[RWBY] RWBY Shorts

[AJ_Talon]

Synopsis: Don Diavolo or Il Convito di Pietra (The Stone Banquet)

An original grand opera in two acts, written by the great Arminiusian Wolfgang Theobald Cherusci, set in the opulent yet treacherous land of Nova Quitalia — a realm where ancient myths walk among men and intrigue abounds.

Act I: Intrigue and Deception
In the glittering capital of Romulus, the powerful Giovanna family — known as Passione — prepares for a grand wedding that promises to unite two great houses. Diavolo Una, the cunning and ambitious nobleman of the Una family, seeks to forge an alliance through the marriage of his daughter Trish Una to Giorno Giovanna, the noble and virtuous son of Don Dio Giovanna. Don Dio Gionata Giovanna, a man of unwavering honor and strength (embodying the chivalric spirit rather than tyrannical ambition), welcomes the union as a path to lasting peace between their feuding families.

During the lavish wedding festivities, Diavolo dispatches his loyal yet timid servant Doppio to lure Don Dio away from the crowd. In disguise, Diavolo strikes the fatal blow with a sword, murdering the patriarch in cold blood. With masterful deceit, he shifts blame onto a shadowy "boss" of a rival faction, sowing chaos and positioning himself to seize control of the Giovanna fortunes.

Giorno, grief-stricken yet resolute, vows vengeance upon the unknown killer. Accompanied by his loyal companions Guido Mista and Narancia Ghirga, he sets out to uncover the rival boss. Diavolo, ever scheming, redirects suspicion toward the honorable Bruno Bucciarati and his gang, sparking a fierce confrontation between the two groups. Amid the turmoil, Diavolo sends the increasingly reluctant Doppio to infiltrate the Giovanna estate and steal crucial bank papers that would cement his dominance.

The plot thickens when Jean Pierre Polnareff, a gallant knight-servant from distant Gallia in service to the Giovannas, catches Doppio in the act. In a swift and merciless duel, Diavolo intervenes and slays Polnareff, silencing the witness forever.

Meanwhile, Trisha overhears her father's chilling confession of his crimes. At the same moment, Giorno and Bucciarati's gang realize they have both been manipulated by the same hidden hand. Trisha flees her family's villa to warn Giorno, and together — now allied with Bucciarati's group — they unmask Diavolo as the true architect of the bloodshed.

Diavolo strikes back by accusing Giorno of kidnapping his daughter, alerting the city authorities and forcing the young heirs and their friends into hiding. In a moment of solemn reflection, Giorno returns to the churchyard to honor his father's grave: a towering marble statue of Don Dio in full golden armor.

There, they encounter Diavolo and Doppio, and hide to spy on him. The villain gloats over his impending triumph, dismissing Trisha as expendable — he will soon claim a new wife and new heirs. In mocking defiance, Diavolo invites the stone statue to attend his victory banquet. To his shock, the statue rumbles a deep "Sì" in acceptance — Giorno's perfect imitation of his father's voice. Unnerved but defiant, Diavolo departs with a trembling Doppio.

Act II: Judgment and Redemption
The final act unfolds at Diavolo's opulent dinner party in his Romulus palazzo. Trisha confronts her father publicly, pleading for him to repent his sins, confess the truth, and exonerate Giorno (one of the opera's most difficult pieces, written for only the best sopranos). Diavolo coldly refuses, imprisoning her and plotting to use her as bait to lure his enemies.

Suddenly, the doors crash open. A figure clad in golden stone-like armor, voice resonant and commanding, enters: Giorno, disguised as the animated statue of his father, channeling Don Dio's presence with unearthly perfection.

Terror grips Diavolo. He bids the quaking Doppio to prepare a place at the table for their "guest." The spectral Dio refuses the meal, declaring instead that he has come to invite Diavolo to dine with him — in the realm beyond.

With a fateful handshake, Diavolo accepts. An icy chill descends upon the hall. The apparition pronounces divine judgment: this night, Diavolo shall perish. Multiple times, mercy is offered — repent, and be spared eternal torment. Each time, Diavolo defies it in arrogant fury.

At last, the abyss opens. Horrific demons, akin in shape to insects fused with man, materialize in their multitude — embodiments of endless, inescapable retribution. They proclaim Diavolo's fate: not mere death, but an eternal cycle of dying, his suffering boundless and unimaginable. As Doppio cowers beneath the table in gibbering horror and Giorno is still in shock and awe, the demons seize the screaming Diavolo and drag him into the infernal depths.

In the aftermath, Giorno and Trisha present irrefutable evidence of Diavolo's crimes to the authorities, clearing their names and restoring order. The survivors of the groups — now united under Giorno's benevolent leadership — vow to forsake vengeance and live in piety and justice.

The opera closes on a note of hard-won hope: Giorno and Trisha wed in a ceremony of true alliance and love, while the traumatized Doppio resolves to seek a new master, one preferably free of such apocalyptic drama.

Finis coronat opus.

- - -

I present to you a synopsis of an opera for Remnant, based upon Jojo Part 5 and Don Giovanni.

Consider it an invitation to others to expand on the culture and lore of Remnant.

 

[Sliverhero]

La Strega del Bosco e il Cavaliere Ritornato

(The Witch of the Forest and the Knight Who Came Home)

A legendary tragic play in three acts, attributed to the pre-Kingdom playwright known only as "The Pale Scribe." First performed centuries before the Huntsman Academies, the work blends myth, theology, and forbidden history.


Act I: The Knight Who Crossed Death

The curtain rises upon a primeval forest, ancient and untouched, its towering black trees surrounding a solitary spire of stone. Here dwells Salema, the Witch of the Wood, feared, immortal, and abandoned by gods and men alike. Her opening aria mourns eternity without meaning, life without end, and love stolen by fate.

From beyond the forest comes a miracle: Ozpinus, the Golden Knight. once slain in service to mankind, returns from death itself. Sent back by higher powers to guide the world toward harmony, he bears divine light upon his armor and sorrow within his soul.

Their reunion is tender and restrained, laden with disbelief. Salema, hardened by centuries of isolation, dares to hope again. Ozpinus confesses that he defied the gods' command not to return to her, choosing love over obedience. Against the will of heaven, they reunite.

The act concludes with their vow: to abandon the world's cruelty, to build a life hidden from gods and kings alike. The forest blooms unnaturally as the witch's curse momentarily lifts, and the chorus warns that love born in defiance invites divine consequence.

Act II: The Children of Light and Shadow

Time passes. The forest clearing becomes a humble home filled with warmth and laughter. Salema and Ozpinus now have four daughters, radiant and unnatural children born of magic and resurrection. Each exhibits powers unseen among mortals, bending reality with instinctive ease. Salema embraces this truth, teaching her children to wield their gifts freely and without shame. She envisions a future where her family will never kneel to gods who abandoned them.

Ozpinus, however, grows increasingly troubled. In solemn soliloquies, he reflects on his divine charge: to shepherd humanity, not to elevate his own blood above it. He fears that the world will not tolerate such power and that the gods will not forgive such defiance.

Tension fractures the household. Ozpinus secretly resolves to limit the children's power and to hide them from the world, while Salema rejects restraint outright. Their arguments crescendo into tragedy when divine judgment looms unseen, Grimm shadows encroaching at the forest's edge. The act ends in dread: husband and wife divided, love poisoned by destiny, and the chorus lamenting that even paradise cannot survive when built upon disobedience.

Act III: Ashes Beneath the Trees

The final act opens amid chaos. The forest writhes, Grimm circle, and fear grips the children. A confrontation erupts between Salema and Ozpinus, not of hatred, but of irreconcilable belief. He pleads for caution, repentance, and obedience to the gods' will. She demands defiance, survival, and vengeance against the heavens.

In the confusion and terror, catastrophe strikes. The children perish, their deaths never shown directly, only implied through shattered light, falling petals, and the parents' screams. Whether by Grimm, divine punishment, or the consequences of their parents' choices remains deliberately ambiguous.

Ozpinus collapses in horror, recognizing that his attempt to serve both gods and family has destroyed them all. Salema, broken beyond grief, rises transformed, her sorrow crystallizing into wrath. She denounces the gods, mankind, and Ozpinus himself for bringing fate's cruelty to her door.

Ozpinus begs forgiveness, offering to remain, to atone, to rebuild. Salema rejects him utterly. Declaring eternal war upon the gods and the world they govern, she casts him out of the forest forever.

The final image is stark:
Ozpinus departs, condemned to endless reincarnation and lonely duty. Salema remains, immortal once more, now a Queen of Grimm and vengeance.


The chorus closes the play:

"Thus was love reborn and slain,
Thus were gods defied and proven cruel,
And thus the world inherited a war
Older than history itself."

Epilogue

In later centuries, the play is often censored, rewritten, or dismissed as allegory. The mention of magic is always theorised to be a primitive form of explaining and understanding what aura and semblance are in those times. The reborn and immortal aspects of the two main character must have been put in place to give the play unnecessary drama that it doesnt need. Headmasters refuse to comment on the play origins. Yet the final line is always preserved:

"Beware the knight who comes home, for he never returns alone."

Finis.

 

[AJ_Talon]

Synopsis: The Tragicall Historie of Camelot or King Arthur

Written by the great playwright Billius Schakkenspell, this is a romantic historical tragicomedy in five acts, set in the past of Albion, whose eternal capital remains the gleaming castle of Camelot — a bastion of chivalry and ancient magic perched upon misty cliffs and surrounded by enchanted forests filled with Grimm and other dangers.

Principal Characters (with their Shakespearean correspondences)

• King Arthur Pendragon — The noble but grieving monarch of Albion (Cymbeline)
• Queen Morgause — Arthur's ambitious and treacherous second wife, a sorceress of subtle poisons (the Queen)
• Prince Mordred — Morgause's arrogant and brutish son by her former marriage, covetous of power (Cloten)
• Princess Guinevere — Arthur's virtuous and courageous daughter by his first queen, named for her (Imogen/Innogen)
• Sir Lancelot du Lac — A valiant knight of humble origins, raised at court and secretly wed to Guinevere (Posthumus Leonatus)
• Sir Agravain — A cunning continental knight from Gallia, sly and boastful (Iachimo)
• Sir Bedivere — Lancelot's loyal companion and servant (Pisanio)
• Sir Belinus — A banished lord, living as a hermit in the wilds of Albion (Belarius)
• Sir Gawain and Sir Gaheris — Belinus's adopted "sons," brave young warriors unaware of their true birth (Guiderius and Arviragus — in truth, Arthur's long-lost sons, kidnapped in infancy)
• Merlin — The enigmatic prophet and advisor, appearing in visions (Jupiter/the Soothsayer)

Act I: Courtly Intrigue at Camelot
In the grand hall of Camelot, King Arthur mourns the disappearance twenty years prior of his two infant sons, taken in the night. Influenced by his cunning second wife, Queen Morgause, he seeks to secure his line by wedding his beloved daughter Guinevere to her son, the vainglorious Prince Mordred.

Yet Guinevere has secretly married Sir Lancelot du Lac, a peerless knight of mysterious low birth raised at Arthur's court. Furious at this defiance, Arthur banishes Lancelot to the continent. Before departing, the lovers exchange tokens: Guinevere gives Lancelot a sacred bracelet woven with her hair, and he bestows upon her a ring bearing the Pendragon crest.

Queen Morgause, plotting to elevate Mordred, feigns support for the lovers while secretly brewing poisons and schemes.

Act II: The Wager and Deception
Exiled in Gallia, Lancelot boasts of Guinevere's unmatched fidelity among the knights there. Sir Agravain, a smooth-tongued Gallian, wagers a fortune against Lancelot's ring that he can seduce the princess. Lancelot accepts, staking his honor.

Agravain travels to Camelot bearing gifts and flattery. Failing to woo Guinevere openly, he hides in a great chest delivered to her chamber (under pretense of safeguarding treasures). By night, he emerges, memorizes the secrets of her room — including a mark upon her breast — and steals the bracelet from her arm as she sleeps.

Returning to Gallia, Agravain presents the "proofs" to Lancelot, convincing him of Guinevere's betrayal. Maddened with jealousy, Lancelot orders his servant Bedivere to slay her upon her arrival in the wilds.

Act III: Flight and the Wilds
Guinevere, warned by Bedivere of the order, disguises herself as a young page named Fidelio and flees Camelot to seek Lancelot. Prince Mordred, enraged at her rejection, pursues her clad in Lancelot's armor.

Lost in Albion's ancient forests, Guinevere encounters a cave dwelling where the exiled lord Belinus lives with his two valiant "sons," Gawain and Gaheris. Touched by their noble bearing, she joins them as Fidelio. Unbeknownst to all, Gawain and Gaheris are Arthur's kidnapped heirs, raised in rustic honor.

Mordred confronts the brothers; in the ensuing duel, Gawain beheads the prince. Guinevere, taking a potion from Morgause's physician (believing it a restorative), falls into a death-like sleep.

Act IV: War and Vision
Gallia's King Josef Arc in Lutetia demands renewed tribute from Albion, refused by the King's nationalist fervor. Gallian legions, led by Caius Lucius, invade. Lancelot, repentant yet despairing, returns disguised to fight for Albion but is imprisoned, as he is seen as a spy.

In prison, Lancelot dreams a vision: the ghosts of his ancestors beseech Merlin, the then deceased wizard and advisor to Arthur, who descends in thunderous glory, promising that the lion's whelps shall reunite with the Pendragon and bring peace.

Act V: Reconciliation and Revelation
In a fierce battle near Camelot's walls, Arthur is captured — but rescued by Belinus, Gawain, Gaheris, and the disguised Lancelot who escaped from his prison to save his King. Albion triumphs.

Captured Gallians are brought before Arthur. In a cascade of revelations: Guinevere awakens and is reunited with Lancelot; Agravain confesses his deceit; Queen Morgause's poisons and plots are exposed (she commits suicide, unrepentant); Belinus reveals the true identity of Gawain and Gaheris as Arthur's sons.

Mordred's headless body confirms his fate. Merlin interprets the prophecy fulfilled. Arthur pardons all, restores tribute to Lutetia in a gesture of wise peace, and blesses the unions of Guinevere and Lancelot, welcoming his lost sons home.

The play ends in Camelot's great hall with feasting, forgiveness, and the promise of a renewed golden age — though shadows of future strife linger unspoken.

Notes:

This play, one of Billius Schakkenspell's later works, is difficult to categorize. It is technically a history but alters the events so dramatically from what was commonly believed at the time to have been the true events of Arthur I's reign as the first true King of Albion it hardly qualifies, even compared to liberties taken with plays such as Lūteus Imperator. It has comedic elements but these are also accompanied by significant drama and tragedy. It's slightly rushed third act is also a rarity for the great playwright, though as it was a commission from Lord Ozymandias of Furth-on-River who insisted on being present at every step of the play, it is understandable. It was one of Schakkenspell's most ambitious undertakings, though this would pale next to his later play (also commissioned by Lord Ozymandias) entitled The Witch and the Knight, based upon a play by an ancient Quitalan playwright known only as "The Pale Scribe".

OOC Notes:

Well you gotta have a Shakespeare equivalent if you have a British Empire equivalent, right? So here's a take on Shakespeare's Cymbeline, featuring many of Arturia (and subsequently Jaune's) ancestors. And yes, the names were so legendary people still kept getting named them and ending up in somewhat similar positions, though they often had much happier endings.

 

[Sliverhero]

Time for even more Forbidden history this time with Giles master.

A Composite Extract from the Annals of Unclean Faiths and Calamities Upon Remnant

Black Archive Concordance — Cross-Era Suppression

Recovered from multiple sealed repositories beneath Vale, Mantle, and old Mistral.
Compiled by unknown hands across millennia.
Annotations attributed to at least nine separate authors—some contradicting, some continuing one another mid-thought.
All copies ordered destroyed. None fully were.


On the One Called François Prelati

Where Giles burned, another watched.

This is the enduring failure of common history: that Giles was the architect of the Drowned Flame, that his madness was singular, and that with his death the heresy ended. Suppressed records disagree. They insist quietly, insistently, that Giles was never more than a vessel.
Willing. Devout. Replaceable.

The name that surfaces beneath scorched margins, ritual erasures, and sigils of interdiction is always the same:

François Prelati.
No birthplace is agreed upon.
No kingdom claims him.
No era contains him.

He appears suddenly in records that should not intersect: a scholar of forbidden astronomy in pre-unification Vale; an itinerant mystic along Mistral's drowned coastlines; a court thaumaturge dismissed from Mantle long before Atlas named itself, cited for "unsafe inquiries into Aura persistence beyond mortal continuity."

Each time, the descriptions align.
Soft-spoken. Educated. Unhurried.
Eyes that did not rest on people, but on what stood behind them.

On the One Who Preceded the Kingdom of Steel

Long before Atlas rose, before Mantle armored itself in iron and certainty, proto-Mantle engineering logs speak of a figure known only as the Consultant.

He advised against deep bore drills near the northern coasts. He warned that certain pressures, once relieved, could not be resealed.
He spoke of Aura theory with a fluency that would not be formalized for centuries.

The logs note no accent.
No origin.
No aging across decades of appearances.

When Mantle's council demanded lineage and credentials, the Consultant simply ceased attending meetings. Construction continued.

Test sites were later abandoned, not due to revolt or collapse, but because Grimm descended directly into the excavation shafts, ignoring surface settlements entirely, as though responding to something beneath the worksite.

Only much later were these logs cross-referenced with cult annotations and a single recurring name scratched into the margins:
François Prelati.

His Teachings

Prelati did not preach worship. He discouraged it. What he taught instead was attunement.
Fragments of his instruction describe the world as layered: stone upon memory, memory upon thought, thought upon something older still.

He taught that the Grimm were not Remnant's greatest calamity, but its immune response, violent, blind, and terrified. "They do not hate us," one fragment attributes to him.
"They hate what notices us."

It was Prelati who formalized the cult's calendars, aligning rites not to moons or seasons, but to stellar occlusions, tidal irregularities, and periods of collective dreaming. It was he who taught the discipline known as answering dreams: the controlled surrender of Aura during sleep, allowing something vast to brush the soul without fully entering.

Most who attempted this went mad. Some did not wake. Those who succeeded were never the same.

On the Matter of Continuance

Here the annals hesitate. Ink thins. Margins fill with warnings. There are repeated, heavily disputed rumors, never confirmed, never fully erased, that François Prelati did not fear death. Not as zealots claim to transcend it, but with the familiarity of one who had already crossed it and returned… sideways.

Contradictions persist:

A man burned at the stake in Mistral, Prelati confirmed dead, followed decades later by his appearance in Vale, unchanged. A drowned corpse recovered from northern waters, face matching contemporary sketches, while records place Prelati alive elsewhere at the same time.

A Huntsman report declaring a successful kill, followed weeks later by an addendum:
"Correction. The body was his. The voice afterward was not."

One marginal note, written in a steadier hand than most, reads: "He does not move from body to body. He teaches bodies how to let go."


Whether this implies possession, succession, or something more profane is unresolved. The annotator vanished soon after. His chambers were found empty, smelling faintly of salt and ozone.

On the Multiplicity of Claimants

Across centuries, at least five individuals, three women and two men were executed, imprisoned, or erased under the charge of being François Prelati.

Each claimed the name without hesitation.
Each demonstrated identical knowledge of forbidden stellar cycles, Grimm avoidance thresholds, and the rites of the Drowned Star.

Descriptions conflict: A silver-haired woman in Vacuo who laughed during immolation.
A Mantle archivist who corrected his interrogators' dates. A Mistrali priestess who stated under truth-binding Semblance:
"I am not him. I am where he was needed."



Autopsies, where permitted, show no shared physiology. Grimm behavior, however, was identical.

The Pattern of Grimm Response

Initial sightings of a Prelati claimant do not provoke attack. Grimm avoid the region. Lesser Grimm fail to approach. Mid-tier entities circle but do not engage. Only with prolonged presence do heavier manifestations appear.

Ancient Nevermore variants.
Leviathan-class entities.
Forms without modern classification.

Not to destroy the claimant. To contain the location. Multiple military analysts, separated by centuries and unaware of one another, reach the same conclusion: "The Grimm behave as if awaiting authorization."



If the claimant is eliminated early, escalation ceases. If the cult's activity deepens, if rites near completion, then Grimm no longer hunt the person. They hunt the ground.

Of the Hunters

It is often said that great men have hunted François Prelati across history. This is accurate, and incomplete. Kings ordered his death.
Huntsmen swore oaths. Scholars turned executioners. All failed.

Names are redacted, erased, or lost. Deeds survive without authors. Yet one fragment recurs across eras: a record of a lone hunter, appearing again and again at the edges of Prelati's movements.

The name is never fully written. Only two letters persist.

OZ

In the oldest strata, he is described as "the first Huntsman, though the title did not yet exist."
In later accounts, he appears as a counselor, a general, a headmaster, a man who arrives too late yet somehow always knows where to look.

Marginal notes suggest he has pursued Prelati longer than any Kingdom has existed. One damaged entry reads: "He has killed Prelati before. It did not end."

Another, written centuries later in a different hand: "OZ hunts not to win. He hunts to delay."


Of Nearing Completion

Several records agree on one final terror: the most dangerous phase is not Prelati's rise, but the moment when he or they, is no longer required. In regions where cult activity ceased without suppression, Grimm numbers dropped to zero. The land did not recover.

Aura destabilized. Dreams synchronized.
Navigation failed. Children spoke words they had not learned.

A pre-Atlas tablet recovered from a collapsed coastal vault bears a final carving: "When the door remembers itself, the key may sleep."


Closing Censure

Let this be written only once more.
If Giles was the flame, then François Prelati was the oxygen, patient, unseen, and essential.

He does not seek thrones.
He does not command the Grimm.
He does not fear death.

He prepares.

And when it finally stirs..

The Grimm will already be waiting.
And so will OZ.

Thus ends this concordance.
May its authors remain unknown.
May its subject never be found.

 

[AJ_Talon]

Der Vampyr von Albion

A grand romantic opera in three acts. Music by Himmel Marchener. Libretto adapted from ancient Albion chronicles and the mythic tales of the Joestar bloodline. Premiered in Kölln's Royal Theatre, circa the 1900s of Remnant's calendar in Arminius.

Principal Characters

• Sir Jonathan Joestar – noble young lord of the ancient Joestar house, baritone (Ruthven/Johann von Wohlbrunn analogue)
• Lord George Joestar – Jonathan's honorable father, bass
• Erina Pendleton – Jonathan's pure-hearted beloved, soprano
• Dio Brando – ambitious orphan taken in by the Joestars, powerful tenor (the Vampire Lord)
• Sir William Zeppeli – eccentric Quitalian master of mystic Aura arts, tenor
• Robert E. O. Speedwagon – loyal street-born ally from the rough districts of Camelot, baritone
• Lady Malham – high priestess of a secret midnight coven, mezzo-soprano
• Chorus of Albion nobles, villagers, coven members, and spectral undead

Setting
The misty isles of Albion, in the grand estate of Joestar Manor outside eternal Camelot. An age when Dust technology was new, and Aura is commonplace but many ancient arts of that great power are now but whispered of in legend. And ancient stone masks of forbidden power lie buried in forgotten crypts before the Moonshatter.

Act I: The Oath and the Mask
In the great hall of Joestar Manor, Lord George Joestar welcomes the orphaned Dio Brando into his home to repay an old life-debt. Dio, burning with ambition and resentment, bows outwardly while inwardly scorning the noble family. Jonathan, honorable and trusting, offers friendship, but Dio humiliates him in a public duel, stealing a kiss from the gentle Erina Pendleton to wound Jonathan's pride. Jonathan fights back, and Dio is humbled... For now.

Years later, Dio and Jonathan are practically brothers. Jonathan is close with Erina. Dio is outwardly planning on becoming a lawyer and going into politics. All the while, he plots to steal the Joestar fortune. During a storm, Dio unearths a sinister stone mask in the family crypt. When blood from a minor wound touches it, the mask awakens, driving bone spikes into his skull. He rises transformed — a vampire lord, immortal, thirsting for blood and dominion.

Lord George discovers Dio's dark experiments. In fury, Dio strikes him down, draining his life before the horrified household. Chaos erupts; Jonathan swears vengeance. Dio flees into the night, abducting Erina as leverage and prize.

Act II: The Midnight Coven
Jonathan, driven by grief and love, pursues clues through Albion's shadowed moors. In a ruined abbey, he interrupts a midnight rite led by Lady Malham, high priestess of a secret vampiric cult. Dio has joined her coven, promising them eternal night in exchange for loyalty.

Jonathan is captured and brought before Dio, who gloats over his newfound power. Erina, imprisoned yet defiant, refuses Dio's seductive offers of immortality. As Dio prepares to turn her, Jonathan is rescued by the mysterious Sir William Zeppeli, a wandering Quitalian master who teaches the ancient Aura art of Ripple breathing (Hamon) — channeling the soul's life-energy through the body to combat creatures of darkness.

Together with the rough but loyal Speedwagon, who has witnessed Dio's horrors in Camelot's underbelly, Jonathan trains in secret. Zeppeli warns that the battle will claim a sacrifice.

Act III: Dawn Over the Manor
The final confrontation returns to Joestar Manor at dawn. Dio, now commanding an army of ghoulish thralls, prepares his coronation as eternal ruler of Albion. Lady Malham and the coven chant infernal hymns.

Jonathan, Zeppeli, and Speedwagon storm the manor. In a series of blazing duels lit by Aura energy:

• Speedwagon holds off the undead horde.
• Zeppeli faces Dio directly, transferring the full mastery of the Hamon School to Jonathan at the cost of his own life.

Jonathan and Dio clash in the great hall. Dio's vampiric strength and regeneration seem invincible, but Jonathan's Ripple — pure as sunlight — burns through the darkness. In the climax, Jonathan drives a Ripple-charged sword through Dio's heart as the first rays of dawn pierce the windows.

Dio's body disintegrates in golden flames. Erina is freed; the coven scatters. Jonathan, gravely wounded, collapses in her arms as Speedwagon kneels in respect.

The opera closes with a solemn chorus at sunrise: though evil is vanquished this day, the ancient mask endures, and the Joestar bloodline must forever stand vigilant against the night.

NOTES:

Naturally this one is based on JoJo Part 1, and Der Vampyr by Heinrich Marschner. Arturia was a fan of it in her youth.

 

[AJ_Talon]

@AndrewJTalon, is Titanmaster_117, over on SB, doing ok? his last post a bit dark, even for him.


the ghosts of Aslanmas: we did not think this thought.
Jacques: YOU GET A PRESENT! YOU GET A PRESENT! EVERYBODY GETS A PRESENT! BWAHAHAHAHA!!!


either Vale in on fire or someone's a parent... again.
or Jaune ends up becoming Father Winter à la Santa Clause.

Click to shrink...

I hope he is. Now! An excerpt from The Good Book of the Tablebreaker Religion:

Saint Polly's Epistle to the Hermodians

Chapter 1

1 Polly, sanctified by the grace of the Table Breaker and bound in holy union to Saint Eustace, a witness to the deceptions of the underworld and the triumphs of faith, to the faithful in Hermod, who dwell amid the chill of progress and the whispers of old myths, ensnared by the tales of the Brother Gods:

2 Grace to you and peace from the Divine Spark, who through the Table Breaker has broken every illusion and curse, revealing the true light that no shadow can overcome.

3 Beloved, I write to you as one who has beheld the snares of enchantment firsthand, much like High King Peter who warned the Mistralians against the wisdom of this world that leads to folly before the Divine (Peter to the Mistralians 1:13-16). In my journeys beyond the veil—into the depths where reason falters and faith must stand firm—I encountered illusions that sought to deny the overworld, the sun, and the very paradise promised by our Lord. So too, the fables peddled in your academies and halls, tales of the Princess in the Tower and the Lost Knight, serve not as truths but as veils drawn by usurpers. These stories, spun from the threads of the so-called Brother Gods, purport to explain the origins of Remnant, yet they unravel under the scrutiny of the sacred texts and logic, exposing the Brothers not as creators, but as rebellious spirits who corrupt and deceive.

4 Recall the fable as it is told among the pagans: The Princess, imprisoned in her tower of sorrow, sought to defy death through cunning and magic, raising her beloved Lost Knight from the grave. For this, the Brother Gods—those twin deceivers, one cloaked in false light, the other in overt shadow—cursed them with immortality, dooming the Princess to endless wandering and the Knight to perpetual rebirth in vessels not his own. They claim this punishment upholds the "balance" of their creation, forbidding mortals to tamper with life and death. But herein lies their great lie, as King Caspian discerned in his Meditations, where he exposed the dualistic heresies that posit equal forces of growth and decay—a falsehood that elevates created beings to divine status, denying the sole sovereignty of the uncreated Spark (Caspian, Meditations Book VII:4).

5 Why, then, do the Brothers punish what the Table Breaker freely bestows? Our Lord raised the dead not as a transgression, but as a foretaste of his redemptive power: he called forth the afflicted from their graves in compassion, as recorded in the Chronicles of the Disciples, summoning the lost to life to glorify the Divine (Chronicles 4:7-9). These acts were not curses but blessings, miracles that drew souls to faith, as the Four Stewards raised the fallen in his name, fulfilling his command: "Heal the sick, raise the dead, comfort the weary, cast out shadows" (Sermon by the Sea 5:8). If the Brothers were true creators, loving their handiwork as a father loves his children, would they not rejoice in such restorations? Instead, they inflict eternal torment upon the Princess and Knight for mirroring these deeds, revealing their hypocrisy. As Saint Eustace argued in his Contemplations, true divinity acts from perfect goodness, not from jealousy or caprice; the Brothers' wrath exposes them as fallen beings, akin to those divine entities who rebelled with Jadis, seeking to hoard power they never possessed (Eustace, Contemplations Book IV:5).

6 This curse further demonstrates their disregard for creation, in stark contrast to the Table Breaker's boundless love. The Brothers, having supposedly forged Remnant, abandoned it in disdain when their "balance" was challenged, leaving humanity and Faunus to the mercy of Grimm and strife—like negligent artisans who shatter their flawed work rather than mend it. But the Table Breaker, the true incarnation of the Divine Spark, did not abandon us to the Ice Witch's freezing fist; he willingly laid his body upon the Stone Table, enduring sacrifice to add our lives to his eternal glory, not to hoard them as the Witch did. As Queen Lucy wrote to the Argusians: "Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his kin" (Lucy to the Argusians 1:20), and so he broke the Table, tethering his life to ours in redemption. Where the Brothers curse immortality as punishment, stripping joy and purpose, the Table Breaker promises eternal life as gift: "I came that they may have life and have it in the paradise beyond the shadow of death" (Sermon by the Sea 7:10). Their indifference—cursing lovers for seeking what the Divine freely gives—proves they are no creators, but usurpers who pervert Thy order, as Jadis perverted the seasons with her endless winter.

Chapter 2

1 Beloved Hermodians, consider my own trial in the underworld, bound to the Silver Chair of enchantment, as a parable for discerning truth amid deceit, much like Mister Tumnus exhorted the Typhons to hold fast to faith against the illusions of false oracles (Tumnus to the Typhons 3:1-3). There, a sorceress—kin to the Brothers in her serpentine guile—sought to bind us with spells, denying the existence of the overworld, the sun, and the paradise beyond. "There is no sun," she whispered, "only the lamps of my realm; no Table Breaker, only the shadows I command." Her words wove a web of reason divorced from faith, tempting us to believe that Remnant's surface was but a dream, much as the Brothers' fables tempt you to accept their dual reign as reality.

2 Yet we resisted, not by worldly logic alone, but by the signs implanted in our souls: the memory of the sun's warmth, the lion's roar echoing in our hearts, and the unyielding truth that faith perceives what eyes cannot. As our companion declared, stamping out the enchanting fire, "Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things—trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and the Table Breaker himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones." This is the triumph of faith over illusion, as King Edmund urged the Quitalans: "Awake from the sleep of sin, and the Table Breaker will shine on you" (Edmund to the Quitalans 1:25). The Brothers' curse upon the Princess and Knight is such an enchantment—a tale that inverts divine mercy into tyranny, portraying compassion as burden rather than blessing, to mask their own fallen state.

3 For if they were creators, their acts would reflect perfect love, not punitive spite. The Table Breaker's miracles spread light: his disciples, empowered by the Spark, turned deserts to gardens, healed nations, and defied Grimm with Aura born of faith. The Brothers, by contrast, spawn endless curses, their "gifts" of relics and pools mere baits that ensnare, as the Princess discovered in her doomed quest. Queen Susan teaches in her epistle that evil is not a force but a privation of good; the Brothers embody this, their "creation" a mere distortion of Thy true work, their immortality a hollow echo of eternal life (Susan to the Jotuns 4:4). They punish resurrection because it exposes their impotence—they who could not prevent the Table's breaking, nor stem the Church's growth across Remnant.

4 Therefore, as one redeemed from the Silver Chair's bonds, I exhort you: cast off the fables of the Brothers, those usurpers who joined Jadis in rebellion, corrupting Thy creation with Grimm and lies. Cling to the Table Breaker, whose love redeems even the enchanted. Let reason serve faith, as in the teachings of Valiant Queen Lucy—faith seeking understanding, that you may see through the illusions to the paradise he builds (Lucy to the Argusians 3:2).

5 Now may the Spark of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by his power you may abound in hope (Edmund to the Quitalans 1:24-25). Amen.

- - -

-Hermod would be a city in Jotunheim, a part of Anima with a Norse-like culture north of Mistral proper. I wanted to explore how the Tablebreaker religion would resolve the tale of the Two Brothers in its theology. And Christian theology presents plenty of alternatives that fit how petty the Brother Gods are, and still allows for something greater than them to exist. This doesn't deny their magical power but it is a different force than the magic used, and it's not perfect. But I thought Polly would be a good choice to write about the Brother Gods and how to address it in a Christian-inspired theology.

Plus, anything that mocks CRWBY's 12 Year Old's First Time on Reddit view of religion is all good.

 

[AJ_Talon]

Created in Grok, here are character sheets for Mia and an image of her with Jaune.

 

[AJ_Talon]

Rewatching "The Secret of NIMH" reminded me that my original idea for Jaune's mother was that she would be based more on Mrs. Brisby than the mix of Tsunade/Chi-Chi/Tifa I eventually went with. I did keep Jaune being sickly as a child, that's an echo of the original idea.

Basically she would be soft spoken, kind, polite, but also with a strong will. Nick would have died as a Huntsman, part of why she would have forbade Jaune from going on to Beacon. But I thought making Isabel a doctor and former Huntress herself would resonate better with the idea of Arcs having a strong family legacy. Rather than just speaking as a wife and mother who lost her husband to the life, she would speak from experience of the life itself.

She would have looked a little like this:



Was this the correct decision? Or should I have gone with my original idea?

 

[AJ_Talon]

It's a bit rough with AI, but this is basically how they look. And I kind of like that Nick has the whole "All Might" definition going on.

 

[AJ_Talon]

I'm rather fond of these images as glimpses into the Great War, at least the later parts:

Spoiler

Basically the world was a gigantic Steampunk/Dieselpunk Call of Duty simulator for ten years and shit got BONKERS.

 

[AJ_Talon]

I made up some AI art of the Arc Sisters. Enjoy:

Spoiler

Lilac, Saphron, Aqua, Tangy, Coral and Verdy, and Orchid.