SF & Fantasy

Cage Match 2012: Round 4: Granny Weatherwax versus Mr. Wednesday


The Contestants


Granny.jpg

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Wednesday.jpg

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Esmerelda “Esme” Weatherwax
Granny
Age: It’s rude to ask a Witch her age
Race: Witch
Weapons / Artifacts: Flying broomstick
Special
Attack:
Headology

Mr. Wednesday
Odin All-father
Age: Unknown
Race: God
Weapons / Artifacts: None (but he does have two ravens)
Special
Attack:
Master of the Twice-Nine Charms

The Breakdown

Advantages

  • Incredibly powerful witch
  • Particularly skilled at tricking people without using magic
  • Can “Borrow” another’s senses
Advantages

  • American incarnation of Odin, has access to almost boundless magical power
  • A master con artist, he prefers to use his charm and skill at manipulation to direct attacks
  • The Twice-Nine Charms include the ability to heal with a touch; to turn aside the weapons of an enemy; and to turn back spells upon their caster
Disadvantages

  • Committed to doing “Right”
Disadvantages

  • It ain’t easy being the god of a dying religion
Kills

Kills

  • The Escapist
    You can’t escape the chains of death
  • Claire Haskell
    She just couldn’t hack it
  • Revan
    Too bad there weren’t Force ghosts before A New Hope

How we think the fight will go


After the match, the survivors—only seven of them, out of twenty thousand spectators in Suvudu Stadium—were interviewed. The testimonials of these witnesses were the only record remaining of the battle between Mr. Wednesday and Granny Weatherwax. There was no video, though bits and pieces of the cameras were later recovered from the rubble. No written record, either—somehow all tweets and comments sent from the stadium had been eradicated from existence. And nothing remained of the other spectators but piles of ash.

The first survivor could say nothing but “FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!” and in fact, could not seem to stop screaming it repeatedly.

The second whispered “Blood…” before passing into a coma. She has not yet woken up.

The third made a number of sounds that vaguely resembled speech, but was in no language that the investigators, including the ones from Discworld, could identify.

The fourth spoke quietly and evenly. He said, “For a long time nothing happened. They just had a conversation. No, I didn’t hear anything they said.” He remembered nothing at all after that. He had also forgotten his name, where he lived, and whether he was from Earth, Asgard, or Discworld.

The fifth would speak of nothing else but his bracket.“I had Granny out in the first round. I thought she wasn’t as powerful as she was said to be. That it was all just trickery. But now that I’ve seen the extent of her powers…man, she may be more powerful than anyone in Wheel of Time or Malazan, even.”

The sixth was Shadow, and he said, “I’m sorry that Mr. Wednesday is gone. And that’s all I have to say about it.”

The seventh was Nanny Ogg. When she was asked about the match, she laughed for a good hour straight, grinned her terribly indecent grin, and lit her pipe. “Oh, that Esme,” she said, “She hasn’t even begun to show you what she can do.”


Predicted Winner: Granny Weatherwax





NOTE: THIS MATCH ENDS ON THURSDAY, MARCH 29th, 2012, AT 5 PM, EST

Check out the previous match from the Starfleet Academy: Holodeck bracket!

Check out the next match in the Hogwarts: Quidditch Pitch bracket!

Check out the Bracket



Granny Weatherwax is a character from the Discworld series by Terry Pratchett; Mr. Wednesday is a character from American Gods by Neil Gaiman


Granny image courtesy of Victor Gollancz, Ltd. Mr. Wednesday image courtesy of HarperCollins.



Don’t forget–we’re always looking for fans’ depictions of these characters. Check out the details here



Cage Match fans: We are looking forward to hearing your responses! If possible, please abstain from including potential spoilers about the books in your comments (and if you need spoilers to make your case, start your comments with: “SPOILER ALERT!”

Thanks!


37 Responses to “Cage Match 2012: Round 4: Granny Weatherwax versus Mr. Wednesday”

  1. JOE says:

    This isn’t actually related, but I love how it says “at least Mr. T pities you” under The Fool’s name in Granny’s kills. that’s hilarious.

    I’ll leave it to people who have actually read either book to determine this one… but they’re both doomed to go against Kylar anyway. and he’s WINNING this ENTIRE Cagematch. he has to, or this is an invalid contest.

  2. Archon says:

    ^Wow… no irrational bias there at all…

  3. The Cygan says:

    i love the comment under the fool on grannys kill list. At least mr. T pities you.

  4. Laurie says:

    Yes, Granny could totally take Mr. Wednesday (he’s only a shadow of Odin, after all), but she would never have allowed there to be any casualties outside the match. ^_^

  5. Tiffany Aching says:

    Witches don’t believe in gods. They know they’re there, but they don’t believe in them. That’s like believing in the postman.

  6. @Joe

    Do you know about Rake?

  7. Silver2195 says:

    Doesn’t Wednesday have the ability to make witches run away?

  8. PrinceInTheSpring says:

    I was wondering if anyone was going to write an actual match-up for Granny…so far no one has…I haven’t read her series but these matches are supposed to help new readers learn about the characters and maybe become interested in them to the point of reading their books but I still feel just as uninformed about Granny as I did in round 1. So I’ll ask again, is anyone going to write an actual match-up for Granny?

  9. BitterCold says:

    Granny.

    Next.

  10. Bah. Anyone who has read The Sea and All the Little Fishes knows Granny would win this one without even showing up. She redefines the line, Need not be present to win.\n
    http://www.angelfire.com/weird2/athenia/stories/pterry/sea.htm

  11. Grace says:

    @PrinceInTheSpring: These write-ups are in the style of Granny Weatherwax’s books–you mostly see the results rather than the actions sequences. And the results are always awesome.

    Maybe if Mr. Wednesday was a full strength god, he’d last more than five minutes.

  12. sacredhonour says:

    @PrinceInTheSpring

    I am with you on this one. Each match with Granny has dissappointed me in its write-up as similiar to you I don’t know anything about her besides really what I am learning in the comments.

    Either way, I think either Granny or Wednesday will die to Kylar/Erevis (hopefully Kylar) in the semi’s.

  13. Sir Read-a-Lot says:

    @PrinceInTheSpring

    Basically, no one’s written a full write up because they can’t. We’ve never seen Granny’s full power, because she doesn’t need it. The story Wickersham’s Conscience linked to is a good example of what I mean. It’s impossible to imagine Granny loosing, yet at the same time, we have no idea how she’d do it.

    Let me put it another way. In one book, she plays cards with Death for the life of a child. Death has them switch hands. Granny then reveals 4 queens, and Death concedes because “ALL I HAVE IS FOUR ONES”.

    (just in case it’s not clear, what’s a one in cards? Yeah.)

  14. Ian says:

    This write up is kind of a cop out. I mean through out this entire Cage Match we haven’t seen Granny or Wednesday use their full power (or any of it really). I will give Granny the match but it still would have been interesting to see how Wednesday’s abilities would have matched up against Granny’s. I mean he has the power to turn an enemy’s spell back on them, send witches away, heal with a touch plus all the other Twice-Nine charms and the abilities that come with him being a god, like death for him being extremely flexible. Truly killing Wednesday is a great feat, one that I think Granny could accomplish but it would’ve been nice to see Wednesday at least put up a fight.

  15. Plan R says:

    Granny doesn’t need her power, althouh it is quite powerful. Her whole character is built on the fact that she is smarter then you and knows better then you. The concept of power levels is meaningless when used to compare people to Granny. She beats you before the match even starts. The only person she would have to use magic against in the entire cage match is Zaphod because Headology might not work on him.

    I would like to a see a match involving Granny on her broom, that would be intresting.

  16. david says:

    I think this whole no one knows the extent of her powers is bs way to say she is gonna win it all… I mean the same is true for allot of the characters in these match ups hell Kylar isnt even using a 10th of his abilities in some of the fights yet we can only judge these fairly by powers they actually use in the series, so to say oh she can just do whatever because there is never an explanation onto how she did what she did just that it happened is like that kid on the playground who made a new rule up everytime he would lose its not any fun for anyone involved when you cheat with the write ups….

  17. King Verence says:

    @ David. – The way Granny works is that she won from the moment the cage match started. Everyone else is now working out how she will do it and a witch never tells.

  18. Dasher says:

    I find it interesting to hear people complain about granny weatherwax, and the ‘no show of her powers, yet she wins’ statements, but then are willing to say that their favourite character with godlike powers will win. hmmmm…. isn’t it the same??? just more understated? And I have read Pratchet, Erikson, Jordan, Sanderson and more.

  19. Yuan says:

    I apologise for my feeble writing skills, but I couldn’t stand poor Wednesday never getting to do anything aside from boast a bit. Surely he should at least try to con someone before being cut down?

    I haven’t read any of the Discworld books starring the Witches in a long time, and I’ve lent my copy of American Gods to someone. Many apologies for inaccuracies in tone and voice, and yes, the powers here are rather loose interpretations.

    They met amidst a vast greyness, on the edges of another universe. Granny Weatherwax would have scoffed at the drama of the statement, were it not for the fact that their little dimension was incredibly boring. There was no sky, no ground – they walked upon shifting grey.

    Mr Wednesday was the one who approached. He was only slightly surprised by the presence of a small table, with a tea set already laid out. Most of his attention was drawn to the old and apparently human woman standing in front of it. She met his eyes evenly and held them.

    They both inclined their heads fractionally. Each knew how deceiving appearances could be, and only fools held a staring competition when they knew what the answer would be.

    “Mistress Weatherwax,” Wednesday greeted her formally.

    “Mister Wednesday,” she replied. “I brought tea.”

    He let her pour the tea, watching intently as she did. It felt as if uneasiness was being poured into his stomach, like tea into the cup. The feeling confounded him; normally he revelled in the chaotic element of chance, of the uncertainty which made victory sweeter. With this woman, however…

    She handed him the cup of tea. “Will you allow me to propose a toast?” Wednesday asked quickly, before she could get in a word. “To our battle and strife!”

    Granny hesitated for a moment. Wednesday knew ritual demanded that she accept his toast, and witches could be…odd…about rituals, even ones as fiercely independent as Mistress Weatherwax. “To our battle, and the peace that comes after,” she answered.

    Damn. Wednesday had hoped she’d accept the toast, dedicating the battle to him. With peace, he’d only get a little of its power. Regardless, he lifted his cup and drank with her. Two empty cups were put down.

    “If you were me,” said Wednesday idly, “the poison would have been in the glazing of the cup. No, too obvious. Besides, you’re more likely to poison both of us.”

    “I ain’t you,” said Granny, and poured some more tea. “And you ain’t me. There’s no poison.”

    “Quite right.” What were his options? Wednesday knew that even he couldn’t bluff this woman. “Let us speak frankly, my dear. You can’t hurt me, and I can’t trick you. What have we to gain?”

    Granny ignored the question. “Strange for a small god, you are. I know ‘em, and they ain’t like you. No will to live without any believers.”

    “It hardly matters here.” Wednesday spread his arms wide, to take in their infinite surroundings. “You chose a lovely place for a battle. I can’t use my charms to spin you out of the sky, and you can’t affect my believers, few as they are. There are only our wills keeping us in place, in this weird dream of a dimension. We exist as mere reflections of ourselves. Or perhaps foci.”

    “You might believe that I’m keepin’ my people out of the way.”

    “I might.” But you’re too smart for just that, thought Wednesday. Now for my next move. He conjured a bottle from the shadows of his coat, along with two glasses. “You brought tea. I thought it only fair to bring something of my own along.” He emptied the bottle of its pale, amber liquid. “Honey mead of the gods. No poison,” he said, and grinned broadly.

    Again, they drained their drinks.

    “Now-“ Wednesday froze. Just on the edges of his consciousness, he felt an alien touch. He’d known about this, of course, but this was incredibly subtle – so much so that he couldn’t tell when it had begun. In his moment of uncertainty, the tendrils of Granny’s mind dug deeper into his – and held. As her will pressed on his, he felt his projection of self in this realm fade.

    “Do you seek to steal a god’s mind, little witch?” he whispered to her mentally.

    “Bein’ a god doesn’t mean anything to me. Just that you let others do your work. Well this is work, and I’ve had more practice.” Granny was slumped in her chair, a limp doll, but he heard her voice clearly in his mind.

    “I’m not your gods, witch. I am Odin, All-Father, of battles and strife and wisdom. I am Odin, who is magic and trickery. And I will not be played with.”

    He sent her what it meant to be a god. The feeling of wars and destruction which served only you. Of a thousand warriors screaming your name, giving up their lives for you. The scent of blood as it seeped into the ground, and the taste of a man’s last breath as he hung from the gallows, and the feel of a raven’s beak in a dead woman’s eye. Granny’s mind shrank back from it, momentarily stunned. Her grip returned almost immediately, but it was more tenuous, and the body in the chair was less substantial.

    Her mind held on with more fire, however. She’d always hated people who thought they were wiser merely because they were older, and used that line to stop others from thinking. You’ll know when you’re older… Granny was old, but she was wiser because she was always right, and that’s all there was. “Funny thing is, when people tries to scare other people, they always use what they’re scared of, deep down. You sent me your power and age. To the hive, everything is less powerful and ancient than ‘em.”

    This time, it was Wednesday’s turn to reel as his mind was filled with the infinite buzzing of the hive. It surrounded him and pervaded him, and above all was this call to follow. He was part of it, and it was part of him. What the hive wanted was-

    No! Wednesday gathered up his fragmented self, holding it together with his sense of who he was. Thousands of years of history. The image of himself hanging from the tree as the ultimate sacrifice. He couldn’t have been fractured for long, but Granny was now deep in his mind. With effort, he managed to make his thoughts heard.

    “Have you ever wondered about belief, Mistress Weatherwax?”

    “I don’t have any truck with that believing nonsense. Only encourages ‘em gods, and they don’t needs it.” Her will pressed against his, creeping forward another inch.

    “Ah, but you believe in yourself. Such a powerful torrent of belief. And those people that you saved believe in you, and all who watch. Have you wondered how belief changes people? You could be a goddess, if there were but a spark of the divine in you…” Wednesday raised a trembling hand to tap the bottle. So much effort to do so. “Did you wonder what was in that mead? Soma, the wine of the gods. A little spark of the divine for you…and you do fear the gods, in a way.”

    He hadn’t hoped to feel horror or fear from Granny, but he felt her grip loosen again. Wednesday had guessed correctly: the concept of being a god was anathema to her entire being. “If you defeat me, a god, what does that make you?” he whispered.

    Granny’s body paled alarmingly, becoming almost translucent – then stopped. Wednesday thought he heard a note of grudging admiration in her mental voice. “A good lie, as they goes. A dying god like you wouldn’t waste that much precious belief. And in any case, I refuse it. Only I change myself. No one else gets to choose.”

    This time, all she used was herself and her home. Wednesday parried as best he could. When she threw the birth of a babe and the joy of the mother after hours of exhaustion at him, he gave her the baby’s violent death in return. A son leaving the country became a soldier at war, dying too early. The honest farmer’s soul was twisted by a search for a way to bring back his wife. Against her belief in herself, he set his own belief, and his sacrifice.

    Then she set the entirety of her realm against him, and he began to slip. She was the Discworld, from its peaks in the Ramtops to the worn stones of Ankh-Morpork. She was the Light that chased the dark from the Hub, and its reflection in Great A’Tuin’s eye. He tried to hold his own home in defence, but America had never been kind to gods. He didn’t really belong there, no more than he belonged to the old country, from where his people first journeyed.

    It was like trying to close a thousand doors in a maze, against an unseen enemy. You spun and you slammed, and all you could do was exhaust yourself.

    Right before her mind enveloped him entirely, he relaxed slightly. She’d taken the bait. It was a little too soon, though, and he cursed himself for gloating when Granny stopped. With their minds so close, she could almost hear the thoughts he wanted hidden.

    “It was real. The soma was real,” he said simply.

    “What-?”

    As Granny’s mind surged in, Wednesday jumped lightly through her connection, right into her deserted body. The soma had settled nicely, giving him the spark of godhood needed – a perfect divine vessel. He opened her eyes, and smiled his wolfish grin.

    Granny, in Wednesday’s body, still had his eyes closed. He could picture what was happening perfectly: when one Borrowed animals, you felt their instincts. When one Borrowed a god, there were millennia of habits and the god’s imprinted self to overcome. Mortals bended before the will of gods.

    “How are you feeling, Mistress Weatherwax? Can you feel my wisdom? It was gained by blood and death. Can you manage my memories?” Blood dripped from Wednesday’s bleeding lip, where Granny had bitten it through. “Give into it, little witch. You were already rather like me. Become a fragment of me, with my strife and wisdom…”

    She took a shuddering breath and croaked, “You’re divided in two. One part in my body, one part in yours.”

    “Yes.”

    Granny snorted. “Pride. I wonder why you think you’re the only one who can do that.”

    Something was surrounding Wednesday’s mind. What was it? There was still something in this body, something other than him.

    A little voice whispered in his mind: “I aten’t dead.”

    Predicted winner: Granny Weatherwax.

    I think I’ll be going for Wednesday, though. I love Granny, but I think Wednesday needs more help here.

  20. Yuan says:

    [I sent this comment before, but I'm not sure if it went through. Sorry if this turns out to be a duplicate. I'll include a footnote to make up for it.]

    I apologise for my feeble writing skills, but I couldn’t stand poor Wednesday never getting to do anything aside from boast a bit. Surely he should at least try to con someone before being cut down?

    I haven’t read any of the Discworld books starring the Witches in a long time, and I’ve lent my copy of American Gods to someone. Many apologies for inaccuracies in tone and voice, and yes, the powers here are rather loose interpretations.

    They met amidst a vast greyness, on the edges of another universe. Granny Weatherwax would have scoffed at the drama of the statement, were it not for the fact that their little dimension was incredibly boring. There was no sky, no ground – they walked upon shifting grey.

    Mr Wednesday was the one who approached. He was only slightly surprised by the presence of a small table, with a tea set already laid out*. Most of his attention was drawn to the old and apparently human woman standing in front of it. She met his eyes evenly and held them.

    They both inclined their heads fractionally. Each knew how deceiving appearances could be, and only fools held a staring competition when they knew what the answer would be.

    “Mistress Weatherwax,” Wednesday greeted her formally.

    “Mister Wednesday,” she replied. “I brought tea.”

    He let her pour the tea, watching intently as she did. It felt as if uneasiness was being poured into his stomach, like tea into the cup. The feeling confounded him; normally he revelled in the chaotic element of chance, of the uncertainty which made victory sweeter. With this woman, however…

    She handed him the cup of tea. “Will you allow me to propose a toast?” Wednesday asked quickly, before she could get in a word. “To our battle and strife!”

    Granny hesitated for a moment. Wednesday knew ritual demanded that she accept his toast, and witches could be…odd…about rituals, even ones as fiercely independent as Mistress Weatherwax. “To our battle, and the peace that comes after,” she answered.

    Damn. Wednesday had hoped she’d accept the toast, dedicating the battle to him. With peace, he’d only get a little of its power. Regardless, he lifted his cup and drank with her. Two empty cups were put down.

    “If you were me,” said Wednesday idly, “the poison would have been in the glazing of the cup. No, too obvious. Besides, you’re more likely to poison both of us.”

    “I ain’t you,” said Granny, and poured some more tea. “And you ain’t me. There’s no poison.”

    “Quite right.” What were his options? Wednesday knew that even he couldn’t bluff this woman. “Let us speak frankly, my dear. You can’t hurt me, and I can’t trick you. What have we to gain?”

    Granny ignored the question. “Strange for a small god, you are. I know ‘em, and they ain’t like you. No will to live without any believers.”

    “It hardly matters here.” Wednesday spread his arms wide, to take in their infinite surroundings. “You chose a lovely place for a battle. I can’t use my charms to spin you out of the sky, and you can’t affect my believers, few as they are. There are only our wills keeping us in place, in this weird dream of a dimension. We exist as mere reflections of ourselves. Or perhaps foci.”

    “You might believe that I’m keepin’ my people out of the way.”

    “I might.” But you’re too smart for just that, thought Wednesday. Now for my next move. He conjured a bottle from the shadows of his coat, along with two glasses. “You brought tea. I thought it only fair to bring something of my own along.” He emptied the bottle of its pale, amber liquid. “Honey mead of the gods. No poison,” he said, and grinned broadly.

    Again, they drained their drinks.

    “Now-“ Wednesday froze. Just on the edges of his consciousness, he felt an alien touch. He’d known about this, of course, but this was incredibly subtle – so much so that he couldn’t tell when it had begun. In his moment of uncertainty, the tendrils of Granny’s mind dug deeper into his – and held. As her will pressed on his, he felt his projection of self in this realm fade.

    “Do you seek to steal a god’s mind, little witch?” he whispered to her mentally.

    “Bein’ a god doesn’t mean anything to me. Just that you let others do your work. Well this is work, and I’ve had more practice.” Granny was slumped in her chair, a limp doll, but he heard her voice clearly in his mind.

    “I’m not your gods, witch. I am Odin, All-Father, of battles and strife and wisdom. I am Odin, who is magic and trickery. And I will not be played with.”

    He sent her what it meant to be a god. The feeling of wars and destruction which served only you. Of a thousand warriors screaming your name, giving up their lives for you. The scent of blood as it seeped into the ground, and the taste of a man’s last breath as he hung from the gallows, and the feel of a raven’s beak in a dead woman’s eye. Granny’s mind shrank back from it, momentarily stunned. Her grip returned almost immediately, but it was more tenuous, and the body in the chair was less substantial.

    Her mind held on with more fire, however. She’d always hated people who thought they were wiser merely because they were older, and used that line to stop others from thinking. You’ll know when you’re older… Granny was old, but she was wiser because she was always right, and that’s all there was. “Funny thing is, when people tries to scare other people, they always use what they’re scared of, deep down. You sent me your power and age. To the hive, everything is less powerful and ancient than ‘em.”

    This time, it was Wednesday’s turn to reel as his mind was filled with the infinite buzzing of the hive. It surrounded him and pervaded him, and above all was this call to follow. He was part of it, and it was part of him. What the hive wanted was-

    No! Wednesday gathered up his fragmented self, holding it together with his sense of who he was. Thousands of years of history. The image of himself hanging from the tree as the ultimate sacrifice. He couldn’t have been fractured for long, but Granny was now deep in his mind. With effort, he managed to make his thoughts heard.

    “Have you ever wondered about belief, Mistress Weatherwax?”

    “I don’t have any truck with that believing nonsense. Only encourages ‘em gods, and they don’t needs it.” Her will pressed against his, creeping forward another inch.

    “Ah, but you believe in yourself. Such a powerful torrent of belief. And those people that you saved believe in you, and all who watch. Have you wondered how belief changes people? You could be a goddess, if there were but a spark of the divine in you…” Wednesday raised a trembling hand to tap the bottle. So much effort to do so. “Did you wonder what was in that mead? Soma, the wine of the gods. A little spark of the divine for you…and you do fear the gods, in a way.”

    He hadn’t hoped to feel horror or fear from Granny, but he felt her grip loosen again. Wednesday had guessed correctly: the concept of being a god was anathema to her entire being. “If you defeat me, a god, what does that make you?” he whispered.

    Granny’s body paled alarmingly, becoming almost translucent – then stopped. Wednesday thought he heard a note of grudging admiration in her mental voice. “A good lie, as they goes. A dying god like you wouldn’t waste that much precious belief. And in any case, I refuse it. Only I change myself. No one else gets to choose.”

    This time, all she used was herself and her home. Wednesday parried as best he could. When she threw the birth of a babe and the joy of the mother after hours of exhaustion at him, he gave her the baby’s violent death in return. A son leaving the country became a soldier at war, dying too early. The honest farmer’s soul was twisted by a search for a way to bring back his wife. Against her belief in herself, he set his own belief, and his sacrifice.

    Then she set the entirety of her realm against him, and he began to slip. She was the Discworld, from its peaks in the Ramtops to the worn stones of Ankh-Morpork. She was the Light that chased the dark from the Hub, and its reflection in Great A’Tuin’s eye. He tried to hold his own home in defence, but America had never been kind to gods. He didn’t really belong there, no more than he belonged to the old country, from where his people first journeyed.

    It was like trying to close a thousand doors in a maze, against an unseen enemy. You spun and you slammed, and all you could do was exhaust yourself.

    Right before her mind enveloped him entirely, he relaxed slightly. She’d taken the bait. It was a little too soon, though, and he cursed himself for gloating when Granny stopped. With their minds so close, she could almost hear the thoughts he wanted hidden.

    “It was real. The soma was real,” he said simply.

    “What-?”

    As Granny’s mind surged in, Wednesday jumped lightly through her connection, right into her deserted body. The soma had settled nicely, giving him the spark of godhood needed – a perfect divine vessel. He opened her eyes, and smiled his wolfish grin.

    Granny, in Wednesday’s body, still had his eyes closed. He could picture what was happening perfectly: when one Borrowed animals, you felt their instincts. When one Borrowed a god, there were millennia of habits and the god’s imprinted self to overcome. Mortals bended before the will of gods.

    “How are you feeling, Mistress Weatherwax? Can you feel my wisdom? It was gained by blood and death. Can you manage my memories?” Blood dripped from Wednesday’s bleeding lip, where Granny had bitten it through. “Give into it, little witch. You were already rather like me. Become a fragment of me, with my strife and wisdom…”

    She took a shuddering breath and croaked, “You’re divided in two. One part in my body, one part in yours.”

    “Yes.”

    Granny snorted. “Pride. I wonder why you think you’re the only one who can do that.”

    Something was surrounding Wednesday’s mind. What was it? There was still something in this body, something other than him.

    A little voice whispered in his mind: “I aten’t dead.”

    *Sheer desire seldom creates tea out of thin air, as Arthur Dent can sadly attest. When matched with a glare like Granny’s, however, the air might find itself wishing that it could turn into tea. In this case, Granny’s portable tea set helped.

    Predicted winner: Granny Weatherwax.

    I think I’ll be going for Wednesday, though. I love Granny, but I think Wednesday needs more help here.

  21. Chosen says:

    Good write up Yuan. I don’t think anyone but Pratchett can write Granny correctly. That probably is why SUVDU has bee going with write ups that skip around her. But it was nice to see their powers on display. I kept hoping she would get in Wednesday’s head and have her “I ain’t dead sign” on. I don’t see how people can hold how Granny’s power never really being displayed as a negative. Power doesn’t have to be blatant like with Rake or the other contenders. Sometimes its just implied and all the more powerful for it. If you want a gauge on her power, when a Vampire feeds on her, she gets Vamperized, but the Vampire finds that they have been well and truly Weatherwaxed. All I know for sure is any person who does not run away from Granny is going to lose, and probably thank her in the end.

  22. Sir Read-a-Lot says:

    @Yuan. That was a pretty good write-up. Not perfect, of course, but only the Gaiman and Pratchett could be perfect.

    The line about being old not making you wise, but that Granny was wise because she was right felt very Granny.

  23. Robert Nelson says:

    Wow, excellent write-up Yuan. I think you captured the spirit of the two characters and how the conflict between them would go. I nominate you to do the write-up for the next round!

  24. Metacognition says:

    I’ll admit, I haven’t read Wednesday’s books in quite awhile, but I do remember that his end goal was to go up against other gods.
    I’ll let that sink in for a moment. We’ve got two characters that have tested their mettle vs the best of the best, but Wednesday didn’t just decide to go up against other gods, he wanted to trick them.
    Give Wednesday his tricks, as I assume that we would, and I think there’s (at the very least) a decent chance that he comes out on top.

  25. Plan R says:

    @metacognition I pitty anyone who tries to trick Granny

  26. Clumsatron says:

    Difficult because I really enjoy both characters. I’m going with Mr. Wednesday though.

  27. Archon says:

    Mr. Wednesday’s cinderella run is over… No upsets anywhere this round…

  28. doctor says:

    I literally cannot imagine Granny winning this one. I’ve tried, the writeups have tried to make me, and I just can’t.

  29. Sir Read-a-Lot says:

    @doctor

    I’m just the opposite: I can’t imagine her losing.

    But then, I’ve never read American Gods. That’s just from my view of Granny’s personality.

  30. Anonymous says:

    Wasn’t voting supposed to end about 6 hours ago?

  31. doctor says:

    People are clearly not voting based on the actual most likely outcome.

  32. Laurie says:

    Doctor, I’ve read both characters. Granny win easily. Mr. Wednesday lost even in American Gods (and let’s face it, the gods in America are only pale shadows and not necessarily all that bright, so not hard to trick).

  33. Sir Read-a-Lot says:

    @doctor

    Zaphod made it to the quarterfinals. OF COURSE people are voting based on favorites, rather than the actual outcome. That’s part of the Suvudu Cage Match. Not everyone likes it, but it’s there nonetheless.

    In a match-up this close, that’s pretty much the only way to vote.

  34. doctor says:

    Seriously people? Weatherwax?

    Am I the only one voting based on which character I think would win? Because Wednesday would gut her.

  35. chosen says:

    @doctor

    Please, Granny will not lose to anything but fan support, I like Mr. Wednesday and all, but have you ever even read one of the witches books? Granny will destroy Mr. Wednesday even if he was in full on Odin and left the American Gods cannon out of it.

  36. David says:

    So, apparently, Granny Weatherwax has already beat the tar out of Anomander Rake. All she had to do is compel a lot of people to vote for her.

  37. JOE says:

    @Bhagwad yeah, but I can only be a fanboy of one series I haven’t read at a time! ;D

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