Leon Critiques

Eh, why not? --- There are many signs that could lift a man’s spirits in the morning. The sun peeking just over the horizon to welcome him to dawn’s embrace, evergreens in dresses of snow to herald the first touch of winter’s kiss, birdsong drifting in from the windows, or even the warmth of a lover’s skin against his. For Helbram, even the sight of a roof over his head would have been a small, yet reassuring comfort. The knife at his throat? Not so much. “Don’t move,” rasped a deep voice, one that carried scents foul enough to wrinkle Helbram’s nose behind his helmet. His eyes opened, taking a moment to focus before he caught sight of the would-be assailant standing over him; a man that was a mess of lanky and stocky features fitted with the rags of clothes both too big and too small for his confounding frame. It was a feast for the eyes so contradictory that he had to stop himself from shaking his head, lest he cut himself on the blade resting on his neck. Repulsed as he was, Helbram had to admit that the bandit had the obvious advantage. He sighed and raised his hands in surrender. “You certainly have caught me unawares,” he said, his resignation ringing with a pronounced hollowness through his helmet’s visor. He motioned to his seated position and tapped the back of his head against the bark behind him. “But you cannot hope to shake me down properly while I am resting against this tree, can you?” His assailant paused, wringing his hand around the weapon at Helbram’s throat. After a moment passed, he had to restrain himself from recoiling as the bandit flashed a set of decayed teeth in a twisted grin. “You’re right, better for you to take that armor off for me anyhow. Up you go, slowly.” Helbram obeyed, his hands still raised as the bandit kept the blade pressed against his throat. Destitute exterior aside, there was a practiced precision to the thief’s movements, a notion that was further enforced when he circled around Helbram and slipped the knife into a small gap in his armor. From where the blade rested, it would only take one small slip and Helbram would find himself with a dagger driven into his armpit. A not so glorious, but quick, way to die. To further the unease that was starting to build, the bandit kept his free hand wrapped around Helbram’s shoulder, pressing himself too close for comfort. “A shame you weren’t a woman,” he said, a dark hunger rattling through his voice. Helbram shivered. “You already made yourself known as a sour sort, but did you have to go and turn it to poison?” “Shut it,” his assailant spat, “You’re in no position to judge me.” Helbram looked between his raised hands. “I do believe I am in the perfect position to do so.” He sighed. “But I am just delaying the inevitable, are I not? Take stock of your spoils, by all means.” There was a moment where Helbram could feel the pressure behind the knife start to relax, but the bandit paused. “What’re you up to?” “Now what could you possibly mean?” Helbram asked. “I am just a man who has realized that he has lost and would like to walk away with his life.” He snorted. “Or are you perhaps thinking I am the one that has you cornered with some grand plan you are blind to?” “Or maybe you’re just the mouthy sort who talks too much until they get gutted.” Helbram shrugged, feeling the chill of the knife’s steel press harder into his armpit as he did so. “That is also possible, but I can assure you taking armor off of a dead body is quite the troublesome affair. Not to mention all the blood that would be involved.” He shuddered. “Nasty business, that.” The bandit grunted and shoved him forward. “Enough games, let’s take a look at what a wordy sort like you has on ‘im, eh?” Helbram sighed and stepped towards the center of his small camp. What greeted them were small embers emitting the last vestiges of the previous night’s warmth as thin, smoky wisps that crawled towards the sky. A gentle breeze drifted through the mass of trees around them, curling the smoke before brushing its existence away entirely. Near the campfire lay Helbram’s rucksack, its numerous patches with hasty stitching indicating that its best days were behind it, but it still found the company of the sword and shield that leaned at its side. A companionship that was torn asunder as the bandit kicked the blade away, triggering a frown from behind Helbram’s visor. “Is that not a bit much?” He asked, but he raised no further objections when he motioned towards his worn pack in an unceremonious fashion. “Behold, your loot.” The bandit kicked that over as well, knocking loose the paltry amount of rations and one spare change of clothes that lay within. He spat on the ground. “That’s it?!” “I am afraid so, it appears fortune has not been kind to both of us as of late.” “I’ll say.” The thief nudged the rolled bundle tied to the pack with his foot. “Your bed roll isn’t even undone. Was our knight so tired he decided the shrubbery made for a better mattress?” He snickered. “Or maybe his loins have a taste for leaves instead?” “Oh, you are a clever one.” “Aye, and if you know what’s good for you you’d soon get yourself a sense of humor,” he shoved Helbram forward again, “hedge knight.” Time seemed to slow when Helbram reached inward, drowning out the forest ambience around him as he let himself get lost within a single beat of his heart. His senses dug deep, focusing on the small traces of Ether, the energy of his will manifest, within his body. As the tide of his heartbeat continued, he swept any crumb of power that he could find and directed them all towards the center of his palm, which he then turned towards the bandit’s face. A flash of pale white light surged from his hand, forcing a yelp from the bandit as he staggered away and freed Helbram from his knife. The former hostage spun around and drove his fist into the bandit’s jaw. The blow struck with a sharp crack and whipped his head to the side before he crumpled to the ground in a heap. Before the possibility of recovery was even a thought, Helbram kicked the knife out of the thief’s hand and delivered another punch to his face. The bandit went still. Helbram dusted his hands off and let his lips flutter with another sigh. “...Though that title was not far off the mark…” *** He had a fleeting hope that his trip back to Silverglen would be one of a peaceful, maybe even blissful, silence. His prisoner aimed to provide the exact opposite. “Good sir, please let me go. I’m a changed man, I swear it.” Tears pooled in the bandit’s eyes. “Truly? That would indeed be quite the speedy shift,” Helbram said through a yawn. “Yes sir it was.” The thief threw his head back as if he was swooning. “The justice felt from your fist has struck me with a newfound perspective.” Helbram stopped and eyed his prisoner through his visor. “Appearing weak and harmless is a sound strategy for sympathy, but may I suggest a dash of dignity? It goes quite a ways, I assure you.” He yanked the rope tied to the bandit’s wrists and urged him forward. “Bloody… at least unbind my godsdamned feet, will ya?” “There is the… now that I recall, I do not know your name.” “It’s-” “George seems like a good one.” “That’s not my-” “Hush now, George, we have places to be,” Helbram yanked on the bindings again. “Do you expect me to hop my way back to town? My legs burn and I’m starting to feel a twinge in my groin.” Helbram clicked his teeth. “Now that is truly unfortunate. Perhaps it was something you should have considered before robbing people on the road?” “You, I’ll have you-” “George’s” ramblings faded into the background while Helbram nursed the side of his neck. “Mellisandra’s tits that smarts something fierce,” he muttered to himself. It was a pain that he expected, the consequence of sleeping through the night leaned against a tree - in his armor no less. It was something that no sensible person would have done, but Helbram knew that there was no better bait for bandits than an easy score. “Let us not actually fall asleep next time…” he said under his breath. “What in the Five Hells is an Awoken doing out here anyways?!” George spat, “Bloody flashing lights and other nonsense, it's not fair I tell you.” Helbram snorted. “Awoken?’ He pulled on the rope harder. “Children are capable of such tricks with enough training. You will not be seeing me leaping buildings and tossing blades of light in your direction, that is for certain.” The bandit continued to grumble as he hopped forward, a string of curses not so subtly muttered beneath his breath. As Helbram continued down the road, he took a moment to appreciate the sights around him. Silverglen Forest was much like any other forest, but magnified to a greater degree. Its greens were of a deeper, darker shade, appearing almost black as its canopy swallowed the sun’s rays within, and both its trees and underbrush were thick enough to smother the larger world around them in a veil of branches and leaves. It gave the main road a distinctively narrow feeling as they continued to march along its path. The forest depths bustled with the sounds of the fauna hidden within the flora, but none made themselves visible to Helbram while he scanned his surroundings. He let his gaze drift back to the road, which was nothing more than a wide path of dirt packed by the countless steps taken upon it. It twisted and curved into the distance, leading Helbram to think that it may have been an animal trail prior to Humanity’s influence. His musings were brushed away as a breeze swept through the road, chasing away the lingering dregs of summer’s heat. The relief drew a grateful sigh from his lips, and he could feel the beginnings of autumn truly start to take its roots beyond the pale yellows that faded into the leaves around him. Despite that, however, there was an uncomfortable stuffiness to the air, one that he could feel sticking to his skin. It was almost enough to make him remove his helmet, but he thought otherwise as the ramblings of George grew louder with each passing second. The chance that it was drawing the attention of some other bandit or - in a much more unfortunate scenario - a wandering predator, seemed to be more likely by the moment. Any further thoughts were interrupted by a sudden tug on his rope. Helbram turned around and found the bandit laying on the ground, motionless. He rolled his eyes. “Abandoned decency, have we?” “Decency? What kind of decency can a man have when he’s been roped up like an animal?” The bandit wiggled on the ground to emphasize his point. Helbram paused to turn his neck and ponder off into the distance. He took in a deep breath and braced himself. “See? I have a point d-” He threw his head to the side, producing a series of loud pops that signaled a flood of relief to wash over his neck. A satisfied hiss was forced from Helbram’s teeth, one that grew into a relaxed groan. “Much better.” He rolled his shoulders and turned his head from side to side to ensure no other pains remained. Content, he pulled on the rope again. “Come now, we must not dawdle.” “Don’t speak to me like I’m some child! Even I have some pride!” “Do you now? It matters not to me.” He rotated his arm. “It has been quite some time since I have gotten some decent exercise.” He pulled on the rope, expending little effort to drag George for a few feet. “I suppose I could just drag you back to town to compensate.” The bandit grumbled and struggled to get himself back on his feet. “Bloody bastard, about to wear a hole in my clothes…” George failed in getting himself upright, kicking up a cloud of dust when he struck the ground. What followed were a series of curses that cracked Helbram’s lips into a smile. As the thief struggled with his bindings, a familiar bellow sounded in from the distance. Helbram turned towards the noise, spotting a wagon drawn by a large four-legged beast of burden. Its thick fur coat and bovine-like appearance placed the creature as an auroc, and the small horns that protruded from the sides of its head, barely poking through its furry pelt, marked it as a female. Her hooves packed the dirt beneath her further as she trudged forward, making a steady pace towards Helbram. Behind her, seated comfortably on the wagon, was a portly dwarf who appeared to be more preoccupied with an itch in his thick, short cut beard than whoever was on the road. The vehicle that he drove had no wheels to carry its weight, and as opposed to the usual wooden construction of a traditional wagon, it was instead built into the shape of a flat metal platform. At the bottom of the wagon sat a metallic apparatus, a device that could be best described as an amalgamation of pipes and chunks of steel wrapped around themselves in the facade of order. Set at the contraption’s center was a crystal that pulsed with a green light. The energy traveled through a series of grooves spread throughout the rest of the wagon. Its color indicated that wind-aspected Aether flowed through the vehicle, allowing it to levitate off of the ground as the auroc pulled it forward. Helbram had seen far more complicated devices in other parts of the world, but such an odd amalgamation of rudimentary function and Esperian innovation was starting to become a common sight in the Freemarks as of late. “Thank the Gods,” George said by the time he finally got to his feet, “Transport.” Helbram eyed the bandit with annoyance, one that had been tarnished by a dash of pity. He ignored the feeling and directed his attention towards the driver of the wagon. “Ho there Joldir,” he called out, holding up his free hand. The driver turned to him and titled up his wide brimmed hat. His eyes flared at the sight of him. “Ser ‘elbram? And here I’d thought you set off for finer pastures.” “Not quite,” Helbram said, “there was some unfinished business that I was asked to take care of before I relieved you all of my presence.” He pulled on George’s bindings. Joldir smirked at the sight of the restrained bandit. “So, this is the bastard who’s been robbin’ our good folk of their livelihood? Brin’ ‘im closer, will you?” Helbram obliged with a quick yank of the rope. George stumbled forward and glared at Helbram while he did his best to stop from falling again. He did not see the slap coming. And when such a blow comes from the large, muscled hand of a dwarf, it creates such a sound that even Helbram had to flinch as the bandit staggered to the ground. George fought to get back to his feet. “OW! You bloody- I’ll have your head old man!” Before he could fully recover, Helbram pulled on the rope again, sending him crashing back onto the dirt. “That is enough of that,” he admonished George as he tightened his bindings. When the bandit was secure, he turned to Joldir. “Would you be willing to provide transport back to Silverglen? Pleasant as my present company is, I would be done with this business sooner rather than later.” Joldir flashed him a bright toothed grin. “Certainly ser, ‘tis the least I could do to lend our knight my aid.” “Wonderful, but please, I am no knight. Just Helbram is fine.” His smile was hidden, but it was clear in his voice. Joldir chuckled. “Understood ‘elbram, toss the bastard in the back. You can ride up front.” Helbram nodded and knelt down, ignoring George’s protests while he lifted and tossed him into the back of the wagon in one motion. The moment his body thudded against the wagon’s bed, the bandit let loose another tangent of curses. Helbram rolled his eyes and secured the bandit’s bindings to one of the wagon’s posts before hopping into the seat next to Joldir. “Onwards, good man.”

They can always look to the indies who self publish this stuff, because this wouldn’t fly with trad publishers.

Maybe you should look at the actual reasons the Right got swept in the midterms instead of trying to scapegoat a topic you have been seething about for the past couple of weeks. You are not the strong man made by hard times. You are the weak man masquerading as one who bring the hard times from your vapid arrogance and pride. Imagine embittering the people you need for your cause because you are such a thin skinned individual that you can’t accept you don’t have authority over everything. That 187 is only how obtuse you are.

There is room for both types of games tbh. Character action games are great for testing the boundaries of player skill in chaining combos and allowing for player expression. Weighter games like Soulslikes test player responsiveness and pattern recognition. It’s a different part of the brain that’s scratched. What I will say is that Monster Hunter is somewhere in the middle of both since you not only need to account for the boss patterns, but also know the full extent of your kit to knock out the best combo for certain windows. It’s a game that strives to scratch both itches, and succeeds, sometimes people just like leaning fully into one aspect over the other. Personally, I’d love for some Sekiro type gameplay flow to be more common, but with an even more frantic ebb and flow where parries and attacks are swapping much more in the midst of battle to really feel like an actual sword fight. That’s more a reflexive type rhythm game in a way.

Yeah I really don’t give a shit anymore. Also, no gameplay. Lol, lmao even.

Man, it really is a balance to try keep your character both cautious and observant, but have it not bog down the flow of the plot. Something that is in the works: --- The sun still bore down on him without mercy, the rays slipping through the loose canopy above him to cast a bespeckled pattern of light and heat that started to make him sweat again. A few drops trickled down into his eyes and he wiped his face in irritation. Right as he did, tension released around him in a quick snap. His steps faltered for a moment, but he kept moving while looking around, noticing nothing different. At first. The change was subtle, but over the course of a few minutes his legs lost the soreness that was starting to build again, it was easier to breathe, and the sun’s punishment had grown more tame - without a breeze, no less. His headphones falling completely silent brought him to a complete stop. He removed them, noting that the creek had gone quiet as well. His attention shifted to that and he went still upon seeing that the waters were frozen. Not in the way that winter would have done it, but rather that it had just stopped mid motion. Something was clearly wrong now, there was no denying it. “Alexander Park Quinn.” He whipped around, the sound of a woman’s deeper voice echoing all over. He didn’t know what to expect, exactly, but it wasn’t the small lady that stood on the trail. A pair of narrowed blue eyes scanned over him in a cold, dispassionate way, and short cut bob of dark brown hair framed a slender face with pouty lips. It was her clothing that raised the most questions. Black accented by silver was the color scheme, and there was a crispness to the design with the pants tucked into the boots and jacketed top that indicated that it was a uniform of some sort. The small layered cape over one shoulder, an emblem of a sword wrapped by leaves embroidered upon it in threads of silver, told him that it was most likely military of some kind. Stark against this was the silver bracelet that poked out from her sleeve, engraved with a number of runes he couldn’t quite make out. Rather than the design drawing his eye, it was more the… presence of it that intrigued him, though he couldn’t tell why. She held her head high. “You have been seen to hold great potential.” Her eastern european accent became more evident the longer she spoke. Alex remained silent. The woman furrowed her brow. “Is something amiss?” What wasn’t? Alex scratched his chin, trying to appear as calm as possible, though he could feel a slight tremble in his fingers. “I’m just trying to figure out if I passed out from the heat or if I’m in a dream.” She considered him for a moment. “What would you do if I told you it was neither?” “Tell you that you’re just raising countless questions…” Yet, only one clear one came to mind. “Did you have something to do with Amy?” “...yes, I did to test your capabilities.” “So you just take control of people whenever you feel like it?” Her expression was already cold, but it took on an especially frosty air at that question. “If it suits my purposes, yes.” He frowned. “And this is how everyone treats magic?” “I didn’t say it was magic.” Alex motioned around him. “I don’t think you need to.” He furrowed his brow. “Wait… don’t tell me you did the same thing to me that you did to Amy.” The woman narrowed her eyes and started to approach. “You jump to many conclusions, Mr. Quinn.” He took a few steps back. “You’re not saying I’m wrong.” He glanced around, searching for that thread he saw floating away from Amy. “I mean you no harm.” He rolled his eyes. “Step back from this for a moment and tell me that I shouldn’t have cause for alarm.” His eyebrows rose with concern. “Wait, you didn’t wrap Adam and Anya into this, did you?” “Your siblings are fine and at home.” “I didn’t say that we were my siblings, and I certainly didn’t say where I lived.” “Do you think that information is hard to find nowadays?” “So you’re a stalker then. Is that supposed to be comforting?” He kept looking around and waved his hand around his head to see if he could feel something.” The woman was openly frowning now. “You looked excited back at school.” “Excitement doesn’t mean I throw caution to the wind. You could have sent a letter, an email.” “Would you have taken that seriously?” Alex came to a stop. “...you have a point there.” “I assure you, I come in peace. If I didn’t you-” He held up his hand. “Do you really think what you’re about to say next would calm me down?” She sighed and crossed her arms. “What would soothe you?” “Your name, for starters.” “Natalia.” The answer was so quick that he didn’t believe her at first, but his concerns could only go so far before he really would feel paranoid. “Alright. Nice to meet you, Natalia. You said I have great potential… does that have to do with magic?” “It does.” His lips twitched to try and form a smile, but he smothered the impulse. “I see…”

I mean no disrespect here, but I do see this argument of “he loses the Weasleys if he goes with Malfoid” popping up a bit and it always ends up 1) diminishing Ron and his bond with Harry in some way, as if them being practically brothers isn’t enough for the Weasleys to accept him into the family. 2) operates under the assumption that Harry shacks up with the Malfoys as a result, which from most interpretations just doesn’t happen. A large part of the appeal of Malfoid is that Harry helps her find redemption away from the views of her family, and that the end result is a woman who aligns with her husband in this new world they both play a part in shaping. She grows as a person due to Harry’s actions, and in some ways helps him develop into a more nuanced character as well. Harry doesn’t just get chummy with her parents and kick the Weasleys to the curb, and I don’t believe the Weasleys to be so close minded that they’d just cut him off for dating the wrong person. They would be concerned, of course, but they wouldn’t just say “it’s her or us!”. You are perfectly within your right to prefer Ginny and thematically it is also pretty good with the aspect of furthering the bonds with the family that finds you, but there are many reasons as to why Malfoid really works as a concept and that’s why it’s so appealing.

For some reason, this post is showing up without a caption on mobile 🤔 Welp, if no one can see that on their phones, here it is: Happy Halloween everyone! Unfortunately, I did not have time to write up a Malfoid piece, but during my expedition to dig up my old drafts for Of Will and Wizardry, I did find this attempt at horror here. I hope you all enjoy it!

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