MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

[mythmonster2]

Ahahaha, so Terezi, sorry, wait, I mean tearezi was strangled by vriska and she started the investigation anyways? It's these kind of hilarious inconsistencies that make this so hilarious!

[Blaperile]

This is the beginning of several short stories. I'll do more when I get good ideas. I already have planned out what the First Guardian is and what everyone prototyped as well.

Fairly Odd Session: Chapter 1: Sorrow.

[ArmsAreLoud]

>Fairly Odd Parents

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSS

[Graven_Image]

HERE COMES.

THE CRIMSON CHIN!

You heard it in your mind, admit it.

[SkaianRedeemer]

Is Nega a class, or is Nega-Chin an element all to its own? Oh the philosophical questions.

EDIT: The Dargon Arc is complete! But I still have work to do. Because it's complete I'm going to do a sweeping edit of the whole thing, so you're not going to see it until I've done that. Also, I want to do something else but we'll see about that as we go. For now, I have a minor thing to work on.

[ArmsAreLoud]

HERE COMES.

THE CRIMSON CHIN!

You heard it in your mind, admit it.

Of course I'll admit it; this generation of Nick toons is what I grew up with and is a lot of what I still watch on TV today.

In semi-related news I can still recognize the Danny Phantom theme song after two notes and then proceed to rap the entire thing.

[SkaianRedeemer]

So I wrote a Troll fable. Technically it's "another" Troll fable.


The Tale of the Bowyer

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Once upon a time when the world was young, there lived a young Troll named Ea. She lived with her father and mother of the Pale Blooded and worked as a bowyer. One night, when the winds turned cold, she came to her father and mother and said "The sun sweeps past in the sky and I have grown. I must set out on my own to find a mate and my way in the world."

Her father and mother spoke in private, and when they had spoken they gave their daughter food and clothing and let her take her tools. They told her to set out on her way with sadness in their hearts, for her weapons were the pride of their tribe, but she had grown strong and should not be restrained. She set out into the forest and began to walk, trusting to the path.

After some time, Ea came across a white mantis, which greeted her. "Good evening, Ea," said the mantis. "Where are you bound?"

"I go in search of other Trolls," she replied, "to peddle my wares, to find a mate and my place in the world."

"Then follow me," said the mantis, "for I shall surely guide you to strong Trolls in need of mates, and you may find your way in the world."

But Ea refused, for she was strong and her mind sharp, and she struck the mantis with her fist, so that it fled. The next day, she found a village, where she peddled her wares but found no mate and no home, and so continued on her way.

The next day, Ea was filling her skins from the stream when she came across a white singing bird. And the bird came to sing to her, and in time it spoke. "Good dawn, Ea," said the singing bird. "Where are you bound?"

"I go in search of other Trolls," she replied, "to peddle my wares, to find a mate and my place in the world."

"Then follow me," said the singing bird, "for I shall surely guide you to skilled Trolls in need of weapons, so you can make your way in the world."

But Ea refused, for she was strong and her mind sharp, and she frightened the singing bird with an arrow, so that it fled. The next day, she found an encampment of hunters, where she peddled her wares in exchange for food. But she found no mate and no home, and so she continued on her way.

The next day, Ea was crossing harsh rocks when she came across a white cat. The cat was small and bloodied, and it carried in its mouth a white kestrel, that had resisted and been killed. Ese watched the cat until it reached its den in the mountains, where it divided its kill between its children. The cat saw her there, and spoke. "Good night, Ea," said the hunting cat. "Where are you bound?"

"I go in search of other Trolls," she replied, "to peddle my wares, to find a mate and my place in the world."

"Then in the evening you shall follow me," said the hunting cat, "for I know of a man in the woods with skill in fletching arrows. He is strong and of the Pale tribe, and you will find much profit together."

And Ea accepted, for she was strong and her mind sharp. She went back to the woods. There, she hunted in the shelter of the trees through the day. When she returned, she lay two white finches for the children of the hunting cat, so they would not go hungry while their parent was away. And the hunting cat was thankful.

"You have done a good thing, Ea," it told her. "For I do indeed know a Troll in the woods with skill in fletching arrows, but if my children were left without food, I would have surely led you down a false path as befits a selfish guest. For all things must survive before they will help another."

The hunting cat led Ea into the woods and aside the river, where they could not be seen. There, he led her to the spring, where the water fell from the great mountains, where she met a man who was fletching arrows. And Ea went to him, and he saw her, and saw that she had been burned by the sun while hunting, and so mistook her for a hunter.

"My name is Io, maker of arrows," he said. "I will trade you food for ammunition, and you would be wise to trade, for my arrows fly truer than any other arrows ever made, and strike the harder."

Ea greeted him in turn. "I have no food but what I shall capture. Give to me one arrow, and I shall pay you in turn twice your rate, and still eat myself. For I have a bow made by Ea the bowyer, which makes arrows fly further and strike the harder."

And Io gave her the arrow, and Ea looked up on the cliffs to where she saw a white mountain goat, which grazed on grasses higher than any bow could reach, far enough away that no archer could aim. And Ea took up her bow, and the arrow made by Io the fletcher, and she shot the mountain goat so that it fell. And she made sure Io could see her marksmanship and not say that she had lied. Together they went up to claim the goat, and put it on a spit and roasted it.

As they ate, Io the fletcher asked to see the bow of Ea, and did greatly admire it. And he said "Tell me where Ea the bowyer makes her place in the world, for I admire her work and would seek to work with her."

And Ea said "Truly, you have met Ea the bowyer, and shared the first of many profits with her." And Ea went to the home of Io the fletcher and they became mates.

The sun swept past, and in time Ea the bowyer and Io the fletcher became known far and wide for their talents and wares. And in time, Ea became thick with child, and became mother to three children of Pale blood. And when they came to walk tall as Trolls, their sons were named Ver and Jov and their daughter Ese, who was skilled with stone.

And the day did come that Ea the bowyer was much aggrieved, and Io her mate inquired to the source of her grief. "I am aggrieved by Re, the fletcher of Ashen blood," said Ea. "His arrows are unbalanced and shatter with force. Those that are not wise enough to buy again from you blame my bows for his failure."

Io the fletcher was wise as his mate, and said "Our sons are grown, but have yet to prove their worth in craft or service. Send Ver to hunt Re, and bring him to pay recompense in blood or service."

Ea agreed, and they called Ver to their presence and told him: "Re, the fletcher of Ashen blood, has fouled our reputation and so threatens our livelihood. You will go to find him, and bring him to pay recompense in blood or service."

So Ver went on his way into the woods. But he had not gone far when he came across a white mantis, which greeted him. "Good evening, Ver," said the mantis. "Where are you bound?"

"I go in search of other Re, the fletcher of Ashen blood," he replied, "who has fouled my mother's temper and must be brought to pay."

"Then follow me," said the mantis, "for I know of your mother's hatred of Re the fletcher, and will bring you to him."

And Ver followed the mantis, who led him into the deep forest. And Ver followed the mantis for many days, but did not find Re the fletcher. In time, the mantis led Ver to a tree, and a branch fell upon Ver and trapped him.

"Help me," said Ver to the mantis.

"No, Ver," said the mantis. "For truly, I do not know Re the fletcher, and have led you here in malice. The branch was set as a trap, and you will be trapped under it in the sun, which will cook you and keep me fed for many days. This was surely my imperative, for all things must survive before they will help another."

And the moon swept past, and Ea the bowyer came to know that Re the fletcher still sold his faulty wares, and that her son had died, and she was much aggrieved. So she spoke to Io, and together they called their second son, Jov, to their presence and told him: "Re, the fletcher of Ashen blood, has fouled our reputation and so threatens our livelihood. You will go to find him, and bring him to pay recompense in blood or service."

So Jov went on his way into the woods. But he had not gone far when he came across a white mantis, which greeted him. "Good evening, Jov," said the mantis. "Where are you bound?"

"I go in search of other Re, the fletcher of Ashen blood," he replied, "who has fouled my mother's temper and must be brought to pay."

"Then follow me," said the mantis, "for I know of your mother's hatred of Re the fletcher, and will bring you to him."

But Jov was wiser than his brother, and struck the mantis so that it fled. And he travelled for many days, until he came upon a stream to fill his skins with water, and was greeted by a singing bird.

"Good dawn, Jov," said the singing bird. "Where are you bound?"

"I go in search of other Re, the fletcher of Ashen blood," he replied, "who has brought low our profits with faulty goods, and must be brought to pay."

"Then follow me," said the singing bird, "for I know of Re the fletcher, and will bring you to him."

And Jov went with the singing bird, but soon became lost, as the bird went away throughout the day and night. And one day he came across a wild beast, which rent him until he died. And the singing bird returned to find him, and lamented his fate.

"Oh Jov, son of Ea the bowyer," sang the bird. "I knew the way to Re the fletcher, but was distracted and could not lead you in time. For all things must survive before they will help another."

And the moon swept past, and Ea the bowyer came to know of these things and was enraged. She came to Io her mate, and told him that she herself would go to Re the fletcher and bring him to pay recompense. But Io had not been touched by his mate's desires for Re, and spoke calmly. "We still have a daughter who is wise in the ways of stronecraft and gems, and she is grown strong."

Ea agreed that this was very wise. "Indeed, we cannot hold her here any longer, and so we should let her go to find Re the fletcher, and let her take his holdings for her own to make her way in the world. In this way, we three shall all prosper, and she will not resent us for binding her in her prime."

Ea agreed, and they called Ese to their presence and told her: "Re, the fletcher of Ashen blood, has fouled our reputation and so threatens our livelihood. You will go to find him, and bring him to pay recompense in blood or service. In return, we will give you his holdings to make your own so that you can make your way in the world."

And Ese thanked her parents, who gave her food and clothing, and let her take her tools. They told her to set out on her way with sadness in their hearts, for her work was highly valued in trade. She set out into the forest and began to walk, trusting to the path.

So Ese went on her way into the woods. But she had not gone far when she came across a white mantis, which greeted her. "Good evening, Ese," said the mantis. "Where are you bound?"

"I go in search of other Re, the fletcher of Ashen blood," she replied, "who has fouled my mother's temper and must be brought to pay."

"Then follow me," said the mantis, "for I know of your mother's hatred of Re the fletcher, and will bring you to him."

But Ese refused, for she was strong and her mind sharp. "A mantis is a creature that slays its mate, and so you cannot know of true hatred, which preserves." And she took her chisel and struck the mantis, so that it died. And so her brother Ver was avenged.

And she travelled for many days, until she came upon a stream to fill her skins with water, where was greeted by a singing bird.

"Good dawn, Ese," said the singing bird. "Where are you bound?"

"I go in search of other Re, the fletcher of Ashen blood," she replied, "who has brought low my family's profits with faulty goods, and must be brought to pay."

"Then follow me," said the singing bird, "for I know of Re the fletcher, and will bring you to him."

But Ese refused, for she was strong and her mind sharp. "A singing bird is a creature that eats seed, and must search for food all the day and all the night. You would never be able to lead me to Re the fletcher."

And she took up a stone from the stream and threw it at the bird, so that it died. And so her brother Jor was avenged. And Ese took up the stone and saw that it was a bloodstone, which took in blood like stripes. And she knew it to be highly valued, so she placed it among her possessions.

The next day, Ese was crossing harsh rocks when she came across the hunting cat. And the hunting cat was advanced in years, and saw her on the horizon. "Good night, Ese, daughter of Ea the bowyer," said the hunting cat. "Where are you bound?"

"I go in search of other Re, the fletcher of Ashen blood," she replied, "who must be brought to pay for his insults. In reward, I will take his holdings for my own and make my way in the world."

"Then in the evening you shall follow me," said the hunting cat, "for I know of Re, the fletcher of Ashen blood, and will take you to him."

And Ese thanked the hunting cat, and reached into her bag. "I am a poor hunter," she told the hunting cat, "but I can offer you this bloodstone. You are quick of mind like the Trolls, and it is valuable. Surely you will be able to trade it for more food than I could bring in offering."

And the hunting cat was pleased. "I will not take your bloodstone, Ese, daughter of Ea the bowyer, for you have need of it. But I am advanced in years and no longer the hunter of my youth. I ask instead that when you come to take the holdings of Re, the fletcher, that you take me into your home and let me live in comfort until I die."

And in the morning, the hunting cat took Ese to the holdings of Re. And Ese, who was strong and her mind sharp, studied the holdings and the servants and imagined how they would serve for stonework, and saw that they would make her rich. "But I am promised only the holdings, and not the servants," she thought, "who would work for me and go far and wide to peddle my goods." She knew Ea, who raised her, would keep Re alive in her hatred, and so planned to assure his removal so that she could secure her way in the world.

And Re the fletcher had borne two sons. Their names were Lon, who built hives, and Mer, a mason. And Lon of the Ashen tribe saw Ese, and as she had been without food for many days, he mistook her for a beggar of no skills. And he pitied her, and took her into his home.

And he went to his father and told him of the beggar-girl, and his father was much enraged. "If she cannot work she will not eat," said Re the fletcher, "and should be put away mercifully. Go to her with these plates of meat and offer her the smaller portion, which I have poisoned so that she will die."

And Lon went to do this thing, but found Ese to be admiring the Hive in which she had been housed. And she told Lon of her admiration, and he explained to her that he had planned the hive, and his brother had assembled it. "But your choice of stone is poor," she told him, "and will not long withstand the windy season."

And they spoke long on this subject, and Lon saw that she was skilled in stone and jewels, and not a beggar. And so he split the larger portion with her, and went back to his father.

And he told his father of his guest, and came to realize the truth. "Surely this is Ese of the Pale blood, daughter of Ea the bowyer, who has come to do me great harm." And he sent Lon to bed without telling him of Ese.

In the evening, Lon spoke again to Ese, who asked to see his father, as she had been forbidden to do so by the servants. Lon took Ese into the woods, where they spoke again in safety. There, Lon told her that his father would not see her, for he was wroth with her and not ready to hear the pleas of his sons.

Ese realized from his words that Lon and Mer had grown, but had been kept within Re's holdings against their will. For this she pitied Lon, the maker of hives, whose talents had been so dashed. And they stayed together in the forest until the dawn.

As the dawn approached, Re the fletcher took aside his second son, Mer. And he gave to him two cuts of meat, and said to him "Go to the beggar-girl and give to her this larger cut of meat. For she is surely weak from hunger and will be unable to resist, and will eat poison and die mercifully."

And Mer went to Ese in arrogance, believing her to be a beggar of no skill, and did not speak to her of common interests. But Ese was forewarned by Lon, and did not accept the larger piece. "You have made a mistake," she told Mer, "for I am a beggar, and have done nothing to deserve the larger piece. I will take the smaller piece, and you, the larger."

And Mer knew she was too wise to be a beggar of no skill, and took away the larger piece and went at once to tell his father.

And Re confirmed his son's fears. "Indeed, she is not a beggar, but is Ese of the Pale blood, who has come to slay us all. In the morning we will all eat together, and I will insure that she will ingest poison, and die."

Now, Mer was loyal to his father to the point of fault, though his father had mistreated him. And Mer had seen his brother with Ese during the night, and told his father of their time in the woods. "Surely for this, Lon must also die." For Mer was jealous of his brother.

And his father agreed, and told his servants to prepare four meals for the evening and in the day he went to poison them. But as he divided the cuts, he cut his own hand, for he was indeed a poor craftsman. He attempted to hide his wound.

And in the evening, Ese was drawn to eat with the family of Re, and Lon his son noticed that his father wore a bandage. "My father uses servants to cook," said Lon of the Ashen blood, "so surely my father has tampered with your meal."

And Ese went to the table, and told Re a clever lie. "Master, you have mistaken me for a beggar, but this is a mistake. My name is Asa of Pale blood, and I am an apprentice of spices. In payment for your hospitality, I will gladly spice our meals with exotic flavours from the Pale tribes."

And Re knew that she lied, but had to pretend he did not so that Lon would not realize that his meal had also been poisoned. And Ese went to each meal in turn, and secretly placed the bloodstone against it. And it took on the colour of the blood of the meat, but on the last two cuts it revealed a hidden streak of Ashen blood.

"We have played one another false, Re the fletcher," said Ese, "for truly I am Ese, raised by Ea the bowyer, to whom you owe recompense."

"Then you are false indeed," came Re's challenge, "and you should leave at once."

But Ese held aloft the bloodstone and said: "A lie told for a good cause is a good lie, but you have lied to kill both your guest and your son, and so must die."

And Lon took out his weapon, and captured Mer, his brother. And Ese did battle with Re, the fletcher, unto victory. And she sliced open his belly before his household, so that he died.

And Ese, who worked with stone and gems, took the holdings of Re of the Ashen blood, and took his sons to mate.

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"[…] thick with child […]" – Troll Aesop's translator has no idea how pregnancy used to work, if at all. He has chosen... a poor solution.

I really had trouble coming up for the title of the story, so I went with the Tale of the Bowyer, in hopes that my brain will finally associate "bowyer" with "one who makes bows", and not this. ...Not working so far.

[Red Pen]

The Tale of the Bowyer

Oh my gosh, I love old fables, and this one was really really awesome. I adore all the little details about troll society, how things might have once worked and how it ties in to how they work today.

[wisp wings]

This is a really bad poem a.k.a. perfect trolling material.
(It is about dream lives but I guess if you where just plain ignorant you could mistake it for your stupid "Earth Love")
Don't Miss Me

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Kiss me,
Just kiss me,
It’ll save my life,
I’ll escape this strife.
It won’t mean a thing.
So Kiss me,
Just kiss me,

I’ll live again,
A moon away,
But right now.
Just kiss me.
Please kiss me.

I don’t have long,
I could have lived forever,
But that slipped away,
Don’t let me follow,
It’s now or never.
It’s kiss me.
Or miss me.

This is it.
My life upon your lips.
Be brave.
I’ll rise again.
It won’t mean a thing.
(Or mean it all)
Whatever you want
So kiss me,
Just kiss me,
Please kiss me,
Or miss me...

[Blaperile]

Haha, thanks for the reactions!

I've already made a second chapter as well!

Chapter 2: To the Moon! (Part 1)

[SkaianRedeemer]

@RedPen: Thank you! Then I accomplished all I set out to do.

[Varkarrus]

doodled's irony fanfic series is the best thing ever

[Grand Mal]

Roostfelled: Chapter one

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AN: Okay, first time here, so I'm obviously going to be a little nervous. The idea for this premise (the simple theory that the felt created the troll's universe) is NOT MINE, but I can't for the life of me remember who posted it. All the details are mine, though. You guys can tell me if you want this continued.

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---distendedCranium began jabbing laudedEnsemble---
DC:
DC:
DC:
DC:
LE: God, you are FUNNY.
LE: I haven't had the pleasure of dealing with a life form as hilarious as you in well over a century.
LE: Keep up the good work. Fight the good fight, and all that rubbish.
DC: 7here you go again.
LE: I don't believe I've ever used that phrase before.
DC: No7 7hat. I7's how you keep pushing 7he whole immor7ali7y lie in my face
DC: I7's ge77ing under my skin
LE: Tut tut tut. Mixed metaphors, my boy. What have I been teaching you.
DC: No7hing. You haven'7 7aught me anything.
LE: Makes sense, you’re just as stupid as you sound then.
DC: Wha7? N7! 7 d7dn'7 m77n 77 l7ke 7h7t.
LE: That is nauseatingly adorable. You just can't keep your fingers away from the 7 button when you get all in a huff, am I right?
DC: Don'7 7ry, don'7 even 7ry.
LE: 7ry what?
DC: Hey! Don'7 s7eal my seven, 7ha7's my 7hing!
LE: Apologies. Your humble servant wasn't aware that I was in the virtual presence of the inventor of the number seven himself.
LE: Should I bow?
DC: Sarcasm will ge7 you nowhere.
But perseverance will get me everywhere. We both know this.
LE: Now, about what am I forbidden from trying?
DC: Mocking my 7yping quirk.
LE: OOP! Said that a little too late, didn't you? I've already had 7hat pleasure.
LE: Now, before you severe the keyboard in half, I should say one thing. I have made a connection.
Wha7?
LE: I have installed my server disk, and you have installed your client disc.
LE: Therefore, I think it is in both our best interests to play together. You might want to dodge.


"WHA!"

Yean Sewog propelled his swivel chair backwards, slamming the back of his head on the far side of his nest. Falling into the unkempt, circular heap of bedding, he let out a muffled groan, only to strain his face forward in an instant, breathing sharply in fear and surprise. A bizarre, white machine had come crashing down in Yuan’s roost. If the young Felt had not instinctively reacted to the contraption’s forbidding shadow (not to mention LE’s warning, but he preferred to keep mentioning of that to a minimum), he would have been crushed.

Sewog had no time to reflect on the quick save. His trusty crowbar had teetered off of the circular dresser it was resting on, as if in a cosmic effort to give him comfort in this dark time. Clutching the neon red item religiously, Yean took a few noodling steps to his roost’s newest occupant.

A young FELT stands in his ROOST.

Your name is YEAN SEWOG. Years in THE FUTURE (BUT NOT MANY), you will be known as CROWBAR. This is not the future, however. This is the PRESENT, and the present suggests we don’t go asking questions we AREN’T MEANT TO ASK.

You have a penitent for BLACK AND WHITE CRIME THRILLER MOVIES OF UNDEBATABLE QUALITY, and have a CRIME FIXATION, enjoying the romanticized life of a NOTORIOUS BOOTLEGGER, and your room is filled with AUTHENTIC BOOTLEGGING MEMORABILLIA, FILM NOIR POSTERS, and your EXTENSIVE CROWBAR COLLECTION.

Your INTERESTS also lean towards those of the typical young FELT that has just turned 8 CLIMBS this morning (roughly 13 earth years). That is, VIDEO GAMES, SPORTS, and GIRLS, though that last one has different connotations in Felt society than in that of the humans. EARTH, for convenient reference, is a planet that DOES NOT EXIST YET.

NEITHER DOES ALTERNIA, but you are going to have the pleasure of making sure it comes into existence, eventually.

WHAT WILL YOU DO?

Yean tapped the white, smooth structure with his makeshift defense. It slid right off, demonstrating an odd lack of friction. The thing was constructed out off two metal squares in a pyramidal fashion. A lidded cylinder, ingrained with an orange Spiro graph, topped the upper square. Each side of the machine had a rectangular, blank screen, and a steering wheel-like valve.

The young Felt connected his crowbar with the cylinder’s lid, softly at first, then with all the force he could generate. The weapon bounced out of his hand, forcing a dent into a hardwood section of his Roost floor. Before Suwog had time to curse, surprise pushed the profanity back down his throat. A window-shaped, orange holograph was floating tauntingly close to his face. The holograph swam through the air, and, to the Felt’s shock turned corporeal as it touched his bright-red defense.

It lifted into the musty air, then floated jerkily and mechanically over the structure. In the blink of an eye, the holograph became translucent once again, letting the crowbar drop. It bounced off the cylinder, prompting the lid to pop loose. A eclectically flashing, holographic spirograph, this time bright red, popped out. Yean found his movement, and backed into the center of the floor. He fell again into his nest, hardly willing to pull himself to his feet. Then, with a sickening lurch, he thought about what would happen if that thing had crushed him.

Pushing the thoughts back, Suwog took a few deep breaths, and stood shakily up. The small screens on the contraption lit up, displaying eight minutes and forty-eight seconds, which began to count down. Not wanting to find out what, Yean raced down to the living roof, but stopped midway down the stairs as he realized: that thing looks just like the Snurg logo.

[newbonomicon]

The Tale of the Bowyer

A few suggestions. First, maybe you could try to work the families into the context of Ancestors? Secondly, you might want to change the references to "pale" and "ashen" blood to some colors. It doesn't make sense to say that their blood is one of the romantic quadrants. Lastly, I'd try and change the animal names to more appropriate ones, i.e., a portmanteau ending in -beast.

[SkaianRedeemer]

@newbonomicon: The concept of Ancestors seems strictly post-isolation to me, aka the Trolls only began to admire Ancestors after they were past the point that they no longer knew their genetic parents (not that they seem to give more than two shits about their genetic parents in the fable), but you could be right. I'm on the fence about it.

The blood types are intentional: I gave the cast greyscale blood, not coloured, to apply a mythic quality to the fic, in the tradition of Our Mythical Ancestors Were Different From Us (this is meant to be historically bullshit - the Trolls have likely had the same spectrum of blood colours since Sburb spat them out). To apply another level of mythic difference, I divided them into only two clans, instead of the rainbow spread... for the time being. I considered using the words "Light" and "Dark" to represent the gradient but... well, it's just not the same! I decided the platonic quadrants probably don't exist yet because they seem too socially refined (indeed, the Trolls are so pre-quadrant that while they are attracted both in terms of pity and hate, they use the same label for both: "mate"). In the end, I simply stole the platonic quadrant's names in hopes that it would look like some kind of intriguing, mysterious connection? ...Yeah, it's probably still too confusing. Anyone else have words that describe halves of a B -> W gradient?

I'll cave to the -beast thing. I am simply not good with Troll compound word-jokes. Job descriptions, animals... "Catbeast" would be fine, I have no problem with that. "Mantisbeast" maybe, though I can't help but wonder if there's a better suffix for insects. But "Singing birdbeast", while kind of a funny juxtaposition, doesn't seem right. I would have favoured "-raptor" (the whole point of the suffix gag is that Alternian animals are more savage and dangerous than Earth animals!) but the point is that the bird is a herbivore. Thoughts?

[newbonomicon]

@newbonomicon: The concept of Ancestors seems strictly post-isolation to me, aka the Trolls only began to admire Ancestors after they were past the point that they no longer knew their genetic parents (not that they seem to give more than two shits about their genetic parents in the fable), but you could be right. I'm on the fence about it.

But trolls do not have genetic parents, so that really doesn't make sense.

[SkaianRedeemer]

Trolls most definitely do have genetic parents, they just don't know who they are and will never be able to find out. In the modern age. But for my a mythic-fake-ancient age, I decided to go with the fanon theory that Trolls could breed on their own once and adopted the Mother Grub system later in their development, with the forced breeding and forced quadrants that came with it. Probably after they adopted a central authority, which I think would be required to make that system work in the first place. That's just my thoughts on it. I thought it was a more popular bit of fanon but I'm now pretty sure that's just the echo chamber effect of my little sub-circle.

Now if people really are bothered by the fanon being in the fable's backstory, I certainly could change it over to the Mother Grub system. Goodness knows I've done edits to scrub out fanon before. I was still picking nits out of A Hand in Holding Hands just a few weeks ago, and that was from, what, early December? (there was a piece of fanon I didn't realize was fanon, and readers asked for it to be removed... but it was actually more entrenched than the readers probably suspected). In this case, I'd fudge something about Ea and Io having kismeses (as they would be forced to), I'd swap the words "son" and "daughter" to "apprentice" and "mother" and "father" to "master." It's not that hard, because it's not exactly critical to the fic.

[Doodled]

Small comment dunp:

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@SkaianRedeemer: :O Wow. That's really one hell of a fable, complete with all the little things that make it... Complete. Though I can't help but giggle whenever "Bowyer" comes up. :P

@wisp wings: Sounds like a song.

@Blaperile: Not really fancy, but then again, fancy writing would ruin the mood, so good job.

@Moldova: ... *flattered*

@Grand Mal: Other than a lack of paragraph spacing (easily fixable. :P), this is actually very good! I'm looking forward to the next installment!

And now, more ironic crap:

[u][/i]ADVENTURE-HOMESTUCKA-dVENTURE #3-or-2 but really wharever[/i][u]

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nbut earlier!

dave had kileld rose because hes my bro and i told him too, remmever because i am story author master of this doemain.

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but yeha he killed kanaya too but thats cool since hes not the bad guy or IS HE???!

and then stuff

HAPPAN'D.

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but anyways

gamzee was like "john eat my ********ing *******pie ************

AND JOHN WAS LIKE WTF WHY YOU CURSE?!

And dave and i laughed and lol'd and all tjhe good shenanigans all of them

but then dave tried the pie and i was like "bro of my bro don't nooooo" but he died and felled and died and was no longer humen nomore.

SO IT WAS GAMZEE

haha thats what oyu think but nope it wasn't, dumpass no it wasnot but jon wnet and strangled him and dave was like due oh gog hwy you strangle anotehr person

be dead!

ok and so he was

amd then kanaya came bak as a

[|spoiler] rainbowdrinker

and then jade came itn and macekd all over daves body and then died because she was too much like the eridan

and then SUDDENLY

*GASP GASP GAPS GASP***

---------------

Mobsetier Kingpin came fasting througha the wallz and problem sleuth died from it and tearexi tried to stangel him with 1MNVESTlG7TION powress, but no because HE WAS LORD ENGLISH

gasp gasp gasp gasp gasp

but n o it wasnt even him that killed them all

BUT WHO

it was

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FEFFERI!\

(Rember It was PINK BLUd colors remember??1?

)

john then schreedded he's electrtic piano-tar but to no avail, and the killer still lurked as a rainbow drinker though it was really kanaya though she was really feferi in digsuise and none of the m were really the mobster lord engrish guy that weas standing no wait fdloating so menacingly adn had bursting through the wall not too long ago having everyone scared even the dead people because of selfdreams and all that good shit and davce and i were there too and i knew who the killer was check the spoiler dumpass and but i didnt tell because i had reasons BUT ANYWAYS

waht while happen next time, be yourself in-tune next time to find out??! In an extensive installmentation of HAOMESTUCK SHIT AND SEQUELS

...

What am I even writing...

[billybobfred]

@Doodled: All I have to say about this is "ahahahaha what".

[Blaperile]

Thank you, Doodled!

The continuation of the previous chapter is done too!

Fairly Odd Session: Chapter 3: To the Moon! (Part 2)

[Red Pen]

So remember that fic in which Rose became Jack Noir's therapist? That didn't stop being a thing I was writing or anything. (Okay so it kinda did for a while.)

This story is also on AO3!

Previously, on Unhinged...
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16


Unhinged - part 17

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GG: dave!!!!
GG: theyre tearing your house apart and pulling out bricks and stuff!!!
GG: oh my god
GG: OH MY GOD DAVE YOUR HOUSE IS GOING TO

- - - - - - - - - -

The palace of Derse was a maze. Finding the throne room had been challenging enough, but as Dave darted at random through the eerily deserted, labyrinthine hallways, he realized that the real challenge would be finding his way back out. Barred windows and dark doorways flashed past him in a blur. (Where was the window he'd entered from, where was it?) He could break one, pry the grating out of the wall like he'd done in Rose's office, but Draconian's sprinting footsteps pounded against the tile only a few twists and turns behind him. He flew blindly on, knowing the moment he stopped there'd be a knife in his back.

He turned another corner and found himself hovering above a narrow balcony, skirting the length of the dark purple walls and overlooking a wide hallway below, spanned by vaulted ceilings and lined on either side with suits of empty armor standing decoratively at attention.

Dave easily leapt the balustrade and hovered out into empty air, away from the balcony and well out of Draconian's reach. A split second later the Dersite was there, his hands hitting the railing with a clack of chitin, breathing hard and staring at Dave with narrow, annoyed eyes. The Knight gave him a mocking salute.

He was cut off abruptly and violently as Draconian climbed up onto the narrow balcony rail, crouched calculatingly, and launched himself into space. The Dignitary's hand seized Dave's ankle, and the boy's startled cry of "Oh what the f-" was ripped out of his throat by sheer gravity as the Dersite plummeted, taking Dave with him.

The two of them hit the tile of the hallway below, and hit it hard. Draconian's switchblade went flying and landed on its blade with the tiny sound of metal snapping in two. Dazed, winded, and now both weaponless, they scrambled away from one another.

As Dave got shakily to his feet, he heard the grinding of metal behind him, and turned just in time to see Draconian wrench an ornamental iron morningstar from the grip of the nearest suit of armor. The vicious, spiked weapon came hurtling forward as with a grunt Draconian swung it at Dave's chest, and the boy jumped backward just in time to avoid being crushed and impaled. Another swing, and the morningstar came down with a smash at his feet, sending chips of stone flying as it buried itself in the tile.

Dave leapt over Draconian's head and flew for the far end of the hallway, hearing the grating crack as the Dersite jerked the heavy weapon free. His fists hit the purple stone of the distant wall, but there were no doors, no windows through which to escape. A dead end.

He turned around, his back pressed up against the wall. Breathing hard, his eyes flickered across the massive hallway, the suits of armor, the narrow balcony lining the walls above, where black pawns were beginning to gather in sparse, tentative groups to watch the battle. The tall Dersite in the well-pressed suit, stalking toward him, stepping carelessly over the broken blade of his knife as his grip tightened on the bludgeoning weapon in his hands.

"Nowhere left to fly, kid," Draconian stated coldly.

(switchblade in my back and blood on my hands, the Dignitary just killed me and I have to get rid of the body before Jade sees oh god oh god oh god)

Dave took a deep breath.

"Alright then. Yeah, fine, I was sick of running away anyways."

He dived out of the way just as Draconian's morningstar flew forward and smashed into the stone behind him, and went immediately for one of the suits of armor, coming away with some spiked, club-like medieval weapon whose name he didn't know. "Duels to the death I can do."

- - - - - - - - - -

Rose reached the balcony just a few steps behind the Soverign Slayer, and as she pushed past his wings to lean over the railing and get a clear look at the wide hallway below, he reached out a hand and almost absent-mindedly seized her collar to hold her still.

The ring of metal on metal echoed off the walls; the Knight and the Dignitary locked in battle, wielding massive bludgeoning weapons whose weight could shatter stone. For a split second she wondered why Dave was neither flying nor flash-stepping, before realizing that with something that heavy in his hands, he probably couldn't.

Beside her, Jack's ragged wings began to rise.

"Jack, wait!" she shouted, reaching up to seize the hand at her collar as if the slight strength of a thirteen-year-old girl had even a remote chance of holding him back. His ring gave off a few red sparks beneath her fingers, and she yelped with pain but did not let go.

"Gonna kill him," Jack muttered through gritted teeth, fingers tightening on her uniform and prickling against her skin.

Rose tightened her vicegrip, her voice becoming a desperate hiss. "No! Wouldn't... wouldn't it be better to let Draconian do it?" She winced as the crack of breaking tile sounded from below. "Let them battle it out, and then the winner will be tired and wounded. You could do whatever you wanted, then, it would be easy."

He paused, tense, his glazed eyes following the battle below, and Rose held her breath. "Yeah," Jack breathed at last. "Yeah. Let them kill each other. And then I'll kill you."

With a small, wide-eyed nod, Rose let go of his hand, looking down at the angry red burn marks his ring had left on her palm. She pressed her hands together, feeling the filaments of the white feather pen Dave had brought her eons ago brush against the raw skin. She'd forgotten she was holding it, but now it seemed to buzz faintly, like the tiniest of electrical currents.

"Jus' wanna protect the boy," Jack slurred softly. "Never on our side, were you. Shoulda known. Shoulda known you'd stick with them."

"They're my friends, Jack. I'll always side with them." The current between her hands was growing stronger, the quill pen pulsing with some growing energy the Seer in her recognized as magic. Rose's eyes flickered up to the Sovereign Slayer for a moment, but his attention was elsewhere, watching the battle below.

Slowly, she opened her hands, and a hazy green glow poured out from between her fingers.

- - - - - - - - - -

Through the twisting streets of Derse ran Bishop and Pariah, swords in their hands, the painted pawn screaming bloody murder as carapaces around them scattered.

"People of Derse, this is the revolution!!! For blood, for freedom, for the rightful ruler on the goddamn throne! FOR PROSPIT, YOU PSYCHOTIC BASTARD!!!"

They ran, the towers of the palace growing ever closer and looming above them, Pariah sprinting in righteous fury as she followed the path flown by Dave moments before, and Bishop chasing, calling out for her to stop. "We won't get there in time, squawk! If the princess's original body has been killed, then her dreamself has minutes to live, at most. She is a lost cause, Pariah!"

"Then we fight for the prince!" Pariah countered furiously, before continuing her wild cries. "People of Derse! This is the revolution!!"

"Pariah, this is suicide!"

"This is vengeance!" she panted, a grin spreading across her face. "Noir's weak; we can strike at the palace now and take over! Gather an army, storm the main gate-"

"They won't join us!"

Pariah jerked to a halt at last, and the massive form of Bishop, breathing hard, stumbled up beside her.

"What kind of a stupid thing is that to say?" she asked, rounding on him. "We've always said when the time was right they'd join us! We're an army of two now, but when we reach the palace we'll be an army of two thousand! Everyone's furious at what he did to the king and queen, they'll join us!"

Bishop's clawlike hands gripped her shoulders, and he peered down his beak at her beseechingly, trying to make her understand. "No, they will not. Squawk. That's what you've always said, but look at them, Pariah. Look at them, White Pawn. Are they joining us?"

The Warpainted Pariah turned her head slowly, gazing behind them both at the clusters of Dersites watching her out of windows and sidestreets, having scattered when she raced through their midst screaming and wielding a sword.

"They are frightened," Bishop continued softly. "Of Noir, of everything that has happened. Squawk. They were not built for the battlefield like the two of us. It is so much easier for them to keep their heads down and let bad things occur, without trying to change them."

The pawn gave him a look of mingled anger and disbelief.

"I'm sorry, Pariah."

She pushed away angrily. "People of Derse!"

Bishop gave a heavy sigh as Pariah strode into the center of the street and raised her black, Derse-crafted blade above her head. "People of Derse! Now is the time to strike! Noir has been weakened by the valiant sacrifice of tentacleTherapist, the Princess of the Moon! Are we gonna let her death be in vain?!"

All around her, the black pawns began to shift and whisper.

"NO! We're going to FIGHT! We're gonna take the palace back from Noir! We're gonna avenge the monarchs of Derse! And we're gonna put his majesty turntechGodhead on the throne where he belongs!!!" She waved her sword wildly. "Who's with me?! Regency! Virtue! Destiny! Patriotism! Royalty!"

She stood, sword above her head, a slightly manic grin on her face, breathing heavily and looking around at them all with hopeful eyes. "Who's with me?"

There was silence.

Then one pawn moved, and another, and one by one they shrank back and shuffled quietly away. Pariah was left standing like a statue in an empty street.

At last, she slowly lowered her arms. Bishop gave her a tentative pat on the shoulder.

"Squawk..."

"Cowards," she murmured.

"Do not take it so hard. They are simply not ready."

"Cowards!"

"Pariah..."

"DAMN COWARDS!" The warpainted pawn threw her sword to the ground, sending clanging echoes through the Escherlike streets. "After everything he did, you're not even gonna fight?! Cowards! Traitors!!"

Bishop's cloak rustled stiffly as the massive chessman wrapped his wings gently around her, and Pariah struggled and screamed angrily while he held her still.

"You're all on his side! If you're not one of us you're one of them!! COWARDS!!"

"Pariah," the Traitorous Bishop said calmly, heedless of her flailing.

"He killed them all! The battlefield, all the soldiers on your side... on my side... Prospit..."

"I know."

"Oh god, Prospit..."

"I know. Squawk. I know."

She folded into him at last, throwing her arms around his massive frame and smearing his robes with the shale oil used to disguise her pearly skin. "...oh god, Prospit..."

For a long while they merely stood, huddled together, their arms wrapped around each other.

"I miss the days when we were still on the battlefield, trying to kill each other," Pariah whispered into Bishop's cloak.

"Life was simpler then."

"He's going to die, isn't he?"

"Dave?" the Traitorous Bishop asked, for once not bothering to use the honorific Pariah so religiously abided by. "Maybe, if he rushes in to fight Noir. But it will only be his dreamself, and we have done all we can to assist him."

"We were doing so well. We had the Prince on our side, we were slipping poisons into the palace... I thought we really had a chance."

"We do. Squawk. But not now. There will be a more opportune time."

Side-by-side, they wandered off into the distorted streets.

After a time, a scattering of pawns - nervous, hesitant, but at the same time morbidly fascinated - began to step out of the shadows and silently follow.

- - - - - - - - - -

The quill pen - the Tectricx of the Arbiter, she remembered now - was throbbing with light, bright and green and strong, and the magic of it filled Rose's veins with fire and made her hair stand on end.

Below her, Dave was slowing. His breath was coming in panting gasps, his feet hovering barely and inch off the ground as his exhausted arms tried once again to lift the heavy weapon not meant for his Strife Specibus. Draconian's morningstar came caroming at him again and again, and although Dave managed to dodge each fatal blow, it caught him in the shoulders, the arms, leaving cuts and bruises and long tears in his bloodstained pajamas.

Come on, Strider, Rose thought, while the Tectrix filled her with light. Dave was a brilliant fighter, but he needed a sword, a weapon familiar to his hands. Come on Strider, don't give up now, don't get killed because of me...

"Jack!"

It was the Courtyard Droll's voice. He was running up to join them at the edge of the balcony, having just caught up after Rose's debilitating kick, and he waved his arms excitedly through the air. "Jack she got away and I tried to stop her but then she kicked my leg and it really hurt, but then I went to look for you and oh nevermind I guess you caught her."

Jack's head turned to glare at the Droll, and in that split second, acting entirely on instinct and with adrenaline and magic coursing through her body, Rose raised the pen in the air and stabbed Jack's hand.

He gave a shout, more of surprise than pain, and Rose tore free from his grip and dived off the balcony. She hit the tile below almost weightlessly, rolled, and came up in a crouch, brandishing the pen as if it were one of her needlewands. "Excuse me, Draconian, but I think we have a score to settle."

The Draconian Dignitary wasn't stupid enough to turn his back on Dave. That was a mistake. Rose leaped forward and bowled into his back, knocking him down and wedging the sharp end of her quill into the joint in his chitin where neck met shoulders. She pulled it out with an almost cartoonish spray of blood which speckled her black uniform with red.

She skipped backwards as Draconian staggered upright, and stood in a ready position, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

She'd hit a vein. Blood was flowing freely down the back of the Dignitary's uniform, and he swayed for a moment and clapped a hand to the back of his neck.

Somewhere behind and above her, Rose could hear Jack's wings begin to rise again, finally reacting to her mad escape. But he didn't take off, not yet, and she wondered suddenly if he was going to take her advice: let them kill each other and pick off the victor himself.

"You... That..." Draconian mouthed, breathing with an eerie, robotic steadiness.

Across the room, Dave held his club at the ready and gave Rose a wordless nod. The two of them circled Draconian, weapons in hand.

"That. Was. My. Best. Suit."

The Dersite's head snapped up, eyes suddenly livid, and he whipped around and brought his weapon down with a slam on Rose's chest. She hit the ground, gasping for breath and with stars dancing in her vision, and somewhere distantly she could hear Dave shouting her name, punctuated by the renewed cracks of iron on stone.

"Rose! Oh my god Rose, get up! ROSE!"

She rolled over at last, curling herself into a ball and coughing, feeling as though her lungs had been crushed.

"ROSE!"

There was something heavy in her right hand. The pen? No... her vision focused, and she could see it just in front of her face, clasped in fingers shaky with pain. Bone-white metal, polished and smooth and carved with the flourishing words "Tectrix of the Arbiter."

"Dave..."

"RO-" She winced as he was cut off by the sound of Draconian's morningstar barely missing him yet again. "ROSE! Rose, get up, don't be dead! ROSE!!!"

"Strider!" Rose scrambled to her feet, drew her arm back, and flung the Tectrix of the Arbiter as hard as she could. "Catch!" Dave dropped his club and caught it: Bishop and Pariah's gift, the last gleaming white Regisword of Prospit.

The Knight held it in his hands with all the smooth confidence of a swordmaster, and Draconian took a step back, his wrath remitted by sudden caution.

"Oh hell yes," said Dave.

His eyes traveled upward, past Rose, to the balcony on which Jack stood above.

"Oh hell no."

A horrible, static crackling filled the air, and Rose stumbled out of the way just as a twisting beam of red fire struck the floor where she'd been a moment before. Jack was standing on the balcony, wings raised, hand flung skyward, his ring aflame as arcs of power lanced their way across the massive room below. The pawns who had gathered along the edges of the balcony fled with screams, some getting caught in the blaze and torn apart where they stood.

"Goddammit Jack," Draconian was shouting, and in the confusion Rose took the opportunity to dart through the rain of deadly light to the place where Dave stood, and wrap her fingers around his free hand. Red lightning surrounded them.

"Let's go. I don't think he can aim it all that accurately, but it'll give us a cover."

Hand in hand, the two of them raced across the hallway and took flight, dodging the Slayer's uncontrolled arcs of power - less controlled now than ever, after how badly she'd broken him. They found a door at the far end of the hall and fled, flying blindly through winding corridors and sweeping staircases until they were too lost to find their way back.

At last Dave stopped and sank to the ground, and his knees buckled beneath him, leaving Rose to support his weight.

"Wait... wait up a minute, Lalonde. Just fought like hell to save you, gimme a... gimme a minute to breathe here."

She nodded breathlessly, and the two of them crouched, huddled up against the wall in some dark side-corridor, listening to the distant sounds of Jack's lightning seeking them out. Dave coughed and dropped the Tectrix to clutch at his chest with one hand. "Ugh..."

"Are you-" Rose paused, and stared down at Dave's chest. "Dave, you're bleeding!"

Dave too looked down, his expression unreadable behind his shades, his skin unusually ashen. The two of them stared as, out of nowhere, blood began spreading rapidly across Dave's chest.

"He didn't hit me," Dave said blankly. "Not there, not that hard. He didn't- oh god-" He coughed again, doubling over and bringing up flecks of blood. "He never hit me there!"

Rose's eyes widened. "Dave. Where's your other body right now?"

"Oh damn me."

- - - - - - - - - -

In the smoldering skies of LoHaC, a copper Giclopse tore one last handful of bricks from Dave's battered tower of a house, and the entire miles-high structure shuddered, swayed, and came crashing down.

[Doodled]

So remember that fic in which Rose became Jack Noir's therapist? That didn't stop being a thing I was writing or anything. (Okay so it kinda did for a while.)

This story is also on AO3!

Previously, on Unhinged...
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16


Unhinged - part 17

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GG: dave!!!!
GG: theyre tearing your house apart and pulling out bricks and stuff!!!
GG: oh my god
GG: OH MY GOD DAVE YOUR HOUSE IS GOING TO

- - - - - - - - - -

The palace of Derse was a maze. Finding the throne room had been challenging enough, but as Dave darted at random through the eerily deserted, labyrinthine hallways, he realized that the real challenge would be finding his way back out. Barred windows and dark doorways flashed past him in a blur. (Where was the window he'd entered from, where was it?) He could break one, pry the grating out of the wall like he'd done in Rose's office, but Draconian's sprinting footsteps pounded against the tile only a few twists and turns behind him. He flew blindly on, knowing the moment he stopped there'd be a knife in his back.

He turned another corner and found himself hovering above a narrow balcony, skirting the length of the dark purple walls and overlooking a wide hallway below, spanned by vaulted ceilings and lined on either side with suits of empty armor standing decoratively at attention.

Dave easily leapt the balustrade and hovered out into empty air, away from the balcony and well out of Draconian's reach. A split second later the Dersite was there, his hands hitting the railing with a clack of chitin, breathing hard and staring at Dave with narrow, annoyed eyes. The Knight gave him a mocking salute.

He was cut off abruptly and violently as Draconian climbed up onto the narrow balcony rail, crouched calculatingly, and launched himself into space. The Dignitary's hand seized Dave's ankle, and the boy's startled cry of "Oh what the f-" was ripped out of his throat by sheer gravity as the Dersite plummeted, taking Dave with him.

The two of them hit the tile of the hallway below, and hit it hard. Draconian's switchblade went flying and landed on its blade with the tiny sound of metal snapping in two. Dazed, winded, and now both weaponless, they scrambled away from one another.

As Dave got shakily to his feet, he heard the grinding of metal behind him, and turned just in time to see Draconian wrench an ornamental iron morningstar from the grip of the nearest suit of armor. The vicious, spiked weapon came hurtling forward as with a grunt Draconian swung it at Dave's chest, and the boy jumped backward just in time to avoid being crushed and impaled. Another swing, and the morningstar came down with a smash at his feet, sending chips of stone flying as it buried itself in the tile.

Dave leapt over Draconian's head and flew for the far end of the hallway, hearing the grating crack as the Dersite jerked the heavy weapon free. His fists hit the purple stone of the distant wall, but there were no doors, no windows through which to escape. A dead end.

He turned around, his back pressed up against the wall. Breathing hard, his eyes flickered across the massive hallway, the suits of armor, the narrow balcony lining the walls above, where black pawns were beginning to gather in sparse, tentative groups to watch the battle. The tall Dersite in the well-pressed suit, stalking toward him, stepping carelessly over the broken blade of his knife as his grip tightened on the bludgeoning weapon in his hands.

"Nowhere left to fly, kid," Draconian stated coldly.

(switchblade in my back and blood on my hands, the Dignitary just killed me and I have to get rid of the body before Jade sees oh god oh god oh god)

Dave took a deep breath.

"Alright then. Yeah, fine, I was sick of running away anyways."

He dived out of the way just as Draconian's morningstar flew forward and smashed into the stone behind him, and went immediately for one of the suits of armor, coming away with some spiked, club-like medieval weapon whose name he didn't know. "Duels to the death I can do."

- - - - - - - - - -

Rose reached the balcony just a few steps behind the Soverign Slayer, and as she pushed past his wings to lean over the railing and get a clear look at the wide hallway below, he reached out a hand and almost absent-mindedly seized her collar to hold her still.

The ring of metal on metal echoed off the walls; the Knight and the Dignitary locked in battle, wielding massive bludgeoning weapons whose weight could shatter stone. For a split second she wondered why Dave was neither flying nor flash-stepping, before realizing that with something that heavy in his hands, he probably couldn't.

Beside her, Jack's ragged wings began to rise.

"Jack, wait!" she shouted, reaching up to seize the hand at her collar as if the slight strength of a thirteen-year-old girl had even a remote chance of holding him back. His ring gave off a few red sparks beneath her fingers, and she yelped with pain but did not let go.

"Gonna kill him," Jack muttered through gritted teeth, fingers tightening on her uniform and prickling against her skin.

Rose tightened her vicegrip, her voice becoming a desperate hiss. "No! Wouldn't... wouldn't it be better to let Draconian do it?" She winced as the crack of breaking tile sounded from below. "Let them battle it out, and then the winner will be tired and wounded. You could do whatever you wanted, then, it would be easy."

He paused, tense, his glazed eyes following the battle below, and Rose held her breath. "Yeah," Jack breathed at last. "Yeah. Let them kill each other. And then I'll kill you."

With a small, wide-eyed nod, Rose let go of his hand, looking down at the angry red burn marks his ring had left on her palm. She pressed her hands together, feeling the filaments of the white feather pen Dave had brought her eons ago brush against the raw skin. She'd forgotten she was holding it, but now it seemed to buzz faintly, like the tiniest of electrical currents.

"Jus' wanna protect the boy," Jack slurred softly. "Never on our side, were you. Shoulda known. Shoulda known you'd stick with them."

"They're my friends, Jack. I'll always side with them." The current between her hands was growing stronger, the quill pen pulsing with some growing energy the Seer in her recognized as magic. Rose's eyes flickered up to the Sovereign Slayer for a moment, but his attention was elsewhere, watching the battle below.

Slowly, she opened her hands, and a hazy green glow poured out from between her fingers.

- - - - - - - - - -

Through the twisting streets of Derse ran Bishop and Pariah, swords in their hands, the painted pawn screaming bloody murder as carapaces around them scattered.

"People of Derse, this is the revolution!!! For blood, for freedom, for the rightful ruler on the goddamn throne! FOR PROSPIT, YOU PSYCHOTIC BASTARD!!!"

They ran, the towers of the palace growing ever closer and looming above them, Pariah sprinting in righteous fury as she followed the path flown by Dave moments before, and Bishop chasing, calling out for her to stop. "We won't get there in time, squawk! If the princess's original body has been killed, then her dreamself has minutes to live, at most. She is a lost cause, Pariah!"

"Then we fight for the prince!" Pariah countered furiously, before continuing her wild cries. "People of Derse! This is the revolution!!"

"Pariah, this is suicide!"

"This is vengeance!" she panted, a grin spreading across her face. "Noir's weak; we can strike at the palace now and take over! Gather an army, storm the main gate-"

"They won't join us!"

Pariah jerked to a halt at last, and the massive form of Bishop, breathing hard, stumbled up beside her.

"What kind of a stupid thing is that to say?" she asked, rounding on him. "We've always said when the time was right they'd join us! We're an army of two now, but when we reach the palace we'll be an army of two thousand! Everyone's furious at what he did to the king and queen, they'll join us!"

Bishop's clawlike hands gripped her shoulders, and he peered down his beak at her beseechingly, trying to make her understand. "No, they will not. Squawk. That's what you've always said, but look at them, Pariah. Look at them, White Pawn. Are they joining us?"

The Warpainted Pariah turned her head slowly, gazing behind them both at the clusters of Dersites watching her out of windows and sidestreets, having scattered when she raced through their midst screaming and wielding a sword.

"They are frightened," Bishop continued softly. "Of Noir, of everything that has happened. Squawk. They were not built for the battlefield like the two of us. It is so much easier for them to keep their heads down and let bad things occur, without trying to change them."

The pawn gave him a look of mingled anger and disbelief.

"I'm sorry, Pariah."

She pushed away angrily. "People of Derse!"

Bishop gave a heavy sigh as Pariah strode into the center of the street and raised her black, Derse-crafted blade above her head. "People of Derse! Now is the time to strike! Noir has been weakened by the valiant sacrifice of tentacleTherapist, the Princess of the Moon! Are we gonna let her death be in vain?!"

All around her, the black pawns began to shift and whisper.

"NO! We're going to FIGHT! We're gonna take the palace back from Noir! We're gonna avenge the monarchs of Derse! And we're gonna put his majesty turntechGodhead on the throne where he belongs!!!" She waved her sword wildly. "Who's with me?! Regency! Virtue! Destiny! Patriotism! Royalty!"

She stood, sword above her head, a slightly manic grin on her face, breathing heavily and looking around at them all with hopeful eyes. "Who's with me?"

There was silence.

Then one pawn moved, and another, and one by one they shrank back and shuffled quietly away. Pariah was left standing like a statue in an empty street.

At last, she slowly lowered her arms. Bishop gave her a tentative pat on the shoulder.

"Squawk..."

"Cowards," she murmured.

"Do not take it so hard. They are simply not ready."

"Cowards!"

"Pariah..."

"DAMN COWARDS!" The warpainted pawn threw her sword to the ground, sending clanging echoes through the Escherlike streets. "After everything he did, you're not even gonna fight?! Cowards! Traitors!!"

Bishop's cloak rustled stiffly as the massive chessman wrapped his wings gently around her, and Pariah struggled and screamed angrily while he held her still.

"You're all on his side! If you're not one of us you're one of them!! COWARDS!!"

"Pariah," the Traitorous Bishop said calmly, heedless of her flailing.

"He killed them all! The battlefield, all the soldiers on your side... on my side... Prospit..."

"I know."

"Oh god, Prospit..."

"I know. Squawk. I know."

She folded into him at last, throwing her arms around his massive frame and smearing his robes with the shale oil used to disguise her pearly skin. "...oh god, Prospit..."

For a long while they merely stood, huddled together, their arms wrapped around each other.

"I miss the days when we were still on the battlefield, trying to kill each other," Pariah whispered into Bishop's cloak.

"Life was simpler then."

"He's going to die, isn't he?"

"Dave?" the Traitorous Bishop asked, for once not bothering to use the honorific Pariah so religiously abided by. "Maybe, if he rushes in to fight Noir. But it will only be his dreamself, and we have done all we can to assist him."

"We were doing so well. We had the Prince on our side, we were slipping poisons into the palace... I thought we really had a chance."

"We do. Squawk. But not now. There will be a more opportune time."

Side-by-side, they wandered off into the distorted streets.

After a time, a scattering of pawns - nervous, hesitant, but at the same time morbidly fascinated - began to step out of the shadows and silently follow.

- - - - - - - - - -

The quill pen - the Tectricx of the Arbiter, she remembered now - was throbbing with light, bright and green and strong, and the magic of it filled Rose's veins with fire and made her hair stand on end.

Below her, Dave was slowing. His breath was coming in panting gasps, his feet hovering barely and inch off the ground as his exhausted arms tried once again to lift the heavy weapon not meant for his Strife Specibus. Draconian's morningstar came caroming at him again and again, and although Dave managed to dodge each fatal blow, it caught him in the shoulders, the arms, leaving cuts and bruises and long tears in his bloodstained pajamas.

Come on, Strider, Rose thought, while the Tectrix filled her with light. Dave was a brilliant fighter, but he needed a sword, a weapon familiar to his hands. Come on Strider, don't give up now, don't get killed because of me...

"Jack!"

It was the Courtyard Droll's voice. He was running up to join them at the edge of the balcony, having just caught up after Rose's debilitating kick, and he waved his arms excitedly through the air. "Jack she got away and I tried to stop her but then she kicked my leg and it really hurt, but then I went to look for you and oh nevermind I guess you caught her."

Jack's head turned to glare at the Droll, and in that split second, acting entirely on instinct and with adrenaline and magic coursing through her body, Rose raised the pen in the air and stabbed Jack's hand.

He gave a shout, more of surprise than pain, and Rose tore free from his grip and dived off the balcony. She hit the tile below almost weightlessly, rolled, and came up in a crouch, brandishing the pen as if it were one of her needlewands. "Excuse me, Draconian, but I think we have a score to settle."

The Draconian Dignitary wasn't stupid enough to turn his back on Dave. That was a mistake. Rose leaped forward and bowled into his back, knocking him down and wedging the sharp end of her quill into the joint in his chitin where neck met shoulders. She pulled it out with an almost cartoonish spray of blood which speckled her black uniform with red.

She skipped backwards as Draconian staggered upright, and stood in a ready position, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

She'd hit a vein. Blood was flowing freely down the back of the Dignitary's uniform, and he swayed for a moment and clapped a hand to the back of his neck.

Somewhere behind and above her, Rose could hear Jack's wings begin to rise again, finally reacting to her mad escape. But he didn't take off, not yet, and she wondered suddenly if he was going to take her advice: let them kill each other and pick off the victor himself.

"You... That..." Draconian mouthed, breathing with an eerie, robotic steadiness.

Across the room, Dave held his club at the ready and gave Rose a wordless nod. The two of them circled Draconian, weapons in hand.

"That. Was. My. Best. Suit."

The Dersite's head snapped up, eyes suddenly livid, and he whipped around and brought his weapon down with a slam on Rose's chest. She hit the ground, gasping for breath and with stars dancing in her vision, and somewhere distantly she could hear Dave shouting her name, punctuated by the renewed cracks of iron on stone.

"Rose! Oh my god Rose, get up! ROSE!"

She rolled over at last, curling herself into a ball and coughing, feeling as though her lungs had been crushed.

"ROSE!"

There was something heavy in her right hand. The pen? No... her vision focused, and she could see it just in front of her face, clasped in fingers shaky with pain. Bone-white metal, polished and smooth and carved with the flourishing words "Tectrix of the Arbiter."

"Dave..."

"RO-" She winced as he was cut off by the sound of Draconian's morningstar barely missing him yet again. "ROSE! Rose, get up, don't be dead! ROSE!!!"

"Strider!" Rose scrambled to her feet, drew her arm back, and flung the Tectrix of the Arbiter as hard as she could. "Catch!" Dave dropped his club and caught it: Bishop and Pariah's gift, the last gleaming white Regisword of Prospit.

The Knight held it in his hands with all the smooth confidence of a swordmaster, and Draconian took a step back, his wrath remitted by sudden caution.

"Oh hell yes," said Dave.

His eyes traveled upward, past Rose, to the balcony on which Jack stood above.

"Oh hell no."

A horrible, static crackling filled the air, and Rose stumbled out of the way just as a twisting beam of red fire struck the floor where she'd been a moment before. Jack was standing on the balcony, wings raised, hand flung skyward, his ring aflame as arcs of power lanced their way across the massive room below. The pawns who had gathered along the edges of the balcony fled with screams, some getting caught in the blaze and torn apart where they stood.

"Goddammit Jack," Draconian was shouting, and in the confusion Rose took the opportunity to dart through the rain of deadly light to the place where Dave stood, and wrap her fingers around his free hand. Red lightning surrounded them.

"Let's go. I don't think he can aim it all that accurately, but it'll give us a cover."

Hand in hand, the two of them raced across the hallway and took flight, dodging the Slayer's uncontrolled arcs of power - less controlled now than ever, after how badly she'd broken him. They found a door at the far end of the hall and fled, flying blindly through winding corridors and sweeping staircases until they were too lost to find their way back.

At last Dave stopped and sank to the ground, and his knees buckled beneath him, leaving Rose to support his weight.

"Wait... wait up a minute, Lalonde. Just fought like hell to save you, gimme a... gimme a minute to breathe here."

She nodded breathlessly, and the two of them crouched, huddled up against the wall in some dark side-corridor, listening to the distant sounds of Jack's lightning seeking them out. Dave coughed and dropped the Tectrix to clutch at his chest with one hand. "Ugh..."

"Are you-" Rose paused, and stared down at Dave's chest. "Dave, you're bleeding!"

Dave too looked down, his expression unreadable behind his shades, his skin unusually ashen. The two of them stared as, out of nowhere, blood began spreading rapidly across Dave's chest.

"He didn't hit me," Dave said blankly. "Not there, not that hard. He didn't- oh god-" He coughed again, doubling over and bringing up flecks of blood. "He never hit me there!"

Rose's eyes widened. "Dave. Where's your other body right now?"

"Oh damn me."

- - - - - - - - - -

In the smoldering skies of LoHaC, a copper Giclopse tore one last handful of bricks from Dave's battered tower of a house, and the entire miles-high structure shuddered, swayed, and came crashing down.

Yessssssssssssss. I've so been looking forward to this.

*reads it*

Still awesome.

[SkaianRedeemer]

Fantastic as usual, RedPen.

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"That. Was. My. Best. Suit."

I know it didn't play out that way, but these would have been pretty golden last words.

[anonymousComrade]

You guys will never believe me

But this update didn't Joss anything I had planned for Re: Champion

(the next few updates will, though, I'm 100% sure)

[SkaianRedeemer]

(the next few updates will, though, I'm 100% sure)

Let's just say I'm personally glad I'm writing The Dargon Arc right now. I have plenty of squishy Squiddly friends to ease my surely incoming pain.