Heroic Interlude: Attaque au Fer

“Those who clap others in irons always end up choking on them.”
– Eleanor Fairfax, founder of the Fairfax dynasty

The Baroness Dormer was strikingly beautiful.

Hair like spun silver, men said, and even in her late thirties the sight of her smiling was enough to make his breath catch in his throat. William was evidently not immune to her charms, though he fancied he was less swayed by them than most. Still, of all the nobles involved in the Liesse Rebellion he thought her the best of the bunch. Unlike the Duke of Liesse and his now-betrothed the Countess Marchford, he knew that ambition did not drive the woman sitting across from him. Her fief would not grow from the liberation of Callow, and given her long-running enmity with Countess Elizabeth there would be no position of influence at court for her in the aftermath. She’d joined her force to the Rebellion because she wanted the land of her ancestors to be free, and such a purity of intent was laudable. Not often rewarded, but perhaps all the more laudable for that.

“I can bring five thousand to bear, though I hesitate to commit some of them to a battle,” the baroness said. “They are peasant volunteers, untrained in the arts of war.”

“Your household troops can take the lead,” the Lone Swordsman replied. “I don’t suppose you’ve managed to scrape up some knights?”

Chivalric orders had been disbanded wholesale after the Conquest, but the south of Callow had never truly been invaded – after the fall of Laure and the submission of the Deoraithe, the flight into exile of the Duke of Liesse had been enough to tip the balance towards surrender. The only southern demesne with an Imperial Governor assigned had been Liesse itself, and though William knew better than to think the entire sector had not been crawling with the Black Knight’s spies the scrutiny of the Tower had not been as heavy down there. In northwest and central Callow the capitulation of the Kingdom had been greeted with wholesale butchery of horse herds across the land: the old promise that Praesi would never manage to suborn Callowan cavalry had been faithfully observed. Down south, though, some smaller herds had remained in the hands of nobles. Flat refusal to sell any to the Tower had caused tensions and threatened an uprising the year following the Conquest when a general had tried to force the issue, but in the end orders had come from above to let the matter go.

“I had half a hundred when we started the war,” the aristocrat replied, “but they’re all with Talbot now.”

“We’ll make do,” William sighed. “If she’s to fight the Legions of Terror on the field, she needs all the help she can get.”

“Especially now,” the baroness murmured.

The Lone Swordsman grimaced. Word of Foundling’s unexpected victory against the Silver Spears had already spread even this far. Mages in Marchford, he expected. Now that the Praesi had made popular the use of scrying rumours flew even faster than messenger birds. I warned you, Prince. One misstep is all she needs. With the eastern flank secure, the Ninth and Sixth legions could march towards Vale with their supply train safe. Countess Elizabeth would not be facing tired, half-starved soldiers: she’d be staring down the war machine that had triumphed on the Fields of Streges in the fullness of its might. At least it was only two legions: if it had been three or four the rebellion could be considered as good as over.

“She’ll hold,” William promised. “As soon as we’ve dealt with the Heiress’ host we’ll move to reinforce her.”

“I am glad you heeded my call,” the silver-haired beauty admitted. “Fighting a Stygian phalanx would have been bad enough on its own, but with a Named to lead them? I dared not force a battle with the forces at my disposal.”

“You were right to wait,” the Lone Swordsman said. “I’ve never been to Stygia but the Bard assures me the tales are true – on even ground they are one of the finest in the land.”

The formation the slave-soldiers took in battle was a slow and cumbersome thing, but it had shredded hosts from Procer and the other Free Cities both. The Stygians did not retreat or hesitate, for the leather cord around their neck could choke them in an instant should the person owning them wish it.

“So much for the Praesi being above slavery,” the baroness scoffed. “I used to consider it their one redeeming feature.”

“The Heiress is from the old breed of eastern villainy,” William acknowledged. “They tend to break even their own rules when it gains them advantage. Keep priests close, I would not put it above her to summon devils if things go sour.”

The House of Light did not officially take sides in mortal conflicts, though it occasionally did produce a clerical Named who carried the banner of the Heavens into battle. Mundane priests who felt the calling to combat Evil could join religious martial orders but those were not part of the House proper, merely affiliated with it – hence why the Empire had slaughtered every last paladin from the Order of the White Hand but allowed the many churches and cathedrals in Callow to continue existing after the annexation. Most priests did, however, take a very dim view of bringing devils and demons into Creation. Those they would fight regardless of who did the summoning.

“I’ll make sure to have them on hand,” the aristocrat replied. “Luck in battle, Lord Swordsman.”

William smiled thinly. “That’d be a first.”

The tent they’d prepared for him had a cot and a table, the latter of which he would never use. The dark-haired man was no general and he knew as much – the strategizing was better left to individuals with a talent for it. The one time he’d thought he had a plan he’d gotten almost all of the people he’d brought with him killed, including another hero and the only observer the Duchess of Daoine had bothered to send. Taking off his coat, the Swordsman threw it on the cot. He’d been about to sit down and remove his boots when he paused, smoothly unsheathing his sword and bringing the edge to rest against the throat of the other Named in the tent.

“One of these days,” Thief said, “you’ll tell me how you do that.”

“Unlikely,” William replied.

Forcing the Penitent’s Blade back into its scabbard was an effort. It disliked returning without having drawn blood, even if no one worthy of being bled was around.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” he admitted a moment later.

“I wasn’t sure I would,” the short-haired girl shrugged. “But here I am.”

With a tired sigh, William sat down on his cot as she perched herself on his table.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the host surrounding us,” he began. “We’ll be marching on the Praesi army camped by Lake Hengest tomorrow.”

“They’re not camped by the lake anymore,” the Thief informed him. “I paid them a little visit while considering my options. They’re half a day’s march away from you now, though they’ve stopped for the night.”

He did not insult her by asking if she was sure of this. It would be the same as if someone asked him if he was certain his guard stance was correct.

“Heiress knows we’re after her, then,” he grunted in dissatisfaction.

It had been too much to hope for that she wouldn’t see them coming. Still, he was confident in his chances against this particular villain – unlike Squire in Summerholm, she wasn’t fate-bound to survive the encounter with him.

“Heiress isn’t with the army anymore,” the pale-skinned heroine corrected him. “She took the commander of her Proceran mercenaries with her and went into the hills. The man in charge is some Wastelander lordling called Ghassan.”

The Swordsman honestly wasn’t sure whether to be pleased by the news or not. Lack of a Named meant their victory was all but certain, but what in the Burning Heavens was the villain doing in the hills? An army couldn’t pass through them.  That much was common knowledge in Callow.

“Where’s Bard, anyhow?” Thief asked.

William snorted. “You know Almorava. She comes and goes as she wills. For all I know she’s passed-out drunk in some ditch and she’ll catch up tomorrow.”

Thief – she’d never revealed her true name to them – shook her head.

“William, you should know better by now. She drinks like a fish, but when have you ever seen her drunk?”

The Swordsman raised an eyebrow. “Every day since she first crashed through the window over the room where I’d assembled the rest of you.”

Apparently Almorava had meant to sit on the windowsill to look mysterious and all-knowing but slipped on rain-slick stone and fallen through the glass. The sultry pose she’d tried to affect afterwards had been largely negated by the fact that her face was bleeding heavily.

“The thing about being a thief,” the heroine said, “is that you have to learn to read people. Catch when they’re tired enough to dismiss footsteps on a rooftop, guess when they’re so impatient they’ll send a replacement servant through instead of checking the story.”

She drummed her fingers against the table, crossing one leg over the other.

“She plays it up well, the clumsiness and the slurring, but no matter how much hard liquor she puts away she’s never been more than tipsy.”

“You think she’s deceiving us,” William frowned.

“I think she’s playing it up for her audience,” Thief replied. “Isn’t that what Bards do?”

“She’s a heroine,” the Swordsman eventually said. “That much can’t be faked. Why would she bother to trick us when she’s on our side?”

The other Callowan passed a hand through her short hair, ruffling the tomboy cut as an uncomfortable look settled on her face.

“When we left for Summerholm, there were five heroes in our band,” the heroine said. “And we all knew going in that one of us would die to the Warlock – monsters like that don’t go easy. It couldn’t be you, because you have a mirror on the other side. Hunter was meant to be your right hand, ill-suited as he was to the role. You needed me to get into the city and to get out afterwards. That left…”

“Almorava and Simeon,” William finished. “Your point?”

“Both of them are bumblers,” Thief spoke quietly. “There was a redundancy. But how much of an impression did Conjurer make, compared to the Bard? He barely talked while she was always in the background, larger than life, drinking and badly strumming her lute.”

The Swordsman breathed in sharply. “What you’re suggesting borders on murder.”

“All she did was cover her bases,” she replied. “I can respect that, I really can. But I can’t trust it.”

“Almorava has always given me good counsel,” William said hesitantly.

“She’s given you advice that keeps her story moving along,” Thief retorted. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m not looking for a starring role in a tragedy.”

The dark-haired hero chuckled mirthlessly. “You might have joined the wrong cause, then.”

“Oh fuck this,” she snapped, falling to her feet. “I’ve had enough of the tormented warrior tourine. I don’t care how fucking tragic your backstory is: this isn’t about you. You wanna know why I came back? Because even if you screwed up spectacularly in Summerholm, you’re still the only option we’ve got. I’ve stolen some outrageous stuff in my time, but an entire kingdom? The Empire makes my Name a mockery every day, and it’s not going away on its own. So put on your big boy pants and get your shit together, William. Nobody’s asking you to clean up every mess in Callow, just to kill some villains with your godsdamned horrifying angel sword.”

Fury flashed through the Swordsman’s veins but he kept a lid on it. He’d earned this much and worse, for his failure against Warlock.

“I tried that, if you’ll recall,” he replied sharply. “It got Simeon killed and lost us our best chance at getting Daoine into the war.”

“Because you went about it wrong,” Thief informed him bluntly. “You’re the Lone Swordsman. The whole band of heroes motif runs against your Role. Gods know you couldn’t stand us half the time, anyway, and to be honest spending more than a day at a time with you makes me want to jump off the nearest cliff.”

“The whole point of assembling heroes was to even the odds against the Calamities,” the dark-haired man barked back, patience running thin.

“And that worked out great,” the heroine snorted. “So what if the odds are horrible? That’s what heroes do. Hells, when I first heard about you you were the guy who’d assassinated an Imperial Governess in broad daylight and blown up half of General Sacker’s face. You’re not incompetent, William. What you can’t handle, we will. Stop doing the things you think are clever and start doing what you’re actually good at.”

“And what,” the Swordsman replied coldly, “would that be?”

She tossed a parchment at him.

“Here’s a plan of the Praesi encampments. Kill the people that need killing. And before you slaughter your way through every officer in there, I want you to consider something.”

Thief leaned forward and looked into his eyes.

“Do you know what an antihero is? An idiot who thinks they can use Evil’s own methods to beat it. Here’s the thing about Evil, though – they’ve used those methods for a lot longer than you. They’re better at them. If you want to make a better world, maybe you should act like someone who deserves to live in it.”

She walked out of the tent before he could think of something to reply. It took him a quarter bell to realize that at some point during the conversation she’d stolen his purse.

The moon was almost full.

The white-enamelled armour he’d taken to wearing after the Hanging was back in his tent, traded in for his old chainmail and leather coat. It was… comfortable. Like he’d shed a skin that didn’t quite fit for one that did. The Stygians ran a good camp, with sentinels patrolling regularly, but that was the weakness in their system. Fixed intervals made it easy to infiltrate the place, once he knew the pattern. It wouldn’t do for the slaves to show initiative, would it? he thought with disgust. How many times had the whip been cracked on their back, before the ability to improvise had been beaten out of them for good? For all that Stygia was one the Free Cities, few enough of the men living there knew anything of freedom. Moving from shadow to shadow, William made his way to the large tent in the centre of the camp. Thief had marked it as the officer’s tent, and even from where he stood he could see lamps had been lit inside. Leaning behind a crate full of rations, the Swordsman waited as a single man passed him by on the way to the latrine trench. The wind moved a tent flap and the olive-skinned soldier glanced in his direction, mouth opening in surprise.

William’s fist impacted with his stomach, knocking the breath out of him. An armoured elbow to the back of the head saw the slave fall into unconsciousness, his body unceremoniously dumped into the crate where no one would find it. The hero hastened his steps after that: eventually someone would realize a man was missing, and the alarm would be raised.

There were more guards around the command tend, a tenth on patrol and one sentinel at every corner of the square hide structure. The patrol he outwaited, crouched behind a rack of pikes, but for the others he’d have to take a more proactive approach. Loosening the strap binding his sheathed sword to his belt, William took the makeshift blunt weapon in hand and closed his eyes. Breath in, breath out. His Name lit up inside him, turning his blood to smoke and dust. The cold strength took hold of him and in a single leaping bound he crossed the distance between himself and the closest guard, the pommel of the Penitent’s Blade hitting the back of his head. He could see the other guard in the back of the tent beginning to turn in his direction, but the movement was comically slow. The man might as well have been swimming through mud. Three steps blurred and the flat of the sheathed sword slapped the chin upwards, the strength of the blow enough that just sailing through the air it caused a small gust of wind. He had to catch the man by the back of the neck to prevent his unconscious body flying into the back of the command tent. Setting down the sentinel gently, he stepped away to drag the first one out of sight as well before Creation began to catch up with him. He let out a long breath, letting the power flow out of him.

Quietly, he unsheathed his dagger and cut a flap for him to slip inside. Eight men, he counted when taking a first glimpse. All olive-skinned with their heads shaved closely and wearing nothing but brown cloth pants and a leather cord around their necks. Miezan numerals had been branded between their shoulder blades. A man in his late fifties had a one, he glimpsed a pair of twos and the rest were threes. Officer rankings. He’d heard Stygian slavemasters gave sets of enchanted irons to burn away the numbers and brand new ones when the purchase was made, to accommodate field promotions. The inside of the tent was bare, with eight cots on the ground and a single low table where they were all seated on the ground. A carafe of wine sat in the middle of the table, with eight clay cups around it that were still mostly full. Sheathed short swords were laid on the ground behind each of them, within easy reach. They noticed the moment he entered the tent, and all the threes reached for their weapons – but the highest officer present raised a hand to stop them.

“Hero,” he said, his Lower Miezan lightly accented.

“Lone Swordsman,” William introduced himself.

“First Spear Ophon,” the man replied.

One of the officers spoke in a tongue the hero didn’t recognize, but Ophon smiled sadly.

“I’m afraid we are all already dead, Parthe,” he said. “Finish your cup. Raising an alarm will only cause the death of more brothers before he leaves.”

William stepped closer, then cast a look at the leader.

“May I?” he asked.

The older man looked amused. “By all means.”

He sat himself between the twos, setting the Penitent’s Blade across his lap. Ophon said something in the same tongue as earlier and the younger man picked up a cup and poured him wine, glaring heatedly all the while. William took a small sip, having no idea whatsoever whether this was a good vintage or not. He’d always preferred ale to wine in those rare instances he drank.

“You are here to kill us, yes?” Ophon asked mildly. “To hurt your enemy.”

William set down his cup. “You don’t sound very worried about that,” he observed.

“I have seen heroes fight, unlike these young men,” the leader replied. “I know the strength of a Name. Struggle will just mean a bad death. I would rather leave Creation peacefully, enjoying my last cup of wine.”

“Spears of Stygia do not break,” the man to William’s left broke in.

“Three cities stand between us and the Magisters, Thenian,” Ophon gently chided, “yet I hear their words still.”

The younger man looked down, abashed.

“I’d heard Heiress had freed you,” the Lone Swordsman murmured.

The man from earlier, Parthe, scoffed.

“Free, yes. Slaves do not get pay, she said, and we are to be paid after the war. Yet we bear the Strangler still,” he spat, tapping the leather cord around his neck. “A strange thing, this Praesi freedom.”

“Gifts from the Wasteland are always poisoned,” William said. “My people have learned that the hard way.”

“Yet it is not the Heiress who has come from our lives,” Thenian barked. “No matter the side, it is always the brothers who pay the corpse-price. My people have learned this the hard way.”

The Lone Swordsman brought the cup to his lips again. If he decided so, he could have every man in this tent dead before the cup hit the table. Swing, his third aspect. Not even Squire had been able to match his hits when he tapped into it, whether in swiftness or strength. The hero calmly put down his cup, rose to his feet, and let his Name flood his frame. The power spread through the air, thick and lingering. William put his hand on the hilt of his sword and followed his instincts.

One after the other, the leather cords dropped.

“There are no slaves in the Kingdom of Callow,” he said. “Not as long as I live.”

Most of them groped blindly for the collar they had been branded with since birth, faces alight with wonder at the reality that they could no longer die to whim of anyone owning their command rod. Not Ophon, though. Ophon finished his cup of wine with guarded eyes.

“And what, I wonder, is the price of this freedom?” he asked quietly.

The light winked out of the others’ eyes, and it made William want to flinch. Because he knew, here and now, that he could convince them to fight for him. He could feel the pivot forming, the weighted decision that would set the course of Fate. And the rebellion needed the troops so very badly, didn’t it? They would still be free, and fighting for a just cause. Would I not have been tempted, if I were a better man? Maybe. But he’d just seen the joy, and seen it disappear. Even now the faces shuttered at the prospect of trading one master for yet another. If you want to make a better world, Thief had said, maybe you should act like someone who deserves to live in it.

“Nothing,” he replied, and the words tasted like ashes in his mouth. “Once, years ago, my sister told me that freedom is the Gods-given right of everyone who was ever born. Would that I had listened to her sooner.”

He settled the sword back at his hip.

“I’ll need one of you to escort me as I go around the camp breaking the cords,” he said. “I can draw you a map if you need one, but south of Dormer along the river you should be able to find passage to Mercantis. There will be a battle with the Proceran mercenaries tomorrow, so I’d recommend swinging around north to be careful.”

Ophon poured himself a second cup. A long moment of silence passed, as all the others watched him carefully

“Above the gates of Stygia there is a statue of a magister,” he finally spoke. “He is a tall, proud man this magister. On his shoulders are two cranes, named Redress and Retribution. They are the patron spirits of the city, said to speak in the dreams of those deemed worthy.”

The soldier peered into his cup.

“Never has a slave been graced with such favour, but all men of Stygia live with that hope – even those who are not men at all, by the laws of the city.”

Ophon smiled.

“I am an old man, hero,” he said. “I find I no longer have the patience to wait for the cranes. I would seek redress, of this girl who bought me. I would seek retribution, for the lie of false freedom.”

“First Spear-” one of the threes began.

“You are still young, Mamer,” he interrupted gently. “Do not be so eager to follow. You still have a life ahead of you.”

“Spears of Stygia do not break,” the two who’d remained silent until now rasped out. “Oaths were given. I would seek the cranes with my brother Ophon.”

“Retribution,” Thenian agreed softly, hands closing around his sword.

“Redress,” Parthe growled, and it had the weight of a promise.

William smiled, and for the first time in years it was genuine.

44 thoughts on “Heroic Interlude: Attaque au Fer

  1. NemoMarx

    “Do you know what an antihero is? An idiot who thinks they can use Evil’s own methods to beat it. Here’s the thing about Evil, though – they’ve used those methods for a lot longer than you. They’re better at them. If you want to make a better world, maybe you should act like someone who deserves to live in it.”

    Ouch.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Not wrong, though. Our Will has been wallowing in his terribleness-oh-woe-I-don’t-deserve-anything for a smidge too long to see the forest for the trees.:/

      Without that kick in the rump, he might well have accidentally fallen, let alone just screwed up… again.

      He still could, though. Both screw up and fall, I mean. -_-

      Like

  2. Hardcore Heathen

    The section on how important horses are to Callowan knightly orders made me think of something.

    Why is Squire a villainous Name? Especially a Praesi villainous Name? They have no chivalric orders, no tradition of knights – which makes me wonder about the origins of the Black Knight.

    On the subject of the chapter, I felt mixed about how William got to have his cake (be nice to the slaves) and eat it too (they still join him in the rebellion). On the one hand, it’s nice to see that doing the Right Thing doesn’t always bite you in the ass. On the other hand, it sort of cheapens the sacrifice of telling them to be free men.

    Like

    1. oaclo

      I figure Black Knight could easily have originated as a Knight betrayed by his lord who took up Evil to get his vengeance. Or it could simply have been handed down from the Miezan(?) Empire that used to rule. They probably had cavalry.

      Liked by 1 person

    2. To be fair, Willy took a heroic gamble, and luckily for him it paid off. And I for one thought it was nice to see something like this in a story happen, instead of the expected ‘shit hits the fan’ eventualities we given almost every time.

      Though this could just as likely come to bite him in the ass later, so who knows.

      Like

      1. stevenneiman

        Nah, it was Fate that he got what he needed for doing the right thing. Those soldiers are not only going to fight for him like he could have made them, but they’ll fight like Hero-lead troops, to the last and with everything they have and more.

        Like

    3. Shikome Kido Mi

      Honestly, even if they all just left the country it would have still been a boon, since the Rebellion would no longer have to lose men fighting them. Which is why all the officers joining is a bit over the top, I suppose.

      Like

    4. Shequi

      A Knight, originally, didn’t have anything to do with horsemanship. The term descends from old germanic language terms for a Young Male Servant or Retainer. From there it gathered senses of duty and fealty, and eventually (sometime in the course of the Hundred Years’ War) came to denote a particular style of armoured cavalryman, and after that a noble rank.

      The Knight, in the sense of the translation convention that we read the characters thoughts and speech through, would be a name for a Retainer.

      Squire comes literally from the old french for “shield carrier” around the same time Knights came to mean armoured cavalry.

      Adjutant is actually from latin – “Adiutus”, meaning helped or assisted.

      So in the original, all of the words used for these names actually mean the same thing – an assistant to a higher person.

      Like

    5. stevenneiman

      On the subject of Squire, its less about the knight and more about the subordinate position. And in any Evil nation, a subordinate Name is going to be looking for career advancement, especially if they can get is by stepping into the still-smoking boots of their former master. It makes perfect sense that a powerful, famous Name like Black Knight would come with an ambitious retainer/protege with their own minor Name.
      On the subject of the slaves, I think that the point was that he was getting his way by a means that Heroes are supposed to use. As Almorava said, just by virtue of being a Hero he was almost guaranteed to end up with the slaves fighting for him, but if he had done it without acting like a noble Hero he couldn’t have lead them with the superhuman inspiration that Heroes usually get. He might have had slaves otherwise, but now he has warriors with as much to fight for as they have to fight against, and with a Hero leading them, that matters a lot. Also, they might have just ended up feeling cheated if he just forced them back into their old slave-soldier role and just ditched him, but now they have something good to compare their treatment to, and they are gonna give Heiress more hell than she sicced on the Fifteenth.

      Like

  3. oaclo

    Looks like things work out for heroes when they act heroic. On the topic of that quote from his sister, it’s still bullshit just like he thought it was in his backstory. The peasants of Callow were no more free before the Conquest. The only thing that really changed for them was losing the right to self-determination. But then, it’s not as if Callow would have allowed its subjects to secede.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Unmaker

      “Looks like things work out for heroes when they act heroic.”

      Thief finally goaded him into acting with his Name and Role and he was rewarded for it. Act your Roles and fate moves with you; act against them and things go wrong.

      Like

  4. Akim

    Yeah. great chapter. Buuuut how long must we suffer to finally see Cathrine Struggle with a Demon ?

    You are truly evil !

    Like

    1. Why?
      This is an extremely innocent sword from an extremely innocent game🙂
      Look, there are even angels on it, just to show how holy and innocent that sword is😀

      Like

  5. Naeddyr

    Finished this today, and I like it a lot. If you are updating regularly, please consider something like patreon!

    At first I was afraid it would be too edgy for my tastes, but your twisting and the careful steering of the whole capital “Good vs. Evil” actually works.

    My prediction regarding the demon: can they be… reasoned with?

    Like

  6. x

    Typos:
    Now that the Praesi had made popular the use of scrying rumours flew
    scrying, rumours

    tormented warrior tourine
    routine

    Yet it is not the Heiress who has come from our lives
    come for

    they could no longer die to whim of anyone
    +the whim

    Like

  7. lennymaster

    Great chapter once again, but I do not think that giving them a choice was all that heroic. He is a HERO, the moment he decided not to kill them, which would have been nearly impossible for him to do, they are slaves in all but name after all, their decision to help him was nearly out of question.
    I think it is much more interesting that Thief noticed Bard’s behavior in Summerholm, and their respective odds of making it out alive. That shows just how much the Names, even those aside from the Bard roles, are aware of them living a story, which makes Heiress decision to not take Scribe seriously all that more idiotic.
    I think that Will just sealed his fate of being defeted, as an “Antihero” he possibly could have beaten Squire, who behaves to some extend like an “Antivillian” then now when he has taken more to the classical Hero role.
    (Antihero; someone who does less than savory things for the greater good. At least as I see it.)

    Like

    1. “I think it is much more interesting that Thief noticed Bard’s behavior in Summerholm, and their respective odds of making it out alive. That shows just how much the Names, even those aside from the Bard roles, are aware of them living a story, which makes Heiress decision to not take Scribe seriously all that more idiotic.”

      It could be just a thing for Bard and Thief (and other similar types) Names though. In fact, a Name like Heiress would more than likely shun meta concepts since being meta would qualify as breaking tradition.

      “I think that Will just sealed his fate of being defeted, as an “Antihero” he possibly could have beaten Squire, who behaves to some extend like an “Antivillian” then now when he has taken more to the classical Hero role.”

      But then again, keep in mind that in tbsi universe, all a good guy needs to do to win is simply be a good guy, a hero. It’s the villains who need to get creative as if they don’t, they will lose as the ‘story’ always as the villains lose.

      So while Catherine and Black are certainly very meta-aware and work fastidiously to cover up villainic flaws, for Willy, the beat solution would likely be to embrace heroism instead of being creative.

      Like

      1. lennymaster

        You might be onto something that only roles like Thief can compare to Bards in thier awareness of the story. Maybe because they are more cunning or they have to think outside the box, but Heiress is portrayed as mastermind and should as such be more aware of the story. Maybe it is really because of the traditional focus of her Name but I would have expected for that to have been more centerstage until now for that explanation to work. She relised after all that it would be a stupid idea to take back the reforms, if for no other reasons than that they made the legions more effective.
        On the other matter, the thing with the classical Hero vs. Villian schemata is that a classical hero beats a classical villian every day, no matter how they plan and scheme and prepare with a hundred traps and monsters and contingencies, the Hero always wins, through deus ex machina, prophecy, a mysterious/legendary ancestry, turning the villians own plans/troops/monsters against him or plain, stupid luck. And sometimes all of the above.
        But Kat is no common villian, she is a villian that thinks like a Antihero and acts like a Villain. she was raised with Callowan storys in wich the protagonist always wins, contrariwise to Praesi ones, with a Villian protagonist that always looses in some way. Think back to the stories Black had Squire reed.
        In the end, at least in her way of thinking, she is the protagonist of her own story, maybe not the Hero that Callow needs, but deserves, a VILLAIN!

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    1. Unmaker

      Genre-savvy character in a setting driven by tropes for the win. I wonder if she feels the attention of the audience, whoever they may be, and only drinks when they are watching.

      Like

  8. Unmaker

    Typos:

    come from our lives
    come for our lives

    tormented warrior tourine
    tormented warrior routine

    when I first heard about you you were the guy
    (clearer with a comma)
    when I first heard about you, you were the guy

    Reactions:

    William did turn the slave legions to his ends as I thought. But the means were a bit different than I thought. Now, how did the Heiress not anticipate this? Or is this a permissible loss to her plans?

    I still think William hasn’t woken up and thought about his position, but it is slightly gratifying to see him acting smarter. On the other hand, I have new-found respect for Thief.

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  9. Delver

    I think with regards to this being heiress bumbling, we gotta remember her motives. She doesn’t really want to defeat the heroes and rebellion, she thinks it will inevitably fail. Which it will considering praesi military might. Unlike kat, she doesn’t care if all of callow is sacked for it to happen.

    What heiress wants most is to dethrone both empress and black. To do that she is no doubt trying for a rift between them. I don’t know how giving the enemy soldiers and more motive and setting loose a demon helps that, but we’ll just have to wait to see the bigger pic.

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  10. Alegio

    William finally had something good happen to him :O, and it didnt bite his ass in the exact same moment?, Now thats a plottwist😄.

    I wont be happy if our favorite LSwordsman and Squire dont go on a “good and evil united” raid to kill the demon, not for the fight but for the lulz of them actually getting to see that they could be friends

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    1. stevenneiman

      I think the point was to show that Silly Willy actually is more powerful and more successful when he gets his head out of his ass and starts actually acting like a real Hero rather than just trying to kill Villains. I’m getting a very strong sense that he is going to help Cat when he realizes that she is actually a better person than most of his Good compatriots. At the very least, I expect him to help her out with at least one of bringing down that demon and giving Heiress a good thrashing. Heck, as a Hero armed with an angel feather he might even be able to kill the demon for good.

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      1. Lightdefender

        Recall the the Lone Swordsman is the racist bastard among the Heroes (enough so that the Exiled Prince commented upon it). And our protagonist is leading a legion composed of members of the races to whom he’s most opposed. I find it unlikely they would ever join forces so long as both those are true.

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      2. stevenneiman

        Yeah, he is racist, but if he was confident that it would only last as long as it took to bring down the Heiress/demon I don’t think he’d mind too terribly working with orcs and goblins. I think he assumes that they have some kind of inherent affinity for Evil, but if working with them could help him bring down someone he hates as much as Heiress, or a literal embodiment of Evil, I think he could swallow his pride for one battle.
        Also, I feel like him and Cat can’t be involved in anything but a reconciliation story, and I very much doubt that Cat will be the one to switch sides given that she actually likes and respects her Evil buddies while Will actively dislikes his. That pretty much leaves it either turning out to be a nemesis story after all and ending with William dead (I don’t think Cat dying is even likely enough to be worth discussing), or the rule of three being violated if you don’t want Will to have a face-heel turn.

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  11. stevenneiman

    “though William knew better than to think the entire sector had not been crawling with the Black Knight’s spies the scrutiny of the Tower had not been as heavy down there.” I think this is grammatically correct, but there are enough negations to make it confusing.
    “Now that the Praesi had made popular the use of scrying{,} rumours flew even faster than messenger birds.”
    “tormented warrior [tourine->routine]”
    “around the command [tend->tent]”
    “Yet it is not the Heiress who has come [from->for] our lives”

    Interesting. So William actually can choose to act like a decent human being given a choice between that and being a Hero. Amusingly, he got even better results than doing what seemed the coldly practical option. Also, its interesting to see that Thief has the good sense to learn about the relevant stories despite not having a Role based on doing so. I’m pretty proud to have (I assume) guessed right about why Bard acts the way that she does, to make herself a fan favorite with plot armor.

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