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Noblesse Oblige [Znt/SI]

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shadenight123 said:
Thus, since I was going to marry into royalty, my clothes were dark blue.
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... So Gallia has best fashion, then, is what you're saying?

Gamerlord said:
Oh holy shit, that thought led to Karin breeding manticores, and that thought led to Louise summoning Hagrid as Windalfr. I need.
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Well that would be irrelevance incarnate.

Not saying he wouldn't make a good Windalfr, I'm saying that even if he was summoned for any of the other three, he'd still do a good job of it if there was no actual Windalfr nearby to cheat.
(This would be awesome.)
 
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I'm waiting for Raven to speak in full, winding sentences.

"I knew this dame was trouble the very moment she walked in, Henlock."

"Is that so, my dear Raven-tson?"
 
shadenight123 said:
By all that was holy, I could get used to Gallian cuisine
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Yes. Fish is love. Give me fish. Fish fish fish.

I like fish. Fish taste great. ♡.♡

Fuck the bones, though. Damn things have to be found by trial and error, which is choking.
shadenight123 said:
Well, myself and Joseph, to be more precise.
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Joseph and me

You put yourself last in a list of names. I'm not even sure why you used "myself" there; "I," "me," and "myself" are not interchangeable.
'I' or 'me'? - Oxford Dictionaries

Basically, you use "I" if you're doing something. If you happen to be doing something to yourself, you use "myself." ("I stabbed myself.")

Congrats, now you know better English than most people who try to use fancy language, usually by peppering everything with "myself."
Gardner's Modern American English third edition said:
E. Reflexive Pronouns. The reflexive pronouns—herself, himself, itself, myself, oneself, ourselves, themselves, yourself, yourselves—have two uses. First, they may serve as the object of a reflexive verb (one that has the subject acting on the object), as either a direct object <they flatter themselves> or an indirect object <she gave herself a break>. Second, they may give their antecedent special emphasis. The antecedent may be the subject <Gayle herself would never admit it> <Gayle would never admit it herself> or an object <give it to Gayle herself>.


The key to the use of reflexive pronouns is that each one should reflect an antecedent. They are misused when they just stand in for personal pronouns—e.g.: "It is only right and just, Ms. Flamel, that the assets of the partnership should now be divided equally between yourself and me [read between you and me]." Fred Saberhagen, A Coldness in the Blood 152 (2002). See myself.
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shadenight123 said:
All in all it wasn't a bad thing, all things considered.
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Remove everything after the comma.
CaesriusPolybius said:
... So Gallia has best fashion, then, is what you're saying?
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Yes. Blue is objectively the best color in the entire world.

No, I am not biased because I live by one of the most beautiful seas in the world. How could you ever reach such a preposterous conclusion?

Gardner's Modern American English third edition said:
G. Em-Dash [—]. The em-dash, which is as wide as the capital M, is used to mark an interruption in the structure of a sentence. In typewriting, it is commonly represented by two hyphens, often with a space at each end of the pair (--). Word-processing programs can place a true em-dash, but the procedure varies among programs. A pair of em-dashes can be used to enclose a parenthetical remark or to mark the ending and the resumption of a statement by an interlocutor. E.g.: "The last time I saw him I asked him if he still believed—as he once had written—'that we are at this moment participating in one of the very greatest leaps of the human spirit to a knowledge not only of outside human nature but also of our own deep inward mystery.'" Bill Moyers, Introduction to Joseph Campbell, The Power of Myth xix (Betty Sue Flowers ed., 1988).


The em-dash can also be used to replace the colon—e.g.:

• "On July 22, the company was awarded the largest privatization contract ever for a prison—a 2,048-bed minimum-security facility in Taft, Calif." "Wackenhut Wins Its Prison Bid," BusinessWeek, 4 Aug. 1997, at 42.

• "She returned to singing in 1996—after a stroke and complications from diabetes forced her to have both legs amputated." Suzanne Braun Levine, "My Secret Predawn Rite," Newsweek, 4 Aug. 1997, at 12.

The em-dash is perhaps the most underused punctuation mark in American writing. Whatever the type of writing, dashes can often clarify a sentence that is clogged up with commas—or even one that's otherwise lusterless. Imagine the following sentences if commas replaced the well-chosen em-dashes:

• "It is noteworthy that the most successful revolutions—that of England in 1688 and that of America in 1776—were carried out by men who were deeply imbued with a respect for law." Bertrand Russell, "Individual and Social Ethics" (1949), in The Basic Writings of Bertrand Russell 357, 358 (1961).

• "Unfortunately, moral beauty in art—like physical beauty in a person—is extremely perishable." Susan Sontag, Against Interpretation 55 (1966).

• "When David Nemer sat down with his 12-year-old daughter one night recently to watch a television sitcom—a treat for finishing her homework early—he was shocked by the behavior he saw in his living room." Daniel Howard Cerone, "Adult Programming Invades Family Hour," L.A. Times, 15 Oct. 1995, at A1.

• "I heard this anecdote from Mikhail Gorbachev—who had heard it from Gromyko himself—when I paid him a visit, earlier this year, to talk about the vodka anniversary." Victor Erofeyev, "The Russian God," New Yorker, 16 Dec. 2002, at 56.

• "She tried not to think that all his verses about her—the sonnets, the villanelles, the haiku—were merely ploys to prepare her for this ridiculous rubber balloon." Arthur Miller, "The Bare Manuscript," New Yorker, 16 Dec. 2002, at 82, 86.


Sometimes, perhaps as a result of an ill-founded prejudice against dashes, writers try to make commas function in their place. Often this doesn't work. In fact, the commas can result in a comma splice (one of two types of RUN-ON SENTENCE)—e.g.: "Don't worry about making it pretty—they will do that—just make sure the mathematics is right." "Get Out Your Pencils," Newsweek, 4 Apr. 1994, at 8. (A possible revision: Don't worry about making it pretty; they will do that. Just make sure the mathematics is right.)

When using dashes, be sure to place them logically so that the PARALLELISM of the sentence remains intact. Sometimes writers put them in odd places—e.g.:

• "Criminologist Marvin Wolfgang compiled arrest records for every male born—and raised in Philadelphia—in 1945 and 1958." James Wootton, "Lessons of Pop Jordan's Death," Newsweek, 13 Sept. 1993, at 12. (A possible revision: Marvin Wolfgang, a criminologist, compiled arrest records for every male who was both born in Philadelphia in either of two years—1945 and 1958—and raised there. On the reason for changing the position of criminologist in that sentence, see TITULAR tomfoolery.)

• "There were other cellars beyond an arch, containing nothing more than rats and rubbish but—and that was—important, they couldn't be seen from the cages." Terry Pratchett, Night Watch 167 (2002). (Perhaps the writer meant to put important before the second dash. Even if that were true, though, the sentence would have a problem with ANTICIPATORY REFERENCE—since the word that refers to something that hasn't yet been mentioned.)


Generally, two em-dashes are all a sentence can handle. With three, the reader loses track of what material is part of the main sentence and what is parenthetical. A long sentence might contain distinct pairs of em-dashes far apart without creating problems, but it's better to observe the two-em-dash limit.


Consider putting a letter space before and after an em-dash. Although most book publishers omit the spaces, outside fine typography the spaces help prevent awkward line breaks.


H. En-Dash [–]. The en-dash, which is half as wide as the em-dash, is distinct (in print) from the hyphen. It joins pairs or groups of words to show a range, and also indicates movement or tension (rather than cooperation or unity). It is often equivalent to to or versus <the 1914–1918 war> <the nature–nurture debate> <the Dallas–Toronto–Quebec route> <the Fischer–Spassky match> <the Marxist–Trotskyite split>. The en-dash is also used, however, for joint authors <the Prosser–Keeton text>. But it's not used for one person with a double-barreled name—e.g.: "Lord Baden-Powell's organization" (that's a hyphen, not an en-dash).


Some editors use the en-dash for a PHRASAL ADJECTIVE in which the individual elements contain spaces or internal hyphens <a Pulitzer Prize–winning author> <a Christopher Ricks–type literary critic><the secretary-treasurer–elect> <pre–Civil War society>.


In typewriting and in newspaper journalism, the en-dash is commonly represented by a single hyphen. Word-processing programs can insert a true en-dash, but the procedure varies among programs.


In circumstances involving a disjunction, the en-dash is usually preferable to the virgule—e.g.: "If we manage to get that far, the absurdity of attempting to preserve the 19th-century possessive–genitive dichotomy [not possessive/genitive dichotomy] will have become apparent." See (Q).
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Edited this in because I saw you use a hyphen as a catch all for the em dash. For example, there's this article: Four ways to insert an em dash in a Word document - TechRepublic
 
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Dragonskyt said:
You know Shade's got ahold of you, when withdrawal symptoms start making themselves known, after a whole day of lack of updates.
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I know, right? Sometimes he takes hours between one update and another. It's horrible. :p
Larekko12 said:
The only fallen nobles I can ever recall are literal bandits. And nobles have certain divine duties that include beating their death world into submission under their and being doctors and junk.
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I've been musing on the subject of how appropriate gainful employment, and this last update is a pretty good opportunity to share my thoughts:

I get the feeling that Shade is speaking from the perspective of one of the high nobility: The petty nobility aren't actually real nobility, so to speak. Real nobility does not work. It's completely inappropriate, crass, not befitting their station, would make a huge scandal, etc. Of course, that is not to say that a noble can't act in such way that would be interpreted work, so long he's not getting paid for it in any way. Still a bit crass, but hey, high nobility is always a bit eccentric, and if a duke has the hobby of building roads and repairing wells, specially in his own land, well, that's his prerogative. Actually hiring himself out to do so, for money? Why not go selling your body while you are at it?

Petty nobility? It's not that it's not crass or ugly for them to hire their gifts for the founder for money, but not only they are not important enough for anyone to really care about it, but what can you expect from them? They are barely better than commoners, and besides, while ugly and crass, they are so very useful. So long they don't flaunt it, don't make too many waves, well, it would be an accepted part of the society, if not one that people would like to acknowledge very frequently.

And of course, there's different levels of "acceptability" for different professions. Being a doctor, a tutor or something the like? Yeah, sure, it's not that bad. Being the the kind of very specialized craftsmen or tradesmen where magic would be essential? Not that appropriate, but someone has to build the magical plumbing (that is, plumbing that is magical, not plumbing for magic), craft the magic items that do get sold and traded, specially wands and sword-wands. Doing something commoners could do, but doing so in a far better fashion? Not going to be driven out or anything of the sort, still too useful to do so, but not going to be acknowledged except when they are necessary, and even then going to be that kind of work that they better come at night and enter through a back door, so as to not be seen.

Actually doing work just like a commoner? Ugly, scandalous and wasteful. If found, people are going to assume said mage is trying to hide as a commoner, and unless they can produce a very good explanation for why it's so, well, yeah, people are going to assume they are an outlaw or some other kind of undesirable. Or worse yet, are going to think they are some kind of heretic ashamed of their gifts of the founder, but that's not that likely unless they were already suspicious of said mage.
 
AddictedtoKills said:
The manticore is actually a message.

If you break my lubbly-wubbly Henry, you better run, because the wind won't be fast enough to keep you from me.
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Karrin: This manticore is a gift for you and it has been trained to follow you around and obey your instructions. I also know it's maximum flight speed and My manticore knows it's sent. Break my little Henry's heart and there will be no place in the world you will be able to hide. I will hunt you down and end you. Now lets get a look at your with your betrothed, you two look noble standing together.
 
Working doesn't make nobles fall they have to do something so disgracefull their family kicks them out. Most nobles work part of the justification for their rule is that commoners wouldn't be able to survive without nobles plowing the fields and curing diseases.
 
shadenight123 said:
They had given this highly dangerous, highly risky, utterly mad responsibility to me.

Well, myself and Joseph, to be more precise. And by Joseph, I didn't mean Joseph-François, but Joseph de Gallia.
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Bludflag said:
Joseph and me

You put yourself last in a list of names. I'm not even sure why you used "myself" there; "I," "me," and "myself" are not interchangeable.
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I disagree. There's a 'me' two words before, and it refers to the same person. 'Myself' is a good stylistic choice, both for emphasis and to break up the '... me well me and ...'

BTW, on the 'me versus I' thing: I is nominative, me accusative. Usually people whose mother tongue has declensions remember it better this way.
(@shadenight123 is German right?) whoops, probably got confused with @Fernandel .
Still, if he knows a bit of Latin, the point stands :)
 
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That seems like a bit of a problem, keep his familiar from him all the time.
I'm Sure that once he's wed the true royal family mount will be made known, something much cuter and cuddlier than a manticore.
 
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Chapter Forty-Five
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    • Chapter Forty-Five

    The streets of Lutece were wider than those of Tristain, and the crowd that gathered by the sides of said street was by no small feat small in number. The arrival of foreign nobility might not have warranted such a thing, but apparently the granddaughter of the King's coming of age was a big deal, and thus everything directly connected to her was a big deal too. This involved the arrival of her fiancé, who was a foreign noble and future prince-consort.

    So, the people wanted nothing less than to see with their own eyes their future king, and who was I to say no to them? Well, I would have loved nothing less than to say no, but refusing was never on the table to begin with.

    The manticore I rode on wasn't Freedom, but a peaceful old beast by the name of Carnage. Perhaps in his youth, the manticore had truly warranted the bloodthirsty name, but now it was simply a big beast good only for parades, and the occasional flight.

    The crowd cheered on as soon as they saw me in their sights, their smiles perhaps tied to the fact that there would be celebrations ongoing in the streets, with stands of food offered kindly for free by the crown of Gallia. As they waved and yelled, Carnage did not as much as flinch. The rest of the manticore knights paraded behind me, shoulders tall and square, spines straight. Their chins were high with pride, and they held a rhythm to them that was uncannily military.

    I held a smile on my face and waved slowly. There was even proper etiquette tied to how much waving a noble could do. Once every city block was considered appropriate. One single wave was fine. Happily cheering right and left wasn't.

    The arrival at the palace of Grand Troyes was magnificent, the gardens in full bloom -magic had been used without a doubt, because all sorts of flowers had bloomed, even those that would normally not- and the knights of the parterre divided by their flowery motifs stood guard by their respective flower beds. The crowd that stretched as far as the eye could see was held back by a line of soldiers, the front of the palace lit with hundreds of floating tiny spheres of light, giving the impression of fireflies.

    I dismounted once in front of a butler, two knights escorting said old man who was in charge of guiding me through the absolute madness of rooms that constituted the royal palace of Gallia. When compared to the wealth of Tristain, that of Gallia easily was tenfold, if not a hundredfold more magnificent. It was heralded as the strongest country, with the strongest of powers, comparable perhaps only to Germania.

    "Your grace," the butler bowed as he showed me the way, one of the knights taking care of Carnage, the other directing the rest of the knights to where they could take their own mounts. De Damas was the only one allowed to follow me from the get go, his appearance giving off a sense of safety I hadn't quite felt before.

    Isabella hadn't lied, nor exaggerated. The spacious entrance of the palace, the richly decorated walls and tapestries, the sumptuous carpets-everything had been polished to perfection in the palace. The windows glittered as if made of crystal and gold, the chandeliers were breathtakingly beautiful, and the paintings that hung from the walls had been the product of master painters.

    I was shown a small -when compared to the rest of the rooms we had gone through- room, in which a pitcher filled with wine and two glasses rested upon a silk cloth. A few minutes later, and I was joined by the last person I had expected to meet.

    King Robespierre the Third was older than I had last seen him, and it was pretty clear his iron will and demeanor were what was holding him up. In a second, I was already bowing down as much as possible -kneeling was reserved only to my king, and it would be so until the day I actually received a title from the Gallian royalty.

    "Rise your head," the king's voice was raspy, but it came with so much dignity to it that it was impossible not to feel respect from the sheer tone it emanated. It wasn't a matter of mere wisdom that seeped through the voice. It was the voice of valor itself, it was the voice of someone in pain that yet made it appear as no big deal. It was the type of voice I was intimately familiar with, and painfully so too. "Before my granddaughter party begins, I wanted to meet with her betrothed in a more informal setting."

    "Your royal highness, you honor me with your attention," I said as I lifted my head. His eyes moved to the pitcher, and I complied even without being told to.

    "I won't be drinking," Robespierre said. "My bladder wouldn't hold it," he added with a chuckle. I blinked, and then chuckled in turn. This drastic change of tone made it clear he wasn't lying about wanting something more informal. "Do drink though-I suspect you won't be allowed that much during the party proper."

    As he gestured with his hand, I saw the Ruby of the Earth glint on the back of his hand. The sign of Gallian royalty, the ring that marked someone as King of Gallia.

    "Your royal highness will forgive me for being blunt," I said as I filled my glass, "but I suspect we have not met simply to discuss how unfair it is for the both of us to be denied wine at parties."

    Robespierre laughed softly, and then nodded once. "I wanted to meet in private the son of the famous Heavy Wind, see for myself what there was of vicious in him. And I'm seeing nothing of the sort," he hummed thoughtfully, "Though perhaps, it's simply well hidden?"

    "I suppose it is," I admitted. "My mother never does voice her opinion loudly, but I am sure she is proud of what I have become," I exhaled, "Or of what I will become, I suppose."

    "Oh? You do not sound pleased about the arrangement," Robespierre remarked, as if he was simply commenting about the weather.

    "It is not that I am not pleased," I answered, "It is that I would have liked to have achieved something of worth before marrying into the royalty. I do not think I will be allowed to hunt down monsters in the countryside any time soon as a husband of royalty now, would I?" I shook my head. "Isabella is an earnest kid, and I am sure she will be a great wife, but...will I be the one worthy of her?"

    Robespierre snorted, and then looked at the darkening sky outside the window. "When I arranged the marriages between my sons and their respective wives, I received a lot of offers. My lady wife, she had a good eye for this sort of things. She knew who Joseph needed, and she knew who Charles wanted. They both married someone they might have not loved, but that they would come to like in short time without fault. No lady could ever be worthy of her sons' love, at least in her modest opinion, but she felt happy in leaving them in their care, and when she passed away, she passed away worrying about Joseph and the loss of his wife," here Robespierre snorted and shook his head, "My eldest was always the one that worried us the most."

    He sighed. "What I wish to convey, young Valliere, is that it is not a matter of whether or not you are worthy of my granddaughter. It is whether you have what it takes to make sure I will not have to worry on my deathbed about her."

    I blinked, and raised both eyebrows. "You won't have to worry about her, your royal Highness."

    "Then tonight, do your best to give my grandchild everything she wants," Robespierre said. "Although the brothers help each other, those who would rather see Charles on the throne won't shy away from confrontation."

    "Then, I will apologize now, your royal highness," I said calmly, swallowing the glass' contents with ease. "Because I am my mother's son, and I solve problems as the way of old dictates. So, know that I won't shy away from confrontation either. If you end up losing a few nobles tonight, then I am deeply regretful."

    "Ah! The hot blood of youth," Robespierre laughed. "Most of them are only going to bark, but be careful, because some do have bite to their words. And you are the only son of your mother, are you not?"

    "Unless my mother had a twin and hid him somewhere secret, I do not think so," I replied very calmly, moving my hand to the pitcher for another glass.

    "Then be careful," Robespierre said. "Because you cannot afford enemies. That worthless son of mine already has made quite a few by himself."

    "Nobles who refuse to follow the traditions as laid down by the Founder will by him be smitten," I replied, my eyes narrowing as I looked at the wine's surface. "My mother-she has this rule, the Rule of Steel. For her, obedience to the crown is absolute. If the Queen or the King ordered her to behead her children, she would do it. She wouldn't even flinch. That's my mother, the Heavy Wind. Absolute duty," perhaps I was laying it thickly, but it was important to make this clear.

    I looked at Robespierre, my eyes as hard as possible, my fingers tightened only slightly more around the glass. "And I was taught that too. So, since I am to become a subject of the crown of Gallia, I will gladly follow the king, and the crown, until my dying breath. If Isabella will be my Queen, then I will do as she commands, no matter what she asks."

    Robespierre nodded once, and then moved a hand towards the pitcher. "I'll have a glass, my bladder be damned. If I don't, I'm sure you'd manage to finish it all by yourself, young Valliere."

    "Well, your royal highness, you did offer me the whole pitcher, so...of course I would. An order from the king is not something I would refuse."

    Robespierre laughed even as he raised his glass, "To wine, young Valliere."

    "And merry drinking companions, royal highness," I raised my own glass, and together we drank.

    In Vino Veritas, the Latins would say.
     
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    • shadenight123 said:
    "Nobles who refuse to follow the traditions as laid down by the Founder will by him be smitten," I replied, my eyes narrowing as I looked at the wine's surface. "My mother-she has this rule, the Rule of Steel. For her, obedience to the crown is absolute. If the Queen or the King ordered her to behead her children, she would do it. She wouldn't even flinch. That's my mother, the Heavy Wind. Absolute duty," perhaps I was laying it thickly, but it was important to make this clear.
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    Holy shit. Karin is a fanatical Absolute Monarchist Zealot.
     
    NewAgeOfPower said:
    Holy shit. Karin is a fanatical Absolute Monarchist Zealot.
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    ...Heh. Um. More like 'Shade is a skilled and completely shameless liar'.

    She would probably kill just about anyone else besides her children, though, pitiful orphans and saintly churchmen be damned.

    Henry is almost definitely lying, and he knows he's lying, but the point he's making isn't without substance.
     
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    NewAgeOfPower said:
    Holy shit. Karin is a fanatical Absolute Monarchist Zealot.
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    Do notice: hyperbolic hyperbole is hyperbolic.

    Karin might, and this is a big IF, execute one of her children if they turned traitor so hard it would make Judas clap his hands in approval. But from there to obeying a 'kill all of your innocent children' orders...nah.

    Dark as Silver said:
    Truth in wine?
    Can't say I've heard that before.
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    Oh? It's quite a famous saying in latin. In vino veritas - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
     
    shadenight123 said:
    Do notice: hyperbolic hyperbole is hyperbolic.

    Karin might, and this is a big IF, execute one of her children if they turned traitor so hard it would make Judas clap his hands in approval. But from there to obeying a 'kill all of your innocent children' orders...nah.
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    That said, it would take a Caligulan tyrant to order her to kill all her children without a reason, thus if she where ordered to kill one they'd have had to do something to deserve it.
    shadenight123 said:
    Oh? It's quite a famous saying in latin. In vino veritas - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
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    The things you learn.
    Obviously my latin is not what it ought to be. Or I just don't drink enough.
    E: Oh this is wonderful. For those who didn't click that wiki link
    Article:
    Round, round with the glass, boys, as fast as you can,
    Since he who don't drink cannot be a true man.
    For if truth is in wine, then 'tis all but a whim
    To think a man's true when the wine's not in him.
    Drink, drink, then, and hold it a maxim divine
    That there's virtue in truth, and there's truth in good wine!
     
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