Quahaug Concept Art
Quahaug's concept/reference art! Translation notes and image id under the cut.
Translation notes:
"OP sort of powerset" was literally translated as something like "cheat-like." I feel like OP is the more common English term for that sort of thing, so that's what I used, but some of the meaning was probably lost there.
"Older-tween-ish" was specifically a reference to a particular middle school year for children who are about 12-13 years old. Since grades and names of grades vary a lot from country to country, I just went with "older tween."
ID:
[Image id: Several images displaying different parts of 2 pages of the Triangle Strategy artbook, with both the original Japanese as well as versions with English translations. There are several disclaimers noting that the translator doesn't speak Japanese, and that there are likely many mistakes.
On one page, there is a large colored version of Quahaug's canon portrait, along with a smaller, uncolored version. There is an illustrator's note at the bottom that translates to read, "'Manipulating time' is an OP sort of powerset, so though he looks like a child, I aimed to create a look for him that conveyed a sense of unknowable power. (Tatsuaki Urushibara)".
On the second page, there are many drawings of Quahaug, including a closer bust-up portrait in which he's compared to Lyla, with an arrow and label reading, "Mother." There's also several notes that explain the construction of his costume. The costume is labeled as a Greek "phelonion" (a priest's outfit with no real sleeves, just draping fabric). There is a small drawing of this version, with an arrow leading to another drawing that does have sleeves, with the note, "If you can't
display this in pixels, use this one." There are several notes that explain how this draping cloth should be considered his everyday clothes, while the ceremonial decoration that goes around his neck is placed over it. There is a close up of the ceremonial dressing's fastenings underneath the metal decoration. Some more notes highlight details on his staff, emphasizing the hourglass on top and the small wheel to the side that can be turned to flip the hourglass. A larger piece of text underneath one fullbody drawing reads, "Character Who Manipulates Time."
On the second half of the second page, there are drawings of some beta designs for Quahaug. He looks much more punk-ish. On one bust-up portrait, there are the captions, "The burden of the time demon caused some of his hair to go gray…." and "All-natural highlighted tips." On the same portrait, he is snapping his fingers, and there's a note that reads, "Manipulating time is as easy as snapping your fingers. You just have to want it or whatever." A speech bubble near his head reads, "I don't think of Anna as a mother." A caption pointing to some green markings on his arm reads, "Demonic time seal on body." In a fullbody drawing of his beta design (which is made up mostly of chains that barely cover him as well as a long roughed-up cloak, there is the note, "Almost naked cloak."
At the bottom of the second page, there is another note that reads, "Initially when we hadn't quite figured out the setting, we had an idea for a more older-tween-ish character as displayed here, but after discussing it with the producers and Mr. Ikushima, we went with his current form. As a boy who manipulates time, I placed an hourglass at the tip of his staff, and his face resembles that of his mother, Lyla. (Tatsuaki Irushibara)". /end id]
28 notes
·
View notes
an excerpt from "the return of protesilaus"
As Techno walked, he began to speak again, “I'm gonna destroy that prison block by block,” he growled, to which Phil knitted his eyebrows in confusion, clearly misunderstanding.
“You were destroying it block by block?” he questioned.
“No-” Techno sighed, as their steps fell in time with each other. “I’m saying that I’m going to, although technically we were, not very quickly, though . . .”
He couldn't help but constantly take in everything around him, it felt so new, yet it was the most familiar place in the world.
“That would take weeks!” Phil exclaimed as he turned to face him. Techno whipped around, shooting him a glare.
“Oh, yeah, Phil, if only we’d had weeks,” Techno said through gritted teeth, his frustration rising once more.
“Techno, c’mon, I thought you’d said three months, and we can’t change that now,” he replied tersely.
“And why would I say three months?” He found himself wanting to cry, to scream at Phil and shout till his lungs were sore. He longed to turn around and go right back to the prison, this time armed, so he could end Quackity forever.
The world seemed to crash and burn around him, and his ears roared as he stared down.
Techno lifted a hand to touch the emerald in his ear, only to remember that he had left it at the house. His hand dropped, and the frustration settled deep within his mind. He stalked forward and grabbed Phil’s shoulders, then hit their heads together. The gesture wasn’t gentle, considering the fact that it was full of frustration, but Phil could tell it wasn’t done with malicious intent.
Despite the shouting and arguing, Techno found himself leaning on Phil for support, wanting to tell him everything, wanting to explain why he was so upset, but he couldn’t. He wanted to fit his emotions into a sentence, to describe how deeply he cared for his friend, to describe everything, but he couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force his mouth to open.
Phil reacted first, grabbing a hold of Techno and snaking his arms around his waist, wrapping him into a comforting hug, each one accepting that they didn’t want to lose each other. Not because of Quackity, not because of a silly argument over plans that had passed. Techno pulled them down so they were seated together, exhaustion finally taking hold.
“I’m . . . so, so sorry, I shouldn’t have left you in the prison for three months,” Phil whispered into Techno’s hair, and he held onto him with an iron grip. They stared at each other, foreheads still touching, Phil’s immortal golden eyes boring into Techno’s, and his age and wisdom seemed to shine through as the embrace lengthened, two friends finally reunited.
They stayed like that for a couple of minutes, just clinging to each other, before Phil finally pulled away. He got up slowly, dusting his knees off before reaching a hand out to Techno. The piglin smiled and grabbed it as he rose to his feet.
“Did you get any knowledge? Did you learn anything?” he asked, curiously cocking his head and looking at Techno. The other nodded and started to walk towards the house as Phil continued, “we’re gonna need all of it, cause that prison is very complex.”
They walked into the house and Techno took it in. The warmth seeped into his skin, so different from the overbearing heat of the lava. He turned his eyes to the books, still worn from countless hours that he had spent pouring over them, and to the anvil, where he slid his fingers over the cold surface.
They got to work, Phil grabbing books he thought Techno might need as Techno fluttered throughout the house. He was slightly dazed as he grabbed equipment. They worked in silence, and Techno shifted uncomfortably now. He had once liked the silence, but being trapped in that cell where your own thoughts feel so loud that they might bounce around the room had changed him. And Phil picked up on that, of course he did, because he’s Phil. He knew Technoblade better than anyone else in the world. Phil cleared his throat as he grabbed another book ,
“So, what was it like in there?” he murmured quietly, not loud enough to break the ambiance they had set.
“Bro . . . it was boring,” he laughed, but the laugh fell flat and died quickly. He wanted to make a joke about it, but at that moment, he felt like Phil needed to know. “It . . . was quiet most of the time,” he whispered, not looking at Phil directly. He could vaguely see Phil nod in reassurance.
“The colour of the walls started to blend together sometimes, the different shades of purple almost warped, in a way? And the lava . . . if I stared long enough, it would sometimes change in speed . . . it was so small in there, Phil . . .” he stilled for a second, taking a deep breath before continuing,
“Dream and I took turns hitting that fucking obsidon, both of our hands were scraped up. There’s our blood on the walls, Phil . . . where we sleep, there’s our fucking blood staining the walls. And I was calm at first but then I got angry and upset, you know? At the situation, at Dream, at you. I had to stay calm, though, if I wanted to go home. Anger makes you stupid, and stupid gets you killed.”
He was rambling now, he knew. But he couldn’t stop the flow of words spewing from his mouth. He was practically vomiting sentences, itching to get them out, as he felt the desperation clawing at him.
“I thought I was going to die,” he whispered, and a tear slid down his cheek. “I-I had a bell, though; I would drive Dream insane with it.”
Phil felt awful, the guilt stripping away at his insides and fogging his mind as he continued to work away. Neither spoke after that, but both were grateful that Techno had put his pain out to dry in the open.
“It doesn’t sound very boring, then,” he laughed lightly, trying to joke and instantly regretting it. He saw the way Techno reacted, the way he caved in on himself and his stomach sunk. He swore if it sank any harder he would fall through the floor with it.
“C’mon mate, you’re out here now,” he tried again, the sickly feeling of regret holding him tight. Techno whipped around and shouted at him, his voice now sore from the repeated outbursts.
“I could have been out months ago! But I had to stay there, because somebody couldn’t read a book!” he was breathing heavily, and Phil’s breathing was beginning to match.
“It was titled ‘will’!” he cried back, “It’s what you read when someone’s dead!” He could barely hear Techno over the pounding of his heart; his hands were shaking too hard. He knew that he shouldn’t argue back, he had no right to. But he couldn’t help it.
Techno slammed the chest down hard, splintering the wood as he held onto the lid. His knuckles turned white, and he was heaving out his exhales. His voice was trembling with every word he spoke, and his jaw clenched so hard that it hurt .
“It was so people wouldn’t realise! Don’t you know what good writing is, Phil? It was a fucking diversion, apparently not a good one, because you can’t read! ” The volume was loud, too loud, as his argument suffocated the room. And then the terrible silence had returned once more.
Both of their breathing was too loud, their heart beats deafening. The air outside was too painfully loud.
But Phil’s next words weren’t, “Don’t make fun of me,” he whispered, the pain was so clear in his voice that Techno flinched. “I read the part that said ‘go to the secret book club’, are you happy?” he hissed out. But he wasn’t done. “Aren’t you happy I got you out of death, Techno?” and before he finished, Techno chimed in with his own argument,
“You helped eventually!” he shouted. Phil started walking out, he couldn't take it. He was suffocating in here. Techno followed him, close on his heels.
“Do you have any idea how long it takes to punch obsidian?” Techno seethed, clenching his fists. The pain wasn’t held in his palms, but it might as well be. “So much progress was lost! We were monitored, w-”
“ I COULD HAVE LOST YOU, ” Phil screamed. The scream was terrifyingly loud, piercing through Techno’s heart before he could register. He looked at Phil, and when he did, his heart broke. Phil stood there, shaking, as tears ran freely down his face. He couldn't help but sigh and wish that the lump would leave his throat. He walked over, slowly, to where Phil stood, and rested Techno forehead against his once more.
Techno whispered quietly, almost as if he was afraid of someone intruding on their moment, “I don’t hate you, I can’t hate you . . . I couldn’t if I tried,” and Phil could only nod.
8 notes
·
View notes