#Conqueror Caravan

[missisjoker]

Jacegan fic prompt: hostage!Jace x An Absolute Menace!Cregan with a light hint of bondage.

When Torrhen Stark bends the knee to Aegon the Conqueror, Aegon makes him an oath that should the Others return, he or his descendants would send their dragons north of the Wall to help Starks stop them.

A Night's Watch raiding party runs into a group of white walkers a month before King Viserys dies. Cregan Stark sends a raven to Kings Landing, reminding the king of his ancient oath- but his plea is left unanswered. When the Dance breaks out, the Lord of Winterfell sends two ravens to both the Blacks and the Greens but the only answer he gets is silence.

He begins the preparations on his own, gathering a great northern army and getting provisions, but a couple of months later, a Targaryen accidentally destroys a provisions caravan that Cregan has negotiated from the Reach. Cregan doesn't know for sure if it was Daemon or Aemond, and he honestly doesn't care - he is simply done with Targaryens and their petty squabbles.

But, his anger is not the hot flash of the dragon's temper- no, it is cold as ice; it runs slower, and burns deeper. So he comes up with a daring plan. He knows he can't fight either Targaryen party head-on, no valor alone can beat the dragons, so instead he gathers a small party of Greybeards and leads them south.

***

Queen Rhayenira receives word about yet another raid her forces suffered in the Riverlands. Perpetrators unknown, hide in the shadows, sweep effortlessly, steal whatever they came from (mostly weapons and gold), and leave as swiftly as they come. No traces left behind, only howling of the wolves in the distance. Her people are freaking out, speaking in hushed voices about the ghosts in the night, about a pack of direwolves that came down from Winterfell on the heels of the first snow; say that they feel like the shadows are always watching them, following them, as if they are prey being hunted. She doesn't know that the Greens are suffering from the same blight, but she can't allow her soldiers to succumb to some peasant superstition- so she sends Jacaerys to investigate.

Jacaerys takes up to the skies and circles the city while heavy snow blankets the lands. When the snowfall stops and the full moon comes out, the temperature drops and Jacaerys starts to shiver. Then he notices a couple of freshly smothered fires still bellowing smoke in the bald spot in a forest, and carts full of weapons poorly hidden next to them. There are no signs of the raiding party present, there are no tracks on the fresh snow, so Jacaerys decides it is safe to land. He dismounts Vermax and makes his way to one of the carts when the mounds of snow shift around him, uncovering men lying in wait, and his world goes black.

***

When Jacaerys wakes up, his whole body is screaming. His hands and feet are bound and the ropes wind around his shoulders so tight he can't even move his head up. And yet, he struggles to get up on his knees and looks for Vermax. His dragon is not far from him, also bound by leather belts and chains around his maw, whining in distress and anger. At least, we aren't harmed. Yet.

He looks around at his captors- the ones he sees are old men with beards, shaggy and rough, old battle-tested warriors, no doubt. He notices a buckle on one of them with a distinct imprint of a direwolf.

It can't be.

"Beautiful bounty this harvest season, my Lord."

"Indeed."

The old men around him start laughing.

Jace shifts again and finds himself looking down on a pair of leather boots. He tries to look up to see his captor, but his bounds prevent him. He takes a deep breath,

"Lord Cregan Stark, I presume"?

A quiet murmur falls on the group of his captors, but the man in front of him just softly chuckles,

"Quick lad, I like that."

The low husky voice makes the tips of his ears burn.

"I would prefer to speak to your face rather than your boots,"

"Aye, that's fair".

A strong arm yanks him off the frozen ground back to his feet. Now he is face to face with his captor and ... he freezes.

Lord Stark is absolutely not what he expected. He's young, no more than a few years older than Jace, tall with broad shoulders and a handsome face. Steel grey eyes look at him in amusement.

"This is treason."

"This is a reminder. Your family swore an oath but chose to forget it. But the North remembers, and I will remind them of their honor."

"You speak of honor but bound me like a wild boar?"

Lord Stark tilts his head and gives Jacaerys a slow look over,

"More like a flailing fawn, really."

Jace's face burns with embarrassment and fury as he struggles to keep his head upright, but Cregan only shrugs and grabs a tight knot on Jace's neck,

"I suppose a touch of goodwill won't hurt."

He reaches out behind Jace's head, twitches his fingers, and the binds come undone. Jace flexes his muscles and rolls his shoulders as his body becomes alive again, ropes finally discarded at his feet. A heavy hand on Jace's shoulder grounds him and stops him from moving, then Lord Stark leans in and whispers in Jace's ear, "Do not think to run, my prince, because I will hunt you down."

Fire burns in Jace's chest, and there is a scalding mix of anger, embarrassment, indignation, and something else he can't yet put a name to.

"Threats won't get you far, my Lord."

"It's not a threat, merely a promise."

Jace stumbles in his step, legs still half numb from cold and being bound. "What of Vermax?"

"The beast is fine. I've put a trinket on his chains, it will release in a day's time and he shall be free to fly back to your mother."

Jace just stares at Cregan's frustratingly handsome face, dumbstruck. But then,

"You think my queen sees a riderless dragon and will choose to negotiate with you? You must be mad!"

"Not mad, just practical."

"But... does this mean you haven't declared for the Greens?"

"I declared for no one but the North. And I will have a dragon to protect it, one way or the other. Perhaps, I'll even fetch myself a dragon bride to keep me warm. Come now, we have a ten-day's road back to Winterfell."

"You expect me to just ride a horse all the way there?"

Jace chokes at how childish it sounds, but presses on.

Cregan raises an eyebrow,

"You will ride whatever I tell you to ride. You are a grown man, are you not? Surely you can handle it."

Jace tries to retort but his body betrays him, and starts to shiver. Lord Stark unbuckles his cloak and drapes it around Jacaerys in one swift move. Jace welcomes the warmth and prays to the Seven the moonlight hides the deepening redness of his cheeks. He isn't sure it's just the cold.

The party splits, Lord Stark and two other men take Jacaerys to the horses while the rest disappear in the forest.

Jace looks around and decides to make up for his stupid childishness earlier,

"You think three people is enough to tame me?"

Cregan smirks, "I'm sure myself is quite enough. I simply choose to be polite, my prince."

Jacaerys clenches his fists and barely stops himself from headbutting the bastard's smug face, but then.. The men start to howl, more voices join from the distance, and Cregan's smile grows feral.

[humansofnewyork]

(14/54) “We began in darkness. Three hundred years after the Battle of Nahavand. The invaders had plundered the country. Caravans of riches were leaving day and night. There was a huge push to break our unity, to erase our identity, to make us forget ourselves. And whenever a conqueror tries to destroy a people, they begin with the language. Scholars were murdered. Books were burned. Entire libraries were razed to the ground. Whenever words were found, they were destroyed. A knight gathered all the texts that remained. And Ferdowsi stepped forward to weave them into a poem. In the prologue of Shahnameh he writes: ‘I am building a castle of words. That no wind or rain will destroy!’ Ferdowsi attempted to use only the purest form of Persian. He wanted to preserve the entirety of our language. All of our words. But it wasn’t just our language that he was trying to save, it was our story. Our wisdom. Our soul. Who we were. Ferdowsi drew from many different sources when writing Shahnameh. But one of the most important was The Avesta. The holiest book in ancient Iran. It included many of our oldest stories, from before the written word. In the heart of the book, away from the edges, safe from the sands of time, were the oldest words of Iran: the seventeen hymns of Zoroaster. They were three thousand years old. And they’re in the form of a poem. They tell the story of a battle between two great spirits: Ahura Mazda and Ahriman. Good and Evil. Light and Dark. Since the beginning of time these two spirits have been locked in a battle for the soul of the world. And every person must participate. There can be no spectators. There is always a choice to be made. Light or Dark. Good or Evil. 𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪 or 𝘉𝘢𝘥𝘪. It’s a simple choice. But in that choice is an escape from destiny. A promise that the book is not yet written. There is still a role for us to play.”

 در تاریکی آغاز شد. سیسد سال پس از جنگ نهاوند غارتگران دارایی‌های سرزمین ما را به تاراج برده بودند. کاروان‌های انباشته از زر و گوهر روز و شب خارج می‌شدند. کارزار فراگیری برای از میان بردن هویت ایرانی به راه انداخته بودند. از زبان‌مان آغاز کردند. هر گاه فاتحی کمر به نابودی ملتی ببندد، بخواهد هویت آنها را از بین ببرد، بخواهد اتحاد آنها را بشکند، بخواهد آنها را از خود بیگانه کند، از زبان می‌آغازد. زبان آوند فرهنگمان است. نگهدارنده‌ی تمامی گذشته‌مان است. چسبی‌ست که ما را در کنار هم نگه می‌دارد. دانشمندان کشته شدند. کتاب‌ها سوزانده شدند. تمامی کتابخانه‌ها با خاک یکسان شدند. هر گاه نوشته‌هایی یافت می‌شد، نابود می‌کردند. فردوسی می‌نویسد که پهلوانی همه‌‌ی نوشته‌های بازمانده را گرد‌ آورد. سپس فردوسی پذیرفت تا همه را به شعر برگرداند. او چنین سرود: پی افکندم از نظم کاخی بلند / که از باد و باران نیابد گزند! فردوسی کوشید که از ناب‌ترین واژگان فارسی استفاده کند. می‌خواست یکپارچگی زبان‌مان را پاس دارد. ولی این تنها واژگان‌مان نبودند که در تلاش پاسداری از آن بود، بلکه داستانهای‌مان نیز بود. جان و روان و شناسه‌ی ما. آنچه که بودیم. در نوشتن شاهنامه، فردوسی از منابع گوناگون بسیاری بهره ‌برد. برجسته‌ترین آنها اوستا بود. کتاب سپنتای ایران. دربرگیرنده‌ی کهن‌ترین داستانهای‌مان از دوردست روزگار. در دل کتاب، دور از متن‌های حاشیه‌ای، در امان از گردباد زمانه، کهن‌ترین واژگان ‌‌و سخنان و نوشته‌های ایران گنجانده شده بود: هفده گاتای زرتشت. با قدمتی سه‌هزارساله که به شعر نوشته شده‌اند. داستان نبرد میان دو نیروی بزرگ را روایت می‌کند: اهورا مزدا و اهریمن. نیکی و بدی. روشنایی و تاریکی. از ازل، این دو نیرو در نبردی همیشگی برای جان جهان بوده‌اند. همه می‌بایست در آن نبرد شرکت کنند. هیچ تماشاگری وجود ندارد. چرا که هر انسانی باید انتخاب کند. همیشه گزینه‌ای وجود دارد. گزینه‌ی ساده‌ای‌ست: روشنایی یا تاریکی. نیکی یا بدی. ولی در آن گزینش، گریزی از سرنوشت وجود دارد. نویدی‌ست نانوشته. که در آن کارسازیم

[lutethebodies]

Character Development via Mechanics and Gear: Race and Abilities

Part One of a casual series I recently threatened to do about my 5e bard's allegedly cliché-subverting character build. Perhaps that latter bit is in the eye of the beholder (though not literally of course). I'll try to keep these things relatively pithy since it's all based on homebrew lore that most people won't be familiar with (but you can start here if you like). Dive in below the cut.

Race: Human (variant rules). I tend to play humans more than any other "race" (indeed apart from them I only play elves and half-elves), and 5e's "optional" variant made cementing that tendency easy. Two ability bonuses, an extra skill, and a feat (with potentially a third ability bonus)? Sign me up. BG3 absolutely should have done this and I'm glad there's a mod that comes close.

Abilities (using Point Buy): Str 8 Dex 15+1 Con 11+1 Int 10 Wis 12 Cha 15+1. Ability bonuses: Constitution, Charisma (for Dexterity see Feat below). RP reason: He became hale and confident from enduring and overcoming the tribulations and humiliations of frequent travel/touring (since age 11), performance (since age 15), and imprisonment (ages 22-23).

Skill: Insight. RP reason: Cannor quickly learned the wisdom to translate experience to creativity, as well as the canny ability all performers need to read an audience—be it a crowd or an individual. This skill was refined in his 30s at the Equiposium of Caranacia, my homebrewed institution of statecraft and diplomacy. I once created a homebrew "College of Equipoise" bard subclass, but I soon abandoned that in favor of trying to build my bard using rules-as-written.

Feat: Weapon Master (Net, Scimitar, Whip, Blowgun). The min-maxing sites hate this feat, but I don't care, because Cannor doesn't need to use rapiers or longswords or hand crossbows or other random weapons pity-gifted to vanilla bards. Why? RP reasons, of course. I like the idea of him knowing how to use oddball weapons: nets from his two sailing voyages, scimitars from his time in a caravan troupe, whips from his fighter friend (a fellow dungeon escapee), and blowguns as a tool of spycraft when he learned that discipline. Plus it gets a Dexterity bonus, which I RP as him learning "finessed fighting" at the Equiposium.

Languages: Common, Elvish. I wish 5e cared more about language, because that can be substantially more indicative of culture and background than other traits. So my homebrew humans speak lots of languages. RP: "Common" (what a dull idea, right?) varies in my homebrew world depending on region. Cannor's native land of Narán (sort of a faux-Iberian mishmashy Spain/Portugal/Al-Andalus vibe) speaks mainly Auransi, a vernacular form of an ancient language (similar to how the romance languages relate to Latin) called Aurigan. However, his lineage is Kalen (faux-Celtic; his birthplace region is a faux Galicia or Cantabria). His parents (and their entire community) were both exiles from much farther north.

So he already knew lots of Kalen words and phrases before he was eventually exiled to a city called Seven Harbors where it's still widely spoken (by a conquered people). He then mastered Kalen as well as the language of that city's conquerors, the Vaali (faux-Teutonic folks). As a lore nerd, Cannor made a point to also learn one of the more ancient languages of his new home (also spoken in pockets of the region), Erynnathi (my faux surface-Elvish). My guy effectively speaks and reads three human languages, and is passable in a fourth (Elvish).

Up next (maybe later this weekend): Background and Class!

[fr0ginthemoon]

(P9) The Heretic's Soliloquy

“Sing, prophet, of that time so long ago, before the Queen brought her rule to the land of Aequor, when the world was yet juvenile and its progeny that of the heroes and monsters of old, when the prophet still lived. His legends are whispered  in the corners of the earth, and many a tale has been sung of his exploits. Listen, laugh and despair at the truth of Ilex, the Last Great Prophet, he who foresaw the end of time, he who gave to us a purpose and a name. Through this tale of revelation and sorrow, may you find the truth of this world. This I say with the blessing of the chosen, those ascended conquerors of past and present. Let my words ring true, let my hands do no deceitful works, and let my ears accept no lie.

When the gods still graced the earth and there were yet miracles to be done, an infant boy was abandoned on the steps of a church in the outer lands, far away from the border of the empire, where the sky was clear as glass and the water shone with the light of the stars. It was there that he was found by the priest named Juniper, for the asylum he afforded the less fortunate from the evils of the world. Juniper took the child in, and raised him, along with those other poor abandoned souls, as his own. 

One such soul was a child of the same age, a girl named Arnica. Though life in the outerlands was ripe with pain and suffering, the two were fast companions by their youth. Arnica was a blessed child, adored by the sun, the moon, and all of the things that followed them. Perhaps through the whims or the mercy of fate, as Arnica called, so the world responded in kind. Ilex, in contrast, was set apart from passing things, and enjoyed the splendor of solitude. But through the silence, he gleaned a great many things, and was far advanced in his studies of history and the arts. Though the children were as strikingly different as could be, they were inseparable. Ilex always calmed Arnica’s antics, and Arnica encouraged Ilex against the despair that plagued him.

So time passed, and so the two children grew under Juniper’s guidance as wards of the church of Olea until they reached the age where they were to be bonded to the heavens. That day, they were sent out in a caravan with Sir Caspia, their tutor and a knight under the Nasturtium family’s lionsheart coalition, to the plains inwards from the desert, where the yearly monsoon was fast approaching.

There, standing among the rain and the wind, Arnica stretched her soul to the sky, calling to the ascendant plane with the incantations that had been taught to her. But what reached back was not what was expected. In the space of a moment, which, however quick, had never been so defining, two beings touched the earth like lightning, carrying with them the weight of creation and the smell of ash.

The first of them, clad in white as a paladin, with wings that spanned from horizon to horizon, stretched his silver hand to touch the deepest parts of Arnica’s mind. In that moment, Arnica saw for the first time, with overwhelming clarity, every moment from the emergence of creation to the present, and the meaning of each thereof.

In the same moment, the second being, a behemoth of spinning iron gears whose face filled the sky in an instant and whose hand was the breadth of many nations, lowered an engraved golden disk to the wagon where Ilex still sat, his eyes not having conceived what appeared before him. In the disk, Ilex saw engraved each second from the present to the end of time, when the final clock ticks dry and all existence is naught. As with Arnica, Ilex was given understanding of each precious moment left of the lifeblood of the world.

Then, as suddenly as the beings apparated, they were not anymore, leaving only a split sky, a shattered rain, and the smell of ash to remember them by. It was that moment, that instant, which set the course of history and our present undertaking.

The pair, now burdened together with the knowledge of all things, left the church of Olea to wander the world, to teach and make a record of all the things that had been revealed to them. In the following years, forty in total, they traveled thus, to every lived corner of the earth. When their work was done and the secrets of the world lay unraveled, they embarked on one last journey, to the far edge of the world. There, among flowers blooming in colors before unseen by mortal eyes, Arnica and Ilex made a pact with each other. Arnica would go on and ascend to the heavens, and Ilex would stay behind, to use his knowledge of what is to come for the good of many.

When Ilex returned to the lived country, though, he found that he had been branded a heretic, and he was chased away from the people he so desperately longed to save. He hid with his few loyal followers until the end of his days, writing the truths of this world into the Nine Tomes of Creation, which now are scattered across Aequor. When that last day finally came, Ilex, the Last Great Prophet, quietly ascended after Arnica, to be reunited in the heavens above.”

Aenigma pauses, looking down in mourning. The firelight dances across his features, revealing his sorrow in wavering fragments of light. Then, he takes hold of his sash, and lifts its glittering length up to the crowd. “Lastly, he left us this: The means to follow him. For whosoever fulfills the trials will take part in our great calling, to defend the world from encroaching evil, and ensure that there is a place where our children, and their children, and all who follow them, will flourish. This world is ending, and we do these things to preserve it, for the purpose of bringing as many as we can into the new world with us. The ascendants speak to us from across the chasm, give us the means to go where they have gone, and we must do everything we can to honor this chance they have given us.”

I’m lost in memory as he says the words. Something about them seems so familiar. There was a time, when I was barely more than an infant, no more than five years old, when I traveled with my mother to the capital. I wanted to be a historian then, chasing after my father’s position in the senate. I carried a small notebook along with me just like he did, and though I couldn’t write well, I drew everything in scrawled lines that covered pages and pages of paper. I remember mother chiding me, telling me how hard it was to get more, and that I should mind how much I used. I wish I had a journal now, to write the things I’ve seen in the short time that I’ve been traveling. I can feel my vision hazing as I hear mother’s voice. She’s more present than a ghost, her memory an anchor chaining me to the moments I wish I could go back to.

Oriri taps my shoulder insistently until I raise my head. “Listen, he’s getting to the important part.”

Aenigma now points to the sash. “Say with me now, if you know the words, the commands of the prophet.”

First, the truth of the world.

Second, the truth of the self.

Last, the truth of creation.

If these are known to you, we will meet again.

Aenigma holds up a finger to count with each one. When they are complete, he reaches into a pocket with his right hand and removes a small vial of incense. Carefully, he uncorks it and pours a pinch into the fire before him.

The scent washes over me. It’s calming. I close my eyes for a moment and take it in, relishing it. The company disperses, all leaving to arrange the night watch and feed the horses. Oriri hasn’t moved, and I sit there with him beside me for a few more minutes before he speaks again.

“What’s it like, travelling on your own?” He's quieter now, and from his voice, more than just curious.

I tilt my head, thinking for a moment how to answer the question. “Have you never been by yourself?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. I was born in the caravan, and I’ve been here ever since.” he chuckles, a short, half humorous, half-spiteful thing. “Sometimes, I think I would give anything to get away.”

“Why?” The question comes involuntarily, and harsher than I intended. I rephrase, “Don’t you like always having family with you?” I point at his sash. “And besides, you’re the only one besides Aenigma who’s reached the second command…” I have to search my head for the words. “The truth of the self, right? I’m not sure what that entails, but it sounds like something you wouldn’t want to give up just like that.”

He shakes his head so violently that his whole body moves with the action. Then, glancing around, he whispers, “Can we… talk somewhere else?”

It only takes me half an instant to understand. There were only a few places in the manor where I really felt safe to speak, especially secrets. Every word somehow found its way back to mother and father regardless of where they were spoken, or in what confidence. I nod, and he leads me past the wall of wagons, shouting to someone about taking the first watch and flashing a devilish smile as they yell back a retort. He takes a spear, simple wood with a well kept blade fastened to the end, from inside a carriage as we hop over the end and make our way out onto the moonlit plain beyond. We walk away from the company, cresting over the adjacent hill, well out of earshot. Oriri sits cross-legged and looks up at the moon. Then he closes his eyes, deep in thought, swaying gently as he collects what it is he wants to say. Then, after a few minutes, he speaks, his voice halting and heavy with emotion.

“Maybe it’s because I’ll probably never see you again after tomorrow, or maybe just because it’s something that’s been knotted up inside me for so long, but I need to say it to someone.” Despite the declaration, he still pauses, waiting for my nod before starting. “I’ve always been the wonder child, and everyone expects so much of me. They think that I’m the one who’s going to lead them to ascension and fix everything. Some of the elders have even taken to calling me the ‘next great prophet.’ And I get it. It’s good to have something to hope for, and I know that they want the best for me.” He falters, and his voice cracks as he prepares his next sentence. Tears blossom in his eyes as he laments, “But the only thing I want is to leave. Go. Have an adventure somewhere, without all of the questions and the eyes and the single focus on the future.” He fingers the edge of his sash, rubbing the silver stripe with his thumb. He takes a deep breath, and, avoiding my eyes, continues, “I know that it’s important. I can’t leave forever. Someday, I’d have to come back and finish this… obligation. Maybe I’d even ascend one day, and go down in history like everyone keeps telling me I will. But even if just for a little while…” He stops, struggling to find the words for a moment. Then they all pour out like a dam has broken in his throat. “I want to live without knowing what’ll happen tomorrow!” His shoulders sag, relieved, as if he’s just lifted a weight off his shoulders, and he crumples into the grass in front of me. “I just want to be free.” he picks at the grass, blowing a handful into the wind.

I kneel on the grass beside him. I understand what he’s feeling more than I want to. I can recall that snapshot of time, when that little dream that told me I could be anything was swatted from the air. I remember the look on my tutor’s face when I told her I would be a scribe instead of a knight, and the gentle revelation from my father afterwards, how he had tried to tell me, but couldn’t find the words to make me understand. I had gone sobbing to Ruben afterwards, though he was less than helpful. I learned to enjoy it somehow. The difference between Oriri and I is that he has the option to run. Right now, if he really wanted to, and no one could stop him. Should I tell him that, though? I don’t know. So I just stay there and gaze at the stars. They look down at us, flickering like far-off fires. They seem gentler tonight, somehow not as intense as before. Then, a sparrow of an idea flits into my head, flying out through my tongue before it even finishes forming. “You could come with me, if you wanted.”

A terrible idea, my pragmatism warns. My quest is mine alone; I can’t risk getting someone as innocent as Oriri caught up in it. Besides, he’s not accustomed to traveling without his caravan. It’s a recipe for disaster. But somewhere in me, another voice shoots back with an image of me in my bedroom crying, whimpering, curled up into a ball for the same reason as Oriri. I can’t just leave him here, not give him an option at the least.

He’s silent for a while, and I listen to the muffled sounds of the camp behind us; the crackling of fires and the slowly fading cries of restless children as their parents put them to sleep. The wind wavers in our direction, sweeping the last traces of that rich broth on the breeze. After a while, he rolls over, looking up into my eyes. His are almost invisible, even in the faint light of the stars too dark to stand out. He offers the faintest smile, baring his teeth to the sky as if he were a lion snarling at fate for the hand it has been dealt.

I look back down at him, then, in as gentle a voice as I can muster, “I never answered your question, did I? About what it’s like to travel alone.” He shakes his head softly. I breathe out, tucking a wind-blown strand of hair back in place. “Well, to start, it’s lonely. It feels great at first, nothing but the wind at your back and the sun guiding you on, but sometimes I even think I go a little crazy without anyone to talk to.” I hold up a finger “But… you’re free. You could go anywhere you want, and no one can tell you otherwise.” Free. As if. My inner voice chides me for such a delusion. “I can’t quite go wherever I want,” I amend. “I have a mission, so I’m looking for information right now. That’s why I’m going to Cautella.”

Oriri slow-blinks at me, half asleep. I don’t blame him; The grass is quite comfortable. “Are you hunting a monster?”

I tilt my head, trying not to grimace as I respond, “Yes. The biggest one ever.” I watch as he drifts off to sleep, consciousness slowly fading even as the stars grow brighter in the night sky. I wish that last one was a lie.

Even though I never wanted to be a knight, I can’t just discard the duties that come with it. My first priority is to save Joseph. But as I’ve been traveling, my head has cleared. I’ve remembered what happened that night, the night when I died in the forest. I remember why I did what I did. My work isn’t done after I save Joseph. Because the queen is a heretic. A vicious monster.

[4x4community]

Conqueror Companion Brake Issue

Forum: Trailers, Caravans, Towing etc Posted By: MattGeri Post Time: 2025/01/03 at 12:07 PM http://dlvr.it/TH89tn

[marysittingathisfeet]

Queen Who Sought Wisdom

The Queen of Sheba. Like Solomon's Egyptian wife we are never told her name. But unlike Solomon's wife the queen sought out knowledge.

In the Biblical ‘Table of Nations’ (see Genesis10:7), the people of Sheba are listed as descendants of Noah's son Cush Raamah. Shebans are also said to be descended from Jokshan, the son of Abraham’s wife Keturah whom he married and had children with after Sarah died. (see Genesis 25:3).

The Queen of Sheba was thought to be either from Ethiopia or Yemen. The distance between Yemen and Jerusalem is over 1200 miles. From Ethiopia to Israel over 1600 miles. So this queen travelled with her caravan 1200-1600 miles to meet with Solomon. A person in good shape can walk anywhere from 20-30 miles daily. This means it took the Queen of Sheba about 2 months to arrive.

The Queen of Sheba is mentioned in the Old Testament and therefore holds a significant place in both Judaism and Christianity.

Some myths associated with this Queen include-

The Ethiopian Orthodox church claims that the Ethiopian kings of Aksum are direct descendants of the Queen of Sheba (called ‘Makeda’ in Ethiopian tradition) and her son Menelik I, whose father is believed to be King Solomon. (Aksum was a wealthy thriving city named after the conqueror of Cush 350 BC. Aksum became a major wealthy empire during the first century AD with access to vast trade routes linking the Roman Empire to the Middle East and India. Aksum was also noteworthy for its elaborate monuments and written script, as well as for introducing the Christian religion to the rest of sub-Saharan Africa). Whether she and Solomon had intimate relations the Bible does not tells us that. So this may be all myth.

Ironically she is also mentioned in the Quran. According to the Quran, Solomon commanded the Queen of Sheba to come to him as a subject, whereupon she appeared before him (an-Naml, 30–31, 45). Before the queen had arrived, Solomon had moved her throne to his place with the help of one who had knowledge from the scripture (Quran 27:40). -

This version does not correlate with the Bible message, however. As we will see she came of her own accord to see and hear if all that she heard was true as it was hard to believe. Plus if her throne had been moved- then she would have stayed with Solomon not travelled back to her own country.

2 Chronicles 9: 1- When the Queen of Sheba heard of Solomon's fame, she came to Jerusalem to test him with hard questions. Arriving with a very great caravan--with camels carrying spices, large quantities of gold, and precious stones--she came to Solomon and talked with him about all she had on her mind.

This verse tells us that not only was she rich but she came of her own accord, not by compulsion, as she had many questions for Solomon whose fame had spread across the known world. What subject is purposefully going to test their king with hard questions? Many cultures have difficulty accepting a queen as a ruler in her own right, but a ruling queen she was.

1 Kings 4:29-34- Solomon was brilliant. God had blessed him with insight and understanding. He was wiser than anyone else in the world, including the wisest people of the east and of Egypt....Solomon became famous in every country around Judah and Israel. .......Kings all over the world heard about Solomon's wisdom and sent people to listen to him teach.

The verse tells us that Solomon was famous in EVERY country around Judah and Israel. It also tells us that kings all over the world sent people to Solomon to listen to him teach. The Queen of Sheba was no exception.

2 Chronicles 9:2 & 4-6 Solomon answered all her questions; nothing was too hard for him to explain to her. ....She (Queen of Sheba) said to the king, "The report I heard in my own country about your achievements and your wisdom is true. But I did not believe what they said until I came and saw with my own eyes. Indeed, not even half the greatness of your wisdom was told me; you have far exceeded the report I heard.

Jesus mentions her in Matthew 12:42- The Queen of the South will rise at the judgment with this generation and condemn it; for she came from the ends of the earth to listen to Solomon’s wisdom, and now something greater than Solomon is here.

After her visit with Solomon what does the Queen do? She praises God and Solomon and gives Solomon gifts.

2 Chronicles 9: 8-9- Praise be to the LORD your God, who has delighted in you and placed you on his throne as king to rule for the LORD your God. Because of the love of your God for Israel and his desire to uphold them forever, he has made you king over them, to maintain justice and righteousness." Then she gave the king 120 talents of gold, large quantities of spices, and precious stones. There had never been such spices as those the queen of Sheba gave to King Solomon.

So let's compare Solomon's Egyptian wife and the Queen of Sheba. Both were queens, both were exposed to Solomon's wisdom, both viewed all of God's blessings to Solomon and Israel at that time. However, the impact each woman had on a nation was striking.

One woman did not seek the knowledge laid out before her for decades despite her husband's fame. She never acknowledged God and encouraged her husband to lead the people of Israel into sin which eventually leads to the captivity of Israel and Judah.

The other woman travels thousands of miles just to meet and speak with Solomon and ends up praising God. She returns back to her own country a believer in God. Is it any wonder her country is known for spreading Christianity throughout Eastern Africa. A woman that Jesus himself says will sit in judgement of the people of Israel.

[desert-tips]

Exploring the Wonders of the Western Desert: A Guide to Bahariya Oasis Tours

The Western Desert of Egypt, with its sprawling sands and enchanting oases, is a treasure trove of natural beauty and historical significance. Among these oases, bahariya oasis tour stands out as a prime destination for travelers seeking a blend of adventure, history, and breathtaking landscapes. This guide will help you navigate the marvels of Bahariya Oasis, with insights into Fayoum safaris and siwa oasis tours, ensuring an unforgettable experience in Egypt’s Western Desert.

History and Significance of Bahariya Oasis

Bahariya Oasis is not just a modern-day marvel but a historic gem that has been significant for millennia. Dating back to ancient Egypt, this oasis has served as a crucial stopover for caravans traversing the vast desert. Its history is rich with tales of pharaohs, conquerors, and traders who sought refuge in its fertile lands.

Geographical Features

Nestled approximately 370 kilometers southwest of Cairo, Bahariya Oasis is a geographical marvel. The landscape here is a striking contrast to the barren surroundings of the Western Desert. Amidst the endless dunes, Bahariya boasts lush palm groves, natural springs, and dramatic rock formations that create a unique and picturesque environment.

Best Time to Visit Bahariya Oasis

Timing is crucial when planning your visit to Bahariya Oasis. The best time to explore this desert jewel is during the cooler months, from October to April. During these months, the weather is pleasant, making it ideal for outdoor activities and sightseeing. Summers can be scorching, with temperatures soaring above 40°C (104°F), so it’s best to avoid visiting during this period if possible.

Top Attractions in Bahariya Oasis

Black Desert:

One of the most remarkable attractions near Bahariya is the Black Desert. Here, volcanic hills dot the landscape, their dark basalt rocks contrasting sharply with the surrounding sands. It's a surreal sight that makes for fantastic photography and exploration.

White Desert:

Not far from Bahariya lies the ethereal White Desert. This natural wonder is famed for its chalky white rock formations that resemble giant mushrooms and abstract sculptures. As the sun sets, these formations take on a magical glow, creating an otherworldly landscape.

Crystal Mountain:

A lesser-known but equally fascinating attraction is Crystal Mountain. This ridge is embedded with quartz crystals, sparkling in the sunlight and offering a unique and beautiful spectacle.

Fayoum Safari: An Excursion Worth Taking

Just a short drive from Cairo, fayoum safari offers a unique desert safari experience that complements a visit to Bahariya. Known for its rich history, verdant landscapes, and impressive waterfalls, Fayoum is a must-visit for adventure enthusiasts.

A journey through Egypt’s Western Desert, exploring Bahariya Oasis, Fayoum, and Siwa, promises an adventure filled with natural beauty, historical intrigue, and cultural richness. Whether you’re soaking in a hot spring in Bahariya, marveling at ancient fossils in Fayoum, or experiencing the tranquility of Siwa, the wonders of the Western Desert will leave you with lasting memories and a profound appreciation for this extraordinary region.

[sit-tunisia-polyglot-blog]

George Ashford

10/11/2023

Reflection

Traveling through Tunisia, I saw the marks of the many cultures that have found a home here throughout history. A Roman coliseum. Amazigh villages carved into the desert. A Sunni mosque made of Roman columns and a Shi'a fortress guarded by Ottoman cannons. The monumental art-deco and brutalist structures of the capital. An ancient synagogue rumored to contain stones from another, even more ancient temple that stood where Abraham obeyed and Isaac was spared. They tell a story that spans thousands of years, a story of colonization, assimilation, war, and the advent of a nation.

One part of the story begins on the island of Djerba. The Ghriba Synagogue, purportedly the oldest Jewish site in Africa, sits near the center. No one knows for certain how old it is, but legend has it that the high priests of the Temple Mount fled to Djerba after Nebuchadnezzar and the Bablylonians sacked Jerusalem, carrying a stone and a door from the First Temple to build anew. As he shows us around a traditional Amazigh house, dug two stories deep into the soft desert dirt, a light-eyed man in a baseball camp explains that his people were once Jewish. That is why they sheltered Jews during the holocaust, he says, pointing to a metal helmet from WWII hung on a stick bannister. With a few exceptions, the Amazigh are not Jewish anymore, as evidenced by the woman in hijab who serves us tea while we watch the sunset wash over the small circle of sky visible from the open pit at the center of the house, but the man is proud to tell us that they once were. He is staking a claim to Tunisia’s story, reminding us that it began before the Arabs arrived, and that his ancestors were here before Islam. Although he does not make it a point to tell us, they were here before Judaism too.

In Kairouan, conquests are layered onto one another in the very foundations of the city. As we look out over the massive cisterns that held the water for the ascendant Umayyad caliphate’s first outpost in the region, we learn that it gets its name from the Arabic word for a military caravan. The outpost was to protect the new settlers from the Amazigh, who staged a series of successful rebellions before being defeated and gradually converting to Islam. We do not have to explore Kairouan for long, however, to see that the The Umayyads were not the first conquerors to make their mark here. The columns of the majestic Great Mosque of Kairouan are carved in the Greco-Roman style, clearly repurposed from older buildings. Some of the stones in the outer wall have latin writing on them. 70 kilometers away, closer to the coast, the towering Roman amphitheater in El-Jem testifies more explicitly to the power of the empire that counted this part of North Africa among its first and hardest won territories.

After El-Jem, we stop in Mahdia. The insurgent Fatimid caliphate, tracing their lineage back to the Prophet’s daughter, founded the city as their first capital a few hundred years after the Umayyads founded Kairouan. They would go on to capture Egypt and the rest of North Africa from the ruling Abbasid dynasty, spelling the end of a united Arab empire in the Mediterranean. We walk along the parapet of a fortress looking out over bright blue ocean on three sides. We imagine seeing

ships coming over the horizon and scrambling to man the defenses, as so many must have over the centuries. Genoese, Norman, Spanish, French, and Ottoman raiders all came by sea to Mahdia, its well-fortified harbor making it a prime toehold for a long line of would-be conquerors.

The latest conqueror in that line is most visible in Tunis, where art-deco facades adorn the most prominent buildings in the city center. It is also audible in the French words and accent woven into Tunisia’s unique dialect of Arabic. Tunis also, however, tells of something new. Hulking government buildings and hotels made from the ubiquitous concrete of the late 20th century overlook Habib Bourguiba Avenue. They proclaim the sovereignty of a people that is not quite of the ancient desert tribes nor any of their conquerors. Our professor points out the site of famous protests where Tunisians proclaimed a more personal form of sovereignty, demanding political freedom and economic opportunity and getting at least the former.

Tunisia is an Arab country. Hearing the language and the call to prayer every day make that clear, and Kairouan tells the story of how it became so. It is not, however, a solely Arab country, just as the story of Kairouan is not Tunisia’s only story. Djerba, El-Jem, Tunis, Mahdia, and the Amazigh villages tell other stories about Tunisia, stories that include elements of the French story, the Jewish story, the Ottoman story, the Roman story, and the story of the Amazigh. With revolution for national, and then for personal independence as the most recent chapters, they weave together into one, rich, cohesive, Tunisian story. It has been a fascinating story to learn these past few months, and I look forward to someday knowing it in more detail.

Expressions

One of the most common Tunisian expressions is to say صحة when someone is eating, gets out of the shower, or buys new clothes. The response is يا أتك صحة. The expression literally translates just to ‘health,’ and expresses encouragement of healthy activities like eating.

ما يْحِس بِالجمْرة كان الّي يعْفِس عْليها is a less common Tunisian proverb that translates literally to ‘only he who walks on embers can feel it.’ It expresses the idea that one should not judge or criticize the struggles of someone else, since it is impossible to know what they are really going through.

Photos

أركان رومانية في جامع قيروان الأكبر

George Ashford

10/11/2023

Reflection

Traveling through Tunisia, I saw the marks of the many cultures that have found a home here throughout history. A Roman coliseum. Amazigh villages carved into the desert. A Sunni mosque made of Roman columns and a Shi'a fortress guarded by Ottoman cannons. The monumental art-deco and brutalist structures of the capital. An ancient synagogue rumored to contain stones from another, even more ancient temple that stood where Abraham obeyed and Isaac was spared. They tell a story that spans thousands of years, a story of colonization, assimilation, war, and the advent of a nation.

One part of the story begins on the island of Djerba. The Ghriba Synagogue, purportedly the oldest Jewish site in Africa, sits near the center. No one knows for certain how old it is, but legend has it that the high priests of the Temple Mount fled to Djerba after Nebuchadnezzar and the Bablylonians sacked Jerusalem, carrying a stone and a door from the First Temple to build anew. As he shows us around a traditional Amazigh house, dug two stories deep into the soft desert dirt, a light-eyed man in a baseball camp explains that his people were once Jewish. That is why they sheltered Jews during the holocaust, he says, pointing to a metal helmet from WWII hung on a stick bannister. With a few exceptions, the Amazigh are not Jewish anymore, as evidenced by the woman in hijab who serves us tea while we watch the sunset wash over the small circle of sky visible from the open pit at the center of the house, but the man is proud to tell us that they once were. He is staking a claim to Tunisia’s story, reminding us that it began before the Arabs arrived, and that his ancestors were here before Islam. Although he does not make it a point to tell us, they were here before Judaism too.

In Kairouan, conquests are layered onto one another in the very foundations of the city. As we look out over the massive cisterns that held the water for the ascendant Umayyad caliphate’s first outpost in the region, we learn that it gets its name from the Arabic word for a military caravan. The outpost was to protect the new settlers from the Amazigh, who staged a series of successful rebellions before being defeated and gradually converting to Islam. We do not have to explore Kairouan for long, however, to see that the The Umayyads were not the first conquerors to make their mark here. The columns of the majestic Great Mosque of Kairouan are carved in the Greco-Roman style, clearly repurposed from older buildings. Some of the stones in the outer wall have latin writing on them. 70 kilometers away, closer to the coast, the towering Roman amphitheater in El-Jem testifies more explicitly to the power of the empire that counted this part of North Africa among its first and hardest won territories.

After El-Jem, we stop in Mahdia. The insurgent Fatimid caliphate, tracing their lineage back to the Prophet’s daughter, founded the city as their first capital a few hundred years after the Umayyads founded Kairouan. They would go on to capture Egypt and the rest of North Africa from the ruling Abbasid dynasty, spelling the end of a united Arab empire in the Mediterranean. We walk along the parapet of a fortress looking out over bright blue ocean on three sides. We imagine seeing

ships coming over the horizon and scrambling to man the defenses, as so many must have over the centuries. Genoese, Norman, Spanish, French, and Ottoman raiders all came by sea to Mahdia, its well-fortified harbor making it a prime toehold for a long line of would-be conquerors.

The latest conqueror in that line is most visible in Tunis, where art-deco facades adorn the most prominent buildings in the city center. It is also audible in the French words and accent woven into Tunisia’s unique dialect of Arabic. Tunis also, however, tells of something new. Hulking government buildings and hotels made from the ubiquitous concrete of the late 20th century overlook Habib Bourguiba Avenue. They proclaim the sovereignty of a people that is not quite of the ancient desert tribes nor any of their conquerors. Our professor points out the site of famous protests where Tunisians proclaimed a more personal form of sovereignty, demanding political freedom and economic opportunity and getting at least the former.

Tunisia is an Arab country. Hearing the language and the call to prayer every day make that clear, and Kairouan tells the story of how it became so. It is not, however, a solely Arab country, just as the story of Kairouan is not Tunisia’s only story. Djerba, El-Jem, Tunis, Mahdia, and the Amazigh villages tell other stories about Tunisia, stories that include elements of the French story, the Jewish story, the Ottoman story, the Roman story, and the story of the Amazigh. With revolution for national, and then for personal independence as the most recent chapters, they weave together into one, rich, cohesive, Tunisian story. It has been a fascinating story to learn these past few months, and I look forward to someday knowing it in more detail.

Expressions

One of the most common Tunisian expressions is to say صحة when someone is eating, gets out of the shower, or buys new clothes. The response is يا أتك صحة. The expression literally translates just to ‘health,’ and expresses encouragement of healthy activities like eating.

ما يْحِس بِالجمْرة كان الّي يعْفِس عْليها is a less common Tunisian proverb that translates literally to ‘only he who walks on embers can feel it.’ It expresses the idea that one should not judge or criticize the struggles of someone else, since it is impossible to know what they are really going through.

Photos

أركان رومانية في جامع قيروان الأكبر

كنيس الغريبة في جربة

كنيس الغريبة في جربة

[conquerorcampers]

Conqueror off-road caravans and campers are designed to take on Australia's toughest terrain. Discover the best Australian Campers for your next adventure. Our top-quality models are perfect for exploring the rugged landscapes of Australia and beyond. Browse our selection now and find your ideal camper today.

[jordanmwblog]

Explore Jordan's Majestic Castles on a Private Tour

Nestled in the heart of the Middle East, Jordan is a country rich in history, culture, and breathtaking landscapes. Beyond its famous UNESCO World Heritage sites such as Petra and the Dead Sea, Jordan hides a treasure trove of majestic castles waiting to be explored. A private tour of these ancient fortifications promises an unforgettable journey through time, where visitors can immerse themselves in the stories of kings, conquerors, and civilizations that once thrived within their walls. In this article, we will take you on a virtual tour of some of Jordan’s most spectacular castles, offering insights into their historical significance and highlighting the benefits of embarking on a private tour.

1. The Desert Castles of Jordan

Jordan’s desert castles, scattered across the eastern desert regions, stand as a testament to the brilliance of early Islamic architecture and the sophisticated lifestyle of the Umayyad caliphs who ruled during the 7th and 8th centuries. These castles were not only defensive fortresses but also served as hunting lodges, caravan stations, and palatial retreats.

The Qasr Amra, also known as the “Desert Palace,” is a UNESCO World Heritage site and one of the most famous desert castles. Adorned with stunning frescoes depicting scenes from daily life, mythology, and astrology, it offers a captivating glimpse into the past.

A private tour of the desert castles allows visitors to explore these ancient marvels at their own pace. Expert guides provide in-depth knowledge of the architecture and historical context, transporting travelers to a bygone era.

2. The Citadel of Amman

Perched atop one of the city’s many hills, the Citadel of Amman is an archaeological site with a history dating back to the Bronze Age. The site boasts Roman, Byzantine, and Umayyad ruins, making it a layered testament to Jordan’s rich and diverse past.

A private tour of the Citadel allows for a personalized experience. Visitors can admire the Temple of Hercules, the Umayyad Palace, and the Roman Theater, all while listening to the stories of the rise and fall of empires that once shaped the region.

3. Kerak Castle

A journey southwards leads to the imposing Kerak Castle, a fortified stronghold perched on a hilltop. Built during the Crusader period in the 12th century, Kerak Castle played a pivotal role in the conflicts between the Crusaders and the Muslim armies.

Exploring the vast complex of Kerak Castle on a private tour offers the chance to delve into the medieval history of the region. From the maze-like underground passages to the strategic battlements, visitors can gain insights into the challenges faced by the defenders and the military architecture of the time.

4. Ajloun Castle

Nestled in the lush hills of northern Jordan, Ajloun Castle stands as a symbol of resistance against the Crusaders’ expansion. This Islamic fortress was strategically positioned to guard against potential invasions from the west.

A private tour of Ajloun Castle allows visitors to admire the panoramic views of the surrounding countryside, while expert guides recount the historical significance of the castle’s role in defending the region from Crusader attacks.

5. Shobak Castle

Also known as “Montreal,” Shobak Castle is a lesser-known gem, yet no less impressive than its counterparts. Built by the Crusader king Baldwin I in the 12th century, the castle was a vital link in the defensive chain against Muslim forces.

A private tour of Shobak Castle offers a chance to step back in time and immerse oneself in the intriguing tales of battles and sieges that occurred within its walls. With fewer crowds, visitors can soak in the historical atmosphere and take stunning photographs of this remarkable fortress.

6. Umm Qais

Umm Qais, once known as Gadara, is an ancient Greco-Roman city located in the northwestern corner of Jordan. While not strictly a castle, the site houses the remains of a Roman theater, mausoleum, and basilica.

A private tour of Umm Qais provides an opportunity to explore the ancient ruins in-depth, without feeling rushed. Guides can narrate the city’s transformation from Roman to Byzantine, and eventually to Islamic rule, making it a captivating historical journey.

Conclusion

A private tour of Jordan’s majestic castles promises an extraordinary adventure, allowing visitors to immerse themselves in the rich history and architectural brilliance of the region. From the desert castles with their exquisite frescoes to the imposing fortresses that stood the test of time, each castle offers a unique glimpse into Jordan’s past. With expert guides to provide historical context and personalized experiences, travelers can uncover the secrets of these ancient sites, fostering a deeper appreciation for the country’s captivating heritage. Whether you’re a history enthusiast, an architecture lover, or simply a curious traveler, exploring Jordan’s castles on a private tour is an experience that will leave an indelible mark on your soul. Visit us

https://jordanmw.com/explore-jordans-majestic-castles-on-a-private-tour/

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AGOT: Daenerys VI (Chapter 54)

Dany propped herself on an elbow to look up at him, so tall and magnificent. She loved his hair especially. It had never been cut; he had never known defeat.

Yeah, I bet you love that most.

+.+

Savage beasts he did not fear, nor any man who had ever drawn breath, but the sea was a different matter. To the Dothraki, water that a horse could not drink was something foul; the heaving grey-green plains of the ocean filled them with superstitious loathing. Drogo was a bolder man than the other horselords in half a hundred ways, she had found … but not in this. If only she could get him onto a ship …    

The Dothraki have a fear of the narrow sea, but Daenerys keeps reminding us that dragons do not fear.

I envision her being bewitched by any bold man who fears no god, man, or sea.

Not thinking of anyone in particular.

+.+

Among the Dothraki, mothers stayed on horseback almost up to the moment of birth, and she did not want to seem weak in her husband's eyes. But with the khal off hunting, it was pleasant to lie back on soft cushions and be carried across Vaes Dothrak, with red silk curtains to shield her from the sun.

Painting the whole world gold vs red.

Sansa rode to the Hand's tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold. - Sansa II, AGOT

+.+

If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old … and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should be enough for any woman … but not for the dragon. With Viserys gone, Daenerys was the last, the very last. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and so too the child inside her. She must not forget.    

Daenerys feeling a bit more exceptional than her peers.

+.+

The caravans made their way to Vaes Dothrak from east and west not so much to sell to the Dothraki as to trade with each other, Ser Jorah had explained. The riders let them come and go unmolested, so long as they observed the peace of the sacred city, did not profane the Mother of Mountains or the Womb of the World, and honored the crones of the dosh khaleen with the traditional gifts of salt, silver, and seed. The Dothraki did not truly comprehend this business of buying and selling.    

The Dothraki do not buy, they take. A custom Daenerys knows all too well.

Not hard to determine every kingdom in Westeros would have a difficult time co-existing with an army comprised of Dothraki.

Every kingdom except one.

+.+

She enjoyed watching all the people too: dark solemn Asshai'i and tall pale Qartheen, the bright-eyed men of Yi Ti in monkey-tail hats, warrior maids from Bayasabhad, Shamyriana, and Kayakayanaya with iron rings in their nipples and rubies in their cheeks, even the dour and frightening Shadow Men, who covered their arms and legs and chests with tattoos and hid their faces behind masks.

Frightening shadow men! Heh.

+.+

She saw slaves carrying bolts of intricate Myrish lace and fine wools in a dozen rich colors.

There they are again.

+.+

A birdseller taught a green-and-red parrot to say her name, and Dany laughed again, yet still refused to take him. What would she do with a green-and-red parrot in a khalasar?

Daenerys has no time for the wisdom of talking birds.

+.+

She saw a beautiful feathered cloak from the Summer Isles, and took it for a gift. In return, she gave the merchant a silver medallion from her belt. That was how it was done among the Dothraki.

x

She did take a dozen flasks of scented oils, the perfumes of her childhood; she had only to close her eyes and sniff them and she could see the big house with the red door once more. When Doreah looked longingly at a fertility charm at a magician's booth, Dany took that too and gave it to the handmaid, thinking that now she should find something for Irri and Jhiqui as well.    

She starts the trip trading, but quickly resorts to taking. Subtle George.

And by subtle, I mean violently smacking me in the face.

+.+

Doreah stepped up beside her. "You have the honor to address Daenerys of the House Targaryen, Daenerys Stormborn, khaleesi of the riding men and princess of the Seven Kingdoms."    

Oh jesus christ, it starts this early?

+.+

A dozen caravan guards had come running. With them was the master himself, Merchant Captain Byan Votyris, a diminutive Norvoshi with skin like old leather and a bristling blue mustachio that swept up to his ears. He seemed to know what had happened without a word being spoken.

(...)

How did you know?" she asked Ser Jorah, trembling. "How?"                 

"I did not know, Khaleesi, not until the man refused to drink, but once I read Magister Illyrio's letter, I feared."

Seems like everyone knew what was going on! Almost like it was supposed to fail! Varys?

+.+

The Usurper has woken the dragon now, she told herself … and her eyes went to the dragon's eggs resting in their nest of dark velvet.

Wow, does she actually use ‘wake the dragon’ when describing her own thoughts and actions? I had completely forgotten that one.

A horde of halfwits could see what’s coming from a mile away.

+.+

Was it madness that seized her then, born of fear?

(...)

This is madness, she told herself as she lifted the black-and-scarlet egg from the velvet.

✨ madness ✨

+.+

I will kill the men in the iron suits and tear down their stone houses. I will rape their women, take their children as slaves, and bring their broken gods back to Vaes Dothrak to bow down beneath the Mother of Mountains.

+.+

His khalasar left Vaes Dothrak two days later, striking south and west across the plains. Khal Drogo led them on his great red stallion, with Daenerys beside him on her silver. The wineseller hurried behind them, naked, on foot, chained at throat and wrists. His chains were fastened to the halter of Dany's silver. As she rode, he ran after her, barefoot and stumbling. No harm would come to him … so long as he kept up.    

Kind of sounds like inhumane torture to me.

Maybe just execute him and be done with it? No? That’s not enough? Okay.

Final thoughts:

If you’ve been following along since the beginning, or if you’ve read the books yourself, you’ll know that every Stark chapter has been relentless with foreshadowing all aspects of their future.

You know what I’ve noticed? We’re 54 chapters into this and Daenerys has yet to be alluded to in any Jon chapter. Likewise, Jon can’t be found in any Daenerys chapter, with the exception of Rhaegal’s egg, and references to the last dragon.

Sometimes the absence of foreshadowing is even more telling than the negative kind.

-> return to menu <-

[mothernerd]

blood 12 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 11 - part 13

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist (GUESS WHO FINALLY FIGURED OUT THE PLAYLIST ISSUE)

12 - a memory

You’d been in the tunnels hundreds, if not, thousands of times in your life. There were very few places you were positive you could navigate blindly, but these caves and tunnels? Someone could take away every sense you had and you’d still be able to find your way home. 

It was a little unsettling bringing Loki into your secret place. Very few people knew of the natural caves that fed into manmade tunnels (carved by your ancestor, Richard Stark, when he settled the land). 

In fact, you could only think of four people, including yourself, who could navigate the paths without becoming lost. 

There was you, Natalia (who’d originally shown you), James, and Stephen. 

Not even Peter was privy to the knowledge of these cavernous paths, covered in old magic and fake tunnels. 

The cave system was incredible. It was naturally occurring and if the history you’d dug up with Stephen was accurate, your ancestor had purposely selected the land for that reason. They were enhanced with this very action in mind. 

To reclaim the castle by surprise if an antagonistic force overtook it. 

Stephen once mentioned that history often repeated itself, but you liked to think it was more of a mimicry of the past. Similar, but never the same. 

King Richard Stark the First never dealt with any serious threats to his reign. He lived a long life, had many children with his beloved wife, and died a very old man with his family at his bedside. 

His son, however, King Emil Stark, faced many problems in his short reign. He was nearly murdered by his own brother, but escaped the plot using these very tunnels. 

Later, he took back the castle with regional support and a surprise caravan of soldiers marched through one of the larger sections of the cave system. 

You’d assumed and so had Stephen, when you’d read about the tale, that Richard had only told his eldest son. Why else had he been able to catch the younger brother by surprise? 

But why had Richard only told one son? 

Emil took the knowledge to his grave, but one of the soldiers had a son, who went with his father long after the battle to explore. That son had another son, and so on until one day, a red haired daughter was born. 

That daughter was caught sneaking bread from the kitchens and when you protected her and gave her extra food, she taught you. 

It was a funny thing, time. Cyclical, ever changing, but in the end, the fates would do as they pleased. How these tunnels led Nat into your life. How these tunnels have you freedom to explore and learn the land around you. How these tunnels brought the most important person into your life. 

(—)

The first time you met Stephen Strange, you were sixteen years old. 

By that point, you’d scared off almost every Master who’d passed the threshold of your castle. Some complained you asked too many questions, others tried to restrict knowledge of the dark and dastardly from you, one insisted a princess was to be simple minded and obedient.

That was the last one you’d chased off after casually bringing the fact up during dinner and letting Pepper deal with the rest. 

This was long before Morgan. This was when Peter was still a little boy and you were a girl still trying to figure out your place in a world that didn’t value or respect you.  

The first time you met Stephen Strange was ten days before he was due to arrive, officially.

You hadn’t known it was him at first. He’d been sitting in the woods on a stump, reading a book on local geography when you passed him on your way back to the tunnels that threaded their way through the forest to the castle. You and Natalia had spent the last few years wreaking havoc on the guard, slipping away without a word, only to reappear in a pub later that night. 

You noted the odd fellow, out of place in the massive woods but not entirely unexpected and paused to do a double take. 

“What are you reading?” 

He peered up from his book, a brow quirked in her direction. 

“What?” 

You took a few steps closer. He didn’t seem to be carrying any weapons. Though Natalia would later reprimand you for being too trusting of strangers. 

“What are you reading?” you repeated, having read the title and still wondering why someone would spend a beautiful afternoon such as that one, in the forest, alone, reading a book on geography. 

“A book on geography,” he answered, folding the tome half shut and pointing a finger to the cover. “Geo-graph-y.”

He recited the word slowly, as if you couldn’t understand reading or letters. 

“I know what it says,” you huffed, a little indignant at his tone. Did you look like some lowly peasant who couldn’t read? Glancing at your clothes you frowned. A simple frock.

Oh. Maybe you did. 

“Why are you all the way out here?” you asked again, a little irritated when he went back to the book and ignored her. 

“It’s quiet,” he lowered the book again, staring at you over the edge of the pages. “Or rather it was.”

“No one passes through here, usually,” you hummed, glancing around. “It’s a bit depressing though, isn’t it? The trees are blocking all of the sun.”

“I don’t need sunlight,” he stated cryptically and you noted his distinct robes of blue. 

Kamar-Taj. 

“Are you a sorcerer?” you asked, settling across from him on a mossy rock and leaning forward. “You’re a little young aren’t you?” 

“I’m eighteen,” he shot back sharply. “I’ve been training my whole life. That’s considered more than experienced at this point.”

“So you are a sorcerer,” you confirmed with a sly smirk. “They’re getting a new Master Sorcerer up at the castle soon. Maybe you know him? Master Strange?” 

If he knew the name, he made no indication and instead let out a long sigh, standing and closing his book. 

“Never heard of him,” he replied curtly. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He started to move toward one of the paths in the forest, but you caught up to him and followed closely behind. 

“Why were you out here?” you asked curiously, trodding behind in the footprints he left behind. 

“I told you, for peace,” he stated, a little exasperation to his tone. 

Maybe that’s why you couldn’t hold a Master at the castle for very long, they frowned on questions and maybe Kamar-Taj taught them all to be sticks in the mud. 

“You’re reading a book on geography,” you repeated. “Local geography if I recall?”

Your eyes fell on the book in his hand and he immediately shoved it to his chest, blocking it from view and continuing his path. 

“You’re certainly not from around here,” you continued musing, plucking a flower from a nearby plant and twirling it between your fingers. He stopped and looked over at her. 

“How can you tell?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Your accent is a little off,” you noted with a little chuckle. “It sounds like it’s from the border, where Kamar-Taj is located.”

“I was in Asgard,” he countered and you shrugged. 

“Just to visit I’m sure,” you insisted and he didn’t reply. You twirled the flower again, giving it a small sniff. “I’m betting you were looking for the caves, weren’t you?” 

His irritated expression fell and you walked up, tucking the flower behind his ear and grabbing his wrist. 

“Here’s the thing, I’ve read that book and it’s ridiculously outdated and inaccurate,” you continued, pulling him back the direction you just came. “You see, Richard Stark, the son of Arthur Stark the Conqueror, had this whole region charted when he sought to build his fortress.”

“Yes, and this book is that report,” the boy insisted quickly and you laughed, much to his annoyance. “Why would he have built the castle if the report was inaccurate?”

“There was an accurate report at some point,” you explained, reaching and snatching the book up. You flipped through the pages until you found the section on the cave systems. “There’s a little truth to this, some of the tunnels are accurate but the entrances are all wrong.”

“But given the layout of the land-,” he protested and you shook your head.

“Just follow me,” you led the way past the stump he’d been sitting on toward the mouth of one of the well memorized tunnels into the castle. “They can go on for miles, so you have to be careful.”

“How do you know?” he challenged, sizing you over. 

You paused. The tunnels were a closely guarded secret between you and Natalia, whose late father had passed the knowledge down to her. Aside from the serious security risk, you knew nothing of this boy or his past. So you stayed vague. 

“I’ve explored them a few times,” you answered casually, hopping down into one of the smaller openings and calling for him to follow behind. 

The two of you spent a few hours exploring areas even you hadn’t been familiar with. He pointed out a few magic runes, explaining their meaning as best he could (some were completely foreign to both of you) and not looking too annoyed when you peppered him with questions. 

“Are you noble?” he finally asked when you walked him from the structure back toward the forest. “You’re very well read.”

“I like books,” you answered with a smile. “My father taught me to read at a young age and I never stopped.”

It was a half answer and a full truth, satisfying enough for him because he nodded.

“I’m in town for a few more nights,” he looked hesitant, clearing his throat nervously. “If you’d like to stop by the inn?” 

Excitement sparked in your chest. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” you promised, a big grin on your face that was decidedly not very ladylike. “Who should I ask for?” 

“Stephen,” he replied. “Ask for Stephen.”

(—)

“I can feel Amora’s magic,” Loki stated, pausing in the tunnel and looking around. “How certain are you of those wards?” 

Stephen’s hand reached and lightly touched one of the intricately carved runes in the tunnel wall. He paused, his expression moving from its usual frustration in failing to recognize the pattern to surprise. 

“They never faltered when I tried experimenting,” he assured the prince. 

“And many Master Sorcerer’s before you have tried completely sealing the castle,” you added, finally lowering your hood to look between the men. “It’s impossible. The runes are very old magic.”

Loki said something, but you didn’t hear him, instead you were taken by surprise when Stephen turned and flipped the amulet around your neck around to study the runes carved into the back. 

“By the Gods,” he murmured, holding it up to the wall. “It’s seidr.”

You looked between the two symbols. Nearly identical with a few alterations, likely given a difference between the spells, but the base characters were perfect copies. 

“Impossible, seidr was eliminated before this castle was built,” Loki insisted. “My grandfather completed the task and died before Arthur Stark even dreamed of this land.”

“It’d explain why traditional magic can’t touch it,” you pointed out. 

“And why you can navigate the cave system so flawlessly,” Stephen reminded you. “We’ve found wings and sub-tunnels that defy geological principals…”

“Then it’s a promising omen,” Loki stated firmly. “We continue on with our task, remove Amora and reclaim the kingdom.”

(—)

“I can’t stay for long,” you explained a few days after your initial meeting. The ball to celebrate the new sorcerer was that evening and your maid had been nagging you all morning about getting a proper bath and dressing done for the event. 

She’d heard the sorcerer was quite the looker. 

Gods if you cared.

“I’m due to leave tonight as well,” he replied quietly. “I wanted to give you something to remember me.”

He handed you a book, “The Complete History of the Vanir Valley”.

“I might have uh, borrowed it from Kamar-Taj before I left,” he explained sheepishly. “It’s a very good book and it mentions this region and some of the more ancient history involved with it. Given your knowledge of the geography and geology…”

You clutched the book to your chest, absolutely moved by the young man’s kind gesture. Despite only knowing him a little over a week, you’d come to respect and enjoy his company on your adventures. He’d even met Nat, who admitted she enjoyed his sharp wit and jokes- a rare acknowledgment by the hardened thief.

“Do you have to go?” you asked quietly. “There’s so much more to explore…”

“I’m due to report to my next assignment,” he kicked at a nearby stick. “I’ll write. You live near the village? I’ll send a raven when I arrive.”

“I’ll miss you, Stephen,” you mumbled, trying to blink back a few tears. This stupid boy was the first person who hadn’t looked at you and completely rejected your intelligence. He listened and discussed philosophy and magic and history and science and…

He was leaving. 

“Our paths will cross again, I’m sure,” he stated with a curt nod, pausing, unsure what to do with himself. He settled on leaning in and pressing a quick peck to your cheek, his face burning bright red when he pulled away. “Goodbye.”

He murmured your name like a soft prayer before starting back down the pathway toward the village. 

The entire time you knew him, Stephen never admitted if he knew you were the princess the whole time or if it had taken him by surprise as well. 

But the moment you saw him enter the ball room, you had to hold onto a nearby table to stop yourself from tumbling forward in shock. 

Master Stephen Strange. 

“You didn’t tell me you were the new Master,” you challenged, catching him by the elbow once introductions had been made and he was mingling between rounds of dancing. You guided him toward the edge of the room, ignoring the incredulous looks and whispers being shot in your direction.

“You didn’t tell me you were the princess,” he countered, a smirk on his lips, eyes wandering toward the dancers moving across the floor. 

“You already knew, you must have,” you narrowed your gaze suspiciously at him. “‘Our paths will cross again’, that was nonsense then?” 

“Would you like to dance?” he offered an arm, already pulling you toward the dance floor. You relented, continuing to badger him while he hummed and didn’t directly acknowledge your accusations.

“Admit it, you knew!” 

“The roasted duck is incredibly tender, is that a regional recipe or how the ducks are bred?” 

“The cook marinates it for two days,” you answered briefly. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Your father mentioned your last Master called you simple?” 

“In so many words.”

“Their loss is my gain, I have a phenomenal collection of books you can read if you’d like.”

“I’m not letting this go,” you started back, asking him about the collection in detail, and eventually, letting it go. 

Your new friend was now your tutor and companion within the walls of the castle, as well as outside of it. 

You weren’t one to tempt the fates too much.

(—)

The path into the castle from where you had entered had three break off points. One lead to the hall by your quarters, the second led to the throne room and the third led down to the kitchens. 

For obvious reasons, the three of you decided on the kitchens, hoping to slip in unnoticed with the general chaos outside the castle. 

Before exiting the security of the tunnel, you paused, fingers drifting over the stone walls, praying their security and strength would somehow leech into you. 

“I didn’t know it was you,” Stephen murmured, leaning into your shoulder while Loki scouted ahead. 

“What?” you blinked up at him. 

“The ball,” he explained quietly. “When I first arrived, you asked if I knew and I didn’t. I was just as surprised as you were.”

Dumbfounded you turned to face him, chests nearly pressed together from the small space. 

“You acted like you had,” you scowled at him. “I was furious for months.”

“I know,” he frowned sympathetically. “But you were so impressed, because truly, you hid it well.”

“Aside from being well read,” you challenged and he shook his head. 

“There are plenty of non-royal nobles who can read a good book,” he countered softly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “I was transfixed by such a stunning creature with an equally stunning mind. Would you believe me if I said it was love at first sight? I almost turned down the post.”

“Will you two quit it and get a move on?” Loki hissed back into the tunnel. “It’s clear.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you whispered, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

“Gods, I’m glad I didn’t either.”

(—)

13 - a surprise 

(--)

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[4x4community]

Conqueror Compact 2 Mods

Forum: Trailers, Caravans, Towing etc Posted By: kevdoc Post Time: 2024/10/23 at 05:10 PM http://dlvr.it/TFfQRF

[ahrva]

Do you have any head Canons regarting the Elrics after the end of Fullmetal Alchemist the Movie: Conqueror of Shamballa? (The movie that takes place after the end of the 2003 anime, if you haven't seen it, just ignore this ask)

I love that movie!!

If anyone doesn't want to be spoiled about it, because I know not everyone has seen it, I'll but a keep reading this so you can just skip over this if you want. (plus this is going to be LONG as it's more of a fic idea than a head canon due to how much i've thought about this over the years)

So, at the end of the movie, we see Noah, Ed, and Al all get into a caravan with the versions of Lust and Scar that live on this side of the gate. Ed and Al are talking about how this is their world now, and their going to have to be involved in it's wars.

We also know from basic history class, WW2 is on it's way. Hitler was arrested at the end of the movie and is writing his book that will be part of how he gains so many followers while he's still in there, and after he gets out.

Anyone who has seen the show or read the manga know that the Elrics aren't going to stand for what Germany and the Axis Powers are going to be doing in WW2. Hell, one of the main plot points in FMA and FMAB was that they are trying to stop stuff like that from happening.

So, knowing that, I like to imagine that they are trying to help the allies as best they can in the European area of the war. Taking down commutation lines, breaking folks out of the camps, and shit like that.

They're also looking for the bomb that was talked about in the beginning of the film.

Now, here's were it gets a bit darker.

They find the bomb, and against their better judgement, they turn it over to the allies.

The allies then study it and use it to help them make the bombs they later drop on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Needless to say that Ed and Al are pissed. The exact reason why they were looking for it, was so that way no one could use it that way.

Other than all that, the only other thing I have is just Ed and Al running a disability friendly lab with lots of disabled people. (lets be real, those limps Winry gave Ed near the end are only going to stay in perfect condition for so long, it's Ed. He's going to be punching all the Nazi's he can with that fist). Because of stupid shit of that time, (and today of you want to be real) Al gets most the credit for everything that happens there, since he's the most able bodied person there, but he does his best to make sure the person who did the thing gets the credit for doing the thing.

[jenessa-mercier]

I love how my two FFXIV muses are complete and total opposites.

Jenessa is this tall withdrawn former conqueror turned hero from the far frozen north who excels in taking and dealing punishment with impunity, sincerely savoring fights that are a challenge without worry of the fate of the world riding on a battle's outcome.

Then there's Nila who is this short, outgoing scrappy Miqo'te who can barely read and makes her living by being a caravan guard and doing sex work. Sure, she likes a good fight but when it's down to the fate of the world, this southern Ul'dah gal begins to long for the days when she was just a simple escort.

[sezja]

Previously: first, kiss, final, numb, broken, wings, melody, rules, chocolate, nostalgia, heartbeat, stranger, confusion, bitter, afterlife, daybreak, audience, endless, fireworks, hopeful, birthday, tomorrow, oppression, agony, return, protection, boxes, hope, preparation, beautiful, underneath, hide, diary, unforeseen, conditional, gone, clear, heartache

One-Word Prompts: #40 - wired

Mild Endwalker spoilers (MSQ 83)

"This is an uncomfortable time to remember I don't know a damn thing about magitek," Guydelot says, casting a baleful glance toward the wreckage they're leaving behind them on the ice field. There's bound to be a slew of war machines still prowling around in Garlemald, he'd wager, and all manned by fellows as mad as the poor bastards they're dragging to their new base of operations: tempered, the lot of 'em. "If Ghimlyt taught me anything, it's that machines don't much care for songs."

Sanson falls into step with him, trudging through the snow alongside the caravan. "Aye. I ought to have taken the time to learn more before accepting the mission... but then, we're here for the people of Garlemald, not her machines."

"That may be so, but we'll have to fight through the one to get to the other, I reckon, and I prefer myself in one piece."

"The engineers of Ishgard and the blacksmiths of Limsa Lominsa will handle the machinery," Sanson assures him, with what Guydelot can't help feeling is unwarranted optimism. "And we've fought magitek before; we can best it again."

Guydelot grumbles, but doesn't argue the point. That one, at any rate. "I still think the whole idea's daft, myself. Who's to say they'll even welcome the help? We've been at odds for generations."

"And perhaps this is the only chance we'll ever see for peace." Sanson surprises him then, looping their arms together in a rare show of public affection. "And since when do you need a reason to help others in need?"

He frowns, thoughtful. "...Aye, well, they've been subjugating nations for generations, too. Hard to put that aside, eh?"

"They're people," Sanson says, unusually gentle, nearly swallowed by the wind. "People who have seen their world torn apart by civil war... and worse. Can we stand by and ignore their need? Many of the people still remaining in Garlemald are civilians, not conquerors."

"I'm here, ain't I?" He smiles down at Sanson, shaking his head. "Aye, I'll help drag Garlemald out of whatever hell she's sunk into, and I'll learn her songs while I'm about it. Even if it does go against the grain." He nods toward the front of the caravan, where Eve and her sister lead the way, unbowed and unyielding. "If they can do it after all Garlemald's done to them, who am I to dig my heels in?"

"Thank you, Guydelot."

"You can thank me by not tangling with any more magitek. I like you in one piece, too, Chief."