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The announcement of Volume 10 getting greenlit inspired me to do a little work on RWBY rewrites today. I've changed a lot of character bios and even invented some new ones, but for now let's just focus on the main four protagonists.
Ruby Rose
Ruby Rose was born and raised in a small village in Tir. Her mother, Ivory Rose, was revered as one of the greatest Huntresses in the world; a prodigy of Beacon Academy and leader of Team Dream. Ivory retired shortly after starting a family with her teammate Tai, though she would frequently tell Ruby stories of her teamâs adventures, as well as the heroes of legend who came before. Such stories engraved themselves into Rubyâs mind, becoming aspirations for the futureâŚ
When Ruby was but five years old, however, rumors began to circulate of a massive Grimm prowling the forests of Tir: The Greatwolf, Garm. This beast left a trail of death and destruction in its wake, and all who stood up to confront it were viciously torn to shreds. In desperation, the Tirnian government called upon Ivory Rose to join an elite team of Huntsmen and Huntresses meant to put the monster down once and for allâŚ
Ivory Rose was never heard from again after that. Though the bodies of the other brave warriors were found littered throughout the forests, all that remained of Rubyâs mother was her weapon, Crescent Rose. Many believed Ivory must have also perished, but Ruby adamantly refused to accept this. She knows that her mother, a hero and a warrior of unmatched skill, must still be out there somewhere.
Thus, Ruby began to follow in Ivoryâs footsteps, training herself to wield Crescent Rose even against her fatherâs wishes. Now, Ruby has enlisted at Beacon Academy, becoming the leader of Team Color. Though the world remains convinced that Ivory Rose is long-dead, Ruby holds out hope that, by becoming a fully-fledged Huntress, they can be reunited somedayâŚ
Weiss Schnee
Weissâs earliest memories are of standing before her bedroom mirror, attempting to mold herself into the perfect image of the Schnee Heiress. As soon as she was old enough to speak, Weissâs father, Jacque Schnee, began to mold her into his successor. Weissâs future seemed promising, as she was set to inherit leadership of one of the most prominent noble families in all of Remnant. She practiced etiquette, swordplay, music, and much more, all to meet the lofty expectations placed upon her.
For all that Weiss excels in, however, she has one shortcoming: her inability to bring forth her familyâs Semblance, the Guardian Knight. Believed by some to be one of the most powerful Summons in history, the Knight is the Schnee familyâs claim to fame, having saved the nation of Valheim from disaster long ago. However, despite her best efforts, Weiss is unable to call upon it, causing some to question the legitimacy of her inheritance and even her bloodline.
To rectify this issue, Weissâs elder sister, Hildr Schnee, has recommended that she enroll at one of the Academies in the hopes that their tutelage will help awaken the dormant Semblance. After much consideration, Jacques agreed to send Weiss to Beacon, under the strict stipulation that she keep her inability to summon the Knight a secret from all but a handful of teachersâŚ
And so, Weiss has begun her Huntress training as a member of Team Color. Though she begrudges the fact that she was not chosen to lead her team, the heiress nonetheless strives to prove herself worthy of her family name, as well as the respect and adoration of all her peers. After-all, anything less than perfection is nothing more than failureâŚ
Blake Belladonna
A mysterious young woman from Kurallu. Blake seldom talks about her past, or her reasons for wishing to become a Huntress. She prefers the company of books to other people, including that of her own teammates. However, those who are able to get close enough to learn even fragments of Blakeâs past soon discover a troubled upbringing.
Blake grew up on the brink of poverty. Her family got by largely thanks to the generosity of their community. It wasnât an easy life, but Blake was content⌠Unfortunately, that simple lifestyle was interrupted by a rise in Grimm activity near her home. Huntsmen and Huntresses in the community were few, and Blakeâs village wasnât deemed significant enough for the Kurallite government to send any major reinforcements. Because of this, Blake decided to take up arms and join a local watch to keep her home and family safe.
Unbeknownst to her, Blakeâs father struck a deal with some unsavory people. He acted in what he believed to be his familyâs best interests, hoping to eliminate the need for Blake to stake her own life. Unfortunately, this deal backfired, and Blakeâs father was abducted. With no one else to turn to, Blake resolved to save him of her own accord, though the organization that holds him is far too powerful for Blake to face in her current state.
Thus, Blake traveled to Beacon to begin training as a Huntress, hoping to acquire the skills and even potential allies that might aid in her fatherâs rescue. Though not quick to trust others, she has begun to find friends and steadfast allies with the other members of Team Color, as well as some of her classmates. Despite the urgency of her situation, Blake cannot help but find herself growing attached to the people around her and enjoying her simple school days while they lastâŚ
However, that enjoyment is contrasted by a growing guilt deep inside her. Blake harbors secrets that she knows could shake all of Beacon to its core and shatter any trust her new friends and allies have in her. How much of her story is true, and how far is she truly willing to go for the sake of her family?
Yang Xiao Long
A fiery, hotheaded brawler from Tir. Yang grew up in a remote woodland home along with her single father, Tai, and her sister, Ruby. Yang lost her mother, Ivory Rose, at an early age⌠Or at least, that is the truth as she understands it. However, ever since she was young, something about this fact has never sat well with her. She feels as though something deep inside of her is missing, and longs to uncover why.
Yang masks the nagging void inside her through a carefree, upbeat attitude. Where Ruby has always had a fascination with fairytales and stories of heroes, Yang took an interest in machines and engineering, learning how to construct weapons and even vehicles from spare parts. One day, Yang even went as far as to construct her own specialized weapons based on her fatherâs old Huntsman tools.
As Yang ventured off into the woods alone to try out her new gauntlets, she was beset by three Ursa Grimm. Despite holding her own at first, Yang soon found herself overwhelmed as her weapons jammed. Just as Yangâs situation began to seem hopeless, a masked stranger swooped down from above and effortlessly dispatched the beasts. When Yang questioned the stranger on their identity, they responded: âIâm only a phantom.â
Before Yang could question the stranger further, they transformed into a black bird and flew away. Shortly thereafter, Yang forgot nearly all details of the encounter, recalling only that she was had been attacked and that someone saved her. The gnawing void inside Yang grew even larger after that, filling her with doubts and questions that would plague her for years to come.
Ultimately, Yang resolved to pursue the path of a Huntress along with Ruby. Despite Taiâs initial reservations, he ultimately agreed to train Yang, preparing her for the long and arduous path ahead. Now, Yang finds herself a student of Beacon Academy and a member of Team Color, taking the first steps towards discovering who she truly is and where sheâs meant to goâŚ
Today's video is out! We're discussing Noble Phantasms, one of the most iconic elements of the Fate series, as well as a handful that I frankly feel could have been handled better...
Today's upload is out! We're tackling a question that's been on my mind for a minute: does Reese Williams deserve to be the next Fist of Khonshu? Is it even possible? Let's talk about it.
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So I've given the matter of the new StarFox game's art direction a lot of thought these last couple of days. I've seen a lot of back-and-forth across the internet regarding the new designs, hearing both sides of the argument, and examining them myself.
I've come to the conclusion that I don't like them.
I can understand why some people would, and I respect the vision of trying to make them look more like the puppets on the old-school box art. To me, though, a number of characters just look and feel too uncanny.
Like, it feels as though everyone is doing actions their anatomy just straight-up isn't built for, and as much as I want to be able to suspend my disbelief and ignore it, my brain can't help but notice how unnatural it seems in the footage we have.
I think Falco is probably the worst offender. I hate his feather fingers. I'm no expert on avian anatomy, but I'm pretty sure feathers do not have the muscles or joints to move and bend in the ways required of the character. It feels like Falco's fingers she snap if he tries to press a button, steer a ship or hold a blaster. His talons also just make it look like sitting down in a cockpit should be uncomfortable.
Again, if you like the new designs, I'm not saying you're wrong. This is just one of those things that's going to bother some people way more than others and no amount of back-and-forth is likely going to change anyone's opinions on whether or not they vibe with the art style. I just personally don't care for it.
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So, saw something recently that in my opinion kinda misinterprets the sister's dynamic and what it represents, and I wanted to let it go but my brain started doing it's thing so now I wanted to talk a bit about them.
For those who don't know, Kayle and Morgana each represent half of the Aspect of Justice, and by that I mean it literally, each is incomplete without the other. Kayle represents Retributive justice and Morgana represents Restorative Justice, in other words Kayle is about punishing wrongdoing, Morgana is about fixing why the wrongdoing happened.
As time went on from when they got their power, each would slowly start to represent their different versions of justice more and more, which caused a lot of personal problems for Morgana as her justice is more empathic, but in the case of Kayle, the problems are for everyone else
Often times I see people wondering why Kayle is the one that's a bit more demonized in the lore, when the answer is quite obvious, when you go overboard with 'An Eye for an Eye' half the world ends up blind. When you believe that a hungry thief should have his hand cut because he stole an apple, you end up with a hungry man with a stump.
Justice means punishment for Kayle.
There is no redemption, there is no improving, there barely is a repenting. What matters is that you commited a crime, and you are being punished for it, because that is what justice is.
By contrast, the worst thing that can happen when Restorative justice goes overboard is that sometimes someone who deserves the punishment walks free or time is wasted trying to reform them. And while true in some cases, most people that commit crimes don't do it because they are irredeemable, but because they are desperate, and if you can help them they will improve. Demonstrably so.
And mind you, Kayle is also lucky to live in a fantasy world that actually has monsters and horrors beyond human comprehension where she can objectively be the good guy by simply swinging her swords at them. Don't get me wrong, some people certainly do deserve their heads being parted from their bodies, but it's not the mayority.
The point that I'm trying to get at is that while both versions of justice are wrong while not applied correctly, there's only one that in excess becomes immoral. There's only one that when taken to it's logical extreme ends up with the punishment for every crime, ANY crime, means death.
So one of the biggest issues in League's official canon is how many Champions tend to overlap their base concepts, and Viego and Mordekaiser are no exceptions. Both are undead tyrants with near-limitless power to corrupt and transform souls to do their bidding. They're pretty different in terms of personality and presentation, sure, but there's still a lot of overlap between their powersets.
Thus, I decided to try and better differentiate them.
It's been stated multiple times that in my version of the story, the Black Mist is not simply some vague necromantic power; it is pure negativity made manifest. For a brief refresher: the monks of the Blessed Isles would perform a ritual literally siphon the darkness out of sinners, leaving their worst criminals without the capacity for hatred, envy, greed or any other intense feeling that would drive them to evil acts.
That darkness was sealed within a magical lantern, slowly coalescing for centuries. When Viego opened that lantern, he became a vessel for the darkness, and unleashed it upon the isles as the Black Mist. Those whom the Black Mist touches have their worst desires and inner thoughts brought to the forefront, and amplified to the point that it can physically warp someone into a manifestations of their worst selves. In truth, it can be argued whether or not the Black Mist even truly turns someone undead, but it DOES enhance the worst aspects of someone's soul while burying or even crushing the goodness within them.
Mordekaiser, by contrast, using his understanding of True Names to enslave the spirits of the deceased. If the soul is a manifestation of the self and represents someone's identity, Mordekaiser effectively erases a person's identity to bind them to his will. His undead minions are stripped of their memories, their ideals, everything they were in life until they are little more than nameless specters bound in iron restraints.
To summarize: Viego turns you into the worst version of yourself, while Mordekaiser erases your sense of self altogether.))
Coming at you all with a little bit of a fanfic today. Riot wants to tie Xin Zhao into the Darkin storyline? I've got my own ideas about how that could've gone...
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Where Loyalties Lie (A League of Legends fanfiction)
Note: This story features Xin Zhao and Aatrox as depicted prior to their VGUs.
The palace was quiet this evening. Xin Zhaoâs footsteps were the only sound to reach his ears as he strode through the moonlit corridor. He knew the king would likely insist that he get some sleep, but the Seneschal would not be content until he finished making his rounds. In times of war, one must never grow complacent. That was a lesson that had been firmly engraved into Xin Zhaoâs mind, to the point that it had become instinct. His instincts were seldom wrong.
Even so, as Xin Zhao walked, he could not help but think back to the recent battle. The Mage Rebellion had grown quieter since their leader, Sylas, was forced into hiding. However, their forces still posed a significant threat. Xin Zhao sympathized with them, of course. Having spent his youth in Ionia, the Seneschal never agreed with Demaciaâs intense distrust of all things magical. Regardless, heâd sworn an oath to defend the kingdom, and that was an oath he intended to uphold.
The battle would have ended almost bloodlessly, too. The mages had coordinated the assault well, but they were outnumbered, and their powers meant little in the face of petricite weapons and armor. When Xin Zhao himself took to the field, it seemed as though the rebel strike force had been ready to surrender⌠But then he appeared. That inhuman swordsman, whose eyes burned like embers and whose blade pulsed like a beating heart.
The swordsman did something to those mages. His very presence seemed to instill them with an insatiable bloodlust. In an instant, they ceased casting spells, took up whatever weapons they could get their hands on, and charged the Demacian knights like wild beasts. They were disorganized, untrained in proper combat, and barely armored. In spite of that, each mage under the swordsmanâs spell fought with inhuman strength and ferocity. It reminded Xin Zhao of that Noxian abomination, Sion; they became beasts that seemingly felt no pain and pushed onward until their bodies were too broken to move. It was nightmarish.
Xin Zhao had engaged the swordsman himself. They had dueled amidst the chaos of the battlefield, and the swordsman was unlike any foe the Seneschal had ever faced. The swordsmanâs eyes were filled with that same ceaseless fury, but his movements were more composed; more refined. There was not a single wasted sword strike. Every attack was deliberate, and he only defended when Xin Zhaoâs spear aimed for a vital point that could kill or cripple. It was terrifying, but also breathtakingâŚ
The battle had ended when Demacian reinforcements arrived. The mages were killed to the last, and much as Xin Zhao would have preferred to take them prisoner, he wasnât sure if that would have even been possible given their frenzied state. In the end, only the swordsman remained. Despite being woefully outnumbered, the swordsman showed not an ounce of fear. Xin Zhao thought for a fleeting moment that his foe would have fought the entire force of Demacian knights alone, and it was likely he would have killed most of themâŚ
But then, the swordsman simply stopped. As if realizing there was no point in continuing to fight, he turned, and swung his blade through the air. A vicious wound seemed to open into the world itself. The swordsman walked through, the rift closed, and the battle ended. It had been a victory for Demacia, and yetâŚ
Suddenly, Xin Zhao stopped. In an instant, he spun around, raising his spear. There, illuminated by the moonlight pouring in through the windows, was the swordsman. Like a phantom manifested from the Senechalâs own memory, the creature stood there unmoving. Xin Zhao gripped his spear tighter. âYou!â
âLower your spear,â the swordsman commanded. His voice was ancient, like a long-dead corpse brought to life and forced use vocal chords that should no longer function. âI am not here to fight.â
âAnd why should I believe a word you say?â Xin Zhao asked.
âBecause in battle, words are meaningless.â The swordsman had his hands crossed on the hilt of his blade, its tip resting on the ground in front of him. âA true warrior need only speak with their weapon when facing an opponent. Right now, you are not my opponent.â
Xin Zhao narrowed his gaze. It could very-well be a trap, but he sensed that the creatureâs words were genuine, and the Seneschal trusted his instincts. Reluctantly, Xin Zhao lowered his spear. âWhat do you want?â
The swordsman replied with a question of his own. âDo you know who I am?â
Xin Zhao took a deep breath. Of course he knew. Legends of this creature existed all across Runeterra. Heâd heard stories of the Darkin Blade in all three nations he had called home. Some called him a hero, others a monster, but his name was carved into the bloody history of Runeterra itself. Even as Xin Zhao spoke that name, he felt both dread and reverence. âAatrox. You grant victory in battle, but at the price of sanity. You turn soldiers into monsters and reduce them to savagery.â
âI merely reveal that which is already there: the fury that lurks in the hearts of all men. The savagery you speak of is simply the true nature of all who take to the battlefield.â
âYou lie,â Xin Zhao replied. âThat cannot be true.â
The Darkin merely shook his head. âThink what you will. I have not come to debate philosophy with you.â
The Seneschal raised his spear. âThen I ask again: why are you here?â
For a brief moment, Aatrox was silent, as though contemplating the reason himself. âI have fought in countless battles and faced innumerable foes across the millennia. Very few have stood against me as you have, and even fewer can claim to have defeated me. And yet⌠There is something different about you.â
Xin Zhao raised an eyebrow. âWhat are you talking about it?â
âWhy do you fight, Xin Zhao?â The question struck like a blade, and before the Seneschal could respond, Aatrox continued: âFor what reason do you wield your spear?â
Xin Zhaoâs answer was immediate. âTo serve Demacia and protect the ki-â
âNo.â Aatrox interrupted Xin Zhao before he could even finish. âThat is not why you fight.â
âWhat? Of course it is! I pledged my loyalty King Jarvan III himself, and then to his son.â
âYesâŚâ Aatrox cast his gaze out the window. âAnd before that, you pledged your loyalty to Noxus after earning a name for yourself in the Reckoning. Before that, you pledged to defend your Ionian village from any who would threaten it. So tell me: what are your pledges truly worth?â
Xin Zhao was speechless. The Darkinâs words cut deep. Finally, the Seneschal found his voice again. âAre you calling me a traitor?â
Aatrox returned his gaze to the spearman. âCan you truly betray those to whom you harbor no loyalty to begin with?â
âWho are you to question my loyalty!?â Xin Zhao snapped. âYou hold no allegiance to any nation or faction! Your blade has spilled blood from every corner of the world! You fight for whoever suits you at a given moment, for reasons I can scarcely fathom!â
âThen perhaps we are kindred spirits.â
In that moment, something in Xin Zhao broke. He rushed forward, closing the distance between himself and Aatrox. The Darkin reacted instantly, stopping the Senechalâs spear with the gauntlet that seemed fused to his right arm. The tip of Xin Zhaoâs weapon managed to pierce the metal ever-so-slightly, but not enough to draw blood. Then, effortlessly, Aatrox forced Xin Zhao back, his blade still lowered.
âYou strike at an opponent who has not even raised his blade?â The Darkin questioned. âIs this the honor that you Demacians hold in such high esteem? Or are you truly Demacian?â
Xin Zhao gritted his teeth, then stopped. Heâs trying to provoke you. Donât let him get in your head. The Seneschal took a deep breath, took a step back, then entered a combat stance. âThen raise your blade. Let us finish what we began during the rebelsâ assaultâ
âAs I said,â Aatrox replied. âI did not come to fight. I have no reason to face you now.â
âI have no more interest in talking,â Xin Zhao replied. âIf youâll not face me, then leave.â
Aatrox stared at the spearman in silence for a moment. Then, finally, he raised his weapon. âSo be it.â For a fleeting moment, Xin Zhao thought that Aatrox would attack him. Instead, the Darkin turned, and once again cut an opening into the air. The ancient swordsman began walking through, his wings billowing like war banners as he spoke.
Before Aatrox vanished completely inside, however, he glanced back over his shoulder. âMy thanks, Xin Zhao.â
The Senechal blinked, confused. âFor what?â
âFor answering my question. I believe I now understand why it is you truly wield your spear, even if you yourself do not.â Aatrox gave Xin Zhao a knowing smile. âI look forward to the day when we face one-another again.â With that, Aatrox vanished, and the portal disappeared.
Xin Zhao wasnât sure how long he stood there in silence. The Seneschal knew he shouldnât think too deeply about the Darkinâs words, and yet they echoed relentlessly in his mind. What did the swordsman mean? Why did he truly fight? Where did his true loyalties lie? Xin Zhao had fought faithfully for Demacia for years, yet had he not fought with the same dedication when he called himself Noxian, or Ionian? Could he truly call himself loyal to the kingdom when he found himself sympathizing with the rebels that were meant to be his enemies? Would he someday turn against the crown to fight on behalf of the mages who were wrongedâŚ?
âLord Seneschal?â A voice jarred Xin Zhao from his thoughts. He turned to see a Demacian Knight standing behind him. âIs everything alright? I thought I heard something...â
Xin Zhao faked a smile. âMy apologies. I was feeling restless, so I thought to get in some late-night training.â He only hoped that the knight didnât ask why he would be doing so in the middle of the hallway, rather than the training grounds⌠âIâm sorry if I woke you.â
âOh, not at all,â the knight replied. âIâm part of the knight watch, so Iâm used to staying up late. Iâm, um⌠Iâm sorry I interrupted your training.â
The Seneschal shook his head. âNo need. Itâs good that youâre so diligent. I suppose I ought to be retiring soon myself. Keep up the good work.â
âYes, sir!â The knight offered a Demacian salute, and Xin Zhao returned the gesture. As he did, though, he couldnât help feeling it was wrong for him to do so. He was not truly Demacian, nor did he think himself Noxian or even Ionian.
As Xin Zhao returned to his quarters, doubts continued to nag at him. For who and what did he wield his spear? Perhaps, tomorrow, he should seek the answer for himselfâŚ
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