lordofsunshadowandsailor

[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

belated replies

I am sorry!

I was sure to have answered and published these before, but it seems I must have hit ‘save draft’ instead of ‘post’...

So I’m adding the only two new comments from the last update -- and that’s how I discovered this post still in my drafts --, and, as usual, I tried to give my best, thoroughest answers to you who read and comment on LoSSS.

Thank you so much, and sorry again!

hyperkaos replied to your photo “And what of his body, that Alvar had once with proud hands sculpted to...”

The anguish here and in the previous. So well written.

Thank you, dear. I am trying to feel what Alvar feels. Sometimes it’s easier, like anguish -- that’s how I often feel when writing, too. And worse, when publishing it.

declarations-of-drama replied to your photo “His heart raced, swollen, his whole body shook, as if his skin were...”

Awww shit - I hope it is sweat :/

I’m afraid not... :D

declarations-of-drama replied to your photo “If the man were aiming at Alvar, for having woken first and given the...”

SHOOT THE BASTARD DOWN!!!!! Sleeping Assassins suck!

I wish he could hear you... That is one of those moments of indecision, no more than a second, really, but that can still cost someone’s life... 

declarations-of-drama replied to your photo “In the distance, Alvar heard a dog bark in response, while the shot...”

The adrenaline! Life so much. . . Whatever in the face of death. Wow, what powerful imagery!

Thank you, dear. These two are held together not just by bonds of blood, being cousins, but of love -- which brings us to the theme of incest, and I confess to having never thought of their relationship under such perspective :O

declarations-of-drama replied to your photo “Did you just…? Do you think he is…” Alvar broke the silence that...”

I hope it wasn't the pain of an axe that had woken him

What do you mean?

declarations-of-drama replied to your photo “Did you just…? Do you think he is…” Alvar broke the silence that...”

Also, is Alvar a Germanic name? Not sure I've heard it before.

I’m not sure what I was thinking of when I named him. I might have, just then, watched a documentary on Alvar Aalto, the Finnish architect and designer I like so much. 

Because of your question I googled Alvar, and HERE is to the name origin, but it also denotes “a biological environment based on a limestone plain with thin or no soil and, as a result, sparse grassland vegetation.”

And the “alvars, also spelt as alwars or azhwars (āḻvārkaḷ [aːɻʋaːr], ‘those immersed in god’) were Tamil poet-saints of South India who espoused bhakti (devotion) to the Hindu Supreme god Vishnu or his avatar Krishna in their songs of longing, ecstasy and service.”

How about all that?!?!!

declarations-of-drama replied to your photo “Frederic kept his back turned to Alvar, letting his cousin take in the...”

I hope the gunshot didn't ruin their cover. Perhaps they should have tried to explain QUICKLY to the peasant that they were not the enemy. I feel bad for their souls :p

declarations-of-drama replied to your photo “Frederic kept his back turned to Alvar, letting his cousin take in the...”

(I was just laying on the guilt a bit - totally understand why they had to do it)

Yes, and still it will change the course of their career, and their relationship, too, as we shall see soon.

declarations-of-drama replied to your photo “If, just, he had been alone.  Shoot him on the leg.  Frederic could...”

It was a natural defense Freddy, you need to get over this. NOW

I should make you the voice of his consciousness... He is a professional soldier, so it’s probably not the first man he kills, as said... But this was such a waste of a life, and a bullet...

declarations-of-drama replied to your photo “Will we bury him?” Alvar asked, hope infusing his question, when he...”

I hope it's not his poor wife and kids :(

This one we shall never know...

declarations-of-drama replied to your photo “Not proud. Not the least, not Alvar. Not for any present weaknesses,...”

I have no idea how you made this look so perfect! Did you use 2 sims?

One of the good thinks EA has given us are mirrors. Some of the frames are really pretty, and the reflection is just perfect... So this is just a reflection, not two sims. I love playing with mirror scenes in my stories. I started with the first Ep of The Last Canvas.

declarations-of-drama replied to your photo “Alvar glanced again at the tall, somberly framed painting behind him,...”

No mirrors? I guess he had other things on his mind. Like Phantom LegPain:( Poor guy

What do you mean? He is before a mirror now, though not having looked at himself in one for a while, and he is referring to the times when there were no mirrors in the Buddhist monastery in Sikkim, and the monastery we’ll visit with him in the next posts...

And I’ll have to research the phantom leg pain and attribute it to Alvar at some point, you’re right!

declarations-of-drama replied to your photo “Aware of having approached the other hooded man from the back, too...”

This reminds me of Skyrim and Oblivion

I know the games just by name. The only game I ever played was  Myst Online: Uru Live, years after it was released, when nobody else was playing it any more, and there hardly were other gamers online...

I have not even played TS3, haha... I am not a gamer, definitely.

The monk’s outfit is @silsharkie84, and I don’t know what were their inspirations to create it...

declarations-of-drama replied to your photo “Oh!?” Alvar exclaimed softly, maintaining his back turned to the...”

How many skins does this guy have? lol

I answered your question HERE, with pictures...

nornities replied to your photo “Brother?” The newly arrived monk spoke in a whisper, but it echoed...”

I am again and again amazed by your use of light. Also of creating the set...

Thank you, dear!

I love playing with light in Sims 3, though it is often so frustrating, especially outdoors, and it has to be edited on PS later...

As for the set, this is my version of St Gall Monastery on MTS. I had to take it back in time at least a hundred years, so that it would suit LoSSS.... But yes, it is a beautiful lot, isn’t it?!

tyrellsimsoficeandfire replied to your photo “Not proud. Not the least, not Alvar. Not for any present weaknesses,...”

Finally, I get back to comment...What always fascinates me when seeing your Alvar, are the many faces you gave to him. A greek god, the lord, the soldier and now in his bedroom...he always seems like a completely new person. It is so lovely when a sim could change that much

I answered your question HERE, with pictures...

tyrellsimsoficeandfire replied to your photo “And what of his body, that Alvar had once with proud hands sculpted to...”

Alvar still has a very well defined body. I know he couldn't see it himself...but there is still some beauty (thanks to the sim-maker) Do you use some sliders to shape your male sims' bodies?

I won’t say that I have all the sliders one could possibly have for TS3, but yes, I do have many... 

There was a problem when I created Alvar, setting the values for the sliders, so he has disproportionally big shoulders and a gigantic head --- but I realized it, in comparison to the other characters, far too late and way into the story, so he’ll have to remain looking weird :(

tyrellsimsoficeandfire replied to your photo “Alvar glanced again at the tall, somberly framed painting behind him,...”

No mirrors...reminds me of beauty and the beast. But I like his piercing blue eyes. You certainly used make-up on his face. I do this with almost all of my sims. Makeup creates unique effects.

I didn’t think of that story! Yes, there is make up on Alvar’s face, though not so much, since his body is already too heavy with tattoos suggesting what should be shelling scars. 

simblu replied to your photo “The nocturnal breeze brought crickets competing with the owls, and...”

I'm scent obsessed, so love this.. reminds me of how tuberoses were famously forbidden to proper ladies because of their extremely seductive nature

That’s nice to learn!

I wanted to give Brother Gardener a singularity, and I thought this sense quite appropriate for him... I did enjoy writing this part, but almost cut it when editing the post, and now am glad I left it there for you!

simblu replied to your photo “Proper wolves.” Brother Gardener finally answered Alvar, once he...”

Such a keen observation

Alvar might not the be the best, bravest soldier, and even a bit naive in relation to dealing with other people, having always been so sheltered... But he is intelligent, and very observant. He shall still proof his value!

[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

“Have they ever attacked... anyone?” Alvar asked, his voice again breaking as peace totally abandoned him, while his imagination ran wild, up the steep mountain paths in the footsteps of his beloved Freddie, the most tormenting thoughts propelled by his fears, fueled by the tales of the monastic -- or an undercover agent? -- beside him.

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this update starts HERE

[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

“Proper wolves.” Brother Gardener finally answered Alvar, once he exhaled the intoxicating perfume of jasmine and, in emptying the lungs, his mind seemed to clear, too. “And I’ve heard that, in past times, they invaded the kitchen for weeks in a row. The leader of the pack had learned just how to bring down the handle and push the door -- without making a sound. And without making any mess, and leaving behind no tracks, but posing a mystery to this community, they sacked the pantry. The pack’s leader was challenged to death, though, by a younger beast that, though more ferocious, were not equally smart, it seems, and they no longer break into the kitchen nowadays. The monks, of course, started actually locking the door, too, after one of the brothers, known to succumb to the sin of gluttony, had a very frightening encounter with the pack.” 

Alvar, though thoroughly interested in the terrifying tale, could not help but notice how Brother Gardener had referred to the monastics as ‘they’, and not as ‘us’, in referring to locking the kitchen door -- a frequent mistake he had to insistently watch his own speech for. That’s why he asked, “The monks?”

“Yes, of course. Who else?” Brother Gardener answered, sounding simply amused, without comprehending Alvar’s underlying doubt in such questioning. Another undercover agent?, Alvar wondered, and from which side, really? But Brother Gardener had continued, already.

“Since the last great fire crumbled parts of the outer walls, there seems to exist several breaches known to the wolves, that remain hidden from human scrutiny.” The Brother paused, maybe surprised with himself for, in Alvar’s company, being so talkative -- he, who had the reputation of being the most silent and reserved among the monastics, communicating only with the plants. He went on, trying to make Alvar talk, too. “Every once in a while they will prowl these grounds, especially if there is another wild animal trapped within the walls. You’ve seen yourself how deer seem to enjoy grazing in our gardens, haven’t you? Often we have to see them out through the gates, since they seem to forget the way they broke into, once their bellies are full...”

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[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

The nocturnal breeze brought crickets competing with the owls, and just as the frogs joined the plangent contend, its multitude of dissonant rhythms delivered to Alvar the painful memories of that stiff farewell, seven unaccountable nights ago, adding to his disquietude.

Brother Gardener, though a few steps away from Alvar, had immersed himself into a realm of completely different impressions. He hadn’t been on any nightly excursions since arriving at the monastery, and suddenly he understood why the community turned in so early. Not because the night intensified the mysterious sounds emanating from the forest, and evoked the threaten to be felt in all unseen -- for monks actually devoted their lives to the mystery of all mysteries, to the greater unseen. Weren’t it the reason the sensory powers of perfumes? Floating from the inner garden and the orchard towards the second floor, where the brother's cells were located, evaporating on their ascension, the aromas arrived at the dormitories as faint intrusions, incapable of inciting desire -- if compared to the seductive grip of what he now inhaled, standing right under and next to the blooming flowers, opening up like if undressing to fully offer themselves in the wild brothel of Nature. The dark, grave and fiercely matured sweetness of the star jasmine blossoms called towards flesh and not spirit, suggesting to any man subjugated by its smell, dense with antiquity, the once well known, experienced ladies laying now out of bounds -- and not the motherly virgin that should permeate their religious routine. Though, for Brother Gardener, the only meaningful lady in his life remained being his own mother, and perhaps one or two in an array of elderly aunts.

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[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

They had said their goodbyes, extensive and complete with kisses and renewed vows of eternal love, in the privacy of their cells.

But Alvar, from under the stone portal of a side gate to the monastery, watching Freddie being engulfed by the shadows of the night, had with great struggle try to subject the impulse to run after his beloved cousin and embrace, kiss him one last time -- hoping it were not really the last. 

Wouldn’t it have been a touching scene, of lovers saying still another, passionate farewell -- if, only, one of the pair were a woman?

But, though a woman could properly, openly manifest love towards her man, and the other way around as well, Alvar did not wish to be a woman, nor did he wish Freddie to be a woman, nor did Freddie wish Alvar to be his woman -- for a woman, during war times, would have to be seating home. 

Cold and distant as they had to publicly pretend -- and Alvar regretted just that --, as two men they could be brothers in arms, and remain together at all times. They would never marry, either -- only because of the daily proximity with a church and religion Alvar was led to reflect upon their union, seen as a shame, as a sin --, but still, forever remain united with the most inventive of schemes.

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[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

Except for the bit about crossing the mountains, the purpose of Freddie’s mission -- he who, until then, had remained undercover as a monk, too -- was unknown even to Alvar, who had seen him off that evening.

Following the accident at the closing of their previous mission -- the assassination, or killing of a peasant on neutral territory, though they never referred to the incident in those terms, since they never ever spoke about it again --, Freddie had fervently negotiated and finally arranged for their temporary withdrawal in the only terms that would possibly suit the cousins -- their remaining together no matter what. 

The superior echelons intended to relocate Alvar behind a table in the Intelligence quarters at The City -- while appreciative of his many intellectual skills, taking him for a nuisance and hindrance to Freddie’s field work, which mounted nothing short of indispensable. The quiet, isolated monastery, sitting on the site of what had once been a mighty fortress -- once conquered, burned to the ground, and later rebuilt as a dwelling for the peace makers --, among a network of small farms connected by precarious, informal roads, was located on neutral lands but conveniently close to the borders of enemy country, and suited both Alvar’s temporary (the word was often used by the lover cousins, though never by their commanding officers) retirement, and Freddie’s continued engagement.

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[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

Four hours after the monks had retired, and four hours before they woke up for their personal prayers -- exactly at eleven in the evening, when the fraternity should be sound asleep, Freddie had left the monastery.

He wasn’t doing it in secrecy, though, as the abbot had been properly informed of his impending absence -- for an undetermined period.

Freddie looked fresh and content, as if going to visit a favorite place of his, and not setting out on a field mission that would take him across the mountains. And impossibly handsome, Alvar thought, dressed in dark, hiking clothes that melted him into the shadows he chose as the safest path; an equally dark, rather fancy fedora purposely covering his blond hair, that would otherwise gleam under the moonlight and give his movements away.

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[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

“Human wolves?” And Alvar was not thinking about silly tales of werewolves, but about the rather palpable and proven beastly nature of humans making war. “Or proper wolves?” He asked, his voice breaking the moment he expressed that possibility. The anger and contempt Alvar had felt a moment ago, with the arrival of the Brother at his side, gave to the concerns and fears that had kept him from sleeping, and which had brought him to the orchard at so late an hour. 

Dreading Brother Gardener’s answer, Alvar concluded, “They wouldn’t venture inside the monastery grounds anyway, would they?” He murmured, for if he spoke any louder he feared his breath could extinguish the flame of the candle he had kept burning since Freddie had left the monastery. What obscure impulse made him bring the votive candle to light his path? Did he dare think the dim brilliance would somehow be seen by Freddie from the high peaks? Alvar now must shelter it with his hand, and his heart flickered with the flame, whipped by the breeze. What, if it went out? Would their bond weaken -- break? Would Freddie never return -- die?

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[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

INDEX

Intro

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

for links to work, please right click and open in a new tab

[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

“It’s not rules I have come to remind you of, brother...” Brother Gardener responded, exhaling audibly, the scent of jasmine made richer and warmer through his breath. Had he heard any trace of contempt or impatience in Alvar’s voice, he filled his own to the brim with sweetness, as an antidote. “It’s the wolves I have come to warn you of, dear brother...”

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this update starts HERE

[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

“Oh!?” Alvar exclaimed softly, maintaining his back turned to the brother, and to the courtyard, and to the monastery’s main buildings.

He had wanted to scream, instead. Not at Brother Gardener, though -- was he called Marcus or Marius or even Darius, Alvar couldn’t quite recall, for they never referred to one another by their names, in the monastery. It was either Brother, simply, or Brother Clark, Brother Baker, Brother Taylor, in reference to their occupations. And Brother Gardener was the fine young man to whom Alvar worked alongside everyday -- having become himself Brother Gardener, Too.

“I keep forgetting the rules, do I not?” Alvar pronounced his answer clearly, while trying to avoid any irony or anger in his tone -- though presently feeling fed up with monastic rules.

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[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

“Brother?” The newly arrived monk spoke in a whisper, but it echoed against the high, ancient stone walls like a shot. Had he actually spoken too loud? How many monks, tossing awake on narrow beds in their lonely cells, would have heard him? How long until Brother Beadel appeared?   

Star jasmine of the purest white weighed on the wooden arches above and around the pair of robed men. Its strong sweet scent had enveloped and distracted the newcomer, overwhelming his senses, making his nostrils shiver, giving him the hint of a headache, and for a moment he forgot what mission had brought him to the company of the man who clearly was intent on his nightly solitude.

 “Brother...” He repeated, watching against the back-lighting of a flickering flame  the other monk’s broad shoulders raise in tension -- a formidable outline stretching the rough fabric of the robe to the point where it would rip at any sudden, unpremeditated movement --, in expectation for the reprimand the lone transgressor were sure would follow. “You shouldn’t be outside at this hour of the evening...”

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[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

Aware of having approached the other hooded man from the back, too quietly, silently even, for two seconds the monk dragged his leather sandals on the crushed gravel of the path leading into the orchard. How many men had walked that path before him? What thoughts occupied their minds, and what feelings filled their hearts, he wondered. How devout had they been, and was God a presence and longing pervading their souls at each step?

Intently, he watched the other monk that stood at the end of the row of wood arches give a start, if brief and subtle. Not intending to frighten but just intrude, it indicated to him that he had already broken the lonely man’s intense silence -- a silence not shared by the immense night, where a loud crowd of crickets seemed to respond to the muffled calls of the owls, as a lasting breeze made the fountain in the courtyard behind them sway erratically, the water sometimes pouring off its basin, while agitating the pine trees beyond the boundaries, making them sound like a distant river -- one that existed indeed, downhill, but that could not be heard within the monastery grounds.

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[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

Alvar glanced again at the tall, somberly framed painting behind him, surer than before that Tobio did not paint it. The tones too dark and dirty, the layers of paint too heavy and thick -- unless the physician had changed his style since the end of the war. Perhaps his hand too, and not just the face and eyes, had suffered damage in the ambush?

Potently masculine if frail in frame, a bold posture surfacing from the humble existence -- Alvar wondered about the figure model. Who was he? A poor worker, a sailor, a prostitute? How desperate were he for work? How little did he earn to so bravely or carelessly expose himself? How long had he posed for the painting? And more, did he still live? Where had he fought the war? Had he survived? How had his body -- onto which Alvar read signs of continued hunger in the fat-less abdomen, the flat chest telling of the inevitability of contracting diseases , and a readiness to surrender to lust springing from the hips brazenly trusted forwards --, how had that body since then changed, if not into a corpse?

And suddenly, Alvar realized to be actually peering into the painting as a reflection in the mirror. 

The inverted image of an image. 

At once, he apprehended that, from then on, paintings too were to become a form of mirror for him -- an ideal frozen in time and varnish set to contrast against the inexorability of his own organic decay and decadence. And there lay no point in covering them all. For whatever he saw remained an image -- even of himself. He’d never actually come face to face with himself -- just his reflection, inverted as it always were, would glance back at him. Thus he could contemplate his own image like he contemplated any other image -- with the eyes of neither disgust nor desire, but equanimity, like he had learned -- but never really practiced -- at the Buddhist monastery in Sikkim.

Which led him to recall how, twice in his life, he had contentedly lived for periods without the proximity of any mirrors. The first time in Sikkim, and the second--

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[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

And what of his body, that Alvar had once with proud hands sculpted to those elevated standards of classical perfection?

It were not the shelling scars covering -- from what was left of his leg up to his shoulder and neck, and across his chest and lower back -- the left side of his body with a myriad of tiny craters that would never close or collapse. Not that, to disconcert him the most. If he were now to compare himself to a Greek sculpture, he resembled a piece hoisted from the depths of the ocean after centuries being submerged in oblivion -- with colonies of tenacious barnacles clinging to him. Alvar smiled bitterly at such a vision.

And further into the analogy, the salty currents had corroded and eroded so powerfully as to blur and obliterate his once strapping form -- and that really hurt, the fact that he had become half the man he used to be. He’d never been so thin, not even in his teenage years when, under Frederic’s guidance, Alvar had started building his body with an array of activities carefully chosen to carve his muscles most precisely, as if being worked by the masterful hands of the great Praxiteles himself. The world -- their world, that of the young cousins infatuated with themselves -- had then resembled a huge atelier where they searched to shape their perfection to an ideal otherwise found only in most prestigious museums, in printed pages dedicated to praise or poetry, and their own insistently cultivated, intoxicating reveries.

And if Alvar accounted the leg he had lost, then he were less than half the man he used to be.

And, if he considered having forever lost Frederic, then he were nothing of the man he used to be. 

He now barely existed. 

The image in the mirror was that of Lord Phallihurst, the fourth Earl of Finnonan, to which Alvar conformed, but under which he simply concealed himself.

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[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

With a frown -- for he were no hypocrite to hide from himself feeling repulse for himself --, Alvar glanced at the figure reflected in the mirror. 

At his own home, under express request -- that he had written down, signed and sent from the hospital bed yet -- all of them had been removed from the library, that he now occupied as his bedroom. And throughout Antumbrae Hall, along the corridors he daily coursed in his crooked amble, and in the many rooms he commonly used, all mirrors, if they could not be taken off the walls, had been covered with the thickest damasks of the prettiest patterns and shine -- for he’d kept his good taste if not the physical integrity. 

To think he had once lived up to the Greek ideal of perfection -- of perfecting body and mind. Once clear and fast, his mind now had corners so dark he feared facing, getting lost or dragged into them -- and that only forgetfulness helped him to divert from and avoid.

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[lordofsunshadowandsailor]

Not proud.

Not the least, not Alvar.

Not for any present weaknesses, springing from past lies.

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the text in this post mirrors that in this one but it’s not the same...