SF's "Write Your Butt Off" Competition HD II.5 Remix

[Anacybele]

40 minutes ago, TheSilentChloey said:

However I do hope the remakes come to the switch so I can play them XD 

Didn't you see E3? It was announced back then that Spyro Reignited is coming to the Switch on September 3rd.

[TheSilentChloey]

36 minutes ago, Anacybele said:

Didn't you see E3? It was announced back then that Spyro Reignited is coming to the Switch on September 3rd.

No, I didn't.  Because data is at a premium for me.

[Anacybele]

3 minutes ago, TheSilentChloey said:

No, I didn't.  Because data is at a premium for me.

Don't you have a computer with internet? How else do you write stuff without that? And draw and post art too.

Edited July 29, 2019 by Anacybele

[TheSilentChloey]

1 hour ago, Anacybele said:

Don't you have a computer with internet? How else do you write stuff without that? And draw and post art too.

All on mobile.

[Anacybele]

Just now, TheSilentChloey said:

All on mobile.

That has to be really difficult, you should get a computer to do this stuff on someday. Way easier.

[TheSilentChloey]

13 minutes ago, Anacybele said:

That has to be really difficult, you should get a computer to do this stuff on someday. Way easier.

And given how little you know of my current circumstances you would quickly become aware of the fact that I can't actually make use of a computer atm.

[Azure the Scale Tipper]

Blood of a Tailor

Fandom: Fire Emblem Fates

Words: 3,377

Foreword (Read first, please)
 

Spoiler

There is a flashback at the beginning of this story, but the present story takes place during the events of FE Fates: Conquest, chapter 23.
There may need to also be some introductions:
Oboro Surname: Akiyama (Autumn Hill; Hazy Autumn Hill)
Oboro Father Name: Haru (Sunlight; Autumn Hill’s Sunlight)
Oboro Mother Name: Amaya (Night Rain; Night Rain on the Autumn Hill)
Oboro Uncle Name: Jiro (second son of the Autumn Hill; Haru’s brother)
Oboro Aunt name: Kameyo (Tortoise of the Autumn Hill; Jiro’s wife)

Lastly, some imagery will be of some violence and mild blood.

I am aware that you might guess what will come of this story if you have played Fates. Whether that is the case, do read on. Thank you.

Very sure @Ertrick36 will love this story.

The story:

Spoiler

   There was a powerful family in Hoshido known under the surname Akiyama. Leading the family were Haru Akiyama, a middle-class man who had become a successful businessman, and Amaya Akiyama, his wife. Amaya was a prodigal seamstress and tailor. Their daughter, Oboro, seemed to be on her way to follow in her mother’s footsteps.
    Oboro had been made aware that the family had their thumb on the kimono market in Hoshido, even before they were born. And she enjoyed it all. And her enthusiasm only grew when the family’s fame grabbed the attention of foreigners. Specifically, the family was told that a noble from Fricona named Sir Adalard was curious to know their wares and how it could be made into Nohrian clothing, and how he wanted them to visit his home in time for a party. Fricona was a Nohrian town near the border; one could even see the Bottomless Canyon from the hills the town set its foundations on. There was one thing Oboro was confused about: her parents seemed a little hesitant of this opportunity. In the end, everyone in the family agreed to go through with this. Using a repurposed bullock cart with covering fashioned by Haru’s brother Jiro, and a bull owned by the same man to pull the cart, Daisuke, the family had sent themselves out for this business trip.
    The day was September 23, and dusk had already fallen. Having entered Nohr, the family was traveling in their, still en route to Fricona. Knowing this day was the day they would enter Fricona, they wore matching orange kimonos that day. Even Daisuke had an orange ribbon around one of his horns.
    “When are we gonna be there? I’m tired.” Oboro asked, complaining her father.
    ”Not long from now, honey. Sir Adalard and Fricona are not far from where we are now.” Haru answered.
    “I am tired too, Oboro.” Amaya said. “But only because I deprived myself to work on things for Sir Adalard. And I worked on things too early.”
    “Is that required of me when I grow up?” Oboro questioned.
    “Honestly, yes. But I’d consider staying up late that time as a mistake.” Amaya replied.
    Oboro gave a simple “ok” before dozing off in the cart. Amaya repositioned Oboro so the girl’s head was on her lap. The cart did provide a safe environment for 5-year-old Oboro to nap in, though there was no better pillow than her mother’s lap and her sweet embrace. Even still, Oboro could hear her parents talking over her.
    “You know, I fully regret working on the garb that early. I can barely stay up.” Amaya spoke.
    “Mind if I make some tea here, then? I can make it out of the boxes.” Haru offered. He seemed to shuffle a little, as to turn to the greatest love of his life.
    “No, dear. The schedule is only barely enough for us to properly introduce ourselves before we need to retire. Maybe I can sleep it off.” Amaya chuckled a little bit. Oboro turned in her sleep as the conversation went on.
    “I would not mind that, in spite of the closeness to Fricona. I’ll make sure we’re safe out here. One wonders whether we’ll meet bandits here.” Haru said, with assurance.
    Now Oboro wanted to just go to sleep. She had heard of bandits before. Frightening aggressors that steal from merchants, caravans, and more on the road for their own survival; none would care about people like her family.
    “Aren’t we out on a field, though? No clever bandit would ever raid anyone out on the field, right?” Amaya questioned.
    “I would not think so. Though, if that were to happen at this point, we are close enough to town to call for support and shelter.” Haru smiled, glancing at his pride and joy in her slumber. “And our bull will most certainly know if anything’s coming, right Daisuke?” He petted the brown hide of the bull, who snorted in response. He refrained after that, and Amaya gave out another chuckle.
    For a small while, things were all smiles, as it would be for normal days for the family. Oboro, sure of this peace, began to doze off into the world of dreams.
    Before the peace could last, however, an arrow flew into Daisuke’s neck. He wailed in pain as he shook the cart violently. Oboro felt a tight grip from her mother, while her father tried to direct the cart away from the direction of the arrow’s origin. But the effort did not matter much when the cart tipped over and fell on its right side. Amaya fell on her back, but no apparent injury had befallen her or Oboro. For a few moments, however, there was no sign of the father anywhere. Fortunately, it seemed that Haru was able to make it to the back of the cart shortly after the cart tipped over, even with a struggling bull likely beside him when they fell. He still took an injury to the head, as red seemed to seep through the his azure locks and down the left side of his face. Oboro knew this red as blood, and had never seen such come out from the head; none of which helped her composure. When her father spoke, Oboro was able to calm down.
    “I am fine enough. But, Amaya... I need the Naginata. I am letting the bandits approach.”
    Amaya was still on edge, but she nodded with solemnity and searched for it. Eventually, she found the bronze color of the blade outside, near the cart. Haru quickly picked it up, gave Amaya and Oboro each a kiss, and moved out of view.
    “Mama... what’s happening?” Oboro faltered, back to losing quiet composure after seeing her father leave.
    “Papa is going to try his best to protect us.” Amaya answered. Oboro saw her mother look around before finding a box out of which the silk fabric had fallen out of. Amaya scrambled to remove the silk and place the box open side up, and gestured Oboro to come in. The child began to hesitate; she was confused. And she still was confused about happenings outside. But, grunts started to sound off outside, prompting Oboro to dart in and curl up inside.
    “Love you, Oboro. May the Dawn Dragon protect you here.” Amaya said tearfully as she kissed Oboro’s forehead. Oboro nodded in compliance. Amaya then closed the box.
    The box was just large enough to fit Oboro’s small, curled-up figure. Nothing had ever felt so cramped. Worse yet, however, were the faint, gurgled screams of her father, and then the louder crying of her mother afterward. Then she heard a voice she had not heard before speak out in her direction.
    “So, you’re the other Akiyama?”
    “I do not know who you are, but I only have one thing to tell you: there is nothing else here other than me.” Oboro’s mother seemed to be talking, but the way she did seemed so unfamiliar to the child. It was serious, and it was holding back something else bad.
    “Good, then.” The masculine voice spoke up again.
    After what may have been physical commotion outside, Oboro heard her mother yelp before it was interrupted. Then a thud. All the while, Oboro remained completely still. Not because she had to, but because she feared what was outside of the box.
—
    It took a few minutes before Oboro worked up the courage to peer out of the box. Lifting the lid slightly, she saw large, yet slender man in a black cloak and hood standing of the carriage. Scars seemed to scale the entirety of his face, and his stare down at her direction seemed to be one of pure, uncaring malice. Then, he walked away outside of view. A few minutes more, her breathing began to quicken to a normal state as she worked up more courage to see what else had happened. In front of her lay the bodies of her parents; Amaya’s body face down, right arm seemingly reaching out for her husband. Haru lay face up, a deep crimson covering his face and upper torso. Oboro bolted out of the box and went to her mother’s side. She mustered the strength to turn Amaya’s body over. She then saw a deep gash in her mother’s neck, drenched in blood.
    “Mama... are you... ok?” Oboro placed her hand on Amaya’s cheek. Something was not right. Her mother was supposed to be warm, not cold enough to send shivers down the spine. And she did not seem to wake up. Oboro kept calling for her mother to wake up, but none of her efforts seemed to do anything. She even tried to slap her awake, but it was for naught. She walked out and looked to see if the intimidating man was anywhere. He was not. So, she tried to wake her father, bu nothing seemed to work on him either. In heightened desperation, she went back and forth to try to wake her parents, her heart pounding ever faster. But her frantic actions it was all for naught. In frustration, confusion, and fear, she gave up and sobbed in the cart she had been sheltered in. Now even the air around her felt colder than before, and it sent a shiver down the child’s spine. Then, she started to hear more masculine voices outside. She peered out to see lightly-armored men surrounding the cart and her papa.
    “No! Don’t do anything to Papa!” Oboro yelled in desperation. “He might still be alive!”
    “I do not know what you are talking about...” One dark-haired man replied. “But, unfortunately... I think he’s dead.”
    Dead? This word she heard about before? One that means one is gone? Is Mama gone too?
    She refused. Oboro refused to believe such. Face looking down, knees on the grass, she wept and screamed, crying out about how this was not it.
    None of this had to be true.
—
    “Oboro!”
    And then, she was startled. She looked back. It was Lord Takumi.
    “Oh, sorry... I was reminiscing. Remembering what happened over a decade ago.” Oboro apologized.
    It had, indeed been twelve years since her parents were murdered by that Nohrian assassin. And her aunt and uncle did their best to raise her and her tailoring skills in that timeframe. But between the horrid memories, the sorrow that had befallen her aunt and uncle, and the denial that sir Adalard seemed to show, her views of Nohr had only been in the eyes of hatred. But that cloaked man was going to pay with his blood to her; she knew. But now was not the time. Oboro was far from Nohr now. She was on the Great Wall of Suzanoh. And the Nohrian army was to approach at some indeterminate time that. And it was evening.
    “Well, at least we get to fight Nohr today. And those three traitors.” Takumi assured.
    “I thought we just made Azura a prisoner?” Oboro questioned in confusion.
    “Well, the two closely-knit traitors just up and left us. But our other traitor offered to be bait for the Nohrians in that battle. A sort of trade to bring Corrin back. But she tricked us. She went to the other side. And we lost.” Takumi seemed to seeth with more anger with every word.
    Oboro pursed her lips in response.
    “I know your former sisters and Kaze are giving you a hard time right now, and Sakura is in trouble, but maybe lay off on mentioning the traitors for now. You do know it’s still worrying us, right?”
    Oboro was right. As far as she knew, the Hoshidan royal family and Yukimura had been talking with Takumi about his increase in anger issues. Though, Takumi did not do much to give any definite answers. And Ryoma’s own visible anger towards Nohr did not help much to set a better example, either. Takumi let out a sigh.
    “Fine. Your anger is visible, too but at least you try to help me out in a better way.” Takumi smiled, and Oboro did the same.
    “However,” Takumi said. “I’d like for you to get in position, Oboro. They will be here at any moment.”
    Oboro nodded. She stood up and took her silver naginata out of Takumi’s position at the ballista. She was to lead the warriors of Hoshido on the wall to guard Takumi, after all.
    “And Sakura... I do not believe that Sakura is as safe as you think. Just saying that, since she has been around Nohrians.” Takumi professed. Oboro just nodded.
    She then returned to her position close to the doorway that lead to Takumi’s position at the ballista. Alongside her was a Basara, Yoichi. A bizarre personality, as was the least Oboro would say, but reliable in battle. Most Basara were like that. Not far from her were other soldiers based around a ballista manned by two snipers. Below, there were more soldiers, another ballista, and some of the most talented rallying forces of Hoshido. To their left was Oboro’s fellow retainer, Hinata, and his squadron. Above him was Takumi, manning one more ballista of his own with a scant few soldiers directly guarding him. As far as Lord Takumi told Oboro, this was a defense to rival that of the legends of the previous war between the nation’s long ago. Or so he said.
    As expected, the Nohrian army arrived. Those manning the ballistae would have readied to shoot any opposition and ward them off by now. Everyone else had already assumed their defensive stances. Unfortunately, not even the ballistae seemed to intimidated Nohr. Wyvern riders flew in and made short work of those at the ballistae, completely ignoring Hinata’s battalion. Oboro could hear Takumi cursing from his position above her. All she could do was purse her lips in response.
    “Anything that concerns you, lady Oboro?” Yoichi asked. Oboro was startled by his sudden speaking, but she still had a quick answer: “Not here.”
    After some fighting below, the opposition had now reached the top of the wall. Oboro could see some figures rushing the snipers at the ballista. Of note was Xander, crown prince of Nohr, a large man in black armor, and then the traitor herself: Corrin. The Spear fighters and Basara surrounding them tried to break them where they stood, but to no avail. One-by-one, they were slain as wyvern riders started to join up with them. Then more came, and then the rest of the army after that. After looting some of the supplies, the army started to approach Oboro and the other spear fighters and masters of arms with her. However, as she had been told at the strategy meeting earlier that day, her and her squadron rushed to meet their enemy on the now bloodied Wall of Suzanoh.
    Those who had made up Oboro’s opposition this time came in three. There was Camilla, the lilac-locked princess of Nohr, atop her undead abomination of a wyvern. There was Kaze, a verdant-locked ninja who was one of the three traitors that Lord Takumi had come to hate; he was right beside Camilla. Lastly, there was Beruka, a wyvern rider of light turquoise hair that had herself on the other side of Camilla, and the closest to Oboro. Silver Naginata in hand, she jumped to meet Beruka at her height and thrusted twice. Catching Beruka by surprise, Oboro succeeded in landing both blows. The soldiers alongside her did the same, though some were not able to reach in for an attack before their Nohrian targets could do the same. Beruka, having flinched little from Oboro’s attack, brought her axe down. Though the Naginata took a blow, Oboro was still unharmed.
    The two warriors stared each other down; somehow, Oboro felt something odd about seeing Beruka’s face. Her dull violet eyes looked down on Oboro atop her wyvern, as though to stare into her soul, but there was an uncaring air that Oboro swore she knew before. But Oboro could not find more time to ponder, as she saw an axe fly towards her at the corner of her eye. Oboro was able to miraculously deflect it before it made its way into her head. Beruka then darted in for a strike of her own, nailing Oboro on the side of the head. Miraculously, Beruka did not do much to deter Oboro from standing straight.
    “My my, what luck you have to survive this long.” Camilla piped up with clear surprise. “Seems Lord Takumi does deserve someone as strong as you. Still, carry on, for we don’t have much time to waste.”
    Turning towards the origin of the projectile, Oboro saw the crown princess pull another axe from behind her. It was not to Oboro’s surprise that the princess of the dishonorable curs of Nohr would resort to attacking Oboro when she could not attack back. Oboro felt tempted to speak up, but such energy needed to be saved. As the traitor’s army moved in to strike some more, Beruka followed suit with the iron axe she weld. Oboro attempted to deflect the next attack, but Yoichi was able to come in and block the blow for her. Camilla, however, exploited Oboro’s opening, creating a gash in the lower right side of Oboro’s torso. The wound burned with pain; even still, Oboro fought to keep standing. Oboro followed up with two more strikes, with a grunt for each. Even still, Beruka and her wyvern were able to evade and move back. Again, Beruka still seemed to stared down at Oboro intensively, still uncaring for the life of the woman before her.
    Crimson ran down Oboro’s face, and the same crimson stained her clothes. She felt weak; she felt faint. But she had to keep fighting. Fighting for those who had fallen to Nohrians in the past. Fighting for Hoshido and all it stood for. Fighting for friend Hinata, and her Lord Takumi. Determined, Oboro darted forward, where it was easiest to get a hit. Oboro’s visage became that of a demon’s. With the armor-piercing slash and a roar to match her face, she rended Beruka’s breastplate in two and cut into her chest, with a thrust in towards that same wound. Beruka’s wyvern jumped, however, taking the blow instead. And so, Beruka still stood. The uncaring eyes landed back on Oboro’s personage, with a glance at the fresh wound. Oboro still could not recognize much about it she knew before, but she had to think fast. She came to the decision that maybe Beruka was related to the man that she hated so much. But she could not ask. For it would waste more time and energy that Lord Takumi may need for her to save. Growing fainter by the second from the wounds and the fatigue, the voices around her began to mold together. But Oboro knew what would happen next. She swiftly dodged the axe thrown at her by Camilla, through sheer instinct. Beruka came in for a swing, which Yoichi deflected for Oboro again.
    Oboro grew more and more tempted to push past her limit to kill the Nohrians before the could win, and to run on what strength and instinct she had left. Oboro charged forward, hearing a higher-pitched female voice from in front of her. Then, she saw duo of woman and wyvern she had been fighting to the death jump once more and bring the axe down. And then Oboro felt the axe tear through, skin, flesh, and even bone down to her abdomen from her left shoulder. A critical wound in a critical circumstance. Oboro fell, her senses growing fainter as she fell to the wooden floor of the wall.
    And so this was what her mother and father must have felt like. And yet Oboro suffered far more on the way. But Oboro could still do one more thing. Turning her head so her ear faced the ground, she made sure she could die with one less regret. She spoke, as the people of Nohr ran past.
    “Lord Takumi... my sweet Takumi... I should have done so by now, but... I’ve...always... lo...”
    And so, one more light of Hoshido fades away.

Afterword (Please read after reading the story):

Spoiler

I tried to make the fight feel like it was from Fates. Unlike last time with the Awakening fic, I did not try to emulate the exact mechanics on how the battles will actually go, since I did not have to. Aside from that, there is not much else to say other than reactions of reviews to come. Thank you.

 

[Anacybele]

23 minutes ago, TheSilentChloey said:

And given how little you know of my current circumstances you would quickly become aware of the fact that I can't actually make use of a computer atm.

...I'm confused. I meant at some point in the future when you can. Like, when you can afford one and all. I know they're expensive.

 

[AnonymousSpeed]

Y'all get this. Title later.

Title: The Tatarans

Spoiler

Sisyphus rolled his boulder to the top of the hill and waited for it to roll back down. It didn't.

 

He stared patiently as the rock idled. The ancient king of Corinth placed some smaller rocks around the boulder's base, just to make sure it didn't move. He backed away, looking all around him. No one was there. The boulder remained steadfast atop the hill. Nothing was stopping him from leaving.

 

So he walked down the opposite side of the mountain, soon coming to the gates of Tartarus. They lazily swung back and forth in a gentle breeze, unmanned and abandoned by all but him. Sisyphus crept through the unlocked grid of iron, stopping only to look back over his shoulder at his boulder. It was still at the top.

 

Well, that was that, he supposed. Sisyphus walked out of hell.

 

Crossing the rivers of the underworld, he found himself on an overcast beach. The cold wind whipped him, and he shivered as he peered around and saw a lone figure approach, dressed in a frock coat and bowler hat. "Finally come out, eh, Sisyphus?"

"Who are you?"

The figure held out a gloved hand. "Ixion, former king of the Lapiths, and like you, a former inhabitant of Tartarus."

"Oh yes, about that. Where did everyone go?"

"Didn't you receive the memorandum?"

"The what?"

 

Ixion handed Sisyphus a note. We deeply apologize to all our faithful users, but financial constraints have made it too difficult to keep the Greek conceptions of supernatural realms in operation. As such, effective January 1st of 1883 AD, we will be shutting down all of our Greco-Roman locations. We thank you all for sticking with us through these thousands of years and hope you are able to find new homes elsewhere. A reasonable indemnification will be provided to help you all along the way.

"You didn't get one of these?"

"No, I—"

"Check your wallet."

"Wallet?"

"Check mine. Here."

Ixion handed his own wallet over.

"Open it."

Sisyphus did. His was inside.

"They made the call around 313 AD, which is about a thousand years after you died. Now is 1883, or one-thousand eight-hundred eighty three."

"What financial constraints-"

"The old gods died when they fell out of favor. Only new covenants now. Faith produces a certain capital needed to maintain inventions. When people stopped caring about Olympus and Tartarus, they started to be drains on the spiritual economy."

"Why wait so many centuries?"

"Between then and now a few eras happened, like the Medieval and Renaissance times. Our history provided their artists enough inspiration for them to still turn a small profit, but there's this new thing called existentialism, you see. People aren't quite as interested anymore."

 

Sisyphus pulled his note out and handed Ixion back his wallet. "...how much is this worth?"

"Enough for..." Ixion tried to remember a value Sisyphus would know. "...four oxen, or so?"

 

"...Is this the new hell?"

"No, that would be across the channel." Ixion pointed towards the sea. "In France. That's what they call Gallia these days."

 

Sisyphus looked out over the stormy sea, tireless churning its gray waves, a miserable sight compared to his dear Mediterranean. "Four oxen isn't much."

"Everything else has gotten cheaper. Do you remember Hephaestus's three legged self moving table?"

"I've heard of it."

"People have something like that now, except instead of moving tables it make baskets very quickly. A hundred baskets for the cost of making two, so naturally baskets are only half as expensive."

 

***

 

Sisyphus walked throw smog covered streets, wrapped up in a cheap blanket Ixion had given him. With his small fortune he bought himself some good clothes, a small apartment on a London corner, a wooden chair to be his throne. The ancient king sat down and looked upon his two-room kingdom, deciding it was quite lacking in regal decoration, so he gathered up some of his remaining funds and made his way to a small shop in a more affluent part of town. He surveyed their glass vases, their fine china, their silver candlesticks, and enjoyed the appearance of some of them. However, he decided that what he most liked was a small but beautifully carved wooden tower which held a pendulum behind a glass door, a grandfather clock.

 

He paid for it on the spot and carried it back home himself, no one dared interrupt such a display of strength no matter how nice the clock. Entering his little apartment, Sisyphus placed the clock in plain view of his throne, sat down, and beheld the increased majesty of his realm. Everything was quite a bit more like he wished it to be, he had his throne room back at last and not a care to bother him. There he sat, feeding himself an apple, and soon feeling terribly idle.

 

So he did a bit of scrivening, gained himself a bit more money, and decorated his home more nicely.

 

He moved into a nicer apartment with newfangled electric lights, sitting down with a new lamp, and feeling an itch to move again.

 

So he took up exercising along side scrivening, hoping to stave off that sensation of idleness with some good, healthy maintenance and exertion.

 

***

 

It was nearly a century and a half later.

 

Sisyphus put on a suit, straightened out his tie, and waxed his loafers before putting them on.

 

He made himself a cup of hot tea and cooked an egg perfectly, ate a short breakfast next to his apartment's street-side window. Looking down on the bustling streets of London, he saw the buses making their routes, watched as people went about their days. It was a rougher part of the city, he saw a man with a prostitute. It was just like Corinth, really.

 

The clock on his stove read 7:45. He glanced at his watch, which showed the same. The ancient king tidied up the kitchen and ventured out, locking the door as he left. He was to meet with Ixion today, to reclaim the grandfather clock he'd picked up before the war. It was quite a pain having to reclaim all his possessions each time he needed a new face, but he was quite alright with some occasional discomfort.

 

Strolling down the street, passing a few flower beds, Sisyphus saw some bees flying around in little loops. Fascinating little insects, short lived and yet so dedicated to their toil. Was it a mere instinct? Sisyphus wondered as he walked. Did they see some meaning in their work?

 

A little after eight, Sisyphus reached the little antique store on the corner where Ixion worked. A little bell rang as he walked in, and with the bell's toll came a sigh as an olive skinned man, much like himself, lifted his head from the front desk.

 

"You know," said Ixion groggily, "the style of the time is to not actually do any work for the first hour of the day."

"I like to be a little more productive."

 

With a groan and a yawn, Ixion stood up. "The clock is in the back," he muttered, leading them into storage. The two Greeks stopped in front of an intricately carved 19th-century chronometer, and stared at it with an odd silence over them.

 

"Are you sure you still want it?" asked the Lapith of the Corinthian. "It's a good manufacturer, it would sell for a decent price, you could get some very nice stuff with a part of the proceeds."

"Maybe, but I like this clock."

"There's nothing wrong with updating."

"I'm fine with updating, I've got a computer. That doesn't mean I have to let go of things."

"Your computer runs Vista. You'll have to let it go soon enough."

 

Sisyphus squatted down to pick up the towering timepiece.

"Need any help carrying that to your apartment?"

"I'm quite alright," said Sisyphus, effortlessly standing with the clock in hand. "My hands are a bit full, though, so if you could maybe carry some of the china or my microwave-"

 

***

 

Sisyphus put his grandfather clock down and opened his door, letting Ixion struggle through with a box of porcelain plates in hand.

"Just put those down by the coffee table," said Sisyphus. "It's where it was last time."

 

With a grunt, Ixion knelt down and placed the cardboard container on fifty year old carpet.

 

"Care for any tea?" asked Sisyphus.

"No, I can't stay away from work too long."

"Very fair. Thank you for bringing that, it really helps to get the old place back to how it was.

 

Ixion looked around and chuckled. "It looks barely any different than the last time I saw it. Still no TV, I see."

"There's nothing good on TV anyway."

"You've never watched TV. You could watch the news-"

"The reports are on repeated events."

"What about a televised drama?"

"Derivations of us."

"You solve puzzles all day, who are you to complain about repetition?"

"I enjoy puzzles the first time and I enjoy that same experience the second time. I don't need people to change Euripides for me, I enjoyed his work as it was."

 

"Goodness. What do you even do what that computer of yours?"

"I check my email."

"I'm surprised you don't play mahjong."

"I tried it in the nineties, but it wasn't really to my taste."

 

"Hmph. Going back to the original dramas," said Ixion, "there's a reproduction of one they're doing tonight at the Stockwell Playhouse. I've got a couple of tickets from my boss, why don't you come along? I'm sure you'll enjoy seeing how different the derivation is."

"It sounds enjoyable, though I doubt it's that different."

"We'll see about that. The showing is at eight o'clock. Meet me there a bit before then, alright?"

"Quite alright."

"Good, don't get caught up on any rocks."

 

Ixion left without so much as tea, leaving Sisyphus to busy himself for the remaining eleven or so hours of the day.

 

Sisyphus booted up his 2006 Dell Computer and put it to its regular task, checking his hotmail account. After that he pulled a 1000-piece puzzle out from a chest, poured it onto his coffee table, and set about working on it. The small scene of a Tuscan villa was only mostly completed by the time he had to leave. He'd assembled the puzzle many times before, but familiarity with a task could only speed it up so much.

 

***

 

Sisyphus sat down for Antigone, and Ixion sat down next to him with a large soda and a box of Buncha Crunch. The Lapith had heard from the news sites that it was a brilliant reimagining of Sophocles's timeless classic, and he had prepared himself and his fellow to be disappointed.

 

It took about five minutes for Antigone to make plain allusion to events from many centuries after her death.

 

Sisyphus sat quietly and Ixion slumped to the side, watching as they went to great lengths to make the rebel Polynices a mislead and sympathetic soul, for it was inconceivable that Antigone might love her brother for kinship's bond alone. They had to make sure Polynices was wholly sympathetic, because it would an offense to imply anyone actually wicked deserved any rites or respect.

 

***

 

Ixion, the adulterer. Ixion, the murderer. Ixion, the disgraceful to his host, most wicked of all. Ixion the unforgivable, tied to a burning wheel, forgotten on it. He had earned no better.

 

***

 

Ismene was made a headstrong woman, little different from the heroine she was meant to be a foil to. Antigone's motives were now far removed from piety and obligation. They reeked of an existential facade, a rejection of all external guidance, the hero a rebel for the sake of her own defiant whims and inward desires, empowered to act without principle.

 

***

 

There she was, lying next to him, so...invitingly. A violation of hospitable relations, his contract with his wife, and yet, inside himself as an uncontrollable urge, which he knew was wrong and yet felt was right.

 

***

 

Creon was reduced to a modern caricature in a tale which survived by being timeless. His complexity cut out along with his tragic element,

 

Eurydice was a red blooded temptress, glorified for bitterness and honored for her attacks. Her final curse on Creon was not a part of his tragic fate, but a fractional component of a punishment he deserved. There would be no forgiveness for his sins. The reviews had said it was a subversion of catharsis. Ixion had thought that would be funnier.

 

***

 

No one on Earth would forgive him. Olympus offered to forgive his sins, but one sin more and that deal was off. Zeus had done to him what he did to Zeus, and Zeus tempted him further, but it was Ixion who was strapped to the wheel. Ixion would get no forgiveness for his sins.

 

***

 

The lights faded on the last scene. Ixion marched out to the sound of uproarious applause.

 

Sisyphus nervously followed after him, into and down the streets. Neither spoke for quite some time.

 

"I'm assuming it was what you expected?" Sisyphus asked.

"Much worse," Ixion grumbled. "An absolute bastardization!"

"I admit I was particularly fond of it, but I wouldn't quite go that far."

 

Ixion ignored his companion. "You know, Sophocles wrote Antigone when national fervor dominated the city states. The man was a general of Athens, but when he wrote that play he made no references to Athens. There was no contemporary propaganda, and do you know why?"

"W-"

"Because its author realized that his political climate would change, so he focused on messages with permanent value. An actually conscious artist, someone who wrote for all people, for all time. That excuse for Antigone is so obsessed with its own era- it will be absolutely useless in twenty years."

 

"Well, I didn't think it was that different..."

"The very moral was different."

"I just don't see why you should be so upset about it."

 

Ixion sighed, almost growling. "They make Creon purely wicked. They stripped him of all tragedy. God forbid that people be able to change- then we would have to actually improve, to allow others to improve. Who wants to bother with that?"

 

"Do people really change, though?"

"You and I are proof.

 

***

 

Sisyphus sat at his windowside table.

 

Perhaps, he thought, he would go back to Tartarus. Just for a quick visit, to see how his boulder was doing. If it hadn't just taken a little longer to start rolling down again. He was a little curious, now that he considered it. So he put on a bathing suit and took a small dip in the channel. It took him some time with Charon gone, but he eventually came ashore before a rusted gate. The red bars still swayed back and forth in a lazy and familiar way.

 

A small boy with a balloon pushed past Sisyphus, leading his mother through the half-opened entryway.

 

"...uh, excuse me," called Sisyphus, "who are you all? Actually, more importantly, why are you here?"

"We're here for the cave tour," the woman called back. "Aren't you?"

 

The child pulled her too far to reply to, some seconds after Sisyphus had entered a shocked silence.

 

He shook his head. That was probably some joke, an anomaly, some residual illusion. He passed through the gate, only to find scattered crowds pointing in awe at inane stone formations. His mouth half open, Sisyphus jogged towards a familiar seeming hill. Certainly his boulder was right where it belonged, even with all these crowds. They were probably all there to see it, in fact, they'd want to hear all about his old rock.

 

There was no boulder. An Asian man stood at the top of the hill, and that was all that was there.

 

"Excuse me, who are you?"

"Name's Wu Gang."

"Why are you here?"

"Checking out this ancient cave. It's pretty neat, huh?"

"...is that a gift shop?"

"Yep."

 

The Corinthian walked into the store and was soon confronted by a spindly man with a thin mustache. "Puis-je vous intéresser dans un pog monsieur?

"I don't follow."

"Ah, an Englishman. Sir, may I interest you in a pog?"

"Aren't pogs a dead trend?"

"Oui oui! Pogs are very popular here!"

 

Sisyphus left through the gift shop of the cave a small bag of collector's pogs and a novelty spicy lollipop.

 

***

 

Ixion pushed open to door to Sisyphus's apartment, a bag slung over his shoulder. Almost without a word, he plopped it down on his unwilling host's puzzle, unzipped it, and pulled out a laptop. "Sisyphus, consider this a Christmas gift."

"It's July."

"That's a thing."

"What is?"

"Christmas in July."

"Christmas is in December."

"Not when it's in July."

"But it's never in July."

"Christmas happens when it happens, okay? Merry Christmas Sisyphus. I got you a Windows 10 laptop."

 

The Corinthian looked at the little black brick before him.

"I think you should try working with spreadsheets." Ixion lifted the top and showed Sisyphus how to open up Excel.  "Computers seem like the sort of thing you'd enjoy working with." Then he showed him an online tutorial on how to use the program.

 

It was a bit tedious getting used to the software, though that didn't bother Sisyphus too much. Once he got the hang of it, he found he quite enjoyed the repetitive work. It was something nice and consistent in the ever changing world.

 

Edited July 29, 2019 by AnonymousSpeed

[TheSilentChloey]

31 minutes ago, Anacybele said:

...I'm confused. I meant at some point in the future when you can. Like, when you can afford one and all. I know they're expensive.

 

That's not the issue.

 

I have a computer 😕 I just can't use it atm because I don't have power 😕 not that I'd expect anyone to actually understand that of course.

[Anacybele]

12 minutes ago, TheSilentChloey said:

That's not the issue.

 

I have a computer 😕 I just can't use it atm because I don't have power 😕 not that I'd expect anyone to actually understand that of course.

How come you don't have power? Storms or something? Losing power for reasons like that is understandable.

[TheSilentChloey]

39 minutes ago, Anacybele said:

How come you don't have power? Storms or something? Losing power for reasons like that is understandable.

Let's just say where I am currently living doesn't have power and my parents won't let me use theirs without digging a trench to get said power.

[Anacybele]

15 minutes ago, TheSilentChloey said:

Let's just say where I am currently living doesn't have power and my parents won't let me use theirs without digging a trench to get said power.

Oh. Wow, that sucks. 😕

[TheSilentChloey]

3 minutes ago, Anacybele said:

Oh. Wow, that sucks. 😕

Yeah.  Is how it is unfortunately,  though I have to save up 1,200 dollars if I wanted a power generator.  So screwed either way.

[SoulWeaver]

3 hours ago, AnonymousSpeed said:

Y'all get this. Title later.

Title: The Tatarans

  Reveal hidden contents

Sisyphus rolled his boulder to the top of the hill and waited for it to roll back down. It didn't.

 

He stared patiently as the rock idled. The ancient king of Corinth placed some smaller rocks around the boulder's base, just to make sure it didn't move. He backed away, looking all around him. No one was there. The boulder remained steadfast atop the hill. Nothing was stopping him from leaving.

 

So he walked down the opposite side of the mountain, soon coming to the gates of Tartarus. They lazily swung back and forth in a gentle breeze, unmanned and abandoned by all but him. Sisyphus crept through the unlocked grid of iron, stopping only to look back over his shoulder at his boulder. It was still at the top.

 

Well, that was that, he supposed. Sisyphus walked out of hell.

 

Crossing the rivers of the underworld, he found himself on an overcast beach. The cold wind whipped him, and he shivered as he peered around and saw a lone figure approach, dressed in a frock coat and bowler hat. "Finally come out, eh, Sisyphus?"

"Who are you?"

The figure held out a gloved hand. "Ixion, former king of the Lapiths, and like you, a former inhabitant of Tartarus."

"Oh yes, about that. Where did everyone go?"

"Didn't you receive the memorandum?"

"The what?"

 

Ixion handed Sisyphus a note. We deeply apologize to all our faithful users, but financial constraints have made it too difficult to keep the Greek conceptions of supernatural realms in operation. As such, effective January 1st of 1883 AD, we will be shutting down all of our Greco-Roman locations. We thank you all for sticking with us through these thousands of years and hope you are able to find new homes elsewhere. A reasonable indemnification will be provided to help you all along the way.

"You didn't get one of these?"

"No, I—"

"Check your wallet."

"Wallet?"

"Check mine. Here."

Ixion handed his own wallet over.

"Open it."

Sisyphus did. His was inside.

"They made the call around 313 AD, which is about a thousand years after you died. Now is 1883, or one-thousand eight-hundred eighty three."

"What financial constraints-"

"The old gods died when they fell out of favor. Only new covenants now. Faith produces a certain capital needed to maintain inventions. When people stopped caring about Olympus and Tartarus, they started to be drains on the spiritual economy."

"Why wait so many centuries?"

"Between then and now a few eras happened, like the Medieval and Renaissance times. Our history provided their artists enough inspiration for them to still turn a small profit, but there's this new thing called existentialism, you see. People aren't quite as interested anymore."

 

Sisyphus pulled his note out and handed Ixion back his wallet. "...how much is this worth?"

"Enough for..." Ixion tried to remember a value Sisyphus would know. "...four oxen, or so?"

 

"...Is this the new hell?"

"No, that would be across the channel." Ixion pointed towards the sea. "In France. That's what they call Gallia these days."

 

Sisyphus looked out over the stormy sea, tireless churning its gray waves, a miserable sight compared to his dear Mediterranean. "Four oxen isn't much."

"Everything else has gotten cheaper. Do you remember Hephaestus's three legged self moving table?"

"I've heard of it."

"People have something like that now, except instead of moving tables it make baskets very quickly. A hundred baskets for the cost of making two, so naturally baskets are only half as expensive."

 

***

 

Sisyphus walked throw smog covered streets, wrapped up in a cheap blanket Ixion had given him. With his small fortune he bought himself some good clothes, a small apartment on a London corner, a wooden chair to be his throne. The ancient king sat down and looked upon his two-room kingdom, deciding it was quite lacking in regal decoration, so he gathered up some of his remaining funds and made his way to a small shop in a more affluent part of town. He surveyed their glass vases, their fine china, their silver candlesticks, and enjoyed the appearance of some of them. However, he decided that what he most liked was a small but beautifully carved wooden tower which held a pendulum behind a glass door, a grandfather clock.

 

He paid for it on the spot and carried it back home himself, no one dared interrupt such a display of strength no matter how nice the clock. Entering his little apartment, Sisyphus placed the clock in plain view of his throne, sat down, and beheld the increased majesty of his realm. Everything was quite a bit more like he wished it to be, he had his throne room back at last and not a care to bother him. There he sat, feeding himself an apple, and soon feeling terribly idle.

 

So he did a bit of scrivening, gained himself a bit more money, and decorated his home more nicely.

 

He moved into a nicer apartment with newfangled electric lights, sitting down with a new lamp, and feeling an itch to move again.

 

So he took up exercising along side scrivening, hoping to stave off that sensation of idleness with some good, healthy maintenance and exertion.

 

***

 

It was nearly a century and a half later.

 

Sisyphus put on a suit, straightened out his tie, and waxed his loafers before putting them on.

 

He made himself a cup of hot tea and cooked an egg perfectly, ate a short breakfast next to his apartment's street-side window. Looking down on the bustling streets of London, he saw the buses making their routes, watched as people went about their days. It was a rougher part of the city, he saw a man with a prostitute. It was just like Corinth, really.

 

The clock on his stove read 7:45. He glanced at his watch, which showed the same. The ancient king tidied up the kitchen and ventured out, locking the door as he left. He was to meet with Ixion today, to reclaim the grandfather clock he'd picked up before the war. It was quite a pain having to reclaim all his possessions each time he needed a new face, but he was quite alright with some occasional discomfort.

 

Strolling down the street, passing a few flower beds, Sisyphus saw some bees flying around in little loops. Fascinating little insects, short lived and yet so dedicated to their toil. Was it a mere instinct? Sisyphus wondered as he walked. Did they see some meaning in their work?

 

A little after eight, Sisyphus reached the little antique store on the corner where Ixion worked. A little bell rang as he walked in, and with the bell's toll came a sigh as an olive skinned man, much like himself, lifted his head from the front desk.

 

"You know," said Ixion groggily, "the style of the time is to not actually do any work for the first hour of the day."

"I like to be a little more productive."

 

With a groan and a yawn, Ixion stood up. "The clock is in the back," he muttered, leading them into storage. The two Greeks stopped in front of an intricately carved 19th-century chronometer, and stared at it with an odd silence over them.

 

"Are you sure you still want it?" asked the Lapith of the Corinthian. "It's a good manufacturer, it would sell for a decent price, you could get some very nice stuff with a part of the proceeds."

"Maybe, but I like this clock."

"There's nothing wrong with updating."

"I'm fine with updating, I've got a computer. That doesn't mean I have to let go of things."

"Your computer runs Vista. You'll have to let it go soon enough."

 

Sisyphus squatted down to pick up the towering timepiece.

"Need any help carrying that to your apartment?"

"I'm quite alright," said Sisyphus, effortlessly standing with the clock in hand. "My hands are a bit full, though, so if you could maybe carry some of the china or my microwave-"

 

***

 

Sisyphus put his grandfather clock down and opened his door, letting Ixion struggle through with a box of porcelain plates in hand.

"Just put those down by the coffee table," said Sisyphus. "It's where it was last time."

 

With a grunt, Ixion knelt down and placed the cardboard container on fifty year old carpet.

 

"Care for any tea?" asked Sisyphus.

"No, I can't stay away from work too long."

"Very fair. Thank you for bringing that, it really helps to get the old place back to how it was.

 

Ixion looked around and chuckled. "It looks barely any different than the last time I saw it. Still no TV, I see."

"There's nothing good on TV anyway."

"You've never watched TV. You could watch the news-"

"The reports are on repeated events."

"What about a televised drama?"

"Derivations of us."

"You solve puzzles all day, who are you to complain about repetition?"

"I enjoy puzzles the first time and I enjoy that same experience the second time. I don't need people to change Euripides for me, I enjoyed his work as it was."

 

"Goodness. What do you even do what that computer of yours?"

"I check my email."

"I'm surprised you don't play mahjong."

"I tried it in the nineties, but it wasn't really to my taste."

 

"Hmph. Going back to the original dramas," said Ixion, "there's a reproduction of one they're doing tonight at the Stockwell Playhouse. I've got a couple of tickets from my boss, why don't you come along? I'm sure you'll enjoy seeing how different the derivation is."

"It sounds enjoyable, though I doubt it's that different."

"We'll see about that. The showing is at eight o'clock. Meet me there a bit before then, alright?"

"Quite alright."

"Good, don't get caught up on any rocks."

 

Ixion left without so much as tea, leaving Sisyphus to busy himself for the remaining eleven or so hours of the day.

 

Sisyphus booted up his 2006 Dell Computer and put it to its regular task, checking his hotmail account. After that he pulled a 1000-piece puzzle out from a chest, poured it onto his coffee table, and set about working on it. The small scene of a Tuscan villa was only mostly completed by the time he had to leave. He'd assembled the puzzle many times before, but familiarity with a task could only speed it up so much.

 

***

 

Sisyphus sat down for Antigone, and Ixion sat down next to him with a large soda and a box of Buncha Crunch. The Lapith had heard from the news sites that it was a brilliant reimagining of Sophocles's timeless classic, and he had prepared himself and his fellow to be disappointed.

 

It took about five minutes for Antigone to make plain allusion to events from many centuries after her death.

 

Sisyphus sat quietly and Ixion slumped to the side, watching as they went to great lengths to make the rebel Polynices a mislead and sympathetic soul, for it was inconceivable that Antigone might love her brother for kinship's bond alone. They had to make sure Polynices was wholly sympathetic, because it would an offense to imply anyone actually wicked deserved any rites or respect.

 

***

 

Ixion, the adulterer. Ixion, the murderer. Ixion, the disgraceful to his host, most wicked of all. Ixion the unforgivable, tied to a burning wheel, forgotten on it. He had earned no better.

 

***

 

Ismene was made a headstrong woman, little different from the heroine she was meant to be a foil to. Antigone's motives were now far removed from piety and obligation. They reeked of an existential facade, a rejection of all external guidance, the hero a rebel for the sake of her own defiant whims and inward desires, empowered to act without principle.

 

***

 

There she was, lying next to him, so...invitingly. A violation of hospitable relations, his contract with his wife, and yet, inside himself as an uncontrollable urge, which he knew was wrong and yet felt was right.

 

***

 

Creon was reduced to a modern caricature in a tale which survived by being timeless. His complexity cut out along with his tragic element,

 

Eurydice was a red blooded temptress, glorified for bitterness and honored for her attacks. Her final curse on Creon was not a part of his tragic fate, but a fractional component of a punishment he deserved. There would be no forgiveness for his sins. The reviews had said it was a subversion of catharsis. Ixion had thought that would be funnier.

 

***

 

No one on Earth would forgive him. Olympus offered to forgive his sins, but one sin more and that deal was off. Zeus had done to him what he did to Zeus, and Zeus tempted him further, but it was Ixion who was strapped to the wheel. Ixion would get no forgiveness for his sins.

 

***

 

The lights faded on the last scene. Ixion marched out to the sound of uproarious applause.

 

Sisyphus nervously followed after him, into and down the streets. Neither spoke for quite some time.

 

"I'm assuming it was what you expected?" Sisyphus asked.

"Much worse," Ixion grumbled. "An absolute bastardization!"

"I admit I was particularly fond of it, but I wouldn't quite go that far."

 

Ixion ignored his companion. "You know, Sophocles wrote Antigone when national fervor dominated the city states. The man was a general of Athens, but when he wrote that play he made no references to Athens. There was no contemporary propaganda, and do you know why?"

"W-"

"Because its author realized that his political climate would change, so he focused on messages with permanent value. An actually conscious artist, someone who wrote for all people, for all time. That excuse for Antigone is so obsessed with its own era- it will be absolutely useless in twenty years."

 

"Well, I didn't think it was that different..."

"The very moral was different."

"I just don't see why you should be so upset about it."

 

Ixion sighed, almost growling. "They make Creon purely wicked. They stripped him of all tragedy. God forbid that people be able to change- then we would have to actually improve, to allow others to improve. Who wants to bother with that?"

 

"Do people really change, though?"

"You and I are proof.

 

***

 

Sisyphus sat at his windowside table.

 

Perhaps, he thought, he would go back to Tartarus. Just for a quick visit, to see how his boulder was doing. If it hadn't just taken a little longer to start rolling down again. He was a little curious, now that he considered it. So he put on a bathing suit and took a small dip in the channel. It took him some time with Charon gone, but he eventually came ashore before a rusted gate. The red bars still swayed back and forth in a lazy and familiar way.

 

A small boy with a balloon pushed past Sisyphus, leading his mother through the half-opened entryway.

 

"...uh, excuse me," called Sisyphus, "who are you all? Actually, more importantly, why are you here?"

"We're here for the cave tour," the woman called back. "Aren't you?"

 

The child pulled her too far to reply to, some seconds after Sisyphus had entered a shocked silence.

 

He shook his head. That was probably some joke, an anomaly, some residual illusion. He passed through the gate, only to find scattered crowds pointing in awe at inane stone formations. His mouth half open, Sisyphus jogged towards a familiar seeming hill. Certainly his boulder was right where it belonged, even with all these crowds. They were probably all there to see it, in fact, they'd want to hear all about his old rock.

 

There was no boulder. An Asian man stood at the top of the hill, and that was all that was there.

 

"Excuse me, who are you?"

"Name's Wu Gang."

"Why are you here?"

"Checking out this ancient cave. It's pretty neat, huh?"

"...is that a gift shop?"

"Yep."

 

The Corinthian walked into the store and was soon confronted by a spindly man with a thin mustache. "Puis-je vous intéresser dans un pog monsieur?

"I don't follow."

"Ah, an Englishman. Sir, may I interest you in a pog?"

"Aren't pogs a dead trend?"

"Oui oui! Pogs are very popular here!"

 

Sisyphus left through the gift shop of the cave a small bag of collector's pogs and a novelty spicy lollipop.

 

***

 

Ixion pushed open to door to Sisyphus's apartment, a bag slung over his shoulder. Almost without a word, he plopped it down on his unwilling host's puzzle, unzipped it, and pulled out a laptop. "Sisyphus, consider this a Christmas gift."

"It's July."

"That's a thing."

"What is?"

"Christmas in July."

"Christmas is in December."

"Not when it's in July."

"But it's never in July."

"Christmas happens when it happens, okay? Merry Christmas Sisyphus. I got you a Windows 10 laptop."

 

The Corinthian looked at the little black brick before him.

"I think you should try working with spreadsheets." Ixion lifted the top and showed Sisyphus how to open up Excel.  "Computers seem like the sort of thing you'd enjoy working with." Then he showed him an online tutorial on how to use the program.

 

It was a bit tedious getting used to the software, though that didn't bother Sisyphus too much. Once he got the hang of it, he found he quite enjoyed the repetitive work. It was something nice and consistent in the ever changing world.

 

Dangit, Anon, I'd say this comfortably blew past mine - a properly done comical satire is pretty much the greatest thing to ever grace a paper in my book.

[Dragoncat]

So I'm gonna poke people to read and review the stuff because it hasn't happened yet. Maybe I'll get a few reviews done tonight myself.

[AnonymousSpeed]

On 7/29/2019 at 3:51 AM, SoulWeaver said:

Dangit, Anon, I'd say this comfortably blew past mine - a properly done comical satire is pretty much the greatest thing to ever grace a paper in my book.

I'm quite glad you enjoyed it, I had a lot of fun writing it. To be fair though, it doesn't scratch a nostalgic itch for Mega Man.

[Ottservia]

2 hours ago, Dragoncat said:

So I'm gonna poke people to read and review the stuff because it hasn't happened yet. Maybe I'll get a few reviews done tonight myself.

I’ll get to it. 3H has been eating up all my time as of late. It’s a fun game

[Azure the Scale Tipper]

I’m going to just review these one-per-post. I just feel that is best with my schedule.

First up is @AnonymousSpeed‘s.

Spoiler

I really liked this concept. Two ancient legends of Greece living their lives after the fall of the Greek Gods. I thought it was going to be a continuation of the story of Sisyphus, but I was pleasantly surprised.

Both characters are well-defined, and I think there is no better moment than their thoughts on that Antigone movie. It’s nice to know what that sort of insight from people in the time Antigone was made, even if this is fiction.

Overall, a nice work. Until something piques my interest more, this is worth my vote.

Note that I will not vote until I read all these entries.

[SoulWeaver]

Welp, I might as well throw my stuff out there - I'm not interested in 3H(Also throwing out a complaint about stupid Mythic Sothis while I'm here, THAT'S STILL NOT ANRI) so I don't have the excuse some of the others on here might have.

@TheSilentChloey

Spoiler

This was pretty good, though it was kind of hurt for me in that I'm really not a big fan of Robin-Lucina, and I also had to slog through a bunch of Robin-Lucina fanart on DA the day I read this, so that didn't help either. Me being unfairly picky aside, it was a pretty good piece, though I don't know that the whole secret marriage thing really did anything for it, I read that part and just scratched my head. It kind of didn't really contribute that much. All the same, it was still enjoyable, if a little gloomy-feeling.

@Dragoncat

Spoiler

This piece was hurt for me from the start because the only Spyro game I actually played myself was Enter The Dragonfly, and our Memory Card busted right before I got into Thieves' Den. I watched my cousin play the first game and Ripto's Rage when I was younger(read: like 8)but I didn't see very much of it, so I was a little lost at the beginning of the reading. I assume my lack of Spyro Lore Knowledge also contributed to this, but I also didn't see the Repeating History here - is it just that they used to be fighting in the past but made up, and then did so again during the piece? I do like Spyro, I just don't really PlayStation for anything not named Kingdom Hearts and the only games I've been interested in for the Switch so far are FEW and SSBU, so I haven't really studied anything about the world therein. I knew enough that I didn't feel totally lost, but I think my lack of experience with the Spyro world meant that I enjoyed this less than I would have otherwise.

@Azure in a Roundabout

Spoiler

This one was interesting, I like that you made the effort to flesh Oboro's family out with some background, as in the names you gave them. This is also probably the first time I've seen anyone actually show interest in Oboro's backstory bar of course SF's resident 'Boro lover, so it was nice. The problem I ran into with it was that it somehow felt...long. I don't know how else to describe it, it felt like it took much longer to read than it actually did for some reason.

@AnonymousSpeed

Spoiler

You took an Ancient Greek Mythology character, and wrote a piece dropping him into the(relatively) modern world. Randomly dropping characters from one world into another is literally something I do in my head on an almost daily basis, so this appealed to me as soon as I realized what was going on. Add in a nice satirical bite at modernized adaptations and the PC-ing of everything, another thing I always appreciate, and the idea that I caught from it that you were basically just reincarnating them every time they wore out their old bodies(don't know if you intentionally added it in, but I thought I read basically that), and the fact that his 'modern' compy was running Windows Vista, and you have an enjoyable bit of comedy that also speaks to how well daily life fits into the prompt - each day is like the last, History Repeating on a small scale, even the puzzle Sisyphus has completed multiple times before conveys the idea. Overall, a good showing indeed, and if I end up getting beat by it, I certainly can't complain.

 

[Dragoncat]

@SoulWeaver

The repeating history, as said in the prompt, doesn't have to be literal. It can be a fear that it will repeat, that's what I was going for.

[Azure the Scale Tipper]

@SoulWeaver

Spoiler

Maybe it was because of how it was in two parts. And maybe because the pains I took to flesh everything out. Though, I think the biggest factor was the battle. The battle itself can’t have been that long, but maybe I wrote a bit much for it. I did try to make both parts at least equally as long as the other (Because I did not want the flashback to be the majority of this story), but that may have been arbitrary.

Anyone else who’d like to chime in about this problem may let me know.

 

[SoulWeaver]

12 hours ago, Dragoncat said:

@SoulWeaver

The repeating history, as said in the prompt, doesn't have to be literal. It can be a fear that it will repeat, that's what I was going for.

Ah, ok, that makes much more sense.

3 hours ago, Azure in a Roundabout said:

@SoulWeaver

  Hide contents

Maybe it was because of how it was in two parts. And maybe because the pains I took to flesh everything out. Though, I think the biggest factor was the battle. The battle itself can’t have been that long, but maybe I wrote a bit much for it. I did try to make both parts at least equally as long as the other (Because I did not want the flashback to be the majority of this story), but that may have been arbitrary.

Anyone else who’d like to chime in about this problem may let me know.

 

It was still a good piece, you conveyed the prompt pretty well, it just wasn't my favorite. Another thing to consider about that, though, is that I'm not that big of an Oboro fan, so a piece about her isn't going to appeal to me personally as well as a piece about a character I have more of an attachment to, like Selena or Sakura.

[AnonymousSpeed]

Right then boys, time for some reviews. I may respond to some reviews as well, I've quite enjoyed reading some of the feedback I've received, but I think I'll hold off until I've finished my reviews and maybe a second proof-reading of my submission.

@SoulWeaver

Spoiler

Alright, let's get some context going. I watched literally every episode of Mega Man Fully Charged in order, because I like Mega Man that much. Mega Man is awesome, and this opinion heavily colors my opinion of the story. I like the very dramatic presentation, the cut aways between the song and the scene, I like that it's a Megas song, I like that it's a Mega Man story and one that has a competently written dramatic conflict. Frick, I might just make the next prompt "is about Mega Man" if I win because heckity.

Even if it weren't a Mega Man story, I think this was the best written of the submissions. It has the strongest dramatic tension and the theme is the most prevalent throughout, owing in part to the single scene format and impending battle.

@Dragoncat

Spoiler

"The Bone Builders are...primitive and almost feral in nature. We want them to view you as a friend. They won’t understand.”

Something something racism joke.

So I haven't played a Spyro game or watched a Let's Play, but I was able to follow this decently. It was okay. The exposition-y bits are a little awkward and I personally feel it had a rushed pacing.

@TheSilentChloey

Spoiler

It's just sort of what I'd expect from you at this point. That's not inherently problematic but it also means my problems with it are similar to ones I've mentioned previously for other prompts. Some descriptions are redundant with each other. People really liked it when you wrote outside your normal comfort zone in Round 7, I can't help but wish you would do that more.

@Azure in a Roundabout

Spoiler

Not a big fan of the Fates cast. While I can't pinpoint an exact complaint, I personally didn't get invested in.

Props on that fight scene though, I think that was a pretty decent representation of a Fates battle.

 

[TheSilentChloey]

57 minutes ago, AnonymousSpeed said:

Right then boys, time for some reviews. I may respond to some reviews as well, I've quite enjoyed reading some of the feedback I've received, but I think I'll hold off until I've finished my reviews and maybe a second proof-reading of my submission.

@SoulWeaver

  Reveal hidden contents

Alright, let's get some context going. I watched literally every episode of Mega Man Fully Charged in order, because I like Mega Man that much. Mega Man is awesome, and this opinion heavily colors my opinion of the story. I like the very dramatic presentation, the cut aways between the song and the scene, I like that it's a Megas song, I like that it's a Mega Man story and one that has a competently written dramatic conflict. Frick, I might just make the next prompt "is about Mega Man" if I win because heckity.

Even if it weren't a Mega Man story, I think this was the best written of the submissions. It has the strongest dramatic tension and the theme is the most prevalent throughout, owing in part to the single scene format and impending battle.

@Dragoncat

  Reveal hidden contents

"The Bone Builders are...primitive and almost feral in nature. We want them to view you as a friend. They won’t understand.”

Something something racism joke.

So I haven't played a Spyro game or watched a Let's Play, but I was able to follow this decently. It was okay. The exposition-y bits are a little awkward and I personally feel it had a rushed pacing.

@TheSilentChloey

  Reveal hidden contents

It's just sort of what I'd expect from you at this point. That's not inherently problematic but it also means my problems with it are similar to ones I've mentioned previously for other prompts. Some descriptions are redundant with each other. People really liked it when you wrote outside your normal comfort zone in Round 7, I can't help but wish you would do that more.

@Azure in a Roundabout

  Reveal hidden contents

Not a big fan of the Fates cast. While I can't pinpoint an exact complaint, I personally didn't get invested in.

Props on that fight scene though, I think that was a pretty decent representation of a Fates battle.

 

Round 7 I believe wasn't actually out of the comfort zone.  Add to that if I do anything I'll probably be slapped with a "oh god not another M piece" or some crap like that.