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lilyblackdrawside · 3 months

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With the weekend upon me, I took some time today to clear Trial 4 of the currently running Trials for Navigator. Which turned out to just be the easiest of all of them. Basic aside, I cleared the other three versions of it first try.

This one got a bit long. My impressions under the shortener.

Trial 1 - Survival of the Fittest featuring best guy Pancho Salas and Big Ugly + High Priest was actually kinda troublesome for me. Probably/Likely largely due to stubbornness, but I also really didn’t vibe with its Decoder Squad.

„Work Hard, Get Paid“ might be true in some parts of life, but when 30% of my squad is Standard Bearer Vanguards and all non-Vanguards eat all DP all at once, it really throws me off.

I liked it though. Good vibes in both stage parts, I should’ve probably just brought a Medic and Tank to tank Pancho instead of doing my damndest to burst him down. When an enemy punches even through Hellagur, I tend to throw out all notions of facing it in melee combat.

Trial 2 - Blood and Terror with Tola, Dikaiopolis and the Damazti Cluster was pretty alright. Wave 2 was the only one here that gave me trouble, mostly because it’s such a cramped space. I did clear Orientation and Spectacular first try, but it took quite some time both times because I let him refresh his phase one. Eventually brute force and some luck won out there.

Seeing Damazti Cluster as the third boss had me a bit worried, but there weren’t any problems there really. They just don’t do much damage and the Yan Decoder Squad bonus was well enough to cover any kind of desired healing.

On that note, this squad is just busted. You get three very strong operators and a super strong bonus that lets you fly without Medics or a defensive Limiter Unit, freeing up precious squad slots. (Not that I’d have brought Medics otherwise either.)

Trial 3 - Deep in Danger hosted by Bishop Quintus, The First To Talk and The Endspeaker actually kinda sucked, once again solely because of Wave 2.

The First To Talk is just really annoying. I made a good effort to stop the creep droppers in phase one from dropping their creep outside of the little box and it worked out pretty well on all versions of the trial. Had I not done that, I can imagine the dodgey fellas being quite annoying on Wave 2.

But then again, I did have Erato and Gnosis who bring very reliable control to handle them.

On that note: Erato. She clears this one. TFTT and Endspeaker are both not opposed to sleepytimes and with the Overcharge Limiter Unit, Erato has enough SP to permanently sleep an enemy. Just don’t give her +23 ASPD, that’ll ruin her rhythm. Due to that, Wave 3 was a total nothingburger. The Endspeaker aside, there's nothing potentially threatening. Maybe if they had enemies that spread creep, then the handsy guys would be stealthed and that's be rough.

The Rhine Lab Decoder Squad is probably really good, but I lack the operators to utilize it. For some people, this Decoder Squad might just be the most powerful. I could see a glimpse of its strength in Trial 3 and if you can load up your squad a lot of RL operators, it’ll probably go well.

Trial 4 - Path of the Faithful led by Father Agenir, Andoain and Zaaro wasn’t troublesome at all. I actually saw this coming, because Zaaro isn’t a big deal, Father Agenir is easy to handle too and Andoain once again sits on Wave 2 so in the worst case Scenario I could just optimize against him, beat him, lose on Wave 3 and then brute force him with the Entitative Program. But in the end I didn’t even have to do that, because the Yan Decoder Squad is that powerful. I went with a bunch of my usual Snipers as offense: May, GreyThroat, Totter and Fartooth.

Fartooth did a great job here both with handling Andoain, where she deals great damage even through his reduction field while bypassing evasion and for Zaaro, where she has two great sniping spots - one where he waits in the top left corner and one for his final approach on the right.

Totter was instrumental for handling the sneaky guys, and also helped out with damaging the bosses. He has good per-hit damage with S2 as long as there’s only one enemy, so he’s always useful.

May... does May things. With the Overcharge LU she has a perma slow on S1, which worked great vs Andoain to keep him longer in Fartooth’s range. I also sicced her on the dog in Wave 1 together with Totter and did it again with the big dog in Wave 3 who just gets nowhere while slowed like that.

GreyThroat... I mean, she just shoots people. She did decent damage to Agenir, not enough to kill him in Spectacular and Ultimate, and then did good damage to Zaaro Phase 1 where I slowed him with both May and Elysium (+ def debuff) to the point that she could unload two rounds of her S2 with only three tiles of Zaaro being in range. This was enough to clear his Phase 1 in all but Ultimate Trial, where he was left with some 10%. Good job.

As for the Limiter Units... I only used the Overcharge one. You get 0.5 SP/s per stack, so 1.5sp/s after a minute of being deployed and that’s just stupid.

There’s nothing in this lineup that has nearly as much value as this.

I did consider the Recovery Boost for Trial 4 before I went into it, because together with the Yan Decoder Squad you’d get some disgusting sustain but I stuck with Overcharge for looking at it and then I saw that the stage moves super far with each Wave, which would’ve made it impractical anyway. You’d only get anything out of it on Wave 3, but only for left operators and that’s just not the part of the map where you take damage. Offense always wins in the end. (Except for Kirsten, I’ll stall her for 20 minutes any day.)

Recovery Boost gets really strong at level 3 with 45% Sanctuary and 40% increased healing, but I found that I pretty much always pulled my whole squad after each wave with maybe one or two exceptions, which usually included Skalter who doesn't get anything out of it. Good idea, but not the right stages for this one.

Strategy Expansion seems neat, but I don’t think you need redeployment time reduction in a game mode where you can just strategically pull your operators before you end a wave so you have everyone available on time for the next one. You can also find enemies to stall with one operator to recover DP and redeploy time. Having +3 Deployment Limit is pretty good, but I was never wanting for it even with Ling. You’d have to go super Summoner mode to get anything out of this one. Not saying it’s bad, just the most niche of the four.

Experience Acquisition seems... limp. Like, you get +40% ATK. Okay, now what? While you’re sitting at +40%, I’m activating skills five seconds after they’ve expired and get way bigger buffs and utility from them because I’m using the Overcharge unit. And you have to work for your +40% buff too. Dunno, this one doesn’t look great.

Overcharge I’ve already talked about. It’s easily the best one here. You can’t argue with having 250% SP regen.

And that’s that. Quite enjoyable once again, looking forward to the next one hopefully being more painful!

#arknights #long post

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heavenlyhoundoom · 5 months

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I haven't talked about my cotl x adventure time au for like six months...

And now I wanna talk about all the vessels King has had over the years. I will talk about them in chronological order.

1.Justina.

Gender: Female

Species: Rabbit

Fur color: Brown

Age: 20

Title: The Vengeful

Fate: Mauled to death by Moon.

2.Avita

Gender: Female

Species: Monkey

Fur color: Yellow

Age: 18

Title: The Procrastinator

Fate: Demoted back into a follower for not doing her job.

3.Quintus

Gender: Male

Species: Duck

Feather color: White

Age: 21

Title: The Crusader

Fate: Crushed to death by a giant monster.

4.Calliope

Gender: Female

Species: Chinchilla

Fur color: pink

Age: 29

Title: The Pacifist

Fate: Demoted back into a follower so she wouldn't be brutally murdered.

5.Shay

Gender: None

Species: Wolf

Fur color: Blue

Age: 22

Title: The Provider

Fate: Returns the crown because they didn't like being a church leader.

6.Bruno

Gender: Male

Species: Mouse

Fur color: Grey

Age: 30

Title: The Glutton

Fate: Eaten alive by Hierophant's followers.

7.Verina

Gender: Female

Species: Turtle

Scale color: Brown

Age: 28

Title: The Necromancer

Fate: Turned to gold.

8.Felicia

Gender: Female

Species: Cat

Fur color: Purple

Age: 25

Title: The Farmer

Fate: Killed by Empress.

9.Isolde

Gender: Female

Species: Wasp

Color: Black and Yellow

Age: 21

Title: The Stoic

Fate: Committed suicide.

10.Leander

Gender: Male

Species: Alligator

Scale color: Green

Age: 29

Title: The Sadist

Fate: Beaten to death by his own followers.

11.Aspen

Gender: None

Species: Woodpecker

Feather color: Grey

Age: 27

Title: The goofster

Fate: Eaten alive by a giant monster.

12.Parisa

Gender: Female

Species: Horse

Fur color: Pink

Age: 23

Title: The Tyrannical False idol

Fate: Demoted from the crown and banished to Hell.

13.Tarak

Gender: Male

Species: Badger

Fur color: Brown and White

Age: 19

Title: The Incompetent

Fate: Demoted back into a follower for sucking at his job.

14.Nefertiti

Gender: Female

Species: Red panda

Fur color: Red

Age: 26

Title: The Cannibal

Fate: Betrays King and joins Hierophant's cult.

15.Lucia

Gender: Female

Species: Fox

Fur color: Orange

Age: 30

Title: The Forgetful

Fate: Gets into an accident and loses her memory.

16.Yale

Gender: None

Species: Pig

Fur color: Yellow

Age: 24

Title: The Sacrificer

Fate: Sacrificed by their followers.

17.Meriall

Gender: Female

Species: Lemur

Fur color: Purple

Age: 29

Title: The Polyamorous

Fate: Returns the crown to be with her partners.

18.Obi

Gender: Male

Species: Frog

Color: Red

Age: 22

Title: The serious

Fate: Killed by Fool.

19.Damaris

Gender: Female

Species: Moth

Color: Grey

Age: 30

Title: The Brute

Fate: Demoted back into a follower for killing one of her followers.

20.Simon

Gender: Male

Species: Penguin

Feather color: Blue and white

Age: 40

Title: The Coward

Fate: Returns the crown because he was too scared to fight any of the bishops.

And 21.Marceline

Gender: Female

Species: Bat

Fur color: White and Black

Age: 24

Title: The New Idol

Fate: She had overthrown King and became the new god of death.

#adventure time #adventure time stakes #Cotl #cotl au #Ocs #marceline the vampire queen #vampire king #ice king

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nossumusmanus · 1 year

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Tell us more about quintus' partner and how they died :3c

Okay, uh, where to start. They were originally from a village near Dalmasca, back when the Empire was still a Republic. However, they were discontent with staying in their forest, so they left -- and eventually traveled to Garlemald, where they were taken in by an elderly woman in the Reaper village of Galatea. It was from this woman that they were given the name "Nerva Valinus," in the hopes that having a Garlean name would help them to be more accepted by the others.

It was in Galatea that Nerva learned the art of being a Reaper, and everything that it entailed.

When Solus came to power and Garlemald began to change, they found themselves missing the old ways, but nonetheless joined the military -- where they were assigned to the Ist Imperial Legion, under Quintus's father's command. Quintus's father, being so familiar with the strength and skills of the Reapers, coordinated an elite squad of them to act as assassins for any who might oppose or threaten the royal family or Senate members, despite them falling out of favor in Garlemald. It was Nerva who was placed in charge of this contingent.

That being said, Nerva and Quintus knew each-other for decades before their marriage. They did, after all, serve together in the same legion, and their paths often intersected due to their orders and roles within it. Considering how young Nerva was by Viera standards, one could even argue that the two grew up together, though Nerva was undeniably "older" -- as a result, they were able to watch Quintus not only come into his own and gain confidence over the years as a soldier, but eventually rise in the ranks until finally becoming Legatus after his father's retirement.

Their bond was special. It didn't start out as romantic, of course; though they did have flings, it was more of a "friends with benefits" type of relationship, fueled by deep respect and trust in one-another. And then over the years, it grew from there.

Nerva was a bit opposite of Quintus in terms of personality. They were flirtatious, bold, easygoing. While Quintus was notorious for brute force, Nerva was tactical and methodical, making it no surprise that they became Quintus's right hand when it came to matters of defense.

The two married almost as soon as they were able to, decades after Quintus's entry into the military, and in spite of the stigma surrounding their relationship as a pureblooded Garlean and non-Garlean. They had two children together, twins named Castor and Pollux, though the two were rather unplanned. (In truth, the couple hadn't even been sure that they would be able to produce offspring to begin with, due to their physiological differences.) Still, both parents loved and adored them unconditionally, and supported them every way that they could.

Nerva's death was the direct result of Quintus's orders, and that fact still haunts him. He had dispatched Nerva and their company out on a guard mission, and rather than recalling them when the situation took a turn for the worst, he hesitated, prioritizing the risk to the civilians in the area over the risk to his soldiers. The result was Nerva losing their life. Though if you ask Quintus for the details of the mission and what happened, you'll be met with tight-lipped silence. Not even the Emperor himself would be able to pry that information out of him, so great is his guilt and shame over it.

Funnily enough, my partner whose OC is Nerva recently made a Tumblr for them, if you're interested in hearing more about them or interacting with them! Obviously quite a number of things are going to be different with verses/storylines where Nerva is alive, and my summary of their character doesn't do them justice, but.

#Reports #peachbelli #shamelessly promotes Phoenix's Nerva blog by Will Smith posing at it #Headcanons

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shuttershocky · 2 years

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Are the folks at gamepress just off on their reads of characters in arknights or something? Maybe just super focused on one aspect of the game, because a lot of the time it feels/sounds like they're off spinning in their own specific meta but just dismiss stuff that's not quite in it and so it's "bad" or what have you. Or i guess this is more a meta thing, but gamepress seems the face of it.

It's not like the analysts online are incompetent or even really wrong, but I disagree with the fundamentals behind which they review the worth of an Arknights operator.

See, how people analyze the strength of an operator is through the following guidelines

Assume the player has ALL operators in the game

Assume all resources gained passively were gained using a sanity equivalent

The Operator is measured both against the other members of its class, the other members of its roles (DPS, etc)

DPS rules above all else as it determines how fast you can solve a stage.

I fundamentally disagree with these points because

It's a gacha game. You cannot guarantee a player will have all of the units to choose from. You often have to work with what you have, and it is unproductive to look up your operators to see what they do and learn them only to see 'This unit is trash because Surtr exists lol'

You get an INCREDIBLE amount of money and XP over time after you have fully built your base. Being stingy with your resources as if you have manually farmed each and every dollar is ridiculous. I frivolously max out my favorites to E2 max level which is beyond sanity inefficient and I currently have 4 million LMD simply because Im passively earning more money through trading posts and event rewards than I can burn raising operators I like.

I think this is mostly fine, but I don't agree with comparing operators from different classes (I.E, people saying Summer Ch'en's slow was the final nail in Mostima's coffin) because class restriction challenges are some of the most common challenge or CC rules, and the counter to this has always been redundancy in multiple classes.

Unless you are playing in ultra high risk CC, DPS stat checks often make for mediocre strategies in challenge stages simply because the developers are well aware that Surtr and Thorns and Eyjafjalla exist and have begun designing levels with them in mind, which often leads to weirder and niche tactics becoming surprisingly effective. If you really wanted to speedfarm Bishop Quintus during Under Tides for example, you brought Tachanka.

Finally, don't forget that Arknights is a (pretty well designed I'd say) game, and the foremost priority for a game is your personal fun, not efficiency. The levels allow for some very creative and satisfying problem solving, and beating a stage with the units you like adds a personal touch to your solution. It's common among gacha game players to see gachas as jobs with which they juggle multiple, and to see stages as tasks they simply have to get through to get the reward and keep progressing, which is why there's an overwhelming favor for brute speed and efficiency, but imo it does quite a disservice to some of the most fascinating puzzle design I've seen and is why I still love playing the game.

(Also if everyone had every operator then KyostinV wouldn't have to make low rarity guides for every stage just to drag half the playerbase through the finish line. The sheer amount of people who thank him for his help and talk about how they made his solutions work with the operators they have is why I'm a firm believer in never counting any operator off as worthless. They may not look worth it to you, but they've come through for somebody in their time of need.)

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chrysalispen · 3 years

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upon pale dawns, prologue II: ardent for some desperate glory

AO3 Link HERE

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Castrum Abania, 9th Sun, Third Umbral Moon, Year 5 of the Seventh Umbral Era

The room was cold and its silence sterile, broken only by the sounds of a dry ticking from the digital wall chronometer and the soft and regular sighs of a sleeping man.

Silence in itself was hardly anything to be remarked upon, let alone a surprise. The research and development floors were always kept clear of unnecessary chatter in favor of the sound and rhythm of industry, small gears turning amidst the well-oiled machine of imperial conquest. Standard procedure, that. Especially when the work that took place away from prying eyes was exacting and often hazardous.

But for several hours, the relative darkness and the ambient cycling of the console's processor had been interspersed only with the low rumble of the central air unit and the rhythmic rattle of footsteps without the corridors, and Nero tol Scaeva had been awake for most of the past thirty hours. He had finally fallen asleep waiting for one of his processes to run and lay half-sprawled over the metal surface of the table: limbs immobile and lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he drowsed at the empty work station he’d appropriated upon his arrival in the lower levels.

When the chiming began, it went unheeded at first. The timer had been set in this instance to ring without cessation, however, and after a few minutes had lapsed the sound began to send him drifting wide from his dreaming state by ilms. The transition from sleeping to wakefulness felt reluctant: heavy and sluggish, a pearl diver kicking against deep currents, breaking the surface tension of consciousness through brute force.

He blinked slowly, once, then twice, attempting to reorient himself.

The noise was also aggravating an incipient headache. Nero righted his posture with a tired grumble and smacked the damned thing until blessed silence reigned once more, before reaching for the mug he had left on a borrowed coaster (long since gone cold. His own fault, he owned). Sipping at its contents with a distasteful grimace - whoever had brewed the coffee, they had added too much water and the result was something weak and listless and far too bitter - he turned his attention towards the old Allagan testing module and its compiling readout.

It appeared to be reaching the end of its cycle. So he thought, until the activity scrolling across the screen flickered in place and pulsed once, twice, an arrythmia within the steady heartbeat of the machine. Nero swore under his breath when on its heels, a brief error message superimposed itself over the readout in black-bordered white. One he’d seen with far too many of these devices recently.

[Unable to read file. The current application will be terminated.]

An annoyed sigh escaped in a hiss between his teeth.

Brow wrinkled in thought, he stared at the screen for a few beats. This was but one of many datalog volumes his team had salvaged at the original site. The initial discovery had excited him - it had excited everyone, in fact, including the legatus - as it well should have done, but getting the godsdamned things to yield the fruit he sought was quickly proving to be an exercise in tedium.

Although Ultima’s original hardware was in surprisingly reasonable working order, several of the tomestones they had found in the same space had not proven to be nearly as resistant to the vagaries of time. Thus far, only a handful had relinquished their secrets without issue or delay. Not entirely unexpected, given their age and the conditions in which they’d been found, but unfortunate all the same.

The tribunus laticlavius of the XIVth Imperial Legion was not a patient man by nature, given to rather more direct methods of approach, but as a man of thirty-four winters with a good fifteen of them spent in the legions, he had very much learned the value of that particular skill. It was one he had developed through years of trial and error and the innate understanding of those traits his chosen craft required.

Magitek was not ineffable. It was parts and pieces that fit together neatly like a puzzle in the absence of human error. To guide and to create with these tools required a methodical mind and observant eye, as well as a certain degree of acceptance that on occasion one simply could not rush the desired results.

This was one such occasion. The end result, of course, would be worth the means. Or so one might fondly hope.

Nero leaned forward and compressed the small button until the module had powered down and all that was left was the rumbling rattle of the castrum's central air unit (always running this time of year). A gentle tug freed the small tomestone from its moorings and he held it aloft to study the detailing, periwinkle-blue eyes squinting and straining against the red-tinged light from the fluorescents.

The small grooves caught the ambient lighting from the walls with each idle spin between his fingers. They seemed to mock him with each little shimmer: ancient secrets so painfully close to discovery that they lay mere ilms from his grasp. Secrets which promised a long and tedious process if he wished to claim them.

...Well. He’d do it, of course he would. Aught he deemed necessary - good, bad, or ugly - in order to see Project Ultima to completion. Even were it not his primary directive, he had always had every intention of plundering their contents at his leisure for the challenge of it and the knowledge to be had. This was but the least method at his disposal. There were some few other options he might employ, which might serve to successfully extract the data into some readable format that he could put to use.

While the old datalogs were fascinating, he wasn't spending his time reading them for a history lesson. No, what he sought was preliminary information, something upon which to safely extrapolate. Ideally he'd end up with a dossier of sorts which he could use to catalogue the Weapon’s original abilities, and enough code to piece together an operating system more or less analogous to that of Allag, albeit one powered by ceruleum instead of aether. If he could simply-

A much lower-pitched sound than his armor’s onboard timer - not an alarum but a harsh, flat buzz - cut through the quiet of the lab. Nero’s first inclination was to ignore it in favor of his study, but a second followed quickly on its heels, and a third.

That, unfortunately, meant someone was expecting him to answer.

With a barely suppressed yawn he toggled the small red switch next to the wall’s built-in communications device. “Scaeva. Engineering," he said, keeping his tone clipped and curt- the voice of a man who would brook no disturbances. "State your business.”

The response he received was a very audible swallow followed with a hoarsely uttered, “Lord Scaeva?”

“Speaking."

"My lord?"

Nero sighed. "Speaking. As in 'with whom do I have the pleasure.' Name and rank."

“Oh. Terribly sorry, my lord. I, erm, Quintus pyr Blasio. Lord, uh. Tribunus. Sir.”

Seven hells. Not a name Nero recalled, though he rarely had reason to trouble himself over memorizing the personnel that manned every garrison between Ala Mhigo and the Velodyna fringes. Some poor bastard who was likely the first man flagged down for runner duty by his direct report, no doubt. Some poor bastard who was also either too dazzled or too shit-scared of speaking to the legion's top brass to string three coherent words together. Just what he needed.

“...Go on,” he prompted when the man said nothing further.

“Lord Sc-”

“I daresay we’ve both established our identities at this juncture," impatience and lingering drowsiness rendered his response a sardonic drawl, for all its erstwhile civility. "The message, if you please.”

“Message, my lord?”

“Yes. The message. That is why you’ve called to interrupt my current litany of scheduled tasks, or so I assume?”

“Ah... y-yes. Yes, my lord.” The speaker at the other end of the connection paused, and on its heels came the sound of a clearing throat. “Ah, Lord van Baelsar asked that I, er, that is, he requests your presence to discuss-”

“He wants me to attend a meeting,” Nero cut in. “When and where?”

“Half four, my lord. Ah- in Sector VI. The administrative complex south of the new hangar.”

Half four- it was five minutes past now. With the identification checks and elevators taken into account, that gave him about ten minutes' leeway. The timing would be somewhat tight to work in, perhaps, but it was perfectly feasible.

The man’s nervous, ragged breathing crackled across the link; the only other sound was the flat drumming of Nero’s fingertips upon the metal surface as he mentally rearranged the next hour he’d dedicated to other tasks. It was an inconvenience to be certain. He was going to have to run the process once more after some adjustments were made, and clearly, it would need closer supervision. Meaning the sleep he knew he needed was not going to be an option.

But this summons still amounted to an order, and hardly one he could disregard or countermand. Heavily classified weapon project or no.

“Understood," he said at last. "Inform the legatus that I will be along presently."

"I will, Lord tol Scaeva. I-"

"In future, do make some bare attempt at brevity when delivering messages, tessarius- for your own sake.”

Another gulp. “Of course, my lord. I’ll pass alo--”

Before the hapless soldier could waste more of his time stammering out another response, the tribunus laticlavius flipped the switch and cut the connection. The line went dead with a static click.

Nero was a practical man, one rarely wont to let trivial annoyances linger. As he set the artifact aside to reach for the fountain pen at his elbow and drew a small leather-bound planner from the desk drawer, a habit he’d kept since his Academy days, he could already feel his focus shifting, moving onwards.

He rolled the pen thoughtfully betwixt index and middle fingers, eyes flickering away from the planner to linger briefly upon the blank console screen. No doubt there was also more useful information to be ascertained from the old Meteor Project dossier; he’d request another copy of the relevant files through the proper channels once the meeting concluded.

In the meantime, it seemed a progress report was likely to be expected upon his timely - and fully conscious - arrival. Strict self-imposed schedule notwithstanding, it wouldn’t do for him to be the only one empty-handed.

He flipped the notebook open to a fresh and empty page, tilted the ink nub, and began to write.

#a realm reborn #upon pale dawns #chrysalispen writes #nero tol scaeva #have one (1) sleepy and caffeine deprived nerd #and the pain of internal calls from people who take too long to get to the point

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momo-de-avis · 5 years

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Wordtober Day 16: Wild

A horror lite short story about the Lusitanian people fucking HATING the Romans, enjoy. And yes, it’s THAT Sertorius, this takes place immediately before his war.

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Caetobriga slept, and the guards kept watch.

On the pathway leading to the forest beyond the city, Quintus stood tediously, body sore from the uptight position and the tightly held lance on his hand, torches burning on the dark walls of the archway, and even his neck ached from the weight of his helmet. He took a deep breath and adjusted his position, though next to him, Caelius didn’t seem slightly bothered with his slouched shoulders and the yawn he didn’t even care to conceal with a hand.

Quintus wanted to slap him on the nape, but the reckless guard took notice of the stern look on his face and straightened himself up with swiftness.

Nights in Caetobriga were boring, though the days could be filled with screams and loud voices far too irritating for him, but Quintus had followed Sulla thus far, deep into the lands of Hispania, to fight a war only to end his career as a miserable guard. Two years fending off the nagging Sertorius in the name of Gaius Valerius Flavius to keep control of the savages in Iberia had rendered him one less finger on the left hand and a blow to the leg that had left him bedridden for seventeen days, but at least the region was back in order. The stubborn propraetor had retreated south, and last Quintus had heard, he had been ransacked by pirates.

Though, being honest to himself, Quintus knew he had never been too great a soldier. Decent, certainly, enough to suffer a cut or bruise, perhaps, but nothing life-threatening. He had never gone past the rank of princeps, which was in itself a miracle as it was. Experience enough to fight in the second line, though always on foot—he’d never rise up to the demands of the cavalry. He’d be a legionary his whole life—and one guarding a Lusitanian city, of all places.

Though the peoples had been tamed, properly guided into civilized society, as they needed to. Cattle herders, most of all were; Quintus had laughed merciless at the sight of two young boys marvelled at a simple stylus and wax board. Some old hag had mumbled tales of a former slave freed from Rome having brought the toy with him some ten years ago, but that, Quintus suspected, was just her manner of acting dismissive, considering how the peoples there could be lying, cheating weasels. Even as construction was underway for the new thermae, those poor sheep-herders had looked up at the stone in marvel, blinded in delight, as if Selene rode her very own silver chariot in the skies.

The city was growing, but it was mostly just fish salting workshops everywhere, which brought about an unbearable smell of fish and salt all year round, moon after moon—either from the workshops themselves or the river. It had been charming enough the first few days, something unique to the region—Quintus had even thought it to be a pretty sight, idyllic and clean—but now, it forced him to burn herbs inside his quarters for the sake of keeping that stench away from his nose.

At least, the peoples there had been subdued, paying their dues and herded into civility. Had it not been for the mighty intervention of the Empire, those madmen would still be squabbling through their forests like wolves or bears.

Yet however Quintus knew he sounded quite dismissive towards, there was a part of him that feared a confrontation with a proper Lusitanian army as they had faced at the time of the general who had embarrassed Rome. An average legionary like him, facing warmongering people whose women were said to sleep with gladiuses under their pillows and were quicker than the men to grab a spear and impale an enemy with less mercy than man—he’d be doomed.

After all, technically the Lusitanian had never been defeated. The only way the Romans managed to conquer them was through bribery and assassination, though a man like Quintus would never say those words if he valued his life.

Quintus blinked his eyes in boredom as the light of the torch next to him flickered in the darkness, an unexpected breeze passing by, and nearly fell asleep on his feet had he not noticed something strange about Caelius next to him. Rambunctious as he was, fond of drinking and visiting local brothels wherever he was, Quintus thought him as much a coward as he sometimes could be. Reason why, he believed, they had both been left there to guard the walls of an unprotected city that, in reality, had no threats outside its walls.

The Lusitanians were gone, subdued or tamed like chickens, anyway. Sometimes he even thought the walls were useless.

Caelius squinted his eyes and gave a step forward; this time, Quintus’ cold and stern look did not send him a warning, not even as he tipped his lance and gave him a hard tap on the greaves on his shins, a soft and metallic growl fluttering for a brief moment. Caelius waved a hand, shushed him quietly, and gave another step forward, gazing into the complex mesh of trees that rose in the distance, making way to the forests ahead.

“I think I saw someone there,” he murmured. “In the forest.”

Likely, Quintus thought, though what he couldn’t understand was why he should care about it. “And? Some wanderer, chances are. A beggar or a traveller who got lost, or—” maybe someone avoiding some form of taxation—he’d heard of those, though Quintus generally minded not the mathematics behind the logistics of the Empire. “I don’t know, just don’t mind it.”

“But it looked like a woman.” Caelius’ eyes glimmered under the torches in an urgency Quintus seldom saw. “She looked in trouble.”

He sighed, peered ahead and tried to see. The forest was still and silent, with nothing interesting to it, but Quintus put some effort into it nonetheless, if only to appear concerned enough that Caelius would leave the matter be.

“I see nothing,” he replied, bored. “It’s just a f—”

“There!” Caelius shouted, not minding the hour of the night, and his finger jutted forward.

Quintus followed his eyes and saw what he meant: a woman, indeed, dressed in a dingy white, or perhaps it was grey, tunic that flapped freely about her body, torn to shreds at the shoulders and ripped apart from the knee down. He could see she had black hairs, cascading over her face in a disarray of a dancing shadow, and her arms were fully exposed—he saw a hand lifted in despair and then tumble down as she collapsed on the ground.

Before he could say anything, Caelius took off, lance in hand, rushing through the humid soil to aid the woman. Huffing—certain, this time, he was going to be sent to the front lines of whatever next war for his mistake—Quintus followed him in the darkness.

The woman fell to the ground, arms splayed about as she wept silently, and up-close, Quintus could see the damage her dress had suffered. It seemed made of some rough material, like burlap, improper for garments, and it exposed her filthy, brown feet, cut and bruised from the run. She raised her teary eyes, big and blue, glowing like the moon above, and pulled her hairs away from her pink lips as she breathed deeply.

“Help me,” she murmured, nearly out of breath. Her trembling hand pointed back, and clearly in a state of urgency and unrest, she began to heave herself, ignoring the twigs and dirt on her body, half-dragging herself towards the forest. “My child,” she mumbled—there was something about the way she spoke, Quintus thought, as if she had recently learned how to speak. “My child. There’s a boar—”

“Oof,” Quintus sighed, ready to drag her back to the city and—perhaps, who knew—arrest her for… something. He’d figure something out. Either way, he knew there was no way a mediocre legionary like himself would dare to face a boar alone—babe or no babe involved.

But Caelius seemed to have caught on to his hesitation, and quickly enough, he furrowed his brow in what was clearly a deep sense of insult that Quintus was unsure if he felt it aimed at himself or the woman.

“You’re not walking away,” he said. “She needs help.”

“She needs a javelin.”

“For Juno, you’re worse than a drunken pig.” Somehow, the peculiar insult seemed to hurt Quintus’ feelings far more than he had expected. Caelius gathered himself, patted his knees and laid out a hand for the woman to take. “Come along,” he said. “Show me where you’ve seen this boar.”

Quintus thought it strange. Caelius had always been a rowdy one, a lover of grapes and bread as much as Bacchus, his silent guardian god from the cradle. He was far too carefree for the stern rigidness of a legionary’s life, and gotten far too many a reprimand from all and any centurion whose host he’d fought under. Quintus had seen him scrubbing floors and cleaning weapons as punishment so often he had, at one point, wondered if he hadn’t been secretly assigned both duties after all.

But he was not brave. If there was one thing Caelius was not was brave. He cowered before any hint of confrontation, invoking Mars and Juno to protect him against the brutes who saw in his slender face and sleazy self a perfect punching bag, and always ran away. At the slightest drunken brawl, one could hear the tapping sound of Caelius’ sandals as he ran down the streets, with his tail between his legs. Even in the war, he had served far below Quintus—a mere light infantry soldier, though sometimes he doubted he’d done any fighting at all. Perhaps he was just the cook, or the tanner.

Quintus had seen, however, his infatuation for any a woman who pranced before his eyes, and had easily understood a nice pair of waddling hips would be enough to entice him into a night of frolicking. Though he seemed to have a peculiar taste: he always preferred Lusitanian women; though Quintus thought it strange, for he deemed them unattractive—too brute, no delicacy to their touch, and far, far too loud.

Sighing loudly this time, Quintus watched as Caelius patted the woman behind the shoulder, gently sheltering her weeping voice in his arms, almost as if he cared for her. The dog was willing to get himself mauled by a boar of all things just for a pair of Lusitanian tits. He had to follow him, of course; if anything were to happen to him, Quintus would get the end of the stick still, so he had to follow him into the forest and pray for Diana’s guidance against a ravaging beast such as a boar.

The forest was calm and still, though everywhere he could hear the snapping of twigs and crunching of leaves beneath the soles of Caelius’ sandals, and from between the soft peeping of nightly birds, came the sobs and wails of the woman. Strangely, the air felt denser there, as if the particles of humidity shifted and rubbed against each other to bring about something… different. A different smell, to begin with—the nauseating scent of fish and salt began to waft away, and Quintus was left with the pure, deep breath of a simple forest: pine trees and wet earth. How he had missed it.

When he focused on the narrow path, smashed between brambles and junipers ahead of him, he realized he had lost sight of Caelius and the woman. Startled by the sense of solitude, as if the forlorn child before a boar now was him, Quintus raised his spear and readied himself for a confrontation he wasn’t even sure was bound to happen or not, but he was never too careful. He trod on, in cautious and soft steps, muffled by the warm earth beneath his sandals, casting glances around while searching for the presence of two people that should be there.

But he heard nothing, and he saw nothing.

The forest grew denser, and soon, the path had disappeared entirely. Now, he walked down a layer of crushed leaves and broken twigs, pushing away thorny bushed that tugged at his tunic with every step, forgetting about the boar entirely and using his lance as a mere stick. The air seemed different there, and it was somehow more difficult to breathe—or perhaps he was just tired and out of shape.

Then, a fog appeared, though from where, he could not tell. A simple mantle of white and grey wafted in the air, slowly covering his vision though not enough that he could not see his path, and drifted between the leaves and the trees. Quintus stopped. “Caelius!” He shouted; his voice resonated about, echoing in the distance, but there was otherwise no answer. “Caelius, where are you?” Nothing. He then noticed the absence of something else—the sounds of crushing leaves and twigs of their footsteps had disappeared; all he could hear was his own rising breath, raging through his ears as his heart thumped rapidly against his chest, though he thoroughly denied himself the fact that he was, indeed, slightly panicked. “Caelius, if this is a prank, I swear by the stone, I’ll have you counting grains until the rest of your days in the army!”

No answer.

Quintus thought he should turn back, ignore Caelius altogether, maybe claim he had deserted instead of telling the truth, for the sake of saving his own arse at least, and turned around. He trod on, now expecting for the narrow path to appear at any moment—but he walked, and walked, and walked, and nothing appeared. All he could see was a thick mesh of vegetation curling over himself as if nature wanted him trapped, and it was somehow becoming more suffocating by the step, the thorny bushes now not just tugging his clothes, but scratching his skin. His lance was nearly useless, and Quintus used his cape to protect himself against the savage vegetation, but it was getting harder to move—and he wondered where was the bloody path he had seen.

He stopped. The density ended, giving way to a clearing; ahead of him, in a tiny spot that opened up to a canopy of branches filled with heavy, green leaves, there was a slab of white stone, standing vertically against the brown earth, and another stone lying horizontally by its feet. Quintus neared it gently; a ray of moonlight fell right in the middle of the clearing, painting the small blotch of soil a pale silver, and when he squinted his eyes he noticed the dark blotch on the second slab was old, dried blood.

It was an altar, but as he neared to read the engraving on it, he realized he didn’t know the god’s or goddess’ name on it. Banduam sacrum. Perhaps it was one of the Lusitanian’s old gods, though he had never heard of that name.

Quintus stood up and looked around, now trying to comprehend just how he had ended up there, again focused on turning back—which he nearly did, until the loud crack of a snapping twig brought him back. He looked ahead, past the altar, and thought he saw something between the trees, a dancing shape that hovered about between trunks and twigs, and with his lance hoisted, gripping it strongly, he marched on.

He passed the thick meshes of vegetation, wrapped in his cape in care, and passed through two cypresses that grew in a strange manner, like two colossuses standing before a sacred entrance—how strange he felt at the connection he made. The moonlight seemed stronger there, perhaps because the trees weren’t filled with leaves, and it cast a single branch of light onto what he was positive, absolutely certain, to be a circular house with a roof made of thatch.

Just like the people there used to build.

Now, his senses were fully active, paying attention to sight, smell and hearing, not minding any physical inconvenience of his situation. He was right—it was a thatched house, circular and inserted into a small yard, surrounded by a circular wall—and there were more. More houses, laid about, just like a proper settlement. And not just houses—people were living there. He could see thin threads of smoke escaping the shy chimneys atop the roofs, and swore he could hear a child’s giggle somewhere, yet somehow the place felt stuck in absolute desolation, as if he walked among a ghost city of the past where nothing but death and absence existed.

“Caelius?” He called again, though now not in a shout, just an octave above his regular speaking voice—and no answer. Whatever sounds there were, however, they ceased; Quintus froze and focused on one of the houses, from where he could see the trembling light of perhaps a torch coming from below the wooden door, and thought of how primitive they seemed, living like renegade farmers, with nothing but sheep and their belligerent attitudes. The light shuddered and then flickered away, and he was cast into darkness.

In fact, it seemed it was far darker than before. Quintus turned around, and nearly screamed, lance now hoisted up in the air. Before him, on jutting branches of nearby trees, corpses hung—rotting, putrid and pale, swaying about in the fresh breeze as that nauseating salty scent returned, but now it was stronger and more revolting. It smelled of blood, of putrid meat, of fish.

Shuddering in dread, Quintus neared the corpses enough to look at them, and was trying to understand whether he had missed on them or they weren’t there just a moment before when he recognized two of the men. Maximus Arrius Opilio, another legionary, infantry like Caelius, who everyone assumed had deserted his post after getting into a gambling vice in a tavern that had earned him quite the debt, and Tertius Nepos Caepio, gone, simply gone, without a word or notice, from his post one night. Both had been guards in the city, though not anywhere near where Quintus and Caelius had stood—and now, they hung by the neck.

But they had not been hung, Quintus was quick to assess. They had bled—and a lot. Their clothes were ratty and thick with dried blood, and they showed several bruises and cuts—he assumed the killing blow to be the one at the neck, a swift slice across the trachea that looked clean, done by a strong hand, perhaps that of a man accustomed to war. But they showed more injuries: cuts along the arm, in precise, conspicuous places—as if they had been slowly bled out.

Quintus dreaded discovering why.

He gulped, but his mouth was dry; he looked around, studied again the thatch roof of every house, the wooden doors and even the silence—and though there was nothing, he was certain that place was inhabited still.

But it was impossible; the Lusitanians had been defeated, subdued, tamed; whatever savagery they had been up to, it couldn’t last long, and soon the Empire would crush them effectively and order would be restored, though the scene didn’t look like any sort of resistance, just a small settlement of people who refused to be civil and live under the law of Rome. Most likely, practising some sort of witchery with their gods, considering the mutilation on those poor guards and legionaries. He had to go back, he had to return and report the crime—now, Quintus only wished he could find the way there again, if he could find his way out first.

He gave a step forward, but from behind a tree, a large stick jumped and hit him in the stomach. Shoved, Quintus staggered back, and he was positive someone removed his helmet, just reaching in and casually taking it off, for a hard blow to his nape. He fell back against the ground and blinked his eyes wearily, falling dangerously to sleep. Fighting the haze, he looked up when a silhouette appeared, and saw a pale face crowned with black hairs that, a moment before, had been in complete disarray.

When he came to, he was tied with ropes and lying on a cold slab, and something warm burned to his left. Quintus wiggled in bondage, moved his head as the throbbing pain snapped behind his eyes, and found a burning bonfire right there, flames rising tall and mighty before a wave of cheers that erupted from an adoring crowd. His breath rose, his heart thumped—they all spoke a language he could not understand.

A hand grabbed him by the hairs, pulled him back and forced him to stare at the night skies. It was a full moon, he noticed, and tears popped from the lashes as he thought with certainty he was going to die. He wondered then how could no one see a bonfire that big from Caetobriga, burning right in the middle of the forest just outside its walls, or how had nobody found the hidden settlement of Lusitanian people, the same they had believed for years to have been tamed and subdued to order—even gone. The staggering, petrifying thought occurred then that he might not be in his world, but another—a world only those who served the strange god in the altar he’d found in the woods could enter.

He rolled his eyes to look at his captor, but there were two: the woman with black hairs, now far from the fragile, wailing mother who had lost a child to a boar. Instead, she appeared tall and mighty, her face contorted into a frown, corners of her lips turned into pure disgust, and a coldness to her blue eyes that made Quintus shudder in dread. But she wasn’t alone; someone else was by her side.

Caelius. His former jubilance, that had earned him so many punishments in the past, was gone, washed away by a semblance Quintus didn’t recognize anymore. Shadows were cast above his eyes, sombre and empty, as if nothing existed inside of him beyond a conspicuous objective he had set out to complete, and in his hollowness, there was a message of absolute desolation, loss and perdition. Quintus looked at his face, only partly kissed by the silver moonlight, and thought with absolute certainty that Caelius had never been the frolicking young man he had appeared to be, but a great actor set out to perform a precise play.

“Caelius,” Quintus called, his sobs coming then, so miserably crying he felt the unexpected taste of his own spit slipping through his wet lips, and his vision blurred. “What are you doing?”

“Caelius is what you roman scum call me,” he said—even his voice was different, lower somehow, and distorted, like nothing but a faint projection of a voice Quintus had grown bored of listening to in the past, brought by a gusting wind—but not his, not really his. “But my birth name is Caturo.” He looked to the side, and for the first time, shared a smile with the woman. “Meet my sister Aura, Quintus.”

“Wh—” his breath escaped him, and Quintus tried to say something logical, but there was shock and confusion only, far too much for him to completely grapple the full meaning of what was happening. “You’re betraying Rome! You’re betraying the g—”

“I’m serving my gods.” He produced a dagger from somewhere Quintus missed, though he was positive someone had passed him, and that someone had been the woman, seemingly named Aura. She smiled when she looked down at the blade, now dancing in her brother’s hand, and then at her prey, the man tied up on a slab—he finally realized—that was neither altar nor just stone, but a sacrificial table. In fact, it became so obvious to Quintus, when he looked down with an uncomfortable tilt of his head and saw dried blood all over, he wasn’t surprised.

“Those men—” Quintus mumbled. “Maximus, and Tertius—”

“Blood spilled for the glory of Bandua and Ataegina.” His lips twisted; the fire reflecting in his eyes, and Quintus thought he looked like a fresco of Vulcan he had seen in Rome in his earlier days—and though the memory was ridiculous, it made him flinch in pain. He missed his home. He missed Rome. He missed the simple life of a boy destined to become a legionary, unaware that he’d be so mediocre, at best he’d be a great sacrifice to a foreign god one day.

“You’ll b-be in… in trouble, C-caelius—”

The words fought against his beating heart, that seemed to push them down, one by one, with every flogging motion, but Quintus persisted—though it seemed useless. Caelius, or Caturo, only smiled wider, and slid a finger across the glinting blade of the dagger that now sparkled the refracted sparks of the bonfire.

“Tomorrow, I will tell Caetobriga you deserted. That you, nothing but a mediocre legionary who earned his living as a princeps, but who got so severely injured fighting a battle for Sulla his centurion simply quit him and sent him to Hispania to serve as a boring guard, saw a woman pleading for help as she ran away from a boar, and like the absolute coward you always were, Quintus, you fled. I will tell them you fled deep into the forest and were gone before I could stop you.”

“And they shan’t ever dream,” the woman said, her voice now lilting in a melodious tune of nothing short of absolute and utter joy, “that your blood ran for Bandua and Ataegina, for the strength of our men and our women, and those who will make roman blood run again.”

Quintus closed his eyes when she laughed; he thought her laugh was distorted, acute, and it hurt his ears just to listen. Now, he was panting, and from all around, strange chants in that alien tongue came, a tongue he had thought suppressed a long time ago, subdued to Rome’s will and tamed, but that now rose in a mellifluous song of sacrifice and bloodshed—and he was to be torn to shreds.

No, Quintus thought, snapping his eyes open as the blade rose, letting out a bellow before he felt it pierce deep into his flesh, tearing skin and clothes apart, and the warmth of his blood came. He wasn’t just going to be sacrificed; if the corpses of the men had told him something, it was that these Lusitanian barbarians were going to make him suffer in the name of Rome’s bloodshed.

---

A/N: The name Caturo is straight-up borrowed from Uma Deusa na Bruma, a book about the last lusitanian resistance that I cannot suggest enough.

Yes I used Aura again, it just seemed appropriate and I am lacking imagination rn

___

Past Challenges:

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

Wordtober Day 4: Freeze

Wordtober Day 5: Build I

Wordtober Day 6: Build II

Wordtober Day 7: Enchanted (Encantada)

Wordtober Day 8: Frail

Wordtober Day 9: Swing

Wordtober Day 10: Pattern

Wordtober Day 11: Snow

(Skipped Day 12)

Wodrtober Day 13: Ash

Wordtober Day 14: Overgrown

Wordtober Day 15: Legend

#wordtober #writing #my writing #creative writing #fiction #FUCK ROME YEAH #my wordtober

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verbjectives · 6 years

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8, 17, 22, 25 for Valko/Grisha and Valeria/Josephine!

!!!!!!!!!

8. What were their first impressions of each other?

valko/grisha: valko’s first impression of grisha was that he was a shy, quiet boy who needed food and a friend. so young valko tried to be his friend. grisha’s first impression of valko was that valko was kinda annoying but he thought that valko could prove to be useful to him, so he let valko stick around. valko also was the first person to treat young grisha like an actual person (rather than some kind of monster) so….tbh i think that endeared valko to grish at least a little bit (tho grisha would never admit it)

valeria/josie: val’s first impression of josie was that josie is a charming and deceptively cunning woman who she’s glad to be working with rather than against. josie’s first impression of val was probably that she’s a fierce and capable warrior (if not a bit brute-ish sometimes)

17. What senses (sights, smells, feelings, etc). remind them of each other?

tbh i don’t think i’m qualified enough to answer this for grisha, but i’m sure there are very few positive things on the list of things that reminds him of valko....

things that remind valko of grisha: deep, dark, rich purples; fine wines; black gloves and the smell of leather, the rush of adrenaline after gratuitous violence, the smell of brewing poison, the feeling of fingers wrapped around his throat

things that remind val of josie: antivan art and poetry; the smell of fresh parchment; the scratching of a quill on said parchment; the smell of the sea; merchant ships; the flowers in val royeaux

things that remind josie of val: the color red (optionally paired with silver); the glint of armor or a blade in the sunlight; the feeling of callused hands holding her own;

22. If their lives were what was originally intended at birth, would they have still fallen in love?

valko/grisha: it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility but it would be INCREDIBLY UNLIKELY. valko would have been a country boy, working the farm and hunting. grisha would have been a nobleman in the neighboring country of glen. odds are their paths would never cross. unless glen decided to make a land grab (which would be unlikely since glen and verina only just ended a long brutal war), and unless grisha was one of the nobles who staked a claim to that land or was there to fight for that land, they probably wouldn’t have ever met.

valeria/josie: it would have been less likely but i think it still could have happened. josie as an antivan ambassador and valeria as a noblewoman in ostwick. i could defs see the montilyets approaching the (wealthy and powerful) trevelyan family of ostwick for an arranged marriage between josie and one of the trevelyan kids. unfortunately for val that kid wouldn’t have been her....it probs would have been to her favorite brother, quintus (who, like josie, would have been an ambassador and bard). and val and josie meet during one of josies visits before the marriage....tho tbh that au would get really dark p quickly because....val straight up commits fratricide and patricide in order to place herself at the head of the trevelyan family so....idk how much josie would want to hang around val after that....

25. What moves do they know work on the other?

i don’t know enough about sex moves to be able to answer this the way it’s probs intended, but here are general turn-ons i guess????

valko/grisha: god valko knows that grisha is a sadist and grisha knows that valko is a masochist so....i think they just relied on that more than anything else. valko knew that the fastest way to get grisha to pay attention to him was to push back and challenge his authority over him. it didn’t matter that the attention was generally punishment. just so long as grisha was focused on him and touching him in some way. and grisha knew what this was, so he did give valko what he wanted...but not entirely....he always withheld just enough to make sure valko would keep coming back for more

valeria/josie: look val likes it when josie gets forceful and pushes val to her knees and orders her to eat her out....and i think josie has a bit of a strength kink so she likes it when val picks her up or presses against the wall n then things get heated from there.

#thewildmother #octp: mutually assured destruction #otp: antivan beauty and the free marcher beast

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nothing-personal-my-dear · 6 years

Text

Spartacus: Blood and Sand Rewatch - Episode 5: Shadow Games

Sex Scene: omg not a single sex scene!!

“Cock”: 7

“Cunt”: 1

“Kill Them All”: 0

Whip Cracks: 3

Slow motion Face Punch: 2

Memorable Death: Theokoles, duh.

Favourite Line: “You fucking haemorrhoid sucking fuck”

- They all still calling Spartacus “rabbit”, I wish someone had mentioned this in like S3, that would have been so great.

- Aww no, Pietros going to give Gnaeus water tears my heart. He was too good for this world, literally.

- “Jupiter’s cock”!!!!!! I get way too excited about hearing these words!

- Lucretia always looks fan-fucking-tastic then Quintus looks like such tasteless loser, he really had no fashion sense especially compared to his gorgeous wife.

- Okay when I first saw the pound of flesh I thought they transferred the mark onto a pig or something….but I’m pretty sure that’s the actual guy’s shoulder….so super gross.

- Eating maggots, oh god I’m gonna be sick, it’s too gross.

- Lucretia and Quintus are so in love, it’s almost sickening.

- “Examine my wares”, slaves are things not people.

- Everyone’s “oh shit” faces

- Oh! I was wrong about the one armed slave, here he is again

- Barca draping himself all over Crixus, I love it.

- “Prepare them for a glorious death,” like he doesn’t care that his best fighters are about to die, dude really?

- Okay someone has been giving Crixus lessons on flirting, boy’s game is strong!! I’m a little weak kneed from the way he looks at Naevia, oh boy.

- NOOOOOO Barca making his bet, noooooooo, my heart can’t take this

- I love how one moment Barca is typical angry brute Barca but then it’s like he remembers he’s talking to his boyfriend and everything about him softens. It’s beautiful.

- Oh god, background Gnaeus checking out Pietros, fuuuuuuck.

- Oh, now they mention the title of last week’s episode, couldn’t they have done that during the ep!

- Seriously Lucretia you are no subtle.

- Oenomaus is so BAMF I can’t even deal

- Knowing that Ilithyia is a manipulative person I’m wondering if all this bimbo nonsense is just a manipulation?????

- “I fight to honour these walls, you fight to leave them,” = basically the whole issue between Spartacus and Crixus right there.

- Oh wow. Crixus talking about Spartacus dreaming about his wife and saying she’s been fucked into madness……Foreshadow much? It actually hurts though, he has no idea the pain his words inflict, until someone like Agron says them to him later on.

- Naked wrestling. When I first saw this I thought it was incredibly homoerotic, now I’m thinking it’s way past erotic and just full blown homosexual. I mean really?? C’mon!

- Seriously give Crixus all the kudo’s, he’s probably the most sexually assaulted character on the show and everyone just brushes it aside because he’s male.

- Penis!

- “Can you survive this?” for some reason that line really speaks to me.

- Spartacus reaching out to touch Batiatus was a massive move, like holy hell you can feel the tension in the room

- Just when I was worried no one was going to say “cunt” in this episode, good old Batiatus spouts off his usual colourful phrases.

- “I will have satisfaction”, I hate that line, it’s so full of cheese

- When Doctore removes his breast plate I was so hoping for something gruesome and amazing, but his neat scars were seriously underwhelming.

- Oh gosh, I want to cry. They just want a baby so badly.

- Ugh I hated that Ilithyia wanted to stay for the ritual. Seriously, give a woman some privacy.

- Ah, the penis candle.

- Ovidious’ son wears a necklace that looks an awful lot like the slave collar…except his is ya know, gold….. Actually the Magistrate and his family have the same necklace… What does it mean????

- I hate men like Batiatus, that command people to do unimaginable things but would never do the act themselves. I call them cowards.

- Crixus is so up himself

- The fact that Crixus has been able to get an erection for Lucretia at all astounds me.

- So apparently oral wasn’t a big thing back in ancient Rome and the act of a noble woman doing such to a slave is unimaginable. It just wouldn’t happen. This is for the benefit of the modern culture.

- Did Crixus and Naevia have sex? Wouldn’t that be her first time??

- Aw I love the promises between Varro and Spartacus. True brothers, following out the others cause.

- Crixus fighting for Naevia instead of glory, I love it so much

- I realised the Magistrate isn’t calling out their last names or whatever but he’s actually stating the style in which they fight. Ah the things you learn when you plummet to the depths of fandom

- “Shall we begin”!!!!!!!!!!!

- Barca posing, again.

- Theokoles entrance was so extra!

- Hey, he stole Crixus’ line

- Fucking Ashur

- THE SHIELD JUMP!!

- Crixus shoving organs back inside himself, super gross

- Crixus never seems overly smart but that helmet trick was genius.

#spartacus #spartacus blood and sand #spartacus rewatch #rewatch #season 1 #episode 5 #1x05 #shadow games #theokoles #crixuc #naevia #lucretia #barca #pietros #varro #batiatus #oenomaus #ashur

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flyingupward-a · 4 years

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Order the lines the fight is close at hand Ready your swords march forth at my command Crush their assault, strike fear with all you do Quell this revolt and Rome Heaven will honour you. If they attack, we’ll make them pay Courage until we’ll win the day

Why would the fools defy the might of Rome Heaven? Surely they know they can’t reclaim their home...

‘Give them a chance they still would never turn’? Open your eyes the brutes shall never learn Quintus is Angels are dead and they’re to blame Mongrels and dogs they’re all the same

#❮ MICHAEL: AES ┊be fearless bold and brave ❯#❮ GABRIEL: AES ┊how do you judge what a man is worth by what he builds or buys ❯#this was one of the greatest metaphors in the entire show #bc theyre humans talking abt rome #but as evidenced by the subs here #it's an exact convo michael and gabe couldve had abt heaven

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deepinsightslibrary-blog · 5 years

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It Is More Important to Outthink Your Enemy than to Outfight Him

Wisdom strengtheneth the wise more than ten mighty men which are in the city.

Ecclesiastes 7:19

There was a little city, and few men within it; and there came a great king against it, and besieged it, and built great bulwarks against it:

Now there was found in it a poor wise man, and HE BY HIS WISDOM DELIVERED THE CITY; yet no man remembered that same poor man. Then said I, Wisdom is better than strength: nevertheless the poor man’s wisdom is despised, and his words are not heard.

Ecclesiastes 9:14-16

It is obvious that the poor wise man was able to outthink his enemy rather than outfight him. When you are surrounded and when you have little strength, you must start thinking. Brute force and old methods may not work anymore. It is better to outthink your enemy than to outfight him.

If you want to defeat your enemy, learn to outthink him. Think about the problem, seek advice, and seek counsel from others. Every purpose is established by counsel: and with good advice make war” (Proverbs 20:18). You can listen to the advice and words of more experienced people. You can even seek counsel and good advice through books, CDs and videos. Your knowledge and understanding of history will be one of the greatest sources of counsel.

It is more important to outthink your enemy than to outfight him. Many of us do not pause to think much about anything. We are always on the move and have no time to think deeply about our problems and our battles.

We, as human beings have been able to overcome and defeat wild animals that are bigger and stronger than us. How is that possible? How do we overcome lions? How do we catch them? How do we subdue them? How do we imprison them? The answer is simple: we outthink them! Animals are very predictable. They do the same things all the times. That is why we can catch them. Human beings are superior in their thinking, understanding and planning. We can therefore catch elephants, lions, tigers, snakes and any animal we want to.

When people are in prison, there is not much human interaction so they get to think a lot. This is why many people turn to God when they are in prison! You must create a prison for yourself so you can think your way out of your problems. You can think your way into wisdom, knowledge and revelation of God. That is why Jesus went on retreats.

When you start to think, you will start to win the battles of life.

The Fabian Strategy

Hannibal was a great African commander hailing from Carthage. Carthage is modern-day Tunisia. Hannibal threatened and defeated the Roman Empire on several historic occasions.

Hannibal advanced all over Italy and threatened to attack Rome itself. This was the worst threat ever on the Roman Empire. The Roman generals struggled to contain this threat on their empire. Different Roman generals were appointed at different times to defeat Hannibal. After Hannibal had soundly defeated the Romans in famous battles at the Trebia River and the Lake Trasimene, a new Roman general called Quintus Fabius Maximus was appointed to fight Hannibal. It is at this point that Quintus Fabius Maximus instituted his famous “Fabian” strategy of avoiding major confrontations with Hannibal. He felt that it was better to outthink Hannibal than to outfight him, and he was right.

The Fabian strategy was to avoid large battles in favour of minor harassing actions so as to break the enemy’s will to keep fighting and to wear them out slowly. Fabius’ troops shadowed and harassed the Cathaginian army while avoiding a major confrontation. Fabius also adopted a “scorched earth policy” that meant that he destroyed anything that was useful to the enemy such as food sources, farms and even people. The “scorched earth policy” was intended to starve Hannibal’s troops and make life unbearable for them. Gradually, Fabius was able to achieve the desired result, keeping Hannibal in check.

The Battle of Cannae

Unfortunately for Fabius, the politicians in Rome did not accept Fabius’ strategy as a right way to win a war. They desired an all-out confrontation that would defeat Hannibal. Fabius was removed from his position and an all-out confrontation between the Roman Empire and Hannibal took place. This famous confrontation was the Battle of Cannae. In this battle Hannibal decisively defeated the Roman Empire. The Roman army suffered over seventy thousand casualties whilst Hannibal’s army lost only six thousand men. After this terrible defeat the Romans returned to the Fabian strategy, realising that it was better to outthink their enemy than to outfight him. After all, they could not defeat Hannibal in battle.

In the Second World War, the French government wisely surrendered to Germany to avoid the city of Paris being destroyed. This surrender was a clever manoeuvre that enabled France to remain relatively intact during the war. Countries that fight a clearly superior enemy usually get destroyed. It is better to outthink your enemy when you cannot outfight him.

Independent Churches

Some denominations cleverly grant independence to branch churches. This decision completely averts any fights from independent-minded pastors who want to break away. The granting of independence to churches avoids conflict with rebellious men who want to break away. A branch pastor can say almost anything to a congregation and lead them along a path away from the rest of the denomination. Sometimes it is impossible to win a fight against such people because they have such control over the congregation.

You must consider the hidden cost of war. Every war will cost you time, money and human lives. In addition, every war creates bitter enemies who are bent on revenge in the future. Fight deadly enemies by strategic avoidance! That is the Fabian strategy. It is better to outthink your enemy than to outfight him!

Avoid the conflict, avoid the war and avoid the issues and the arguments you cannot win.

by Dag Heward-Mills

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