#sheep wars

[fuzzyghost]

[abybweisse]

A theory about Bard

I tried my darnedest to find an old post about Bard and those snakes in Arizona (and copper mining, etc), but I have not been able to find it. From ch100:

I did some (new) digging around to see what conflict he might have been in during 1887/88 when he was found by Sebastian. (We know he joined the Phantomhive household after Mey-Rin, and she joined sometime in 1887. We also know that all four “early” servants were employed before the Jack the Ripper arc, which takes place in the summer of 1888.)

The uniforms look 💯 American, much like Civil War uniforms... except this conflict is about 20years too late to be a battle in the Civil War. Granted, he might have served during the Civil War a good 22 or so years earlier, since he’s about 40 now. However, he would look much younger in his flashback if he’s recalling back that far.

It would make the most sense for his flashback of war to be about the time when Sebastian offered him employment. And one panel definitely shows Sebastian finding Bard on a battlefield. From ch44:

Again, this is sometime in 1887 or very early 1888. Barring his random involvement in a war that wasn’t fought by the US (or a US state or territory), there’s only one series of conflicts that makes sense for the time. And much of it (some of the worst of it, too) took place in Arizona. Problem is, most of the fighters didn’t wear uniforms, because it was mostly about family feuds and land wars. And sheep vs cattle.

The Sheep Wars were fought from 1870 to 1920. One of the worst was Pleasant Valley War in Arizona, from 1885-1892, where all of the male members of one family were killed off, as well as most members of two other families. Generally speaking, these were family and rancher feuds that didn’t involve much in the way of explosives; most of the killing was gunshot, and there were some reports of murder by drowning.

So, if Bard was involved in these wars, his explosives expertise wouldn’t be from this. He would have either learned it during the Civil War, or he was normally employed by a mining company... and there was a lot of that in Arizona. People were looking for gold and silver, but copper was more abundant, and it became economically attractive in 1876, when the Southern Pacific Railroad was completed. He could have been mining for gold or silver before then, too. And there would have been a lot of snakes to deal with....

I saw a comment recently that “snakes in Arizona” might be a reference to wars against Native American tribes. Though such things were still common there, it would be very odd for Yana-san to have Bard refer to natives as “snakes”, particularly when he’s talking to Snake about actual snakes. That would not be a good look. Bard is not supposed to be that sort of person, is he? And it definitely wouldn’t be the conflict where he meets Sebastian. There’s no evidence of Native Americans in that scene.

Of course, she could have placed him in a war or major conflict that never happened in our universe.

Another (but personally very bothersome) scenario is that Yana-san has moved the US Civil War from the 1860’s to the 1880’s. Shudder. 😣

Well, I do think we will get (some of) his backstory pretty soon, now that we are in Wiltshire, at the sanatorium. Might never get much on Lau, who knows? But we should definitely get more on Bard. Considering the potential PTSD episode-inducing environment of the place, we have pretty much got to end up with him flashing back to his previous war experiences, at least. Maybe some about how he became a soldier to begin with, where he learned about explosives, and even what dealings he had with snakes in Arizona. And, of course, how he met Sebastian one day on the battlefield.

[authorellenmint]

In almost every one of my books, I make a random reference to a game called “Sheep Wars.”

I’m slowly making it real.

[fernsplaysthings]

Lunchtime headcanon session. I'm definitely reaching here since HoT isn't even out yet, but depending on her circumstances I think Teyla is going to end up sick to death of Elder Dragons. Just never again. I can't imagine they'll bring up great memories. So what to study instead? She'll say she's taking a break, but since she's been using necromancy for a long time to keep herself alive without nutrients I think she'll pick back up her old studies in Sylvari resurrection. In secret. It's pretty taboo. She took a break from it when Klivvik started her studies on her, finding herself more drawn to the Priory. How did she not become a courtier?

[fernsplaysthings]

Over 2k hours into the GW.

Just over 600 of them on Ateyla. Goddamn. Only 252 days old. That’s about 2.5 hours a day on Teyla.

And Caerthys is only two weeks older than her. But only 100 hours played whoops. Klivvik two weeks younger than her. I’m...gunna get so many scrolls at once.

Teyla has died 1,300 times. About twice an hour?

Holy shit.

[fernsplaysthings]

I think I'm gunna make Tasia's Mum on the GW. I think she's gunna be a Revenant. Or a warrior. Hera Heartcleave.

[fernsplaysthings]

On an completely different note:

Heart of Koda is so nice take me to Honor of the Waves s c r e a m

[fernsplaysthings]

A pretty summarised beginning to the NMC AU only featuring my characters goddamn. Welcome to hell.

The sapling had stumbled to a halt, a wary distance from the warrior, a few paces at most though. She looked like she’d been caught off guard, not expecting anyone on the path out to Astorea at this time of night. Her expression was the image of a captured doe, wide eyed and frozen, but there was a twitch to her upper lip and the way her fingers crooked that told of something else. Caerthys grinned wickedly, though she had not meant to.

This sapling was sure to be the sign of her luck turning for the better.

Tiny, pale and streaked with golden sap. Hands clawed and twisting in agitation. Somewhere between ready to flee and raring to fight. Caerthys’ slow movement of her hand to her sword hilt triggered the second reaction, a rush of fangs and fingernails in her face before she could move. A sapling maybe, but something in her Dream had her survival instincts primed and ready, teeth baring at the warrior’s throat and those talons digging into her flesh.

With her advantage of being firmly rooted to the ground, despite the tiny feral Sylvari latched on to her, Caerthys drew her greatsword and in a single motion brought the hilt down heavily onto the top of her head. For a moment she thought she’d killed the tiny plant as she fell to the ground in a dazed heap, not moving. Better dazed than fighting she hauled the sapling over her shoulder and with a quick look around headed quickly back out into the forest.

She awoke some time later, in the dead of night, in an unfamiliar surrounding with unfamiliar Sylvari. The warrior from earlier was seated nearby, the scratch and ring of her sharpening her sword. Another sound from the other side, unfamiliar yet again, soft clicks and taps, mostly metallic against wood. With the strength she found she rolls to her side, gaze met with the sight of a coal skinned Sylvari female with charred fingertips and a blaze of scarlet vines down her shoulders, deep magma markings under her bark. The tapping was coming from the rifle she was meticulously piecing back together in front of her. That she had been piecing back together because the sapling’s stirring had drawn her attention.

“You’ll be pleased to know she’s awake, Baroness.”

The warrior nods without a word, her attention on the speaking Sylvari for one moment before continuing to sharpen her greatsword.

The molten Sylvari stood, heels tapping softly on the stone under them. Every muscle screamed at her, but the sapling attempted to shift anyway, move away from the threat. Her hands were empty though, coming to rest on the top of the sapling’s head, pressing just hard enough for it to be uncomfortable. Just enough for her to let out a growl of protest.

An elbow to the jaw rectified that immediately.

At least for a moment. The pale sapling regained her position, lashing out at the dark Sylvari. She evaded easily, using the toe of her boot to push her back down to the ground face first.

“You thinking bringing me feral animals is funny?”

The warrior stands this time, a little sharply and ready to defend her choice, “With due respect, Countess, she’s a freshly awakened sapling. Likely she doesn’t even know her own name yet. If you think that can’t be molded with such a fresh slate, then you may need to reconsider your tactics.”

A sharp exhale escapes the Countess and she taps her foot in irritation, “She’s yours to mold then. I will give you the directions, you will make them happen. Is that clear Caerthys?”

Before the warrior can give a response another voice cuts in, quiet and airy, little more than a whisper, “Caerthys is but a soldier, Countess. Would you not prefer more in your entourage with more brains than brawn?”

The new voice seemed to have struck a humorous chord with the other Sylvari, earning a grunt from the warrior. A crackle of electricity just out of view and a breeze as the other approached, setting herself gracefully at the Countess’ side.

“Caerthys is my Baroness now, darling,” the dark Sylvari coos, a dark look crossing the other’s face that goes unnoticed, “I’ll trust her with this one.”

Necromancers were apparently quite tricky to deal with. Especially ones with attitude that liked to try and escape during the night. Although under Caerthys charge, the Countess and other Knight’s aid were asked for in breaking the small feral Sylvari.

And even then it still took at least a week.

The Countess took her the first few nights. And the Countess had ways that the other courtiers talked about, ways that spread rumors that made Dreamers afraid to venture into her territory. Not for fear of never returning, but in fear of being able to recount the tales. The Countess hadn't disappointed. Starving the necromancer, keeping her awake for days on end, always holding what she needed most just out of reach. 

Then one evening the pair were nowhere to be found and the sounds from her chambers kept the local courtier’s awake the whole night.

At least they’d have something to talk about.

“You look like you've been a few rounds with a jaguar, Varyllis,” purred the breezy knight, following close at her heels, “It quite suits you.”

Her sap coated rifle dropped to the ground unceremoniously, the very same that had been immaculate only a few days before. The knight halted a pace or so behind, watching Varyllis discard her slick gloves and turn to rest against a wall.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Fyianna,” she replied, the edge of a threat in her voice, “She’s quite ready for you. Let her recover some. Give her some hope. Then break her. Don’t be gentle, she can take whatever you've got, darling.”

“Whatever?”

“Probably more. She’s a necromancer, dear. They love that kind of stuff.”

One quirked eyebrow and a tentative step toward the Countess the Knight muttered darkly, “And you?”

“I’m going to clean up. Don’t be getting ideas now.”

Fyianna’s methods were simpler but always inspired by her Countess.

Her daggers, unlike other Courtier’s, were made of steel from tip of the blade to the very hilt. It made channeling electricity through them much easier. And the passage from Fyianna to dagger to pale, screaming Sylvari easier too.

Judging by the deep wounds Caerthys bandaged that night, Fyianna’s blades had been sunken into the muscles atop her shoulders and used her as a lightning rod. Her limbs twitched uncontrollably that night, but she didn’t utter a single word until morning broke and she was dragged away fighting once again.

Dry bread was her first bite to eat in at least ten days. It hadn’t stayed down, but the warrior continued to force it at her until she had something filling her stomach. The Countess had demanded no acts of kindness, no care, and in all honesty that wasn’t something Caerthys could find in herself to do. Even though it tugged at her stomach seeing the necromancer wavering, still recovering from the initial onslaught the higher ranking Courtier’s bought upon her, it was nothing personal. Caerthys had dealt with it too. She would recover and she would be good.

Not only was she good. She was as lethal as the Countess had hoped.

When directed, the necromancer’s anger was not to be ignored. Their occasional interception of travelling bands turned into undeniable slaughter, the necromancer leaving nothing in her wake to stand as witness.

She was punished severely for that. Varyllis needed them alive, mostly. Someone had to spread terror into the Dream of Dreams and dead Sylvari didn’t talk.

With time she got better. More survivors. Less punishment. 

Much to Caerthys dismay, she was prone to ferocious outbursts when things were quiet, often needing to be restrained or sedated. Fyianna would tap her foot impatiently, a smirk on her face that screamed ‘I told you so’. Varyllis seemed impressed none the less. Especially the day the necromancer seemed to fall in line. No outbursts. No violence in the court. She followed close at her mentor’s heels, head down, mouth shut.

That was the day they were assigned their scouting mission in Caledon Forest.

Klivvik hadn’t been meaning to stumble on the duo but she was looking for Courtiers. Although hostile from the get go, they settled a little, sitting with the Asura for the evening at her camp just north of the Hylek villages. She attempted to share her food, talk to them about anything but they were mostly unresponsive.

“She doesn’t say much. Is she alright?”

With a gesture to the Sylvari huddled towards the edge of the camp, Klivvik looked to Caerthys expectantly. The warrior seemed unimpressed.

“She speaks when spoken to.”

Again the Asura looked perplexed, “What if she needs something?”

“Tools do not make requests of their users, Magister.”

This irritated her visibly and she turned towards the pale necromancer, raising her hand in greeting, “You’re welcome to sit closer, friend.”

The sapling looks confused, her gaze coming to rest on her mentor, waiting for permission but the warrior’s glare is burning into the side of the Asura’s head.

“She is not allowed-”

“What’s your name?”

Caerthys stands sharply, stomping her boots into the dirt. Unfortunately Klivvik doesn’t seem to notice as the sapling’s voice is much more interesting.

“Ateyla.”

“Ateyla, sit and eat with us. I want to know more about you. You look fascinating. Such curious colouring. Come, come. Tell me about yourself.”

The warrior continues looming, ignored by the pair. The necromancer shuffles over, cowering under her mentor’s stare but drawn to the curious Asura. When the Magister’s own sharp gaze connects to the warrior’s, she sits again, kicking aside some stones and mud and digging into some food.

“So, Ateyla...”

Although no longer imposing herself, the necromancer was distracted, continually glancing over to where the Knight was stuffing her face.

“You’re safe here. Tell me, what do you do for the Nightmare Court?”

Ateyla’s eyes fall from the warrior for the last time, staring at the ground, “I am a fighter.”

“She’s a murderer-”

Klivvik holds her hand up to the warrior, “I wasn’t talking to you.”

Caerthys makes an exaggerated ‘hmph’ and grabs what appears to be a crispy moa leg, distracting herself once again.

“Don’t listen to her Ateyla, I want to know from you.”

The necromancer shrugged, pulling her fur cloak around herself tighter, “She is right.”

“Is she? Do you have a say in what’s right and wrong? Did you decide to fight for the Nightmare Court?”

At this point the necromancer froze, eyes fixated on a point. For a moment Klivvik decided she’d pushed a little too hard, offering a handful of dried fruit to the quiet Sylvari.

“You should come back,” muttered Klivvik, making sure the warrior wasn’t listening, “We can talk in private. I promise I won’t let anything happen.”