once pristine and crystalline in it beauty, was soiled. Black-and-red splotches of filth and grime polluted the life-giving waters, and the fish that made man’s meals were sagging on the surface of the Nile. Someone, or something, was poisoning the waters. “Nephthys, quickly, we need to purify the Nile!” Isis commanded. “Leave the river this way for long, and all the people of Egypt will suffer. Crops will not grow, there will be no more fish to catch, and everyone will-" “Aunt, please, slow down!” Anubis interjected. “This corruption is bad, yes, but it also serves a purpose.” He flashed the ankh in front of the cresselia’s face, showing a very powerful glow that was not this strong before. “The rod started glowing more brightly as we approached the polluted area. With this, alongside my aura vision, I have very good reason to believe that a piece of Osiris is actually causing the corruption of the Nile.” “But, but how?” Isis stammered. “He was a good devout man. How could he create such poison?” “It’s not his fault, sister,” Nephthys responded, “it’s merely because he is a dead god in the middle of the Nile.” She leapt onto river, purifying the waters with every step. “Son, share your aura vision with me. I’ll find the piece of Osiris in the river while purifying it. Search for any other pieces while doing so. Two pidgeys, one stone.” “Even better,” the lucario continued, “we could simply look for the corruption in the river. It is as clear a sign as any of where a piece was hidden.” “Yes, but we must move quickly,” Isis said. “If there are more spots like this, then I fear our people may be in danger.” She gestured to the polluted river. “If mortals drink this water, or eat any of the fish or plants that have been tainted by the presence of the dead, a great plague might spread through Egypt, killing hundreds, if not thousands. The pieces may be easy to find, but we must have the mortals in mind. Remember, they are but human.” Nephthys gave a curt nod before rushing to the blighted river. She quickly walked over the corrupted space, purifying every corrupted droplet that she could. Once she was satisfied, she turned toward Anubis, who threw the ankh at her open jaw. Catching it, she dove into the river, searching for the remnant of the god-king that rested there. However, when she resurfaced, she wore a confused look on her face. “This is a left forearm,” she said, throwing the piece to the shore. “However, unless my memories deceive me, this isn’t Osiris. Not at all.” The arm was green and scaly, ending in clawed fingers meant to grab and slice. This was not the limb of her husband, and yet, somehow, she knew it was his. “I don’t think the corruption is just the presence of death…I think Osiris himself is tainted.” ---------------------------- There were 15 pieces in all, scattered all across the Nile River. As the trio fished them out of the water, Isis’ fears were made manifest. Every piece that they found was wholly unrecognizable. The legs looked like a cat’s. Or were they more dog-like? The arms had become scaly and lizard-like. His tail was transformed to that of a fish, and the head? Utterly alien. His hawk-like head had grown a crest, the beak had fused with the face, and the whole of his head had lost all its color, rendering his visage a deathly white. Whether it was from the loss of blood or the dark magic, she could not say. Set had done far, far worse than merely kill him and cut him to pieces. He twisted every piece of the great god-king into something wholly wretched. “It’s like he’s not even your husband anymore,” Nephthys intoned. “Is it even possible to piece him together again?” “Even if it isn’t, I will,” the cresselia replied. She looked at the remnants of her once great husband, and set to work. She may not have had control over the kingdom, but there were some who felt that her magical abilities far surpassed those of her partner, and even bordered on psychic. Her first instinct was to bind each piece of Osiris’ body together. She knew no true adhesive magic, but she figured that her powers over frost and ice would help her here. Laying each piece where she thought they should go, she commenced coating the limbs with rings of ice, creating a makeshift cast surrounding each fracture. When men were wrongly maimed or executed, she was known to use this same technique to piece them together, so she figured, with her husband being an immortal, this would be enough to restore him. After binding all the pieces together, she waited, unable to do much more for the moment. Nephthys poured over the now-whole body, coating it with a purifying foam to remove the stink of death. Even Anubis chipped in, generating a pulse from his hands that organically stitched the parts together. Isis could only hope that their efforts would pay off. Osiris’ body looked completely alien, even after all of the limbs were plastered together. His front legs were replaced with arms that would be better suited on a crocodile, and he crouched on his haunches like a feral dog. His eyes, now a lifeless grey, stared straight ahead, looking off into the distance, comprehending nothing. “He might need a little help recovering,” Anubis said. He focused his aura energy again, forming a helmet-like structure, which he them placed around Osiris’ skull. “I’m worried that, if he wakes up, he’ll be hurting. And besides, he has no place in the living world anymore. We might as well begin the process of his entombment.” Isis nodded, placing a hand on her stomach. “It is only right to do so. I can only hope that his child will be able to avenge him, and he can smile upon us from the Underworld.” She turned to Nephthys. “What will become of him?” “A dead god in the Underworld?” the suicune responded. “And with his reputation? The only fate I see for him is eternal rule. It is not an ideal status, to be Pharaoh of the Dead, but it is an important task, nonetheless. I expect he will attack his duty with the same sort of vigor that he did in life.” “Yes,” Isis exclaimed, “of course he will.” She approached Osiris’ lifeless husk, showing him her belly. “Do you see him, Horus? This is what your treacherous uncle did to your noble father, my son. Turning him into this – this chimera, this horror! Promise me, when you are grown, you will do right by your father and avenge him. Promise you will drag him through the fiery plains of the Underworld for all time, and let him know no mercy.” She turned away from her husband and spit an icy globule into the Nile. “It is the very least he deserves.” ------------------------ Optional Reading: Text of the Osiris myth provided by the University of Texas Osiris Myth
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Dtmahanen
Witnessing (and participating in) shenanigans
Posts: 123
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Post by Dtmahanen on May 21, 2018 0:11:07 GMT
Book 4: Loki’s Gambit “Why did I open my damned mouth?” Loki was perturbed by the sight in front of him. A massive, obsidian wall interlaced with veins of ice towered over him. On top of the wall, an icy, dead-eyed dragon with vestigial arms sat, contentedly looking over the masterpiece of his creation. Or, perhaps more accurately, the masterpiece of his horse’s creation. ------------------------------------ This embarrassing fiasco had begun not three seasons prior, when the frost-bitten jotun, named Kyurem, had wandered into the halls of the newly constructed Valhalla, supposedly looking for work. The gods, troubled at the presence of such a vile creature in their halls, but still naïve in their curiosity, inquired further. “It is a rather simple request, truly,” the beast growled. “I am a builder, held in high regard by human and Frost Giants alike.” He gestured to the hall in which he stood with his withered, ice-covered wing. “I would think that noble beings such as yourselves would want to protect that which you hold in these walls. For that, I can build a wall, a fortification, if you will, that will keep invaders from attacking the gates of Valhalla.” “ And how, pray tell, do plan to do this, creature?” mighty Odin asked. Although seated on his haunches, he was still an intimidating presence, with his glowing, silver eyepatch, his long neck craning over all present, and his disc of arms giving off a menacing golden sheen. “ I see no tools on your person. How can one with such a deformed figure as yours possibly hope to complete such an immense project?” The husk gave the gods a toothy grin, and then proceeded to conjure a wall of ice right in front of him, much to the shock of all present. “All jotun can conjure ice such as this. It’s sturdy stuff. As for the stone needed for the bulk of the project, however, I have my ways. It will be done, and it will be done well.” A loud grunt echoed through the halls. “I don’t like this, All-Father,” thunderous Thor bellowed, standing up from his own throne. The black dragon glared intensely at his icy counterpart, his right hand grasping the lightning bolts that comprised his mighty hammer, Mjolnir. “The jotun always have strange tricks up their sleeves, and you know as well as I do that the Frost Giants hate us for giving them the icy realm of Jötunheimr. There is something more afoot.” The lightning bolts coalesced into its hammer form, sparking with electric energy of a Bolt Strike. “With your permission, Father, I would like to smite this cretin from the Nine Realms.” “At ease, brother,” Loki interrupted, his hand momentarily leaving his thick, blood-red mane to off-handedly wave off his more boisterous brother. “This jotun has not even named his price yet, and you mean to bash his brains in? At the very least, hear him out, and let our father name his conditions.” The noble Odin scoffed at the zoroark’s words. “ You know full well you are no true son of mine, trickster,” he mumbled under his breath, before continuing at full volume. “ I have conditions two. If you do not accept these terms, you will not build this fortification. Is that acceptable to you, giant?” Kyurem, after taking a second to think it over, nodded his head in agreement. “ Condition the first!” Odin shouted. “ You will finish the fortification wall within three seasons. For someone of your alleged craft, this should be more than enough time to complete this task.” Odin paused, making sure the jotun was still paying attention. Seeing his face remain stoic, he continued. “ Condition the second! You will receive no help! Not from any man, woman, or beast of similar ilk!” “Can I…clarify one thing quickly?” Kyurem interjected. “I accept the conditions, but, on the subject of the second, would it be alright if I bring my horse along? He will be useful in carrying the supplies I will need to-” “ Denied,” Odin interrupted. “ You will receive no help. Not from man, woman, or beast of similar ilk. I will not bend my condition, for I am master of the Nine Realms, and my word is LAW!” “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait just a moment, All-Father!” Loki exclaimed, standing up from his seat. “Are you truly suggesting that this jotun, this thinking, speaking being, is as bestial as a creature that plows the fields for man?” He sat down again, waving his hand to dismiss the issue. “I have no issue with this Kyurem having his horse play carpenter with him. Do as you please, dear jotun.” At his words, the rest of the gods, Odin included, grudgingly acknowledged the truthfulness of his claim, and agreed to let the giant have his horse. The ice dragon smiled, his jagged face splitting into a toothy grin. “I’ll name my price, then, if that’s settled.” He took a deep breath. “I name as my price the sun the moon and the goddess Freya thank you I’ll begin work immediately.” Before anyone had time to react, the jotun, betraying his withered form, bolted with an almost supernatural speed out of the halls of Valhalla. Oh, horse shit, Loki thought, worried that he had make an incalculable mistake. --------------------------------- His fears had proven warranted. It was two days from the end of the third season, and the wall was nearly complete. However, Kyurem himself had barely lifted a finger throughout the entire process. No, in his stead, the damned horse did most of the work. Strong as an ox, yet swift as the wind and green as the leaves of Yggdrasil, this horse was a freak of nature. Svaðilfari was its name, if he remembered correctly, and what a monster it was. Needless to say, Odin had grown more and more angry at Loki as the seasons dragged on. And for good reason, it was his idea to let the damn thing help Kyurem in the first place. It didn't help matters that Loki was kin to this Kyurem. All the Aesir had thought he'd gone easy on him due his heritage, which of course was not true at all. As punishment, Loki was given one task. Stop the horse. Stop. The bloody. Horse. Like that was possible. Loki sighed to himself, and tried to think of a plan. What could he possibly do to distract the horse for long enough that the fortification would not be finished in time? And do I WANT the fortification to be stopped, he thought. We do need protection, after all, and he is doing us a great service- He stopped, aghast with himself for even thinking such things. Odin commanded him to stop the jotun, so it was his duty to do so. He couldn’t think twice about it. And besides, the sun, the moon, and Freya as a price? That was rather exorbitant, even by Loki’s admittedly lax standards. So, what shall I do? He looked closely at the virizion, who was tugging at a chunk of obsidian rock to be placed on the wall. H e’s a strong stallion, that one, he thought, and rather young from the looks of it. Those types of horses do not get distracted by much, not even to eat. Perhaps what he needs is a little-
Loki’s back went rigid when he realized what he would have to do. This would take every bit of his willpower, mental fortitude, and physical stamina to even come close to doing this most heinous of deeds. “HORSE SHIT!!” --------------------------------- Kyurem was feeling very relaxed on top of the wall. Svaðilfari was as powerful a presence as ever, and he was aiding him in what may have been his greatest scam to date. He had swindled the Frost Giants into giving him the horse in the first place, he had conned the humans of Midgard into thinking him a hairy ape that lived in the mountains, and now he was going to have the hand of one of the great goddesses of Valhalla. He chuckled to himself. Things were going rather swimmingly. Suddenly, Svaðilfari stopped in his tracks, turning towards the nearby woods in a state of shock. “What, did you see a nice little feeding place?” Kyurem taunted. “Do you need your eat’ums? ‘Cause if it ain’t, get back to wo-” He froze in the middle of his sentence, almost not comprehending what he was seeing. A beautiful, white mare, her mane dancing with flickering orange flames was standing at the edge of the tree line. Her ruby-red eyes beckoned the stallion, shining in the sunlight with her onyx-black hooves and pointed horn. She’s like the unicorn of legend, Kyurem thought to himself. I never thought I’d see the day…However, his thoughts returned to reality when the mare, as if spooked by something, turned and fled back into the woods. Svaðilfari, still transfixed by what had once been there, stared into the woods. Its muscles, much to Kyurem’s horror, began to tense. “Don’t you do it, you bloody animal, or I swear I’ll-” The virizion, not listening for a second, reared back onto its hind legs and sprinted away from the wall at top speed. It wanted the mare, and it would take it if it was the last thing it did. “Oh, you bloody piece of horse shit,” Kyurem muttered as he stood up to chase the horse. He couldn’t let this random event get in the way of his greatest coup to date. He was going to get that horse back, even if it killed him. ----------------------------------- It took far longer for Kyurem to catch up with the AWOL virizion. It was a speedy specimen, and when it sprinted off into the woods, it looked like it was on a mission. But an entire day? Yeah, the frost giant was none too pleased when he finally reached the damned horse. He was sweating ice pellets profusely from his scaly skin, his ice armor was chipping from the constant shocks of his legs hitting the ground, and his hazy breath was coming out in rapid, misty spurts. “Alright, you piece of filth, what the Hel was-” He stopped, suddenly realizing the scene was different than he thought. And not in a good way. Svaðilfari, far from resting contentedly after catching the mare, was lying on its stomach, fresh blood flowing into the frosty soil from its slit neck. A haughty-looking zoroark was lounging next to the dead body running his clawed hand through its massive black-and-red mane, a sly grin spread across his face. “A little late, aren’t we, kinsman?” Loki crooned. “Sorry to say, but your horse isn’t in the best shape. Needs a little eternal rest in Hela’s domain to fully recover.” He patted the virizion’s stomach. “Damn shame, too, that thing’s a monster. It took me a full day to get the thing this tired. AN ENTIRE DAY! And he just…dropped dead out of exhaustion. And just after a little jog? ~Sigh~ And here I thought you trained him better than that.” The icy dragon was seething in his anger. It almost appeared as if smoke were rising from its frozen form. “If what you say is true – if Svaðilfari just dropped dead – then why is his throat slit?” “Oh, that. Well, I couldn’t take any chances on him getting back to work, now could I? The gods told me to prevent you from finishing the fortification by any means necessary, and I thought the mare form was going to be enough, but damn, that beast was a fighter. So, I thought, wouldn’t it be fun to get a little blood on my hands?” He showed Kyurem his paws, stained red and crusted with the horse’s blood. “And guess what? I did.” “You monster!” the jotun screamed, bolting towards the smaller form of the god of mischief. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done to me!” “Oh come now, boy,” Loki countered, completely unworried as Kyurem grabbed onto him with his jaws. “Remember, I am a god, and you are but a lowly mortal. We couldn’t have you taking a goddess as a prize. Surely you realized that, right?” He paused as a thunderclap echoed in the distance. “Oh, drat,” Loki continued, his devilish grin expanding wider. “Time’s up. I fear that Thor is on his way over here now. I believe he means to bash your brains in, and I intend to let him this time.” Effortlessly breaking free of the jotun’s grasp, he began to slide into the forest, out of sight. “Ta-ta, Kyurem. May we never meet again.” ---------------------------------- Loki would not enter the halls of Valhalla for another week. His physical form was completely drained from the ordeal, and he’d needed some time to recover. He had requested to meet specifically with the All-Father, and thankfully, he was alone when the zoroark entered the throne room. “ So, you have completed your task, little trickster,” Odin said, his long neck towering over the much smaller figure. “ I would say you have done a noble deed, but I would assume you relied on methods uncouth to complete your mission. I do not consider it an honorable thing you did, slitting the throat of that steed, but you did your job, and that was what I asked of you.” “Oh, were it so simple,” Loki muttered. “It took much more than merely slitting its throat, All-Father. I had to trick it.” “ Of course you did.” “So I took the form of a mare. To distract it, of course. It chased me for a full day.” “ After which it collapsed, and you killed it. I know the story, my son told me what the frost giant said.” The zoroark hesitated, taking a moment to calm himself. “That’s…not the full story, All-Father. You see, it didn’t collapse right away. It…actually caught me before the day was up.” “ And?” the arceus pried. “ Get to the point, boy!” Loki took a deep breath. “I AM PREGNANT WITH THE HORSE’S CHILD, ALL-FATHER!” Silence. The enormity of Loki’s statement echoed through the halls. It took Odin a long time to process the words that had erupted from Loki’s mouth. And then he began to laugh. “You…you mated with the HORSE?!” he stammered incredulously. “ You, in all your infinite wiles, thought the best solution to distract it was to HAVE SEX WITH IT??!! Oh, and I thought Thor was thick-skulled. Hehehahah!!” “It worked, didn’t it?” Loki attempted to counter. “I exhausted it so it couldn’t run anymore, and then I-” “ By Hel, no more!” Odin interjected, still giggling uncontrollably. “ Please, just leave. I cannot look upon you anymore without laughing.” He began to walk away, shivering in his laughter. “ Loki, Horse-Father! I think that fits you perfectly, trickster.” The inner doors slammed shut as Odin exited the room. And there Loki stood, alone in the halls of Valhalla. A godly horse growing in his belly. He sighed, and patted his stomach. “Horse shit.”
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Dtmahanen
Witnessing (and participating in) shenanigans
Posts: 123
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Post by Dtmahanen on May 21, 2018 0:29:45 GMT
Book 5: The Nightmare Riders You’re a new face around here, traveler. I can give you shelter for a time, if need be. I could use the company. How would I know this? It’s written all over your face, child. You look cold. You’re white as the clouds in the sky. What troubles you? It’s as if you’ve seen a ghost. Oh, you have, now? Intriguing. Describe them for me. … Alright, now I need you to come in. Quickly now, inside! No questions, traveler, we must not delay. You are safer inside. Good, sit, sit. I will tend to you for tonight. Please, make yourself at home for now. Heh. You are lucky you happened upon my hut. It may not look like much to you with your modern sensibilities, but it is one of the safest places you could possibly be on nights like tonight. Believe me, I have lived through more than my share. Here, eat this. I know it’s just bread and soup, but I made the loaf myself, and it’s fresh, and it’s better to have a full stomach when speaking of troubling times. So, tell me again what you saw. In detail, please. … *sigh* FUCK! He’s bloody riding again. Listen, traveler, I’ll need you to stay for a while. At least for the night. As long as he’s riding, those who travel at night are not safe on the road. You need not worry, child. Nothing comes inside this house unless I will it, not even those things you speak of. How do I know this? Heheh. Believe me, traveler, I know. I’ve seen them before. Since you’re here, traveler, indulge me for a time. I’d like to tell you a story. Not to worry, it is relevant to your current plight. It is the story of what these phantoms are, and even how their leader came to be. It might even save your life. --------------------------------- What do you know of the Wilde Jagd, traveler? Not much, I would think. That name is old and long-forgotten, but still far more powerful than the silly name it has now. *snort* “Wild Hunt,” how trivial it sounds. Lacks the gravitas of its old title, not to mention the fear it invokes in those who hear it. What you saw, traveler, has long been burdened with the reputation of ill omen. It does not help that you saw that absol before your fright. Bless those creatures, but they are far too receptive to disaster for their own good. It is no small miracle that their kind has survived until today. It probably meant you no harm. What is pursuing you, however, most certainly does. The Wilde Jagd does not pursue their prey randomly. They only appear on moonless nights, so it’s never random. You must have done something to earn their attention. And no, that does not mean you’ve committed some sacrilege to a holy site, or insulted a deity, or some silly offense such as that. No, the leader of the Jagd sees much, and he is always in need of something, or someone, to pursue. It is in his nature to kill things. I know. I have borne witness to it myself. The riders, traveler, what did you make of them? What did they look like to you? Fairies? Demons? Those cute little man-creatures that wear belts and clothes and yet still fight for their masters when told? Hah. If only that’s what they were. They’re the spirits of the dead, traveler. You described an owl man in a hood, wielding a bow-and-arrow? That is their scout, their huntsman. The one who finds the poor, unlucky souls that the Jagd will chase until death or day. Some who look on its visage have seen the shade of Robin Hood. Others, Artemis, flying on the spectral rays of the moon, with the blood of a recently sacrificed child on her lips. For you, it seems it took the form of one of your kind’s companion creatures. Decidueye, was it? Yes, the ghostly archer, silently gliding from branch to branch, never letting its prey escape. You describe the scout truly. What else, what else? Ah, yes, the woman. The one with the hat, floating above the horde, singing that horrible song. The Siren, the Banshee, the...mismagius, is that what you called it? The wailing woman. All wanderers seem to think they know what her song means. Some think it a warning of the Jagd’s approach. Others are convinced it is the lament of a kidnapped maiden, leading the most foolhardy of men to rush into the Jagd’s arms. As for me, I could not say. I think her a trickster spirit, haunting and deceiving the Jagd’s prey for her own sick amusement. But no, what most terrified you was the one on the horse, wasn’t it? What did he look like to you? Was he a tall, fat man with a horned helmet? A crime boss with an R emblazoned on his chest? The devil himself? Hah! If only any of those were the case. He was a god once, you know. And a powerful one, at that. Not only was nature his domain, but also battle, and wisdom, and countless other things. But none of that matters now. What was once a great being is dead. All that is left is a shade, a specter, riding on a flaming horse with hooves as black as coal but as hard as diamond. He has no body anymore. His shadow is wreathed in more black shadow, billowing in a wind not felt by any but him. His eye stares to the horizon, enveloped in a ghostly flame. He holds a living, possessed sword that constantly feeds him the lies and blasphemies that corrupted his mind, turning him into the freak he is. And need I forget the meat necklace he wears on his ephemeral shoulders, hanging there like a jaw drenched in blood? But of course you don’t see that. No one does. He doesn’t want you to see that. Once he knows his prey, he knows their fear, and he uses it. Turns himself into what they fear most so that they would run. Letting him chase. Letting him hunt. Letting him kill. All while laughing with frenzied glee. --------------------------------- I apologize, but I cannot mince my words with you, traveler. That which stalks you is not some trivial specter. It is the manifestation of death itself. What can you do? Not much, child. I will shelter you for the night, let you sleep in my bed. I will pray to the gods that may listen that they pass us in the night. It is alright to be scared, little one. The Wilde Jagd is nothing to trifle with. But, as I have told you, you will be safe here. I assure you, you will feel no nightmares tonight. You know the form of which I speak? I am not surprised. There is a region of this world that believes in a creature that causes nightmares merely through its presence. That is a story, but one with a hint of truth. Why do you think no one ever sees the same horror on the horse? I have prepared a bed for you. Sleep well, traveler. You will need to cover much ground tomorrow. Rest. … … … … *bam bam bam* … … *bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bambambambambambambam* … … “I know he rests here, woman.” … … *bam bam bam* “You will open this door, or we will break it down.” …You know you have no power here, husband. Leave him to his rest this night. “What is the point of waiting, my Frigg? The moon will not shine for many nights. It is winter, woman. It is my season. He is my prey. You know he does not have long.” …I know this, Woden. “How many times must we play this game, Freya? Countless winters you have done this. Deny me my hunt, even for one pitiful night. Just as you denied me the right to slaughter my enemies when I was Allfather, and allowed Ragnarok to rend our souls from our realm, forcing us to WALK MIDGARD LIKE THE PITIFUL MORTALS WE ONCE RULED!!” … “You know it is pointless. Whether it be this night or the next, my prey dies by my hand.” …I know this, shade. “ I AM ODIN, YOU VILE WITCH! KNOW YOUR PLACE, WOMAN!! YOU WILL SHOW DEFERENCE TO YOUR KING!!!” Remember, husband, you are but a spirit now. You are less than mortal. “And what of you, then? Surely you cannot speak to your own humanity. Or have you hidden yourself from yet another foolish mortal? I wonder what he would think if her were to see the old crone that took him in as a garish pink and blue fowl, less human than beast yourself.” …I know you will not stop. And you know I will not stop sheltering them. Protecting them, like we used to. No one, not even the most wretched of mortals, should have all their final days be naught but terror. He will rest tonight. “…Fine. You will delay the inevitable one night. Then I kill him.” Then leave him to his rest. “And thus the cycle continues.” So it does. “You need only open the door, and this cycle ends. We go to Hel in death, as intended.” You know I never will. My service to man is never done. “Then the Wild Hunt will march on.” Yes. … … … …
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girl-like-substance
the seal will bite you if you give him half a chance
Posts: 527
Pronouns: xe/xem
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Post by girl-like-substance on May 27, 2018 21:13:38 GMT
A new Pantheon story, at long last! This one has a pretty neat concept, too. I like how you base Odin's evolution (or devolution) on the evolution of the myth itself; whenever I write about gods, I always seem to end up writing about not knowing whether the stories that people tell define how they change or whether their changes define the story, and I feel like that's a tension you've got bubbling along under the surface here, with the Wild Hunt literally bursting from one diegetic level (that of the inset story) into another (the actual action of the story, so to speak). The Pantheon being what it is, this great celebration of all these stories, it feels like exactly the right place to be examining that sort of thing.
As with some of the other stories in the series, though, I'm left wondering what about these necessitated it being done in fanfiction. There are some stories, like your retelling of the Arachne myth, that really gain something from being translated into this world, but this wasn't one of them; the pokémon element feels a bit tacked on, and at times even distracting – like, I couldn't quite work out what pokémon the garish bird was meant to be, and it kept nagging at me while I was trying to read on. It also sort of muddied the waters a little: at one point it seems like the pokémon elements are one interpretation of many, but then later Odin implies that the pokémon interpretation is the true one, a detail that complicates the idea a bit more than is helpful or necessary.
I also think that there could be slightly more of a story. This is a fantastic concept, but I'm not sure I can say the same for the plot. Most of it is simply telling the reader about the idea, and while it's an excellent one, I do feel like you could do more with that idea than simply transmit it. Perhaps it's missing an ending? But then again, the lack of an ending is telling; the Wild Hunt has no ending, just continues, night after night. I don't know. I've started arguing with myself now and that's never a good sign. I should probably draw a line under this review here.
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Post by Firebrand on Jul 21, 2018 16:11:34 GMT
This is a review for The Spider's Web, in the form it was submitted to the Underground.
I think the conceit of translating real-world mythology into a pokemon context is an interesting one, especially when one transposes and layers real-world deities onto existing pokemon legends. After jumping through to hoops required to translate medieval Christianity into Arceus worship and reconcile the differences between the two traditions, I can appreciate how much thought has to go into a concept like this.
It's also an interesting take on Uxie, which I always saw as more of a passive pokemon. Everything about it seems to me to point towards quiet contemplation and observing the world from a significant distance. But it's the obvious choice for any kind of wisdom deity, even if the characterization of the proactive Athena clashes with Uxie's more passive nature (which is admittedly mostly headcanon on my part, considering canonical information about it is pretty scant).
That being said, I was a bit disappointed that Athena's quarrel with Arachne was resolved the way it was, with Athena giving orders to Thora to weave a tapestry better than Arachne could manage. One of my favorite pieces of the original Ovid myth is that Arachne technically won her contest with Athena, but was transfigured out of both Athena's spitefulness and because she compounded her blasphemy by weaving a gorgeous tapestry that was ridiculing the gods and their romantic conquests. Athena being a sore loser and throwing a temper tantrum is one of the stories that humanizes the Olympians and shows that they are imperfect beings; in this incarnation I guess humanizing the gods isn't as important (considering what they are) but I think the adaptation loses sight of the original purpose of the myth, which to my mind has always been that, yes, mortals can take the gifts the gods gave them and refine them to become better than the gods, even if they are punished for it.
That said, the change of Arachne's punishment works well for this story. It incorporates Uxie's power (basically it's only power, if we're going by what we know from canon...) and implements it well. It shows Athena's pique, and it's definitely a fearsome punishment. But again, I feel like the change loses sight of the theme of the original myth that culminated in Athena's temper tantrum. The impetus Ovid gives us for transforming Arachne into a spider is Athena saying "Well fine, if you want to spin your little tapestries, I'll turn you into a bug that can only do that!" This is arguably a worse punishment, because it turns poor Arachne into a vegetable, and probably more petty. I can see why you changed it, since in this version spiders already exist and we don't need a myth to explain their creation, but I keep circling this point because so much of the original myth centered on Athena's pique that to ignore it seems a betrayal of the source material.
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Post by Ambyssin on Sept 13, 2018 16:12:25 GMT
Totally not trying to sneak in a quick review before the latest challenge runs out. No, sir. This had managed to slip by my radar anyway.
It's on the short side, so I'm not really sure how much I can say about it. Having not heard of this myth before and given the pseudo-script style you used for it – like, I could seriously see someone doing a dramatic reading for this one, could be fun – I honestly imagined this narrator being a gruff westerner recounting this story while a somber, yet sinister old western piece played in the background. I think it was the repeated use of "traveler" in the beginning that made me think of the old west. I kind of rank it with "stranger" as one of those words you associate with "salt of the earth folks." This is undone by the reveal in the end of the Huntsman being Odin and Freya recounting things.
I think the Huntsman and his, uh, accomplices were the parts that were best described and easy for me to get a sense of. Sufficiently creepy and spooky. I think it works fine for the short form you went with. I'm not really upset about the lack of setting or description or anything, because this tale feels like one of those supernatural ones that, say, could be visualized in a void, with shadows forming into the different characters as they pop up. That's how I interpreted it from the description. I couldn't quite tell if that ending dialogue was supposed to tie this Odin into the one from a previous entry or not. If it did, I think I might've missed the cues there, which is my bad. But, overall, I think it's a neat little experimental piece.
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Post by Firebrand on Oct 19, 2018 13:41:10 GMT
This is a review for Triumph from the Underground.
First off, sorry for being so tardy with this! I gave it a second read-through earlier this week on my commute, but I've been working late all week and I've been wiped by the time I got home. But I've got some time now, so let's get started.
As I recall, one of my gripes with the Arachne story was that the tone was somewhat stilted by the use of high diction and grandiose language throughout the narration. Fortunately, that's not the case in this instalment, and the elevated language is mostly kept to the dialogue (and is in keeping with Octavian's character, so it doesn't feel out of place) whereas the narration is generally straightforward and to the point. There are a few instances where the dialogue switches rather abruptly from the high and formal diction to something much more colloquial without much in the way of transition though, for example: And I'm not sure if that's intentional or not. It's established that Lepidus and Octavian are old frenemies, so it's not too bizarre that they would use more familiar language with each other, it's just that until that point they had been speaking in a largely patrician way. It almost seems like a joking vaudevillian aside rather than the natural flow of the conversation.
That said, I think Octavian's speech to the plebs is the highlight of this piece. The speech feels like a Roman oration, and the words that whip the populace up into a frenzy balance well with Octavian's inner asides that reveal his future ambitions and planned political machinations. The writing itself mixes Roman exceptionalism with Octavian's own swaggering confidence.
There are a few interesting places where the pokemon setting of this fic works really well, or at least adds an interesting wrinkle to what would otherwise be a swords-and-sandals Roman fic. Lepidus being a Xatu is a fairly obvious choice, and the Xatu method of foresight, staring into the sun, also dovetails well with the various heliocentric Roman mystery cults. The mention of Teleport being a "spell" rather than a "move" or "technique" was also a nice touch, though I think it does beg the question of why Lepidus doesn't just teleport somewhere (hopefully) beyond Octavian's reach. But then, the fic ends with Octavian's laundry list of conquered territory, and his ambitions stretch still further, so... I guess I answered my own question.
Antony and Cleopatra's children being Riolu at first blush just made me think, "Oh, these are a popular species choice in fic, so let's roll with it," but then I thought about it a little more and realized that the implication meant that Cleopatra would have been a Lucario, and that's actually really clever. The aura feelers and facial markings on a Lucario do look a lot like popular depictions of Cleopatra's headpiece and cosmetics.
But other than that, I felt that using pokemon for this setting was a bit underutilized. Maybe it has something to do with Gallade being pretty much just human shaped but with built in swords, and all of the characters (even the referenced ones who don't physically appear) being bipedal, because there was nothing about Octavian's morphology that made me think "Oh, this is different from the real Gaius Octavian." I had to keep reminding myself that the implication was the crowd he was speaking to and the procession behind him was made up entirely of pokemon and not human Romans, since there wasn't... all that much to suggest otherwise. I think the concept could have potentially been pushed a little further, like, how are the chariots drawn? Enslaved Rapidash or some other quadrupedal pokemon? Would bipedal/human-shaped pokemon have an advantage in pokemon-Rome? Is the patrician class made up of pokemon like that, while the plebs are the ones who don't really have workable hands? How is gladiatorial combat in this setting different from a standard pokemon battle? Or did the civil war between Octavian and Antony play out any differently because they were leading armies of animals with magical powers? Maybe some of this is more information than is necessarily plausible to cram into a short one shot, but it still felt that you could strip away the pokemon from this story and not have to revise too much to make it just standard human Romans. And this is a little disappointing because it comes on the heels of the Arachne story, which did a really good job of blending the classic myth with pokemon trappings and fitting it into that setting. Even fitting the Romulus myth in the pokemon context could help shore up that this isn't really the standard human Rome (a Mightyena raising a different sort of pokemon?)
That said, the parts where pokemon do factor in are well written, and if the goal of the fic was to write a solid Roman oratory steeped in the glory of the imperium, it certainly succeeded.
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Post by admin on Jul 5, 2019 3:16:38 GMT
*claps hands together* Hokay, gonna do some bite-sized reviews because I'm here to catch up with five stories at once. 8)
The Spider's Web To be honest, I've always felt this was the strongest of all of them. It strikes that balance between Pokémon and mythology that you were going for. Like, not only did you integrate pokémon into a well-known myth, but it was done in a way that makes sense to the lore of both. If anything, it actually makes slightly more sense because here we have Arachne bragging about something she technically didn't even do. (As in, she's bragging about her ariados's work, not her own, which actually kinda makes it doubly scuzzy and makes Athena's raw anger a little more justified. Sure, the gods are dicks, but in this case, yeah, okay, Arachne kinda had it coming.)
Triumph This one, meanwhile, I kinda felt was one of the weaker ones. While it's interesting to see a gallade use his full range of abilities the way Octavian does, when you get right down to it, the most exciting thing that happens is Octavian talks. By the time we get past the bath scene, we already know that Octavian is an egotistical prick who won't listen to a simple "maybe you should stop being so much of an egotistical prick, lest you wish Athena rip you a new one too." We're kinda expecting some kind of comeuppance—something bigger than a wheel getting broken, you know? But Octavian takes this in stride, wraps an entire crowd around his finger, and ... roll credits. On the other hand, it does set up the whole "this is a megalomaniac shortly before a hero busts in and takes a sword to his throat" vibe ... which, I know, isn't technically true to history, but at least it sort of leaves one feeling as if there's something more after this.
Pieces of the Dead Weirdly enough, I actually thought this was the second strongest one in the set. The reason why I say this is because although the murder mystery is picked up and dropped (and also, a little conclusion-jumpy, if all Isis had to go on that her husband specifically had been murdered in the first place was a puddle of blood and some hearsay about jealous rantings), the scene thereafter is interesting. It certainly has that mythy vibe to it, not so much in the spellwork going on as it is the whole "oh, the Nile River is now poisoned because some chunks of dead god are in it." I dunno, it just seems like something that you'd imagine in an actual myth, you know? Plus, there's the whole idea of putting Osiris back together, piece by piece, weaving him with ice and spells, and having that actually be a complete body that functions thereafter. It's legit something you'd see straight out of a religious text, god breathing life into things that are most certainly not alive and all. And as a cherry on top, it just seems like an even more understandable and natural explanation to how Type: Null came to be than, well, even canon. Like, it just makes sense, somehow, that this was a desperate attempt to Frankenstein the recently dead.
I mean, yes, a lot of this is literally what happens, word-for-word, in the original myth, but I like the idea that it's being used to explain Type: Null here. Ultimately, I think that's what I like about what I consider to be the best works in this collection: those moments when you're not really trying to recreate the myth but with pokémon but instead use the myth to add something to Pokémon's lore. Or intertwining the two so that the two add to one another.
Loki's Gambit Not my cuppa.
I'd leave it there, but ... I don't know. I can see what you're going for here, but I feel like it was really pushing somehow, you know? Take the punchline, for example, where Loki comes out and says he's with the horse's child. When you look at that, there's ... not really anything to that. The thing is that Loki and Odin don't really establish too much of a connection with each other. They don't really play off each other all that well. They're kinda awkward in their interactions, with Loki firing off sarcasm and biting remarks to Odin now and then and Odin just kinda ushering Loki/the plot along. So while Loki is answering Odin, the humor in his line isn't really linked to anything. The line that comes before it is literally just, "Get to the point." So "I'm pregnant" isn't really playing off any sort of emotion that would highlight it. Odin isn't not expecting Loki to be pregnant; he's just wanting Loki to get on with his story. However that ends almost seems like it wouldn't have even mattered to him, especially given the lead-up (the whole "I'm going to praise you, but I already knew you engaged in some seriously weird shit to get this done" kinda thing—as in, if anything, Odin was probably expecting Loki to do this).
Also, I fully admit that I was less concerned about Loki's impending pregnancy (already knew about this myth before the MCU fandom existed, thank you) and more concerned about the logistics of Virizon's employment. Like, there are absolutely sapient pokémon in this universe. Loki himself isn't even a legendary. Yet Virizon is being used as a draft horse here, and apparently, he's dumb enough of one to go racing after the first vaguely horse-like thing he sees. I mean, on the one hand, okay, yes, straight guys be like that sometimes, but on the other, Kyurem and Odin did describe Virizon as not much more than an animal, so, like ... where's the line there? Is this hella fantasy racist? I need to know the social structure of Pokémon Asgard. It's important.
The Nightmare Riders On the one hand, this is fascinating. On the other ... crit first, I suppose, but basically, it's probably the loosest tied to the Pokémon franchise. Other than the namedrops for things like decidueye and mismagius, there's not really anything here that definitively ties it to Pokémon—not like The Spider's Web or Pieces of the Dead, where the Pokémon elements can't entirely be extracted from the story without changing anything. Here, if you removed that paragraph, you'd still have the same story. It's a pretty good story, but it's still the same.
But speaking of pretty good, I don't know why this strikes me as very Twin Peaks, but something about it does. The drawing in of a traveler into a strange, descriptionless space. The mythical horror pounding on the door outside. The silence of the addressed party amidst this whirlwind of supernatural chaos ... it's interesting, for sure. Mysterious, too, as you never do get a clear image of what's going on. (It could even be a garden-variety domestic dispute, for all we know.) In other words, while experiments into dialogue-only pieces don't always work, I feel like in this case, it does, not only because it enhances the tension between the speaker and what's going on outside but also because it amps up the strangeness of the situation itself. And to have it trail off after that final "yes" into this cold, black silence ... that was just the right way to end it, I think. The right way to end the series, if that's indeed where this is going.
So! There you have it! Two I actually kinda liked, two I thought weren't quite as strong, and one that's halfway in between (but leaning more towards like). I really do think the concept is interesting; it's just that it's very ambitious. That isn't exactly a bad thing. More like a difficult thing, and it's admirable that you set out to do this at all. I mean, when you get right down to it, it is a fascinating concept—a bunch of fascinating ones nested into one giant fascinating one, really. So as critical as I am about some of these, to be honest ... I have to also applaud you for going after this kind of thing. It wasn't too bad, in short.
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Post by Cavespider_17 on Dec 29, 2019 23:12:11 GMT
Sorry this is so late but.. here is my review of Spider’s Web for the CLBC
Firstly, I’d like to say that this is a very interesting take on the whole entire world scenario. Basing it on the old gods, while comparing it to the new ones is rather open. I like how the characters are introduced in a way in which they are attached to the entire hierarchy. I think how you manage certain topics throughout, such as the divide between mortals and Immortals is done rather well – although in places I did find it slightly hard to follow, due to my lack of knowledge in regard to the Greek gods therefore I am not too sure of the direct reasoning for that god being there– but overall, I think the way that it’s very open fiction does work well. Dramatically, I can’t see any searing mistakes. The only thing that does bother me very slightly is the Lack of capitalisation of Pokémon names – I think this is more of a personal thing rather than an actual problem. The pricing seems fine throughout – it’s consistent in most places. So overall, It’s a good read, and I hope the other ones are the same in terms of high quality.
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Post by starfiregaming on Jan 16, 2020 22:45:30 GMT
hi, clbc review for the wild hunt;
there's definitely something to the way that this is structured as dialogue-only; if it's not perfect and it tapers in places the concept and overall effect are strong enough to work. gives it a certain element of inscrutability and the nature of the narration becomes not quite captivating but more...captivating in the sense that you're powerless to do anything more than listen. I agree with other reviews that this feels like the least connected to pokemon or the pokeverse of all of these oneshots, aside from the namedrops at least. to be fair the concept of the wild hunt doesn't necessarily map to the pokeverse as cleanly as you'd like in the way the other myths (greek / egyptian etc) have. if only you'd waited for swsh you could have had some material for a celtic flavor I think.
anyways issues...the narrative voice comes and goes which should be weird considering how well you handle dialogue in other projects. I wanna say that the explanation lies between two things; one is that this bounces between speech patterns like those you'd expect of 0 ad and speech patterns you'd expect from the modern day, and the dissonance is notable. again its a research issue and it wouldn't be killer if it didn't conflate with the other issue, which is that the dialogue just feels very...writerly, like it's conscious that it has to push the plot and it trying to push through the less relevant sections (such as the intro) as fast as it can. which feels like a poor choice considering that you would generally want dialogue to breathe or at least feel more natural than it does here (such as killing the current intro and starting on 'What do you know of the Wilde Jagd, traveler?' which is a lot more attention grabbing and cuts to the weightier part of the story much quicker).
closing thoughts there's obviously going to be limitations to the approach of a dialogue-only approach but I feel like this leans into the weaknesses without consistently maximising the strengths of it to compensate, and as a result you have memorable strong stuff (like the wild hunt's lore) juxtaposed with really awkward segments like the intro and the bridges. it definitely has more to like than dislike but at the same time the lack of polish is something that I can't really look past. just a thought.
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