- Location
- Hampden Park
I don't remember what I intended when I wrote it, but probably English.
With This Ring (Young Justice SI) (Thread Twelve)
- Thread starter Mr Zoat
- Start date
- Status
tgojeff
(Verified Pinwheel)
- Location
- Los Angeles
No, he used the closest available language from their approximate time period. Not perfect, but functional.
- Location
- Somewhere out there
I'm afraid you were missing the context of the quote. That's what he had ORIGINALLY done, but the scene I quoted had him talking to Haraldson in realtime. This suggests that things had changed.
- Location
- U.S.
Why couldn't the rings understand old norse anyway? I thought they could automagically translate any language in real time. Via 'conceptual technology' or somesuch.
- Location
- texas
Considering that indigo tribesman is generally untranslatable, I'd put it down to very good translation software rather than conceptual.
Reminds me of a trick Stewart did in the burning martian storyline- basically encrypted his brain by making him think in a language so weird that not even martian telepathy could make sense of it, but prolonged use fries the brain.
Empiricist2
Let's play doctor!
- Location
- Baton Rouge
My headcanon is that rings connect to their respective emotion of the person the Lantern is talking to, and use the minor emotion of that person to understand the intent behind the words. I don't see any way for a ring to translate any language to any other language in real time without some form of telepathy.
Relevant predictions of this would be that someone who completely lacks an emotion can't communicate with a Lantern of that color without some intermediary. Relevant for the Vikings, something interfering with a person's connection to the emotional lights would disrupt communication, and force the ring to rely on mundane translation with the associated time delay to allow for different grammar structures. Similar for recordings of someone talking, unless the ring accesses the recording and prepares a translation ahead of time.
For the Indigo Lanterns, their connection to all lights but their own is blocked by their rings, and they also don't allow their rings to translate their language to other people.
Chaoswind
Lord of nonsense
- Location
- Latin America
No, that is 102, 101 is the prerequisite.
Understanding that you should always do what you want, to be capable of using your ring and avoid having your ring turn off (basic orange theory) comes before understanding that you should frame what you want in a way that helps fulfill your long term goals.
After that comes basic ring combat as framed by WANT, then comes the advanced stuff.
Remember what was Paul first lesson to the rockies?
Last edited:
Probably; thing is, for the great majority of people you can get most of the benefits with fewer drawbacks by just giving them an orange power ring. Among other things, if you start to be overwhelmed you can take the ring off; "Lord" style empowerment is permanent.
There's also the problem that if the whole "cosmic balance" thing holds, your new "Lord of Avarice" would get promptly ejected from Earth 16. Unless you also managed to raise up a matching Lord of Compassion at the same time I suppose.
- Location
- texas
What cosmic balance? The number of lords has risen and fallen in this story, and the nature of the universe increases chaos in the universe every second with this thing called entropy.
shepsquared
Erratic Aussie
- Location
- Melbourne, Australia
Mordru couldn't return to Earth while Klarion is there. Presumably Shazam is similarly prevented from bodily manifesting on Earth while Nabu does. Also the Bleed Fracture introduction included the Atom realising that the Bleed both proves and disproves entropy (while making it irrelevant).
- Location
- texas
This story uses the Endless, Death is going to put the tables up and turn off the lights when the universe closes for business, bleed generators aren't going to stop that.
And Lords not sharing turf is not balance, if there had to be a local lord of chaos for every lord of order, that would be balance.
- Location
- Ashtabula
Yeah, I don't see Paul hiring/working well with an over the top generic parody character who, last I checked, genocided his own race for fun.
- Location
- Australia
Now *that* brought back memories... most of you are surely too young.
shepsquared
Erratic Aussie
- Location
- Melbourne, Australia
But if there must be a lord of order for each lord of chaos active in a location and there is no available lord of order to move to a location, then the lord of chaos cannot move there either.
And there's a difference between the scientific principle of entropy and Death of the Endless saying that someday the universe shall end.
Authority (part 16)
- Location
- Hampden Park
22nd August
14:43 GMT
And of course he headed straight for a fighting pit. And the only explanation I have for how he got that far ahead is that he didn't mind drawing attention to himself by running. We didn't take the time to do much work on his armour and unlike Guy and myself he didn't have any changes of outfit stored in subspace. As a result, one sensor dampening cloak aside he's still wearing his royal armour. It's not that there aren't people in snazzy armour around here, but they generally have Writs of Invitation and substantial bodyguards to protect them. There are already a number of people not-so-subtly following-.
Ugh. Weaving through the crowd I step up behind a lightly armoured figure who wasn't paying quite enough attention to his environment and hold an x-ionised knife to his throat. "Hello there."
He tenses slightly but doesn't otherwise move. "I'm wearing a force field, fool."
"And I'm not fool enough to threaten someone wearing a force field with a knife that can't penetrate it. The chap in the fancy armour is a friend of mine. Eyes off."
He hesitates, perhaps weighing up his chances. "Fine. But I can't speak for anyone else."
"I wouldn't expect you to." No one approaching me. "Now, I'm going to turn left and you're going to turn with me. When we're pointing at the door, you're going to start walking and keep walking until you're outside. On two."
We turn, and I move my knife aside slightly to get him leave. He goes a couple of steps before taking a sneaky look back, but my clothing masks my face and is generic enough not to be particularly notable. His armour is a little more notable, with the red smears across… He's a gang member. Ah, doesn't matter. It's not as if we're sticking around. Or ever coming back. Now, where's Ragnar gotten t-.
"…new entrant to the blood arena, Donovan Wallace of Uranus!"
Ooooh. Drat. I sigh. At least he remembered his cover name.
"And his opponent, victor of over eighty bouts and making his seventh appearance in the blood arena, Thunderer Duran of Qward!"
No no no no no. I step forward with a little more force now, making my way to the edge of the third floor balcony overlooking the pit. I'm going to assume that he got in there that quick because they were having trouble getting a Thunderer an opponent. The thing about Thunderers is that while in the comics they've suffered from major villain decay -losing to Jordan on several occasions in spite of his acknowledged skill shortage while dressed like silver age villains, an army of them getting pasted by a five man Crime Syndicate, getting near-exterminated by the first members of the Sinestro Corps- in the real world they really haven't. They're superbly well trained and equipped soldiers. I doubt that he'll be using qwa-bolts in confines this close -because there wouldn't be an arena afterwards if he does- but their melee weapons use tiny amounts of qwa-energy to cleave through anything and their armour and shields are at least as good as anything I could make. They're generally not all that agile in the air -which is how Green Lanterns best them- but at close quarters like this their strengths are magnified.
He better not be planning on using his ring.
Ragnar vaults over the edge of the lower balcony, brandishes his buzz sword and holds his arms up for the crowd to hail him. A few bang mugs against the balcony lip but there are more laughs than acknowledgements. His expression changes from expectant to dismissive, though I make a point of jabbing my right forefinger at him when he turns my way.
That causes the git to smile again.
His opponent isn't made to vault over anything; they open the actual pit doors for him. The Thunderer's traditional wing-decorated helmet sits on his head, and the thing about a helmet with wings on is that it's still a metal case to protect the wearer's head, which is more than ninety five percent of superheroes manage. Thick armour covers his chest, back, forearms, shoulders and lower legs, while a flexible mesh undersuit protects the rest of him. I haven't been able to precisely evaluate the buzz sword, but I wouldn't want to try it against the solid plates. That leaves face, thighs and sides as targets. His eyes are covered by the red cybernetic attachments Q'ardajin elites like to use in place of their natural eyes. It makes them seem somewhat bug-eyed, but it also serves to render them immune to a wide range of visual distractions and widens the portion of the electromagnetic spectrum they can see. There's a quiver on his back, but it's empty. Instead of the qwa-bolts I half-feared, he hoists a round shield and a short sword aloft.
"BLOOD AND PAIN! BLOOD AND FIRE! BLOOD AND DEATH!"
This time the crowd roars its approval. Only sensible really, however they actually feel about it. In the dim light from where the Thunderer entered I can see the faint glow of his personal organiser robohead, and I don't doubt for a moment that it's recording everything.
Ragnar looks mildly put out by the approval his opponent is getting, but gamely makes a salute with his sword before picking a stance with sword raised high and both hands on the grip. For his part the Thunderer crouches slightly, shield forward and sword drawn back to stab.
No salute for the alien.
Right, I need to get down to that level and prepare to intervene. Or at least grab him once the match is over so he can't sign up for another one. And -I spot another spectator having his pocket picked- I need to avoid getting blindsided. And make sure that if he dies then none of the locals gets his ring. Getting it off whoever gets to strip his corpse is going to be awkward, especially if I want to stay undetected.
He and I are going to have a chat about mission discipline after this is over. After Lantern Tui tells me what she found out.
As I walk away from the balcony the noise from the crowd jumps and I hear the thump and clang of their initial probing exchanges. Ragnar's sword glows a sort of purply-pink when active and qwa-energy discharges tend to be a shimmering yellow. Not that it'll look anything like a lightsaber battle: Ragnar's sword might go through the Thunderer's armour but if he tries to parry with it, the Thunderer's sword will go straight through it without slowing.
Across the room I see two people with red stripes on their armour watching me. Ugh, already? No, worry about that later. Another round of clanging and stamps as I thread my way through the crowd in the direction of the stairs downwards. Two well-equipped bouncers are vetting the people allowed down, though they don't appear to be troubling those who come up. I step into the clear circle in front of them and look the closest in the eye.
"What's the entry fee?"
"A Qwardian supply contract, a pit-record or being Qwardian."
"Don't you mean 'Q'ardajin'?"
She huffs. "No one calls them that. They don't like it when aliens use 'their word'."
Ah. Noted. "The man fighting the Thunderer down there works for me. I'd like to show my support."
"That sucks for you. But you can support his death wish perfectly well from up here."
"I don't suppose that I could interest you in a bribe?"
"I dunno. Could you?"
I turn up my empathic vision. What does she or the house want? Ah! It's just a screening process. Those aren't hard and fast rules, just baselines. Anyone prepared to splash around more than a certain amount of money is allowed down. If I bribe big, they'll let me past and mark me down for a fleecing. Hard to judge precisely, but… I put my right hand inside my robes and pull out two platinum coins, then hold them out.
She raises her eyebrows, apparently not impressed.
"I'll make sure I get a supply contract really soon."
She grabs the coins from my grip, making a point of tugging hard on my fingers and in doing so triggering my kinetic barrier. She feels that happening, her expression getting just a little more respectful. She steps aside. "Anyone asks, you snuck past."
"Is that better?"
"Big crowd, someone pushes past in the confusion. We're muscle, not psychics."
"Okay, thank you." Another series of thuds from the pit. The crowd has quietened down quite a bit. I guess that Ragnar's doing a reasonable job. I walk past the guards and hurry down the steps as fast as decorum permits me.
14:43 GMT
And of course he headed straight for a fighting pit. And the only explanation I have for how he got that far ahead is that he didn't mind drawing attention to himself by running. We didn't take the time to do much work on his armour and unlike Guy and myself he didn't have any changes of outfit stored in subspace. As a result, one sensor dampening cloak aside he's still wearing his royal armour. It's not that there aren't people in snazzy armour around here, but they generally have Writs of Invitation and substantial bodyguards to protect them. There are already a number of people not-so-subtly following-.
Ugh. Weaving through the crowd I step up behind a lightly armoured figure who wasn't paying quite enough attention to his environment and hold an x-ionised knife to his throat. "Hello there."
He tenses slightly but doesn't otherwise move. "I'm wearing a force field, fool."
"And I'm not fool enough to threaten someone wearing a force field with a knife that can't penetrate it. The chap in the fancy armour is a friend of mine. Eyes off."
He hesitates, perhaps weighing up his chances. "Fine. But I can't speak for anyone else."
"I wouldn't expect you to." No one approaching me. "Now, I'm going to turn left and you're going to turn with me. When we're pointing at the door, you're going to start walking and keep walking until you're outside. On two."
We turn, and I move my knife aside slightly to get him leave. He goes a couple of steps before taking a sneaky look back, but my clothing masks my face and is generic enough not to be particularly notable. His armour is a little more notable, with the red smears across… He's a gang member. Ah, doesn't matter. It's not as if we're sticking around. Or ever coming back. Now, where's Ragnar gotten t-.
"…new entrant to the blood arena, Donovan Wallace of Uranus!"
Ooooh. Drat. I sigh. At least he remembered his cover name.
"And his opponent, victor of over eighty bouts and making his seventh appearance in the blood arena, Thunderer Duran of Qward!"
No no no no no. I step forward with a little more force now, making my way to the edge of the third floor balcony overlooking the pit. I'm going to assume that he got in there that quick because they were having trouble getting a Thunderer an opponent. The thing about Thunderers is that while in the comics they've suffered from major villain decay -losing to Jordan on several occasions in spite of his acknowledged skill shortage while dressed like silver age villains, an army of them getting pasted by a five man Crime Syndicate, getting near-exterminated by the first members of the Sinestro Corps- in the real world they really haven't. They're superbly well trained and equipped soldiers. I doubt that he'll be using qwa-bolts in confines this close -because there wouldn't be an arena afterwards if he does- but their melee weapons use tiny amounts of qwa-energy to cleave through anything and their armour and shields are at least as good as anything I could make. They're generally not all that agile in the air -which is how Green Lanterns best them- but at close quarters like this their strengths are magnified.
He better not be planning on using his ring.
Ragnar vaults over the edge of the lower balcony, brandishes his buzz sword and holds his arms up for the crowd to hail him. A few bang mugs against the balcony lip but there are more laughs than acknowledgements. His expression changes from expectant to dismissive, though I make a point of jabbing my right forefinger at him when he turns my way.
That causes the git to smile again.
His opponent isn't made to vault over anything; they open the actual pit doors for him. The Thunderer's traditional wing-decorated helmet sits on his head, and the thing about a helmet with wings on is that it's still a metal case to protect the wearer's head, which is more than ninety five percent of superheroes manage. Thick armour covers his chest, back, forearms, shoulders and lower legs, while a flexible mesh undersuit protects the rest of him. I haven't been able to precisely evaluate the buzz sword, but I wouldn't want to try it against the solid plates. That leaves face, thighs and sides as targets. His eyes are covered by the red cybernetic attachments Q'ardajin elites like to use in place of their natural eyes. It makes them seem somewhat bug-eyed, but it also serves to render them immune to a wide range of visual distractions and widens the portion of the electromagnetic spectrum they can see. There's a quiver on his back, but it's empty. Instead of the qwa-bolts I half-feared, he hoists a round shield and a short sword aloft.
"BLOOD AND PAIN! BLOOD AND FIRE! BLOOD AND DEATH!"
This time the crowd roars its approval. Only sensible really, however they actually feel about it. In the dim light from where the Thunderer entered I can see the faint glow of his personal organiser robohead, and I don't doubt for a moment that it's recording everything.
Ragnar looks mildly put out by the approval his opponent is getting, but gamely makes a salute with his sword before picking a stance with sword raised high and both hands on the grip. For his part the Thunderer crouches slightly, shield forward and sword drawn back to stab.
No salute for the alien.
Right, I need to get down to that level and prepare to intervene. Or at least grab him once the match is over so he can't sign up for another one. And -I spot another spectator having his pocket picked- I need to avoid getting blindsided. And make sure that if he dies then none of the locals gets his ring. Getting it off whoever gets to strip his corpse is going to be awkward, especially if I want to stay undetected.
He and I are going to have a chat about mission discipline after this is over. After Lantern Tui tells me what she found out.
As I walk away from the balcony the noise from the crowd jumps and I hear the thump and clang of their initial probing exchanges. Ragnar's sword glows a sort of purply-pink when active and qwa-energy discharges tend to be a shimmering yellow. Not that it'll look anything like a lightsaber battle: Ragnar's sword might go through the Thunderer's armour but if he tries to parry with it, the Thunderer's sword will go straight through it without slowing.
Across the room I see two people with red stripes on their armour watching me. Ugh, already? No, worry about that later. Another round of clanging and stamps as I thread my way through the crowd in the direction of the stairs downwards. Two well-equipped bouncers are vetting the people allowed down, though they don't appear to be troubling those who come up. I step into the clear circle in front of them and look the closest in the eye.
"What's the entry fee?"
"A Qwardian supply contract, a pit-record or being Qwardian."
"Don't you mean 'Q'ardajin'?"
She huffs. "No one calls them that. They don't like it when aliens use 'their word'."
Ah. Noted. "The man fighting the Thunderer down there works for me. I'd like to show my support."
"That sucks for you. But you can support his death wish perfectly well from up here."
"I don't suppose that I could interest you in a bribe?"
"I dunno. Could you?"
I turn up my empathic vision. What does she or the house want? Ah! It's just a screening process. Those aren't hard and fast rules, just baselines. Anyone prepared to splash around more than a certain amount of money is allowed down. If I bribe big, they'll let me past and mark me down for a fleecing. Hard to judge precisely, but… I put my right hand inside my robes and pull out two platinum coins, then hold them out.
She raises her eyebrows, apparently not impressed.
"I'll make sure I get a supply contract really soon."
She grabs the coins from my grip, making a point of tugging hard on my fingers and in doing so triggering my kinetic barrier. She feels that happening, her expression getting just a little more respectful. She steps aside. "Anyone asks, you snuck past."
"Is that better?"
"Big crowd, someone pushes past in the confusion. We're muscle, not psychics."
"Okay, thank you." Another series of thuds from the pit. The crowd has quietened down quite a bit. I guess that Ragnar's doing a reasonable job. I walk past the guards and hurry down the steps as fast as decorum permits me.
Last edited:
TheLastOne
Person of impeccable tastes (for destruction)
These survival skills impress me. How is he still alive again?
tgojeff
(Verified Pinwheel)
- Location
- Los Angeles
I can see it now. Ol' Donnie making some enemies and then...
Earth [6 months later]
*Massive Ship Flies over DC"
"We have explored Uranus but it was empty, Donovin was there previously. Further probing of the area has been deemed impractical considering the size of the region. Where is he now?"
Last edited:
RichardWhereat
Feanor did nothing wrong.
- Location
- Australia
Boom! I got in an accurate prediction for once. Neat. Not like he's that complex a character though. :[
Ganurath
Literal Enthusiast
- Location
- A Valid Location
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Khorne: "Needs more skulls."
Slaanesh: "Oh, I dunno, the pain's a nice touch."
Tzeentch: "Can't go wrong with fire, at least when it's a straight fight."
Nurgle: "It feels like it's missing something, though."
Khorne: "Yeah, THE SKULLS! Dumbasses."
spencer1519
(Verified Heretic)
- Location
- Oregon, USA
Well, if he loses, he dies.
But if he wins, I imagine that it'll probably help their infiltration go a little smoother. After all, a pit record is a sign of status, and a pit record of "handed a Thunderer his own ass on a platter made from his own armor" would be really impressive. Provided he can pull it off.
But if he wins, I imagine that it'll probably help their infiltration go a little smoother. After all, a pit record is a sign of status, and a pit record of "handed a Thunderer his own ass on a platter made from his own armor" would be really impressive. Provided he can pull it off.
- Location
- South of North
tgojeff
(Verified Pinwheel)
- Location
- Los Angeles
Mostly from punching WAY below his weight class with a power ring.
Imagine if OL was still fighting Sportsmaster level enemies.
TheLastOne
Person of impeccable tastes (for destruction)
He survived for years before he got his ring. I'm just mystified how.
- Status