I will never forget reading Stormchaser at 5:30 in the morning and waking my Gran up with the primal scream I unleashed at the illustration of the Twilight Forest Knight.
The “God Bone” explains the statue. A marvel of engineering, sorcery, and craftsmanship. I’m certain it has been the end of a many thousands of men, destroyed hundreds of ships, and helped win Yisun knows how many battle. In any other time it would have been a sign of certain victory, but as our lovely storyteller has shown us, it will not be enough. To see it in a different battle would have been nice but im sure it will not disappoint even at the end of all things.
I guess you don’t need a figurehead on the prow of a ship whose entire hull is a statue. Fortunately, when it sinks, it will be far easier to visit than than the Titanic (if there’s anything left).
Everything shall fall.
The Wheel will be broken.
But will this breaking be the right one?
White Chain holds the hand.
AL-YISUN is the Ace.
Destroy cards, table, room, world, universes, and concept of game…
And see what can be made with the pieces that is not a Wheel.
(Also Bouyant Godbone is now and possibly forever my band name.)
Grammar nitpick, on the off chance it’s not intended artistic license!
“It had never fell in combat” isn’t correct grammar – “it had never fallen” would be correct (or “it never fell”, though that’s probably not what you want here).
Yeah, the narrator can’t seem to make up their mind about tense. The narrator appears to be in the present (“today”), but when today? OK, we are told how its wings _were_ driven, but how are they driven _now_? It “had never fell” in combat — has it _now_? It _was_ a marvel and a terror — is it _still_? Today “would be” its last flight — but _will_ it be its last flight? Really not sure how this is going to be pulled off…
“The future in the past is a grammatical tense where the time reference is in the future with respect to a vantage point that is itself in the past. In English, future in the past is not always considered a separate tense, but rather as either a subcategory of future or past tense and is typically used in narrations of past events:
John left for the front; he would not return until five years later.”
Not being exactly a unique tense (in English, at least), I think strictly speaking it’s okay to blend with past tense.
Presumably on the rear deck, where we can’t see them. Which, actually, says a lot about the design and its tactics: there are more guns on the rear than the front. The ship is built to run, and make sure nobody follows it. The tag line for the ship is “never fallen” not “dread naught, always winning.”
The utility that the raw black flame provides as a near-limitlessly burning source is simply too much to pass up, I’m afraid.
However, it if helps, an engineer I met once mentioned that the engines most often run on unbound devils! They are (most likely) not cognizant enough to be suffering!
I see no pre-dreadnaught here. Yamga II clearly follows late dreadnought design principles. No pre-dreadnought possesses superfiring main battery turrets, for instance. I see only primary and secondary batteries, not intermediate. I see all batteries are contained in turrets (some inverted under the main deck because it’s a airship), no casemates.
I concede the the superfiring turret, but there is clearly an also turret mounted secondary battery and a hull mounted tertiary battery.
And I stand by my pre-dreadnought assessment in spite of the clearly late dreadnought superstructure design because of the ratio of main battery to secondary battery guns, suggesting a doctrinal focus of fighting at ranges where all these guns can be brought to bear reminiscent of the „hail of fire“ school of thought that was so influential for pre-dreadnaught design.
I’m not sure there is a casemate-mounted intermediate battery. Like I said, I think there might be a quad of inverted secondary battery turrets because it’s an airship.
And I would hesitate to use a ratio of primary and secondary batteries to make a determination like that. Lots of dreadnoughts had heavy secondary batteries, particularly after the onset of WWII – the US, for instance, was slapping on as many dual-purpose 5 inch guns as they could after Pearl Harbor, plus tertiary antiaircraft autocannon mounts.
They will not be aiming at Jagganoth. They will be aiming at Jagganoth’s army. You know, the one currently burning down the multiverse in the service of their master.
Ah, it is the familiar refrain of tales driven solely by the passions and triumphs of their heroes, wherein the resolution to all troubles is found through character alone, and the vanquishing of foes becomes the sole measure of victory. Do not mistake my criticism for disdain, for this comic stands as a marvel of its kind—my most cherished, in truth. Yet, I must lament that it succumbs to a failing common to the craft of fantastical storytelling.
The world it paints is one of staggering imagination, a place of chaos and grandeur, akin to an Alice-in-Wonderland forged in the flames of heavy metal. But as one peers deeper, seeking the laws and customs by which its peoples might live, its strength falters. It is a realm as vast as the oceans and yet shallow, lacking the depth required to sustain the civilizations it purports to house.
History, which I hold as the great teacher, offers lessons aplenty on such matters. Consider Augustus, who rose amidst the tumult of Rome’s civil wars and famines to bring order and usher in the *Pax Romana*, a peace that endured for generations. Think of Cleopatra, last of her house, who took a kingdom that was rotting from within and transformed it into the wealthiest nation of her age, weaving its riches and traditions into a tapestry of brilliance. Recall Justinian the Great, who faced plague, famine, and the ruinous storms of the year 536 and yet forged an empire larger and more enduring than before. These figures did not rely upon strength of arms alone but upon wisdom, governance, and an understanding of the intricate machinery of states.
The question posed by White Chain—”What then, when we win?”—remains unanswered. To defeat an enemy is but a fleeting triumph; to rebuild and rule wisely is the true challenge. And yet, in this tale, it seems the mundane truths of taxes, logistics, and governance are cast aside as unworthy of attention. The promise of resolution lies instead in fists and fury, as though the world’s wounds might be healed by the blade’s edge alone.
I admit, there is a chance I am mistaken. Perhaps the tale will surprise me, and the hero’s victory will birth a world remade by toil and wisdom. If so, I will gladly recant my doubts. But for now, I see pragmatism set aside in favor of the spectacle of the final clash.
I write not to diminish this work, which I hold in great esteem, but to voice my weariness of tales where characters alone stand at the fore, overshadowing the worlds that birthed them. Such worlds, built with boundless creativity, deserve greater care, greater depth, and greater truth. Thus, I commit my thoughts to words, not out of disdain, but out of a desire for clarity—for better or worse.
Didn’t Cleopatra’s story end with her suicide, and Augustus annexing all of Egypt? Didn’t Justinian spend his life conquering everyone he could in a bid to recapture faded glory? The Pax Romana was the result of Rome’s bloody conquest of all who did not bow their head. Augustus’s peace was the peace of the graveyard.
Look! Look how brightly I shine across the land! Marvel at how my ardor endures the test of time! Now, now that all the lights that dared shine brighter are extinguished, now that all the fuel they dared harbour has been seized!
The “wisdom” of the good governance you celebrate is beside the point. Good or bad, every Empire is brought low by the wheel, and in this story the violence at their core is the great enemy. Empire is a continuous cutting motion, after all. Judged first and foremost by its capacity to kill and control.
ROW ROW FIGHT THE POWER
also “i have fought this battle more times than there are droplets in the ocean” parallel?
Touch the untouchable
Break the unbreakable
Row row fight the power!
We’ve already seen Jag, and know that he’s bigger than that boat.
Frankly, it’s a question of if Jag’s going to even NOTICE being shot at by those guns.
Eff the ineffable
alright i’ll rewatch gurren lagan
Just who the hell do you think I am?!
She edgin’ on my chronicles til the gloamgloazer causes stonesickness and terminates the first age of flight
Hey, I appreciate that reference!
Look at them, using a machine carved from bones of a god they way one might use an especially sharp rock
Is that a kill six billion demons reference? In my kill six billion demons comment section
It’s The Edge Chronicles! Haven’t thought about that series in aaaages
I honestly have never heard of that!
Best ever book series referenced?
Boundless love to the Edge Chronicles and its incredibly formative illustrations!
I will never forget reading Stormchaser at 5:30 in the morning and waking my Gran up with the primal scream I unleashed at the illustration of the Twilight Forest Knight.
I love design of this ship but I thought that is higher angel, seraphim maybe
Farewell, Thunderchild!
o7
The war ram HMS Thunderchild, to be complete.
Uuuuuu-laaaaa!
o7
The “God Bone” explains the statue. A marvel of engineering, sorcery, and craftsmanship. I’m certain it has been the end of a many thousands of men, destroyed hundreds of ships, and helped win Yisun knows how many battle. In any other time it would have been a sign of certain victory, but as our lovely storyteller has shown us, it will not be enough. To see it in a different battle would have been nice but im sure it will not disappoint even at the end of all things.
I just gotta say, this is cool asf!
I wonder what a day in the life of a dead god pilot is like?
Target the Reavers!… Target everything!… Somebody FIRE!
Serenity!
Such a Lovely Day for a Battle.
WHAT A LOVELY DAY!
Getting evangelion:3.33 AAA-wunder ship launch vibes <3
My Space Battleship Yamgato can’t be this cute
Yamga-II (or Yamga 2). Surely a coincidence…
I guess you don’t need a figurehead on the prow of a ship whose entire hull is a statue. Fortunately, when it sinks, it will be far easier to visit than than the Titanic (if there’s anything left).
Everything shall fall.
The Wheel will be broken.
But will this breaking be the right one?
White Chain holds the hand.
AL-YISUN is the Ace.
Destroy cards, table, room, world, universes, and concept of game…
And see what can be made with the pieces that is not a Wheel.
(Also Bouyant Godbone is now and possibly forever my band name.)
I will listen the hell out of them.
Well this certainly fights my power
Grammar nitpick, on the off chance it’s not intended artistic license!
“It had never fell in combat” isn’t correct grammar – “it had never fallen” would be correct (or “it never fell”, though that’s probably not what you want here).
I’m glad somebody said it, but I’m more glad it wasn’t me.
the yamga has fallen. six billions must die
Yeah, the narrator can’t seem to make up their mind about tense. The narrator appears to be in the present (“today”), but when today? OK, we are told how its wings _were_ driven, but how are they driven _now_? It “had never fell” in combat — has it _now_? It _was_ a marvel and a terror — is it _still_? Today “would be” its last flight — but _will_ it be its last flight? Really not sure how this is going to be pulled off…
Crazy English. I had impressed
From wikipedia:
“The future in the past is a grammatical tense where the time reference is in the future with respect to a vantage point that is itself in the past. In English, future in the past is not always considered a separate tense, but rather as either a subcategory of future or past tense and is typically used in narrations of past events:
John left for the front; he would not return until five years later.”
Not being exactly a unique tense (in English, at least), I think strictly speaking it’s okay to blend with past tense.
And while we’re at it, second panel: It’s “buoyant”, not “bouyant”.
This is why it’s good to put the dialog in the Patreon preview: free editing.
“It had never been felled.”
Where are the other twelve guns?
Presumably on the rear deck, where we can’t see them. Which, actually, says a lot about the design and its tactics: there are more guns on the rear than the front. The ship is built to run, and make sure nobody follows it. The tag line for the ship is “never fallen” not “dread naught, always winning.”
Devil engines… are an abomination.
To think all of Throne is fueled by the imprisoned, starving souls of my brothers and sisters!
The utility that the raw black flame provides as a near-limitlessly burning source is simply too much to pass up, I’m afraid.
However, it if helps, an engineer I met once mentioned that the engines most often run on unbound devils! They are (most likely) not cognizant enough to be suffering!
LIAR!
We exist, in Yisun’s image. Of *course* we are all liars.
And yet, suffering prevails.
And I cannot stand for this.
May I offer you a chair?
More seriously — as a smarter man than me once wrote:
A lovely intersection between philosophy, pragmatism, and capitalism.
Speaking of chairs, have you heard of Eidolon Mimic-Shapers?
A figurehead fit for a mighty prow. One hell of a last voyage, or more accurately, one hundred hells.
What a wonderful reference to a classic anime.
I see pre-dreadnaughts are back in fashion. Also how the hell does this only have six decks?
I see no pre-dreadnaught here. Yamga II clearly follows late dreadnought design principles. No pre-dreadnought possesses superfiring main battery turrets, for instance. I see only primary and secondary batteries, not intermediate. I see all batteries are contained in turrets (some inverted under the main deck because it’s a airship), no casemates.
I concede the the superfiring turret, but there is clearly an also turret mounted secondary battery and a hull mounted tertiary battery.
And I stand by my pre-dreadnought assessment in spite of the clearly late dreadnought superstructure design because of the ratio of main battery to secondary battery guns, suggesting a doctrinal focus of fighting at ranges where all these guns can be brought to bear reminiscent of the „hail of fire“ school of thought that was so influential for pre-dreadnaught design.
I’m not sure there is a casemate-mounted intermediate battery. Like I said, I think there might be a quad of inverted secondary battery turrets because it’s an airship.
And I would hesitate to use a ratio of primary and secondary batteries to make a determination like that. Lots of dreadnoughts had heavy secondary batteries, particularly after the onset of WWII – the US, for instance, was slapping on as many dual-purpose 5 inch guns as they could after Pearl Harbor, plus tertiary antiaircraft autocannon mounts.
Sorry to be that guy, but I believe the correct grammar for that phrase is “it had never fallen.”
Somebody had to do it, and I thank you for your service.
It had never fallen, YET.
I assumed we were pretty far past the point where cannons (sorcerous or otherwise) were going to make any difference.
They will not be aiming at Jagganoth. They will be aiming at Jagganoth’s army. You know, the one currently burning down the multiverse in the service of their master.
Oh right, those guys.
He still feels pain. Perhaps the force of an entire armada’s artillery barrage will cause him to flinch, if for but a moment.
All I want for Christmas is for the godship to drop the God of the Lake on Jagganoth with Gogagog riding it.
I know a couple of people said it already, but to increase the chance Abaddon sees it: “fallen”, not “fell”.
Great page though!
Cue Assault of the Silver Dragons
I, too, wish to be lifted by bouyant Godbone…
I hear Grinder is good for that.
…not a Godboner, just a Godbone…
Ah, it is the familiar refrain of tales driven solely by the passions and triumphs of their heroes, wherein the resolution to all troubles is found through character alone, and the vanquishing of foes becomes the sole measure of victory. Do not mistake my criticism for disdain, for this comic stands as a marvel of its kind—my most cherished, in truth. Yet, I must lament that it succumbs to a failing common to the craft of fantastical storytelling.
The world it paints is one of staggering imagination, a place of chaos and grandeur, akin to an Alice-in-Wonderland forged in the flames of heavy metal. But as one peers deeper, seeking the laws and customs by which its peoples might live, its strength falters. It is a realm as vast as the oceans and yet shallow, lacking the depth required to sustain the civilizations it purports to house.
History, which I hold as the great teacher, offers lessons aplenty on such matters. Consider Augustus, who rose amidst the tumult of Rome’s civil wars and famines to bring order and usher in the *Pax Romana*, a peace that endured for generations. Think of Cleopatra, last of her house, who took a kingdom that was rotting from within and transformed it into the wealthiest nation of her age, weaving its riches and traditions into a tapestry of brilliance. Recall Justinian the Great, who faced plague, famine, and the ruinous storms of the year 536 and yet forged an empire larger and more enduring than before. These figures did not rely upon strength of arms alone but upon wisdom, governance, and an understanding of the intricate machinery of states.
The question posed by White Chain—”What then, when we win?”—remains unanswered. To defeat an enemy is but a fleeting triumph; to rebuild and rule wisely is the true challenge. And yet, in this tale, it seems the mundane truths of taxes, logistics, and governance are cast aside as unworthy of attention. The promise of resolution lies instead in fists and fury, as though the world’s wounds might be healed by the blade’s edge alone.
I admit, there is a chance I am mistaken. Perhaps the tale will surprise me, and the hero’s victory will birth a world remade by toil and wisdom. If so, I will gladly recant my doubts. But for now, I see pragmatism set aside in favor of the spectacle of the final clash.
I write not to diminish this work, which I hold in great esteem, but to voice my weariness of tales where characters alone stand at the fore, overshadowing the worlds that birthed them. Such worlds, built with boundless creativity, deserve greater care, greater depth, and greater truth. Thus, I commit my thoughts to words, not out of disdain, but out of a desire for clarity—for better or worse.
Didn’t Cleopatra’s story end with her suicide, and Augustus annexing all of Egypt? Didn’t Justinian spend his life conquering everyone he could in a bid to recapture faded glory? The Pax Romana was the result of Rome’s bloody conquest of all who did not bow their head. Augustus’s peace was the peace of the graveyard.
Look! Look how brightly I shine across the land! Marvel at how my ardor endures the test of time! Now, now that all the lights that dared shine brighter are extinguished, now that all the fuel they dared harbour has been seized!
The “wisdom” of the good governance you celebrate is beside the point. Good or bad, every Empire is brought low by the wheel, and in this story the violence at their core is the great enemy. Empire is a continuous cutting motion, after all. Judged first and foremost by its capacity to kill and control.