Scythes

• Scythes takes his name from a dictator in Greek history that ruled briefly over the Zancleans.

• Ephemeral Flame 1 KILLJOY

Scythes, the Killjoy

• Psychopomp (Former Combat Arena Permit used in the Alkaline Games. The license has had many previous owners from the Lower Class and the Higher Class. Owners after Scythes include an assassin who named themselves after the plant that killed Socrates, a cannibalistic experiment gone awry that seeks only to cure himself of himself, and a Dissonant cast into the Sea of Ruin that apparently obtained the license in order to join the Alkaline Games after their apparent death. The name's significance was unknown to the general population of Mechs prior to 2099 but very well known by those fighting in the Games and those watching the games during 2099.)

"The Killjoy"
Ephemeral Flame High Elder

• Scythes sees the world as a series of random events, connected not by rhyme or reason but by happenstance and chaos.
  Beliefs, motivations, meaning, all of them mean nothing to Scythes. For in his mind, they do not exist.
  The inconsequentiality in Scythes' actions is of little concern to him, and while he does experience satisfaction upon the completion of his goals, on the off chance that Scythes' machinations fail, he wouldn't mind one bit at all; he'll just sit back and ponder how the ambitions of Machinekind will prove futile in time, like Sisyphus pushing a boulder up a hill: unwavering yet unsatisfied.
  Forever.

• As a young mech, Scythes wanted to

• Over the years of his existence, Scythes has met many individuals, some he meets with an amicable dispassion, and others who spark an uncharacteristic irritation from him.
  After

• Scythes was created in

• If I were to pick a voice for Scythes, it would either be Owlman from Justice League: Crisis on Two Earths or V.III O’Keeffe from Armored Core VI.
  Here are two videos containing voice lines of the latter and former respecitively:
  https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=xZH6saT0mPI
  https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=62GoUFodDME&pp=ygUWbydrZWVmZSBhcm1vcmVkIGNvcmUgNg%3D%3D
  

• “Cassandra. How’s life treating you?”




• “Don’t worry about him. Loxias and his lot are cowards that will crumble at truth’s command.”




• “Not like that my pupil. If I learned anything throughout the last three quarters of a century, it’s this:”




• “Public opinion is a fleeting, exaggerated, and harsh thing. No matter what you do, someone will always hate you for it and someone will always love you for it.”




• “Would you rather stir the anger of a vocal few or please the silent many?”




• “Would you make the masses happy or yourself happy?”




• “You can’t choose to be beloved by the masses. You can’t choose to be hated by the many.
  Really, it’s quite simple.”




• “There’s two choices for people in your position: To be molded by the crowd or to rise beyond them, whether for better or worse.
  Would you rather be yourself or someone else?”




• “Don’t worry. I have a lot of patience and even more time.”




• “Io? You’re the Psychopomp? Is this how we meet for the first time?”




• “Cassandra told me many things about you. You seem so promising. Why toss away your life for the ambitions of someone; something else?”




• "I've learned something through these long years.
  People don't want to admit to themselves that they would seek their own happiness over preventing another person's pain."




• "Why do you persist Io? Your goals are not your own."




• "I've met many like you Io. Machine and Man alike. They would've lifted hell from the earth and ripped heaven from the sky in order to see the current order die.
  They're dead now; they've become lower than dirt; their names have become obscene, and they've joined the chorus of the damned... No one remembers them now.




• "Fate and ambition robbed them of their ability to act on their own. Their hands were tied.
  They failed to cast the die."




• "So, Io. I have a question for you. What makes you different from them? What separates you from the herd? What makes you think your voice will rise above your contemporaries the unheard?"




• "I have a story to tell you Io.
  There was once a man that lived in the countryside four thousand twenty miles from where we stand.
  His life was quite normal, as human life should be; one that would fade into the sea of blandness if it weren't for what he loved most in life.
  Puppets.
  The man loved his puppets; he loved to draw his strings and let his puppets dance to the whims of his desires.
  Contrary to what many others in his village believed, there was no reason for his passion.
  When the man was asked, he answered meekly and honestly.
  'I don't know.'
  Day in and day out the man would host his shows, showcasing the numerous characters born from his imagination.
  In contrast to the tales of good usurping the perversions of evil that would come to define this era of puppetry, none of the man's characters were truly evil or good; in the man's own words, they simply only wanted to dance.
  In particular, there was a purple puppet with a missing hand and a damaged hat.
  Nobody quite knows how the puppet came to this condition, but regardless, the man loved it all the same.
  The man would name him Aster, after his favorite type of flower.
  He would say to his audience that

the children were happy; they loved seeing him perform, and he would come to know all of them well.
But one of the children, he would know more about than the others.
On one occasion, he would find a young boy in rags.
The boy as it turns out, was an orphan; he had not known the comfort of a home for the few years that composed his life up until that point.
The boy would ask a question to the puppeteer.
"Why do you do your shows?"
The man would respond to the boy in the same way that he responded to the many others.
"I don't know."
The boy would retort again:
"Why?"
The man would attempt a longer explanation to the child, for the man felt as though that the child needed it.
"Sometimes, you don't need a reason."
"Sometimes, all you need to do is wait. Wait until you find something that you enjoy. Something that you don't need to justify in order to keep on doing it."
The child would ask the man what he meant; so he would show him the puppet Aster, imperfections and all.
"And when you find that something, dance to the tune of your happiness. Dance until the day you can't anymore.
Die with no regrets."
The boy would sheepishly nod, and wave farewell as he disappeared into the night.
The man would forget
As the rest of the children grew and began to move, his passion fail to restart itself anew.
Years would pass, the man's hands had become strained and tired.
Try as he might, his hands could no longer invite his metronomes to dance.
His puppets were still and motionless.
In other words, they were devoid of meaning.
By this time, the man had grown old; his body would begin to succumb to the steady advance of time, and so have his puppets.
While it would be a lie to say that he hated his puppets, he started to lose sight of why he persisted.
The man tried to comb through his mind for a reason, a drive, a motive to why he carried on.
Try as he might, the man couldn't find it.
Why did he do it?
Day in day out, the man's daily routine would be interrupted by a simple question.
Why?
The question would taunt him, harass him.
Until he just couldn't take it anymore.

The man would set forth from his home in the hills and begin his long journey to nowhere.
He would stop to eat at certain points on his journey, like any normal person would. But he just kept on going.
The man knew that walking this path would be pointless, but he figured that it was no more pointless than wallowing in ennui in his home.
He would see many things on his journey: birds flying without a care and a young lad on an even younger mare.
Eventually, the man would stop in a village, one a great distance away from his home village.
The man would come to rest in the home of a kind stranger, one who would abide every request that the man would make.
The stranger would gift him his favorite foods, his favorite flowers...
And his favorite metronomes.
The kind stranger would present to him a preserved albeit somewhat damaged puppet holding a purple flower.
The puppet's right hand was gone

• "Was the story true? In all honesty, no one could know.
  The tale of Le Homme de Marionette is one often forgotten by the historians of today.
  It is often overshadowed by the Franco-Prussian war of 1814, a conflict that would kickstart the latter portion of the 5th war."




• "But to focus on the 5th war would be missing the point.
  The Prussian Empire's motives for invading the soils of Marianne on that faithful day are irrelevant.
  They do not matter."




• "Sure, they've made their mark on history, but that mark is completely independent to their motives."




• "Would someone remember your existence a thousand years from now?"




• "I can guarantee you, someone could tell your life history several centuries into the future, and it would be dismissed as a liminal tale; one stuck in-between non-fiction and fiction.
  Fantasy and reality."




• "To give a reason would be superfluous; it does not matter.
  Reason is the pit to which the Mecharus and Humanity alike are chained to."




• “If you die in the Arena, it isn’t your fault. Deep inside that brain of yours, you’ve already made your choice. Whether you accept that choice or deny it is up to you.”




• “Well if it isn’t my favourite Scout Unit? I admit, I can see why others find you inspiring; I can see why those dead inside kill themselves a second time for you.”




• “It would be unfortunate if Cassandra was watching this. She loved us both. She’d probably die so that both of us could live.
  Alas, that can’t happen now can it?”




• “Good then. At least she won’t have to see this play out.”




• “Promise me something Io.
  You’ve seen the others, correct?
  Look at how they’ve gave up everything and gained nothing. The others have lost their essence; the reason they do what they do.
  Promise me that won’t happen to you Io.”




• “This is nothing personal, I can see why others enjoy your company Io.”




• “I don’t hate you. I just think you’re going about this the wrong way; the active way.”




• “Sometimes all you need to do is sit back, face the music, and let your problem solve itself.”




• “Io.. When the—last glimpses of life fade from—your eyes—remember who—you are…
  Don’t—forget why-you’re here…
  Don’t—let your—spark die..”




• “I should’ve died then, but I didn’t. If I were superstitious, I’d probably see this as a sign of the Deus’ hand.”




• “Cassandra? Is she still alive?”

• The reveal that Scythes was a previous Psychopomp was a last-minute decision on my part.
  To put it simply, after looking at his name, his weapon, and his dynamic with Io, I went:
  "Maybe the reason he's acting so hostile and remorseful for her is that he was once a Psychopomp!"
  Then after that epiphany, I retconned him to not simply be a leader of an organization associated with the rebellion but one of the very instigators of the insurrection himself.