I'm halfway through Bonehunters and the book has just confirmed something I suspected for a little while now : Corabb is favoured by Oponn
Between him, Crokus and Paran (and whoever I missed), it seems that when we are made aware of Oponn intervening it's always the lady's pull manifesting itself through absurd luck or outright defiance of causality
Is there anyone who, instead, consistently receives the Lord's push?
Released from the Dark One's prison at the beginning of "The Dragon Reborn". You are neither the strongest, or the weakest in the One Power. You are middle of the pack. What's your plan?
From the historical accounts of the Dark Lords. Weapons of the Dark Lords section:
Braxsis looked out into the square where his goal lay. He looked upon the stone of Elista. A stone in which ‘The Sword of Eternum’ was placed. Legend states that he who shall hold true dominion over the Dark Continent shall draw the blade from the stone.
Braxsis was one who would never turn down a challenge. He had fought his way to becoming the Dark Lord of the Dark Continent. Truly this blade would be the newest edition to his armoury. Walking up to the back of the queue of people who were attempting the challenge today, he waited.
Many looked at him in confusion, wondering why the ruler of their entire land was queuing. But Braxsis’ mother always taught him a true man never hits a woman and never cuts in line. As both deserve death. He had done neither through his centuries-long life, and he would not break that streak that day.
Each person ahead of him tried and failed. Some let their faces become red with the effort. But Braxsis was confident. He was physically the strongest Dark Lord yet. Granted, that was only three other contenders, but that is still a lofty trio.
Finally, it was his turn. None dare line up behind him. All knew it was he who would draw the blade from the stone. Gently tapping the exposed edge, he felt a jolt of pain. The edge was sharp enough to cut him. Truly it was a magnificent blade.
His hand enveloped the entire hilt of the sword. A blade made so the average demon or even human would need two hands he could achieve with one. All it would take is a light pull and…
“Neghhh”, he grunted, trying to pull the blade.
He repositioned himself, so he had both feet on the stone rather than just one and pulled from the crossguard.
“Neghhh!!!” again he grunted with the effort, but the blade still would not budge. He could feel his anger bubbling to the surface. He was the Dark Lord. This should be his weapon to wield!!! That is when inspiration struck him.
Suppose anyone would be asked to describe the Dark Lord Braxsis with three words. One would inevitably be direct or even simple. He didn’t need grand schemes. He would walk up to your castle and punch a hole right through the wall.
Stepping off the stone, the onlookers were stunned silent. Only a few whispers about Braxsis not being worthy dare be said. Braxsis, though paid them no heed. He tightened his grip and lifted the entire blade, stone and all, from the ground.
“Yes, this is
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There was once a little boy who loved to play in the garden. He would pluck the delicate flowers by their stems and weave them into garlands, sometimes depositing them around his mother's neck, but more often his own. He would race into his father's workshop and tug on his arm until the old man would follow the energetic child outside and tell him a story. He would run up and down the street, proclaiming to all that would challenge him that he would not be, no, could not be caught.
That little boy is dead.
Well, not dead in the traditional sense. He hasn't been buried 6 feet under, wasn't burned on a pyre. No, this little boy is dead because every aspect of his personality and life was stripped from him by fate.
Fate.
It's quite a funny thing, really. It might not even exist. I've thought about whether it does quite a lot recently, one more dilemma to pass the time in this lonely tower. I hope it is real, though. Because then, at least, I have someone to blame for all of this.
But I digress. Back to the boy. The boy and his flowers.
He was an unremarkable child, or at least he seemed that way at first. His messy hair matched his dark brown eyes and his face always seemed to be lit up by a grin. Unfortunately for him, he was also born on the first day of Spring. All 300 days in the year and he had to be born at that cursed time
The prophecy spelled the end of his childhood. How could it not, referencing "spring's child, eyes of bark and heart of grass"? In the years to come, the boy would often wonder if the prophecy had ever been real. But it didn't matter then, because it was after. And, as everyone knows, after is very different from before. Because between them comes an event, be it something good or something bad. And that event, it can change everything and leave you feeling shattered, half stuck in before, half dragged unwillingly into after.
What would it have been like, I wonder, if the boy had refused his destiny? If he had let his cowardice win and run far, far away from everything that he had ever known. Is it even worth wondering, now that we know the real outcome?
Ah, my mind wanders today. Apologies.
The boy fit the prophecy perfectly. What, with his spring birthday and deep brown eyes. His love for the garden only furthered the Priests' conviction that this was the boy of the prophecy. Later, th
... keep reading on reddit ➡So what about Hitler or Stalin? This verse has been bugging me for some time and making me kind of peeved, considering those two committed arguably some of the worst atrocities in human history. They got off pretty easy by killing themselves, or being mourned and given a funeral.
I've heard the free will argument before but it still doesn't make sense considering God has intervened in the course of human history to do his will and save his people.
I'm most likely missing something here, and I really want a separate point of view.
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I was backed into the corner I had been running from for my whole life. For my whole lives.
"You're the Dark Lord?" I asked.
"I avoided it for a few decades," Trevor said. "But fate's a bit of a stickler for being followed eventually."
"I suppose we both learned that through experience," I said.
I thought back to when we were kids. Trevor and I had been best friends. Then I was declared the Chosen One and whisked off to train with the best in the known lands. They didn't really tell me how I was supposed to find and kill the Dark Lord, just that I was supposed to do it.
As the years of searching wore on though, I found that I stopped aging. While everyone who had trained me grew old and died, I stayed stuck somewhere in early-mid adulthood, with all of the physical ability that came with that. The only thing that aged was my mind.
So instead of hunting down the Dark Lord, I started doing other things. Things that would arguably allow me to hunt them down and kill them, when I felt the time was right. But these side quests became a means unto themselves. Until I came to that battle with the Dark Lord, I was immortal. Hell, there wasn't even any guarantee that the Dark Lord had been born, or was active, or whatever. They were supposed to lurk in the shadows, only evident by their actions. I took out a few obvious Dark Lords in my time, to keep my skills sharp and make people think that I was doing my job, but none of them had been The Dark Lord.
"But now here we are," Trevor said.
"Here we are," I said. I drew my sword and it crackled with magical energy, the result of centuries of enchantments I had placed on it. Brightblade had felled numerous impostor Dark Lords.
Trevor didn't seem particularly evil. He looked older than I remembered him, obviously, but we had last seen each other at the age of twelve. I was impressed that either of us remembered the other.
"So what happens when one of us kills the other?" Trevor asked. "Does the other
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