#Ichor’s Chronicles

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲: 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐤 (𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓)

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Happy late, late Mother’s Day to all the wonderful mothers out there! Have some time to yourself. :)

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // SMUT/NSFW, Dubcon, Cervix, Yandere Themes, Goggle Translation.

𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗:

Маленький мир - Little World (Russian)

|°𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬°| |°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| • {𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧} • {𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐢’𝐬} • {𝐗𝐞𝐫𝐱𝐞𝐬}

Pushing off a rock, I hurriedly made my way through the rocky coral. Desperate to leave the red waters of this place. Having been here for far too long for my tastes despite that creatures… adamant argument.

He would block any attempt I would make out of his nest, lowly rumbling at me; scolding me for even to attempting to leave before he would usher me back to his nest. His clawed hands gently but firmly leading me back. His eyes never truly moving away from my form that settles back down in his cave.

It confused me at first. Why would he want to keep me in the grounds of his nest? Were their other predators out there? If there was, I’m sure Spartak eats them for breakfast and I’m sure that he does because I have never seen a creature so… muscular like him; strong and huge even. So I let him lead me back to his nest, getting bored when he leaves to do… whatever he does in the sea. Getting fed up and tired of being stuck in the same place over and over again. What was the reason I was in here anyway?

I honestly don’t remember. I’ve have been here for who knows how long? I’ve been very patient with him as well. Not wanting to… anger such a creature like him with bad manners, but I have a deep feeling that’s what he wants. Not to anger him, but to stay with him. It was obvious on what he was doing. I was no idiot to not notice the early stages of entrapment.

Perhaps, if I attempted to communicate with him he would… change his ways of his acts? It was hopeful thinking with his bulky form looming everywhere every time I glanced at him, but the more I stay put in his nest, the more I get eager to leave when he leaves. The more I just want to claw out from underneath his gaze, his hold. It eventually lead me to spill my thoughts out to him right on a silver platter. Too much built up frustration and emotions settling harshly on my shoulders.

Yet, he has still have yet to coo, growl, snarl, rumble at me through out my frustrations towards him and his confiscating ways. His golden eyes never leaving my own when he rises from the water pool; up and over me. His hand carefully settling on my cheek, it had me fumble my words for a moment.

Perhaps, he did not realize what he was doing was wrong to a base line human? Maybe it was in his culture to have a female hang back and care for the nest while he goes out? Oh, but he should know the deference from his female species and my species, it had to be obvious!

“Маленький мир, if I had known you needed more care, I would have provided you more.” He had spoke after my rant to him. His clawed thumb moving up and down against my cheek. Something I haven’t noticed he was doing until after his words.

“This- this is not just about care Spartak! This is about my freedom!” I argued; whined, placing my hand over his that rested on my cheek. His eyes briefly flicking over to the small action. “I want to explore the waters over your territory. I want to be able to swim with you near the surface of the water. I want to touch the warm sands of the beach. I want to go back to the land.”

His thumb stops running across my cheek then. His golden eyes filling with thoughts; narrowing down at me. I was afraid then I have admitted something I shouldn’t have, but it needed to be said. I wasn’t going to be stuck in his cave forever. It was never the plan to.

“Please, Spartak. I am only human.” I beg up to him. Fighting the urge to look away from his own eyes that give nothing away of what he was thinking. I have spilled now, there is no take backs on what I have said to him.

“…Fine, but some… accommodations will be in set in place, Маленький мир.” He huffed after a while of his eerie silence. His body leaning down to my level. His breath tickling my skin. “I hope we can agree to the terms?”

“If reasonable, yes.” I respond quickly, sudden hope rising in my chest. Not completely aware of his praying eyes and his tongue brushing this teeth.

“Разумно... да.(Reasonable... yes.)” He rumbles, siting still for a moment before he shoots forward, taking me by surprise. My heart jumping at his unexpected suddenness as he lips press up against mine. His teeth nicking at my bottom lip as I gasp. Getting a mouth full of tongue from him.

Putting my hands on his jaw for the support. I groan when his tongue brushes up against his nick on my lip, giving it a little sting. His tongue wrapping around my own before he pulls away, a huff escaping me when he does so. His tongue licking his lips with a slight grin on his face.

“Ты связан со мной.(You're connected to me.)” He rumbles out in a different language I have yet to understand myself. My own tounge licking out my own, wounded lips as he leans forwards again, quietly purring next to my ear. “Нет выхода, маленький мир.(There's no way out, little world.)”

I shake my head, pushing off from another rock. Now was not the time to think about the past, I had a sea creature to evade. I possibly had, maybe a few hours before he notices that I’m gone from his nest. Having left from it right before one of his nightly hunts I have patterned him down on.

“Маленький мир!” I felt the waters and rocks rumble around me, my hands gripping the side of the rock as I breathed more air from my small rebreather more than necessary.

Maybe I had less time than I had thought?

“Я думал, у нас есть соглашение?(I thought we had an agreement?)” I could hear him through the water. His tone very… undeterred, very calm. “Что случилось с нашим соглашением?(What happened to our agreement?)”

“Я сделал что-то не так?(Did I do something wrong?)” I can hear the questioning tone in the language, bubbles coming out of the rebreather as I hurried to at least find a hiding spot from him.“Я тебя обидел?(Have I offended you?)”

“Маленький мир, come out. I know you are there.” It sounded like he had whined, a high pitched ring going through the waters before all seemed quiet again. The swiftness of fish swimming through the water not creating a current. The corals not moving a muscle. Even the water seemed still in this darkened area.

It was too still.

My anxiety to get caught suddenly spikes, my hands desperately working up at the rock above me. Having found a falling cave entrance here just a moment prior to the silence, the stillness. Bubbles taking up my view as my neck and back tingles of being watched. My gut flipping in my stomach.

I gasp when sudden weight is pressed against my back, pinning me to the rocky wall in front of me. Bubbles continuously obstructing my vision as I could feel a hand rank up from the bottom to my neck and through my hair. A rumble pressing up against my back. “Нашел тебя, мой маленький мир.(I found you, my little world.)”

Both of his hand keep me pinned in place from head and waist. His chest pressing up against my back. Rumbling all sorts of vibrations through my body. “Возвращайся в мое гнездо.(Come back to my nest.)”

“Не заставляй меня умолять.(Don't make me beg.)” He grumbled, and It’s like I could hear him in my mind, making me feel all lightheaded that I had thought I was losing my oxygen, and out of panic. I’ve managed to grab ahold of a rock above me, dislodging the cave entrance and slashed it back at Spartak behind me.

His hand claws at my back, tearing at my suit as he rears back in surprise. A hiss coming out of him while I made haste to crawl through the opening of the cave, desperate for multiple things. Desperate to leave the water.

“Маленький мир!” He hisses behind me, my body wiggling through the opening and into the cave with a lucky air pocket inside of it. My body breaching the surface as I scramble for any type of land to take a rest on. My body exhausted from all that panic I have felt in that split moment.

I whine when I swim some more and touch the risen, sandy surface of the cave. That I could stand up on another surface than Spartaks nest. My knees failing me as I splash back down into the thin surface of the water, simply resting there for some sort of comfort; relief. My hand taking off my rebreather from my mouth and tossing it somewhere else in the air pocket.

“Твои действия причиняют мне боль, маленький мир.(Your actions hurt me, little world.)” The creature speaks out loud. The sound of water moving behind me bringing a shiver down my spine. “Тем не менее, я их не понимаю.(However, I don't understand them.)”

“Are you… trying courting me? Showing me your Сила?(Strength?)” He asks, his shadow engulfing my body. “Showing me your confidence and bravery?”

His lips press up against my back, starting at my lower back, just above my cheeks. His hands resting on my cheeks, squeezing them together and thumbing them as his lips slowly trace up my back until he gets to my shoulder blade. His cold, slimy tongue lapping up my wound that he created by his own hands, a low rumbling hum coming out of him. “Такое хрупкое маленькое существо.(Such a fragile little creature.)”

I hiss at him through my teeth, my hands forming into fists. Too exhausted to actually say anything much to this sea monster as my wound stings at his… mouthy actions. My body laying pinned across the sands in this cave as he purrs and a coos at me. His hands sliding gently from my cheeks of my diving suit and down my hip dips. His face nuzzling into the back of my neck “Такой прекрасный маленький мир, ты есть.(Such a beautiful little world, you are.)”

“Всегда полон маленьких секретов.(Always full of little secrets.)” He purrs, his breath fanning against my shoulder. His clawed hand carefully tearing any last piece of suit away from me. Leaving me tired and bare underneath him.

“Spartak.” I whisper his name into the layer of water underneath me, unsure for the reason. Maybe I needed to have something else ground me as well? Maybe I felt like I needed to apologize to him? Maybe… I just said it for it to mean a lot more than it does?

I gasp as this cold slick slides between my folds. Slowly going up and down between them, teasing me. Coating my folds with its slick. A spark of arousal shooting from my stomach to my core.

“Я начну этот процесс.(I'll start this process.)” Spartak hums, rocking his hips slowly. His hand squishing my cheeks together then letting the go and watching them bounce. “Чтобы обеспечить нашу связь.(To ensure our connection.)”

His hands suddenly grip at my thighs and pull me down on him. His cock that was teasing my folds slipping straight through. Brushing up against every single nerve as he sheathed himself to my core. A deep rumble vibrating through his chest as I whine out at the unfamiliar feeling of his cock.

It felt… different, almost silky like. Not so… rough, dry, wet? I couldn’t tell if I should be gripping the sands or not, it was so different than what I have expected this to feel like. Oh, but the girth of him was undeniably pleasurable. How his cock did not leave space inside of my pulsing walls untouched.

He thrusts once and that has me griping at my palms. A barely restrained mewl being said into the water as he thrusts again and again. My body rocking with his thrusts. His chest brushing up against my back again, pressing down on me, keeping me in place.

“Это то, что тебе было нужно?(Is that what you needed?)” Spartak hummed, nuzzling into the back of my shoulder, giving it a kiss. His chest vibrating against my back. “To have claimed you as mine?”

He groans when my walls tighten around him, pulling him in. His teeth gently nibbling at my shoulder as he shifts his angle, gaining a cry of his name. A shock of pleasure running through my body.

“Khorne, Это то, что тебе было нужно.(That’s what you needed.)” He mumbles into my skin, his that same spot again and again. Slowly picking up pace. “Чтобы я претендовал на тебя.(For me to claim you.)”

“To have you as my mate.” His tongue laps over my wound again, do doubt needing more… care to it with all his strong movements inside of me. Mewls and moans escaping my lips. “Такая нуждая мелочь.(Such a needy little thing.)”

He thrust a bit more harsher now. Seemingly desperate to hear my endless cry’s of his name. To have me bounce forward to he could drag me back down into his cock that infinitely touched all the right places. Making me feel like some jellyfish underneath him. My thought process only being enraptured with him and the pleasure he brought me.

“Spartak!” I cry out louder, my walls tightening around his cock. His teeth latching onto my shoulder, breaking the skin as he moans out, pushing himself to the hilt. The tip of his cock pressing up against my cervix, pushing his tip through it as his cock twitches inside of me. My mind going numb at the feeling of his hot cum flooding my insides.

Weirdly, with his cock at my cervix never brought any pain to me like it should have. Instead it brought me unforgettable pleasure to shoot all my nerves out, a chocked cry of his name ripping through my mouth. Pleasure filled tears running down my cheeks and mixing with the water below me. I couldn’t even think except how his cock filled me up to the brim, leaking around his cock and dripping down to the waters below.

Spartak feels how his Маленький мир goes limp underneath him, submitting to him. His teeth still latched onto her shoulder as he purrs at her submission. His hips rocking into her walls that gone slick with his seed. Yet, she still pulls at him and his pulsing cock, still feeding her womb with his seed, his mark.

He rocks his hips forward more, a low growl leaving his throat. His Маленький мир whining and shivering underneath him as he pumps more of his mark in her.

He acknowledges the fact he could turn her with his teeth latched into her shoulder like this, but he doesn’t really feel any concern for it. If she doesn’t turn she’ll still be with him either way; land or water. If she turned out to be a creature like him? All the more better to keep her by his side; in the nest with him. To admire and care for his Маленький мир.

“Такой хороший маленький мир.(Such a good little world.)” He groans, his arms locking himself around her smaller body. His mouth coming off her shoulder as he licks at it, savoring her taste between skin and blood before nuzzling into her neck. Inhaling her scent that shifts on him as he purrs into her ear. “You will forever be mine, Маленький мир.”

His маленький мир only whines and mewls up at him when he starts up again. Making sure this his mark took place wherever she try’s to run.

“Мой, мой, мой.(Mine, mine, mine.)”

[peupeugunn]

jace: if we sneak out through the ops centre, mom might see us and ground us for life

izzy: but if we sneak out through the back entrance, alec will definitely see us and he'll be disappointed

jace:

izzy:

jace: grounded for life?

izzy, nodding: grounded for life.

[tenuuchlegch]

artemis is pouting, hidden below a bench outside. there was a loud noise - probably an accidental one, but it scared her nonetheless. when her eyes spot ananke, she frowns. ' there was a loud sound. '

𓆙 Due to her frequent visits here as a child with father, Ananke knew Elpis like the back of own hand. Thus when a certain familiar was reported missing, seat of Azem knew of all the best hiding places one might find her in. Older woman's ability to peer into past and future events also made matters a lot easier, and soon aggravated young lady was found.

- When it came to anything which involved a certain convocation member's wife, Ananke was hesitant to directly intervene. However it was her duty as Azem to traverse star and lend people a helping hand. It could be rather frustrating, at certain points. Nevertheless, for this job traveler deduced she could simply bring wayward individual back to caretakers then leave once task was finished. However, things took some unexpected turn when the loud, disgruntled moo of a minotaur bull being brought in for testing pierced air; startling more human-like creature. So much for approaching quietly. Opting to put on an unperturbed look, she then smiled at the girl.

- "Yes, that would be the sound of another unhappy minotaur," Ananke explained, before taking a knee to lower herself for familiar. "If I may inquire though, why are you in this area of Elpis? Your caretakers are searching everywhere for you, you know."

[saunne]

HSR Theory - Bailu is set up to fail by her Preceptors

or "we may have an ongoing political overthrow attempt"

Okay, I'm relatively new to HSR but I've been going through lore pages up and down for almost 8 hours now and I need to talk about it.

I started by looking into Dan Heng lore (obviously), which of course led me to the whole Dan Feng + Blade + Jing Yuan + High Cloud Quintet etc mess... and you get the general idea. And there are several things that struck me as odd.

And these things make me think that Bailu, the adorable little Vidyadhara supposed to inherit the title "Imbibitor Lunae" formerly carried by Dan Feng/Dan Heng is currently set up to fail by the same Preceptors supposed to guide her.

A bit of Vidyadhara politics

Each ship of the Xianzhou Alliance has at the head of its Vidyadhara community a High Elder, a Vidyadhara who has developed "more draconic features such as horns and a tail" (Only special Vidyadhara can turn into dragons). They are responsible for the well being of their people (Source).

Those High Elders, when young, are tutored by Preceptors, senior Vidyadharas. Bailu is currently under their tutelage, while Dan Feng was tutored by a certain Lady Xuepu.

However, while the High Elders are the rulers, the Preceptors still have some political clout :

In the case where the high elder cannot lead, the Council of Preceptors assume governance in their place : "The Preceptor Council is a stop-gap measure for when the High Elder position is vacant or governance is untenable" (Source)

The Preceptors have the power to strip the current high elder of their name and power and elect a new one in their place should the circumstances deem fit to do so.

Imbibitor Lunae

This title belonged to Dan Feng / Dan Heng before what was named the "Imbibitor Lunae Sedition" the exact details of which are still unknown.

After the Sedition, Dan Feng was captured, and his punishment was carried out: he went through the rebirth process and his subsequent incarnation, Dan Heng, was held in the Shackling Prison for a period of time before being exiled from the Luofu. 

This leaves the seat of High Elder vacant, and thus puts the Preceptors in position of power.

However, Imbibitor Lunae's position is particularly important within the Luofu, as they are the ones tasked with watching over the seal of the Ambrosium Arbor.

Their mastery of cloudhymn magic (Dan Heng's shown ability to split Scalegorge Sea in half) is obviously an important part of that and Bailu showed some talent in cloudhymn magic : "since the high elder has already demonstrated her powers of calling lightning and commanding the waters" (Source).

Bailu's character stories also tell us directly that she is meant to inherit the position of Imbibitor Lunae : "Only after her coming-of-age ceremony will the Preceptors confer the title of Imbibitor Lunae on her."

So, what's wrong in this whole story ?

First Problem : Dragon Transmutation

Jing Yuang is the first to tell us about the "dragon transmutation", a certain power that Dan Feng supposedly possessed that should have passed to Bailu, but didn't.

By logical association, we can assume that this "dragon transmutation" has something to do with the "Transmutation Arcanum": "It is apparent that either her dragon heart is in some way damaged, or the "Transmutation Arcanum" has not been carried through in full."

In the Preceptor Assembly Chronicle Fragment, it is said : "Our solemn responsibility is to confiscate the Transmutation Arcanum and the Orb of Abysm from Dan Feng to uphold the continuation of the Ichor Lines."

Ichor :

The Vidydharas are called Long's Scion because they are their descendants : "It is commonly thought that the source of Vidyadharas' immortality is different from that of Xianzhou natives and Foxians. The Vidyadhara race did not gain immortality from the Plagues Author. Instead, as the descendants of Long the dragon, the majesty of the Permanence flows in their blood." (Source)

However, the two objects mentioned are important, because we learn their use in Bailu's character story : "All past high elders, after receiving the "Orb of Abysm" and the "Transmutation Arcanum", will re-experience the events of their dragon ancestors' lives in dreams. [...] Although such dreams tend to be fragmentary and difficult to understand or interpret, it is after all the only way our kind have of coming close to the Permanence."

Meaning: The High Elders can dream of heir ancestor's life, Long's life, tand thus come closer to their Path, The Permanence.

Also, there is another instance of "transmutation" present in the Vidyadhara's history : "Teacher says that back then, we could use our powers derived from Long to change the form of any creature, as easily as children playing with modeling clay." (Source)

Imbibitor Lunae is known to be a title passed down from generation to generation and there's a strong possibility that it's always been Dan Feng and his previous incarnations, given the statue looking very much like Dan Heng (March even asks if it's of our brother) that we see at Scalegorge: "High Elder Yubie, bearer of the Azure Dragon's legacy, spreading clouds and rain to bless all living souls. Unstunted by 90 rebirths, just as the Alliance remains strong after 300 years." (Source)

This could indicate that the goal of the High Elders could be to recover access to this power granted by Long (which could have disappeared with Long, which would have made the Vidyadhara's home world uninhabitable)… or even to transform one of their High Elder in a new Aeon of Permanence.

Second Problem : Bailu's Power was Sealed

Bailu's particularly draconic appearance is important, given that she has both horns and a tail. Which is an extremely obvious symbol of her power as Vidyadhara (Only special Vidyadhara can turn into dragons).

However, we learn that this power was sealed : "I have instructed one of our finest crafters to make the Dragonhorn Pilory to shackle her tail, to prevent a loss of control over her powers and a repeat of the disaster of the Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae."

But if High Elders are expected to commune with Long's Path, it seems like a terribly counterproductive decision.

Third Problem : Bailu's Growth

Then comes the problem of her growth. As indicated somewhere above, the title of Imbibitor Lunae will only be entrusted to her by the Preceptors when she comes at age.

Except that Bailu is not growing :

"It is the same as regards my own health. It is now six or seven years since I first sprouted horns, but I have not grown taller in that time." (Source)

"Still no physical change in the high elder. She has not grown." (Source)

Which leads to the following statement : "The gist of my reply was that Lady Bailu is still young and in need of the assistance of the Preceptors." Preceptors who, as a reminder, are in power as long as the seat of High Elder is vacant.

This lack of growth is not considered to be of concern "as slow development is common among Vidyadharas", but I'm just going to take the opportunity to slip an idea. I'm sure you've seen Dan Heng's theory of de-aging rather than reincarnating properly ? I will make a post dedicated to this whole de-aging thing but one thing to say :

And if it was not Dan Heng who had rejuvenated, but Bailu who was prevented from growing up ?

Fourth Problem : Preceptors Monitoring

Bailu herself gives us her feelings about the way the Preceptors control her and we can say that she is not really happy about it : "I am sure it is because I have those horrid Preceptors watching over me all the day long. If a child does not get out to run about, how will it grow tall? Healers who read this case study, when will you release me? I am not some truly wicked ne'er-do-well. Why am I so closely guarded?" (Source)

However, there is one sentence that strikes me even more strongly as the Preceptors are deliberately setting up Bailu for failure :

"Are you trying to waste my talents?" (Source)

According to Jing Yuan Characters Story III and IV : Dan Feng, the most recent Imbibitor Lunae, joined the High-Cloud Quintet and together they accomplished many feats: drove out the Borisin invading Thalassa, destroyed the alliance between the Houyhnhnms and Wingweavers in the Abundance Axis, rescued the Xianzhou Yuque and defeated the living planet Ketu Mirage, becoming one of the most prolific Vidyadhara of his time.

While Bailu on the other hand seems to be guarded very closely, restricted to her activities as a healer with her powers sealed and the impossibility of inheriting her title unless she undergoes a growth spurt, which is still long overdue.

Final Problem : Preceptor Assembly Chronicle Fragment

I don't think it can be any obvious than that, honestly. It is said clearly in the text.

"Therefore, I propose that the Luofu Vidyadhara should temporarily move away from the rule of the high elder and instead submit to rule by the council of Preceptors, to ensure [Missing]"

"Xuepu's message rings loud and clear. She wants to take advantage of [Missing] being cut off to completely replace the High Elder position with the Preceptor Council."

"I am in agreement with you. The High Elder system is an outdated one, handing over power to a single chosen one. This has caused countless tragedies in the history of our kind."

So we have at least two Preceptors, Xuepu and Fenghuan, who actively wish to overthrow the solitary rule of the High Elders and instead institute "power to the people" (or in this case the Preceptors).

And with the power vacuum caused by Dan Heng's exile and the fact that his possible successor, Bailu, might not have been born yet/still a tiny child…

Yeah, I think we're seeing a discreet ongoing political overthrow.

Addendum : The Ten-Lords may be involved in the whole scheme (as well as Jing Yuan, which puts certain things said to Dan Heng in a whole different light)

"The elder's voice is youthful, but it sounds weary and emotionless" : The term elder here could refer as a Preceptor instead of a High Elder since they are the "senior" Vidyadharas. I have the feeling that it could be the same people talking with "Unfeeling Voice".

Also, "if you can complete this I can assure you a seat in the council of Preceptors" ?

PLEASE.

[asmaroth]

Cult of the Lamb: All Hidden Lore

i've seen some folks in the tags talking about the lack of discussion of the newly added lore to the game. i figured it was because no one's collected and posted all of them all on tumblr yet, so i took the time to compile and transcribe all the Tablets and Notes into one post.

these are in order of Tablets I-X, Haro's/the meat room's note, Monch's room's note, and Lost Messages I-III. i have transcribed them exactly as they are written, special capitalizations and all. feel free to use as reference!

Ancient Tablets (Found on Crusades)

Ancient Tablet I

Writings from a time long passed.

"I meant only to survive, and yet she, feathered hand of Great Ones gone, has seen me to be worthy. Oh, First Gods, guide me! I devote myself to you, wholly, body and soul. I will strike down dissent. I will cull doubt. I will nourish this Crown and be worthy of this power. In blood, I swear."

Ancient Tablet II

Writings from a time long passed.

"Great Ones, I find fragments of your power across these vast lands. The blades once gripped by your mighty fists, the tears once fallen from your all-seeing eyes, the ichor that runs through the very veins of the earth... I seek your understanding. I prostrate myself before you. I vow that those who will not serve in their life will serve with their death instead."

Ancient Tablet III

Writings from a time long passed.

"Simple things... silly, almost... creatures seek protection in my shadow, pour faith into my soul and by their devotion I am changed. I was like them, once..."

Ancient Tablet IV

Writings from a time long passed.

"I used to think them strange, these three feathered beasts, unworn and unweathered by the passage of time. To be keepers of Godly tools, and yet not be tempted to Godliness themselves - do they not hunger as we do?

Now, wisened in age, I understand. Hatched beneath the First, they crave no power, seek no other fulfillment, for it is not in their nature. And it is by nature that we must abide."

Ancient Tablet V

Writings from a time long passed.

"My pilgrimage has lead me thus, to the caverns of a Godly skull, remnants of a Great One now decaying into earth. The air here smells sweet, the soil rich and dark... I hear whispers, I feel watched, yet there is naught around, just these strange, small mushrooms, their spots almost like eyes... but that's impossible...?"

Ancient Tablet VI

Writings from a time long passed.

"I had not seen her in some dozen years, perhaps a score, perhaps a hundred. She is changed, alarmingly so, the mutilation of her body naught compared to the madness taking root in her mind. Her kin were indifferent. 'Twas foreseen, the card reader said. I asked, what of her duty? What of the Crowns? What of her very nature?

And the smith answered: it is lost."

Ancient Tablet VII

Writings from a time long passed.

"I have lived long, too long for simple memory and so I must continue to chronicle these histories. Followers rise, bloom, and die, like so much clover on the ground, and my troublesome peers, Gods by a right no longer divine, rise and fall like tides cut free from the moon. One came to my temple, young and ambitious and thirsty for war. I dismissed them. I will not abide by such blasphemy."

Ancient Tablet VIII

Writings from a time long passed.

"Whispers reach my temple. Gods fallen, shrines crumbled, Followers taken, and Crowns simply gone. Our numbers are beginning to dwindle. I do not fear. I will swing my righteous axe, draw my zealous sword, and know that I walk with the blessing of the First at my brow. Heresy shall not be tolerated in these Lands."

Ancient Tablet IX

Writings from a time long passed.

"Yngya cannot be found, and the leaves change no more. 'Tis clear, now, that none shall survive this purging. The Owl has chosen a different tact, one I cannot condone; for regardless of what they threaten, I shall never relinquish my beliefs. They call me the greatest of fanatics, and perchance this is true: for I would rather perish than sacrifice my devotion. Great Ones, I am yours eternally."

Ancient Tablet X

Writings from a time long passed.

"He of havoc, he of blight; she of hunger, they of might. He that lays a soul to rest; five remain of hundreds blessed."

Haro/Meat Room's Note

Offering to the Owl

A prayer to the Hunter.

"Great Hunter, we write this prayer and leave this offering in the hopes you will grant us triumph in our hunt. We vow to take no more than we need, and leave the brooding and the young. May we be swift and silent as you, Hunter."

Monch's Room's Note

Ripped Note

Written in fear, covered in dirt.

"We've been hiding for days. I'm hungry, but I'm too scared to leave this place, though the earth no longer shakes. I didn't know the Bishops could bleed. The fifth... we dare not speak his name. Soon we won't remember it. But he waits. He will always wait."

Lost Messages (Found in Graveyards)

Lost Message I

A torn letter, stained with blood.

"Found a herd. Taken care of. Let the Worm know I seek the next."

Lost Message II

A torn letter, stained with blood.

"One fled my blade. I will find it. The Bishops need not concern themselves. I do as I am told, and only as I am told."

Lost Message III

A torn letter, stained with blood.

"I found the last, hidden deep in the Lands. It followed me, silent, to the ritual grounds. When my task is at last complete, I will bury it with the others."

this is all the lore for now until they possibly add more. enjoy!

[dawnlotus-draws]

LOOK UPON THEM. MY BELOVEDS. my player characters I play the most often. This isn’t even close to all of them. Anyway.

Transcript to the text image and Non transparent art version below the cut ^^

Just 6 of my character collection I fit on a page.. I play so many TTRPGs all week it’s crazy.

Please. If you want to know anything about them, send me asks :3

They will also be on ARTFIGHT so if you will be on the battlefield stop by and say hello!!! :D

I apologize for the Alt Text being a mess, mobile is fighting me on formatting right now, but here the transcript to the image below!

From left to right

Name : Alice Adalhaidus | TTRPG : Vampire the Masquerade | Chronicle : New Orleans by Night | Party name : (work in progress) | Clan : Toreador | Occupation : Cabernet owner | Age : 130 yrs | Personality : ‘Judgemental’ | Summary word(s) : Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss

Name : Eloise Fulva | TTRPG : Pathfinder | Campaign : Cityfinder | Party name : Corwyn Office | Class : Barbarian/Healer | Occupation : Grade 5 Fixer | Age : 50 yrs | Personality : Stoic | Summary Word : Diplomat

Petra Ichor | TTRPG : DnD | Campaign : One shots | Party : N/A | Class : Grave Cleric | Occupation : Guide | Age : 106 yrs | Personality: Apathetic | Summary word : Puppet

Sparrow Temerity | TTRPG : DnD | Campaign : The Bounciful Band | Party : The Bounciful Band | Class : Fighter | Occupation : Tank/‘wallet’ | Age : 30 yrs | Personality : Optomistic | Summary word : Unlucky

Grelinda Teakettle | TTRPG : DnD | Campaign : One shots | Party : N/A | Class : Fighter (6) Rogue (2) | Occupation : Sniper | Age : 21 yrs | Personality : Caffeinated Teenager | Summary word(s) : Hero in training

Xiao Hua Ya (小花呀) | TTRPG : Call of Cthulhu | Campaign : London and Literature | Party name : Edith’s house for Misfits | Class : Recon | Occupation : Orphan | Age : 14 yrs | Personality : Nosy | Summary word : Gremlin

[gigireece16]

“treading on scarce gemstones, clueless on which ones were the true rubies. the fable blended into an endless afflictive chronicle before me. drank from the chalice that held apate’s ichor. in my mother’s white wedding dress as i dug my grave deeper. an unknown precipitation flooded me inside the derelict gymnasium that clung to my abominations. the long-forgotten reveries crawled back, on their knees pleading.

sprinting away from the fantasy as fast as i could. everything becoming bruised & bloody. the gore seeped through the cracks of my illusions that i boarded up to preserve me. scrutinizing my adversaries with their accolades. the winter sun shattering my utopias, motionless in no man’s land. diving into the edge of a maritime, the storm welcomed me in.”

{something i wrote that a few months ago and found it in my notes app this morning}

[medusanova]

Finally getting around to sending this prompt: I'd love to see a mash-up / fusion of Fate and The Shadowhunter Chronicles. Particularly in the context of Sky and Riven being parabatai and how that works in the Fate universe. 👀 (or any of the characters as parabatai would be v cool too- like, Bloom and Aisha maybe?)

There is nothing I love more than the complexities of a parabatai bond — and I could never pass up on a sky/riven moment, especially when I found these as inspiration..

It’s been three years since Sky laid eyes on an Elapid demon. Not since the portal to the dark realm had been closed for good.

Or so they thought.

For a few seconds, it’s the only thing that takes up his vision — a swarm of scaled creatures crawling around Alfea, neither serpent nor insect, their jagged claws buried into the spines of his fellow specialists and tearing them to pieces — before the rune on his neck tingles and the image fades.

Just in time for Sky to duck and roll away from the snap of its teeth.

Amber-colored venom drips to the ground, sizzling into the cobblestone where Sky had been frozen in place just seconds ago.

The demon’s cobra-shaped head turns in his direction, red eyes bleeding violence and hunger, only to stumble back with a piercing shriek when an arrow gets embedded into its neck.

“That sword in your hand? It’s to defend yourself from things like that,” a low voice taunts from behind him. Sky turns in time to see Riven aim another marked arrow, sending a shockwave of an angry yowl through the village when the sharp tip grazes the top of the demon’s head. “Would be bloody helpful if you used it right about now.”

The sardonic words make him smile despite himself, sending the unsettling flashback to the back of his mind. Shaking his head in amusement, he pulls the seraph blade from its scabbard, letting it illuminate his hand with a soft, divine glow.

Running toward the demonic creature, he arcs through the air, dodging a taloned arm, and slices through one of the demon’s legs — just in time to sidestep another one. Taking advantage of his crouched position, Sky pierces his blade through the underside of its belly. It explodes in a shower of burning ichor.

He turns to face his partner. “Two!” he calls out, breathless from the headiness of adrenaline.

“One and a half,” Riven shoots back with a smirk. He plants an arrow into the head of the third and final Elapid and doesn’t even stop to make sure it’s fully banished to the demon realm when he stows his bow away, strutting in Sky’s direction. Cocky bastard. “I helped you with the first one.”

The lightness in Riven’s voice, however, doesn’t match the intensity of his eyes as they absorb every detail about Sky. Gaze determined and evergreen. So intense it never fails to feel like Riven’s hands are slowly checking over every inch of him.

Like it always does, Sky’s heart pounds against the prison of his rib cage at the sight, sending a pulse of warmth down his spine.

It took years for Sky to understand that look. That unwavering stare. Intended to painstakingly ensure the soul bound to Riven’s was uninjured, unharmed. But once he did, once Sky allowed himself to feel the full weight of Riven’s attention, well, it’s been a steady descent since.

Sky does his best to shrug it away as they head back to the institute, tucked away behind a First World trinket shop in the middle of Blackbridge. “But I was the one to kill it.”

“I knew your hero complex would go to your head one day, I just didn’t expect it to be so soon,” Riven teases, bumping his bicep — inked with the rune identical to the one on his neck — into Sky.

“Weren’t you the one who told Silva we didn’t need a team for this patrol?”

Riven scoffs. “Like I could’ve predicted an Elapid nest? I know a higher level of demon activity has been reported, but where the fuck did those even come from?”

It’s a good question, actually. They weren’t even supposed to be on a mission today, just an ordinary patrol. One they’ve done countless times without encountering Elapid-level demons. It’s relatively uneventful most of the time, but today they stumbled upon a swarm of them for the first time in years and Sky—

He thinks of lifeless eyes, of blood-soaked grass squelching beneath his boots as he surveys the loss of his fellow warriors. Of the cries of pain and sorrow pervading through Alfea.

“Sky!” Riven warns urgently, pulling him out of his daze.

His body responds before his mind can even process the words, flattening to the ground as a demon flies through the air just a few feet above him. Sky’s palms sting from the cut of the cobblestones when he clambers to his feet, scanning the area around them for the nearest source of danger.

An Elapid demon comes at him seconds later, swooping with a visceral screech. Sky grunts as he blocks its leg with his seraph blade and pushes it back, his teeth gritting together with effort. From his periphery, he sees another leg loom over him, ready to spear through his body, only for it to get pierced with a marked arrow, exploding in a splash of ichor.

The demon howls and Sky strikes, swinging his sword through its neck. Black-green blood splatters onto him, biting at his exposed skin, but the thrill of killing the demon, of sending it back to the hell it came from, is much more powerful.

He turns to face Riven with a grimace. “Thanks for having my back.”

“Always,” Riven replies easily, and the smile he sends Sky is devastating, entirely out of place on a battlefield. “Except for when it’s Silva. Demons I can handle. Silva’s lectures? You’re on your own, mate.”

Sky’s about to tell him that Silva’s lectures are pretty much exclusively reserved for Riven when he hears an all-too-familiar scuttling sound. He barely has time to lift his sword when there’s a blur of movement, a sickening squelch, and—

Riven screams.

Sky’s body is hollow as he stares at the claw that’s run straight through Riven’s thigh, blood glistening on its black shell. It starts to shudder as though it’s about to jerk upwards – three, two, one, – and tear Riven in half.

Sky moves without thinking, spinning past his parabatai to sever the leg off at the back, thrusting his sword through the demon’s belly with an anguished, vengeful roar. He doesn’t even care to watch it be banished to the demon realm, and just turns to catch Riven as he collapses backwards, sinking to his knees. Two bound souls on the ground.

“Always the bloody white knight…” he gasps, sounding half out of it already. Sky fumbles for Riven’s hand, his fingers sliding in between his. “A lot of blood, Sky. It’s- my thigh. There’s too much blood.”

“I know,” he says, catching his voice before it cracks. “It’s okay, just- just let me get my stele, okay? We need a healing rune and-“

“N-no. Won’t work. Too much blood.” Riven exhales a short, mirthless laugh. “I don’t- it’s not going to work.”

“It will, okay? You’re going to be fine. Where I go you go, remember?”

“Sky don’t... I’m fine.”

But it’s not. It’s not fucking fine because Sky can feel their parabatai bond weakening by the second. Can feel the life-force that constantly exists within him, the axis of his whole world, fading away.

Riven just rests there on his chest. His breaths shallow, his fingers trembling against Sky’s neck, and his eyes trained on Sky’s face. He flinches when something wet drips onto his cheek, but he still doesn’t look away.

And Sky knows, he knows that a healing rune on Riven’s body isn’t going to be enough to fix him.

He knows that there are some wounds that are fatal wounds — heads crushed by stone, stomachs pierced by swords, hearts stopped with lightning — that are just too big, too permanent to heal. A femoral artery ripped apart by a demon is one of them.

But there’s nothing in this realm, nothing in this world or any world, that can stop him from reaching out with a bloodstained hand to draw one on anyway.

It’s not his best. He’s too shaky, too frenzied to make it his best. The lines aren’t sharp or precise and he can’t even breathe much magic into it like he usually would—

But then the rune glows. Steadily brighter and stronger than he’s ever seen. An iridescent blaze of light that beams through the village and nearly blinds everyone in it.

When it fades, any remaining demons are gone — expelled in a series of cataclysms that reverberate through Sky’s knees — and Riven has stopped bleeding. There’s a spiked claw on the ground next to his thigh and the skin where his wound should be is whole, unmarred. As if he wasn’t just on the brink of death. His puddle of blood is nothing more than a rusted stain that’s faded into his black gear.

Sky feels their parabatai bond flare against Riven’s palm on his neck, red-hot and electric. The rune on his bicep grows as hot on Sky’s chest as the liquid fire in his gaze. He breathes Sky’s name, hushed and reverent.

They haven’t looked away from each other.

Sky doesn’t say anything in reply. He just stares back at Riven, droplets of sweat and pain still caught in his lashes. His chest feels warm, his body heavy. Like he could stay here forever. Riven held close to chest, their feelings burning like heavenly fire through their bond, the rest of the world a universe away.

Sky and Riven. Just Sky and Riven.

There’s a sharp crunch of boots and Silva falls to a crouch beside Sky, startling them both out of their reverie.

“What,” he says in complete bewilderment, “the fuck was that?”

[ladyhindsight]

Over the course of reading the books, it has become apparent that different editions have gone under several revisions. The original City of Bones, when reflected against the changes that have been made over the years to the manuscript, highlights how poor and haphazard the world-building in what would eventually become The Shadowhunter Chronicles was. 

I’ve compared two different e-book versions of City of Bones, one of which appears to be the original text and one that I frankly have no idea which exact edition it is since my physical 2015 repackaged copy also varies from its contents. The left one is the supposedly original and the right one is the newer edition. Tap/click for bigger images since the text is pretty small for being compared side by side. There’s quite a few.

Magnus’ skin color.

Revamping the rune business. The unnamed permanent rune placed on dominant hand that lends extra skill with weapons is turned into the Voyance rune that aids their Sight.

For which the part highlighted with blue is deleted completely. Additionally Jace explaining his hunch about Clary’s Sight has become more rational. This underlines how little the concept of the Sighted was developed in the beginning.

In the long run it wouldn’t have made sense that no mundane in a century was Sighted.

All the stories are true is added.

Added punctuation and Isabelle’s Voyance rune. The original did not make sense either not to highlight any unnamed permanent runes that Isabelle might have/has.

Clary asks Isabelle did Jace bring her to the Institute. In the original, Hodge comes off as furious over Clary messing up the carpet with ichor and blood. This is missing in the newer edition.

Don’t know what is wrong with the “hedge-witch.” Also additional explanation on differences between warlocks and witches.

In the 2007 version the Gray Book is mentioned when Magnus shows a copy of one to Clary in order to jog her memory. In the newer edition, the Covenant Marks are replaced by Marks from the Gray Book.

Corrected probably because the timeline did not originally match.

This is a pretty big one. The original thought was that some random warlock summoned the Angel. Jonathan Shadowhunter as a concept most likely didn’t exist yet.

Added explanation on the Clave.

Relying on my memory and a quick search of the document, Iron Sisters were also not mentioned in the original text. Also the seraph blades were already named, which later on wouldn’t make sense as they just call a random name to activate the blade anyway (though Jace does use Sanvi and Sansanvi later on in both editions).

Changes made to the drawing of runes.

Jace explains to Clary how the Forsaken are made by placing a lot powerful runes on people who don’t have Shadowhunter blood. He also tells that one rune will only burn, which will be later proven wrong since the Starkweather changeling dies from one rune in TID. Hence the change, that even one rune might end up killing an ordinary human.

Concept of the Forsaken revamped in the sense that why the hell would any Downworlder be able to even use Nephilim runes??

Part of Jace and Madame Dorothea’s conversation deleted.

The concept of a “Control” being trashed. Wards added.

We’ve gone over this before. Pangborn and Blackwell were never meant to be warlocks, but it is confusing that Blackwell is purple. This part of the description was deleted, though his later appearance (in the newer edition) still describes him becoming “darker purple” which would mean he was purple in the first place.

I don’t know why this was deleted. Shadowhunters don’t have dental so I guess they don’t sharpen their teeth either.

Myths/Stories

Earlier in the book Jace tells Alec: “When I found her, she was lying on the floor in a pool of blood with a dying demon practically on top of her. I watched as it vanished. If she didn’t kill it, who did?” The original includes this, so it is strange that there would even be “a dead Ravener” when they leave no bodies behind. 

Simon’s dislike of cats is deleted because he has a cat called Yossarian. Clary bumps into it in City of Ashes.

Basically this whole scene which didn’t make much sense to begin with. Mentioned earlier here and here.

The whole “Mortal Cup mostly working on children” angle is omitted and the concept of Ascension revamped. Also the concept of Ascension by that name did not exist.

Same continues here.

In the original text, Jace’s ring is first mentioned in the third chapter when Jace waves at Clary in Java Jones:

“She stared at Jace as she thought it, and he raised his left hand to wave at her. A ring glittered on a slim finger. He got to his feet and began walking, unhurriedly, toward the door. Clary’s lips parted in surprise. He was leaving, just like that.”

The next time it is mention in chapter 10:

“Jace looked down at his hands. They were slim and careful hands, the hands of an artist, not a warrior. The ring she had noticed earlier flashed on his finger. She would have thought there  would have  been  something feminine about  a  boy wearing a ring, but there wasn’t. The ring itself was solid and heavy-looking, made of a dark burned-looking silver with a pattern of stars around the band. The letter W was carved in to it.”

In the revised edition, the ring is first mentioned in the chapter 9, the part that is highlighted with blue. Unlike in the original text, Jace’s ring is not mentioned in the third chapter:

“She stared at Jace as she thought it, and he raised his left hand to wave at her. He got to his feet and began walking, unhurriedly, toward the door. Clary’s lips parted in surprise. He was leaving, just like that.”

Like. Why? The whole sentence is deleted.

Isabelle corrected to Alec because it was Alec who said it, so it was an error in the original version.

Vampire drinking habits revised. Yet human subjugates remain illegal, they only get to drink once and not keep them around.

Magnus’ description changed.

This part of the dialogue deleted.

Witches/Warlocks

My 2015 physical copy also includes Gregor’s ashes, but the e-book has changed this scene so that vampires do not have the habit of turning into bats and dust.

My copy also includes Clary’s musings about ugly vampires which are deleted from the revised version.

This part made me question which version the newer revision is because my 2015 physical copy has the same line as here the original one and lacks the added line of Alec looking horribly ashamed.

Probably changed because why would Clary be expected to travel in any other world than theirs? Especially since Jace has told her only demons are capable of interdimensional travel. Also added attraction to Clary.

Again the “Control” being trashed.

This part of Jace’s words deleted.

And so this as well.

Added greater demon poison so it’s not just any demon poison as the original text led you to believe.

The explanation about Jace’s Wayland/Morgenstern ring is completely changed to cover up the plot hole it created in the original version.

This has also been discussed already.

Rather reflective of the mindset at the time of writing this. Girls be gossiping, indeed.

These are the ones I noticed. I’m still pretty unsure how many revisions the writing has actually gone through and whether my e-book is the latest version of City of Bones. But quite a lot has been changed.

[sunlight-forsaken]

in celebration of 4.5 (/hj? I don’t know how I feel about the chronicled banner just yet) and me redoing all of Childe’s artifacts, I have brought some of my Ajax headcanons :]

- he is simultaneously touch averse and starved:

Having grown up in a large, tight knit family, touch was always a display of casual affection or closeness. Stuff like- wrestling with his older siblings/cousins/friends, playing/styling hair, tugging on sleeves in crowds, hugs or cuddles when storms got real bad, his father clasping a firm hand on his shoulder, etc etc.

However, as one expects, the abyss really, REALLY fucked him up about it. Most, if not all touch down there of course equates to pain- but that’s not actually his biggest issue with it (especially nowadays). It’s just- he had to do a LOT to survive down there. Gutting creatures, for one- weapons are not exactly hard to come by down there, but there were plenty of moments where he was either desperate enough or seeking the thrill (in the way of the hunt/battle) enough that left him with his hands covered with gore and entrails. The feeling of drying blood on his skin, the feeling of rotting flesh stuck under his nails- that feeling never quite left him, no matter how long it’s been, no matter how hard or often he washes his hands. It doesn’t bother him much in his day to day, after the initial acceptance of what came out of the abyss in his place, but he discovered the hard way that any at attempt touch will make the feeling very apparent, and make him very nauseous. All he can imagine instead of the usual dark ichor of abyssal creatures is red, terrifyingly human red covering his hands.

He loves his family very, very much. Nothing quite messes with his head like the idea that he’d ever turn his monstrous behaviours on them.

It’s gotten better over the years, the ability to push through these thoughts for the sake of being able to hold the people he cares for- particularly his younger siblings who tend to initiate, still under the illusion he’s just like the rest of their family- but touch is no longer as casual for him as it used to be. He still craves it, that form of affection, as it’s how he grew up, but he cannot stomach it very well, if he’s not prepared or careful.

- the whole, like, constantly feeling gore on his hands thing? Yeah that’s part of the reason why he wears gloves. It’s a little less distracting when he can pass off the coated sensation as simply just a side effect of the accessory

- his hands are incredibly scarred up from learning how to fight, going farther than simple callouses; he has plenty of cuts and nicks from battle, sure, but a good chunk actually just came from his own reckless behaviour- c’mon, look at his melee attack sequence and try to tell me he wouldn’t try to show off too much too soon- therefore end up getting himself hurt in the process. Also, figuring out how to manifest blades out of hydro probably contributed a lot to these sorts of injuries. On top of having to balance which part is pointy ouchie hydro and which part he can hold, he also has just enough non-self-preservation to check wether the blades are sharp by poking at it with his finger, lmao.

- The gloves come in to play here as well; both to cover existing scars (mostly from his family, as he wants to keep up his facade to the littles as much as possible, and appear less like a weapon of war to the others, if only so that he can pretend they still see their son and brother when they look at him) and to prevent new ones - though luckily nowadays, he’s much less prone to accidentally injure himself when trying a new weapon or fighting style

… there was supposed to be more, but for some reason this became very fixated on his hands?

[revoevokukil]

Cursed Rulers: Parallels Between Auberon & Emhyr

“Emperors rule their empires, but two things they cannot rule: their hearts and their time. Those two things belong to the empire.”

“The end justifies the means.”

 Leaders of the highest order for their people, both rulers pursue the greater good at the expense of decency and their own humanity. A greater good to be achieved through similar means – by begetting the child who is prophesised.

Etymology

Let’s start with names for the names we give our characters often betray the backdrop from which we drew in conceiving them; especially if the author is a self-confessed fan of the subject matter.

Nilfgaard’s Emperor’s real name originates in the history of the British Isles and in the Arthurian legendarium. In Welsh, Emyr denotes “ruler” or “king.” Emreis, meanwhile, qualifies as the Welsh counterpart to the Greek Ambrose, serving as the equivalent for the Romanized Ambrosius. Ambrosius Aurelianus, a semi-mythical figure thought to have lived around the time Romans had recently left the Isles for good, was a Romano-British warlord credited with turning the tide against the invading Angles and Saxons. Very little about Sub-Roman Britain is verifiably beyond doubt, which means the era lends itself richly to myth craft (for which reason historians search within this period for the historical Arthur). Most chroniclers and myth-makers way back when were monks. Gildas mentions Ambrosius Aurelianus first in De Excidio et Conquestu Britanniae. A Roman by blood, methods and upbringing, Ambrosius is thought to have claimed the position of a High King after the Bryton Vortigern and to have ushered in over a century of peace by pushing out the Germanic tribes and defeating them at Mons Badonicus (Mount Badon). Bede describes Ambrosius as “a modest man of Roman origin, who was the sole survivor of the catastrophe in which his noble parents had perished”. From Nennius onward though, the myth grows and factual matter starts to ebb.

Geoffrey of Monmouth links Ambrosius with the wizard Merlin, Uther Pendragon (whom he makes Ambrosius’ brother) and Constantine III (allegedly Ambrosius’ father). Co-incidentally, Emreis or Emrys is also the birth-name of Merlin (Latinized from the Welsh Myrddin, the great bard). But for the sake of comparing to Emhyr var Emreis as known in the Witcher, making Constantine III the father of Ambrosius is especially noteworthy. A Roman general come to power during the Roman Britain revolt, Constantine headed out to Gaul with all the mobile troops left in Britain in 407, leaving the island vulnerable to the migration of Germanic tribes. The general ended up declaring himself the Western Roman Emperor; a position he held for two years beside the sitting emperor Honorius. Then he was put to death by another general (who, surprise-surprise, also went on to declare himself). Geoffery of Monmouth changes his Constantine III’s background a little from the historical one, but importantly for us makes it so Constantine’s sons – Ambrosius and Uther – are smuggled to Brittany after their father’s death. There the exiles are gathering strength in order to later return and challenge the usurper Vortigern. These plot beats are familiar to what we know of Emhyr var Emreis.

In Welsh, Emrys also means “immortal” but Emhyr var Emreis – despite having lived several lives – is still a mortal ruler. Auberon Muircetach on the other hand exudes eternity. So old as to appear near immortal to Emhyr’s daughter, the Alder King retains a youthful appearance despite the thousand yard stare in which is buried unimaginable sadness. In his folk origins, Auberon is leading several lives.

Bearing Hen Ichaer (ichor (Ancient Greek), blood of the gods), Auberon (Old French) appears first in the 13th century Les Prouesses et faitz du noble Huon de Bordeaux and gives Shakespeare his fairy king Oberon who rules the spirit world. In turn, the name in Old French originates in the Germanic Alberich (or Elberich), denoting “the ruler of supernatural beings.” The most well-known Alberich is probably Wagner’s, from De Ring des Nibelungen, and though called a dwarf he treads closer to Svartálfar (dark elves) in character; dwarves and elves being, on occasion, conflated in Continental Europe. An important nuance though is that Alberich much like Auberon is the keeper of his subjects’ magical treasure (Rheingold/Andvaranaut Ring, or Elder Blood respectively), which is the source of power and wealth of each one’s race. Circling back to the suitability of Shakespeare’s adoption of the name for his fairy king, the root “alb” in Alberich originally stands for “white” and forms the trunk of Albion – denoting the British Isles with its white cliff face.

The character of Auberon Muircetach (as of the other Alder elves) is linked to Goethe’s Erlkönig; a haunting force of corruption and death, a stealer of souls who covets youthful innocence. This stands in contrast to Johann Gottfried von Herder’s translation of the Danish folk ballad Elverkongen’s Datter (The Elf-King’s Daughter) which inspired Goethe but where the protagonist is a wilful, selfish female spirit. Androgyny though is not new to elves. Erlkönig translates into English variously as Erlking, the Elf-King, and the Alder King. Erle (or Elle in Old Danish) stands for “alder” in German, and Ellefolk is a folkish use of “elves” in Denmark. Calling the Otherworld elves in the Witcher Aen Elle – the Alder Folk – is thus hardly wilful. But what do elves and alder trees have in common? As elven culture and origin story in the Witcher draws heavily on the Celtic world, an amusing example emerges on the plains of Albion. During the mythical Cad Goddeu – Battle of the Trees – the alder trees are animated by Gwydion and march in the vanguard while Bran the Blessed (a Welsh God-king figure) boasts alder twigs as personal protection and heraldry. Alder is the warrior of trees; the bark bleeds when cut, changing from white to red. Alder is also linked to the realm of water and wetlands – predominant on the plains of Somerset surrounding the Glastonbury Tor (a well-known place of power and an entry to Caer Sidi and the Otherworld). Bran is wounded by a poisoned spear in the course of Cad Goddeu and so he is sometimes deemed one of the first prototypes for the Fisher King, an Arthurian figure Sapkowski’s Auberon (and elves) amounts to in lieu of symbolic fit – an ailing ruler, rendered impotent with an injury which dooms the realm. In this manner links between the Continental Erlking and Celtic mythos shape up.

Finally, Muircetach – an alteration of the Irish Muirchetach also stands for “mariner.” Befitting of an Elf-King who has traversed the seas of time and space.

    Intent

In the Witcher, both Auberon and Emhyr are embroiled in a plot of siring the child of prophecy with Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon – their blood relative. Genetically, the incest is a matter of degree: Emhyr is Ciri’s biological father, Auberon Ciri’s ancestor 8 generations past. Symbolically, however, the degree collapses with Auberon because a few human generations are meaningless to elves. They call Ciri Lara’s daughter, effectively deeming Ciri Auberon’s granddaughter. But the reader – not unlike Ciri herself – won’t know about this until the very end of the tale.

Notionally, both rulers bind their actions with Ithlinne’s prophecy. The problem with prophecies is they decouple arguments from verification, lending themselves to the rationalization of all and any action. At least insofar as knowing the future accurately is impossible. This is the case for humanity, it is not the case for elves. Elven prophecies were made by the elves and for the elves in the first place. Consequently, the degree to which each ruler knows the prophecy to be true and believes in it differs. For Emhyr, mystical secret knowledge of the universe is irrelevant in comparison to political expedience: reason of state is what the tomorrow will bring. The Nilfgaardian Emperor is neither a mystic nor a fatalist. Contrary to the Alder King – a Sage, a ruler, and an elder – who has witnessed and likely verified some of what the Seers have prophesised. Elves conceive of the nature of time as cyclical in which the fate of things is tied up in the endless repetition of endings giving birth to new beginnings, the dance of attraction between life and death, two sides of the same coin which form the singular eternal truth of existence – change is only an eternal reoccurrence and re-arrangement of all. Auberon, you see, is a bit of a mystic. And even without Seers privy to secret knowledge, an extraordinary life span reduces the elves’ proclivity to black swan fallacy, or at least pushes the error probabilities. But at the end of the day, mysticism takes the cake.

The idea that either ruler must be the progenitor, however, comes at the instigation of an outside force.

Shortly after Ciri’s birth Emhyr is visited by a sorcerer. Emhyr has a strong aversion to mages; he was cursed by one. Even so, Vilgefortz proves himself capable of helping him regain the Nilfgaardian throne and is straightforward about what he wishes in exchange – gratitude, favours, privileges, power. Vilgefortz tells Emhyr about Ithlinne’s prophecy – a version about the fate of the world; a human interpretation. Then he plants the seed as to what Emhyr should do to steer the fate of this world. Naturally, he has his own agenda. It is not a huge leap of imagination to conceive of Auberon having been similarly persuaded by Avallac’h (an elven Knowing One who thematically parallels the human Vilgefortz). Not only are Avallac’h and Auberon tied by broken familial bonds, they are each a participant of the Elder Blood programme; and each, a Sage. Avallac’h serves nearly as a double for Auberon, his own fate also tied with Ciri’s. And Auberon is a “willing unwilling” in his arrangement with Ciri; implied so in his rage when he reveals Ciri ought to be grateful to him for lowering himself to the endeavour at all. There is an alternative.

Neither the Emperor nor the Alder King is pursuing the incestuous course of action out of lust. But both have the option to waive being the sire. Ithlinne’s prophecy is not explicit about the father of the Swallow’s child. For elves the match is backed by science. For humanity – pragmatism.

Emhyr has ordered to wipe out the Usurper’s name from the annals of history and is cementing his earthly power, conquering and ensuring the succession laws play out in his favour. Not only is he legitimatizing his rule over Cintra – the gateway to the North – by marrying its last monarch’s granddaughter, by keeping it in the family, he is also consolidating his rule among the Nilfgaardian aristocracy. The Emperor’s concern lies with the dynastic struggle for power: it is his blood that should rule the world and because history is bending its arc according to Nilfgaard’s dictation that means surmounting the Nilfgaardian succession laws. From such perspective, not fathering Ciri’s child would create numerous problems. Ciri as Emhyr’s heir would remain behind any other male offspring he might have (with any Nilfgaardian aristocrat). Ciri might not be acknowledged as a legitimate successor in Nilfgaard in the first place as she is a foreigner, born in Cintra at a time when her father was not yet an emperor; a bastard, effectively, and a girl besides. Ciri’s husband, moreover, may have designs on power himself and his remaining under Emhyr’s control, or Ciri’s control, is not a guarantee. It is difficult to be the correctly-shaped chess piece in a game of interests of the state. That a widely recited prophecy about the fate of the world can lend an aura of destiny to the brutal political machinations undertaken to seek retribution and pursue earthly power is convenient; a descendant who will be the ruler of the world – a bonus. But to get there sacrifices must be made.

‘Cirilla,’ continued the emperor, ‘will be happy, like most of the queens I was talking about. It will come with time. Cirilla will transfer the love that I do not demand at all onto the son I will beget with her. An archduke, and later an emperor. An emperor who will beget a son. A son, who will be the ruler of the world and will save the world from destruction. Thus speaks the prophecy whose exact contents only I know.’

’What I am doing, I am doing for posterity. To save the world.’

- Lady of the Lake

Notably, the manner in which the Emperor claims to understand Ithlinne’s prophecy does not make guarantees that a father’s incest with his daughter will ensure his progeny will one day save the world. The saviour is a few generations away and the causal arrow between now and then is not direct: the son could die, could father a child with a genetically non-fitting partner, could be sterile, or could turn out to be a daughter altogether. Not to even begin with what the world needs saving from in the first place; again, elven prophecies were written by the elves and for the elves. Emhyr var Emreis is neither an elf, a geneticist, an idealist nor a mystic. He is an autocrat.

Elder Blood is the creation of elves and it is elves who understand how their genetic abilities play into handling what was foretold by Ithlinne. Emhyr’s daughter, the Lady of Time and Space, is the descendant of an Alder King who has utilized Hen Ichaer in the past and whose ambitions lie in an altogether different ball park than that of an Emperor of one single world. Appropriately to the Saga’s love for subversion, it is ironic that human understanding of elven prophecies remains on the level of poetry, while elves – the irritatingly poetic, mystical species – can read the science elevating the prophetic jargon into something more. Which regardless does not invalidate the problem with prophecies: they lend themselves to the rationalization of action, frequently covering up the real horses the powerful might have in the race. Legitimatization of the ruler’s right to remain the leader of their people is relevant in Auberon’s life too. More on that when we return to the Fisher King parable and the nature of curses upon the two rulers.

  Role & Relationships

Let’s take a look at the characters’ personalities.

Appearance: a play of contrasts

A very tall, slender elf with long fingers and ashen hair shot with snow-white streaks. An elf with the most extraordinary eyes – as on all Elder Blood carriers – reminiscent of molten lead. A man with black, shiny, wavy hair bordering an angular, masculine face that is dominated by a prominent nose (hooked, presumably, or Roman if you like). The Emperor of Nilfgaard does not resemble an androgynous elf by any means. But this does not mean nothing remains in him of the elven gene pool. Not only does Emhyr’s etymological origin link with the Romano-Celtic world underpinning all things elven in the Witcher. Nilfgaardians are effectively the Romano-Brytons. The human population in the South of the Continent mixed with elves heavily, retaining a lot of elven law, customs, language, and DNA. As Avallac’h says about heritability, “the father matters,” and Emhyr was one half of the equation for getting Ciri.

Rex Regum - King of Kings

The readers are probably more familiar with the imperial system and how that features in the depiction of Nilfgaard. Auberon Muircetach’s position as the Supreme Leader of the Aen Elle – as opposed to merely a “king” – is instead much more reminiscent of the station of a High King.

Ancient and early kingdoms of Great Britain and Ireland boast many High Kings (e.g. Ard Rí Érenn Brian Boru, Ard Rí Alban Macbeth, Vortigern, King of the Britons, etc). The High King was usually elected and set above lesser rulers and warlords as an overlord in a land that shared a high degree of cultural unity. Emperors usually ruled over culturally different lands (regularly obtained through recent or ongoing conquests). In character such high kingship was sacred: the duties of the ruler were largely ceremonial and somewhat restricted, unless war, natural disaster or any other realm-wide occasion created a need for a unified command structure. The Irish High King, for example, was quite straightforwardly a ruler who laid claim to all of the land of the Emerald Isle. Noteworthy, because the ruler is frequently seen as the embodiment of the land, associated with the health and well-being of the realm that the land sustains. In quasi-religious terms, High Kings gained their power through a marriage to, or sexual relationship with, a sovereignty goddess; frequently, a mother goddess who was associated with the life-giving land. As one of the most frequently studied elements of the Celtic cosmology, this feature is instantly recognisable in the outlook of the elves in the Witcher and factors heavily into Auberon’s relationship with Ciri. Ciri who is the avatar of the Triple Goddess – the Virgin, the Pregnant Mother, and the Old Woman Death. As Sapkowski notes in Swiat króla Artura. Maladie:

“…no Wiccan mystery in honour of the Great Triple, cannot be performed, [without] the goblet and the sword.

Grail and Excalibur. The rest is silence.”

Through the Triple Goddess’ interaction with her God-counterpart (a ruler who briefly assumes the role of the god) is showcased the eternal cycle of life – one which cannot be realised without the interaction of the cup (feminine) & the sword (male). Excalibur is the symbol of rightful sovereignty and its wielders are frequently powerful men, but Ciri is a woman and a woman is the Grail, bringing salvation and new life. To possess the Grail is to legitimize oneself as the ruler, as the leader, protector, and father figure of the realm. Thus a King of Kings must do exactly that. A protector, a father figure, and a druid (wise man) merge into a symbolic whole in the Supreme Leader of the elves.

(But Ciri is also the witcher girl and owns a sword, unyielding before the matter of her gender. And though many a men might take her for the Lady of the Lake, she is not about to part with her sword.)

The realm is all

From early age, Emhyr’s father instilled an understanding in his heir that nothing counts more than the interest of the state. The blood of the Emreis family must be on the throne. Fergus never abdicated, not after torture, not even after his son was turned into a mutant hedgehog in front of his eyes. Love for his child did not sway Fergus from having his son suffer in the interests of power and the realm. This is how the shard of ice in Emhyr’s heart forms. Auberon, equally, “thinks of England” when attempting to regain his daughter’s legacy and restore their people’s power. The circumstances of Lara’s demise, however, beg the question about the Alder King’s role in facilitating or enabling the conditions that let things spiral out of control and break beyond repair. The stakes were infinitely higher for Auberon than they are for Emreis’ dynastic struggle. But what would an answer to this question change? In their cold hearts these characters see themselves each as duty-bound.

Ambitious and gloried, they nevertheless occupy different stages in their lives.

Emhyr’s ambition burns bright and fresh. Auberon’s has dwindled into a shadow of the past; buried under having witnessed and lived through the sacrifices that a ruler makes in the name of power. Emhyr chooses to seek retribution and power beyond what would befall him should he accept his life as Duny (the cursed, pitiful Duny), the prince consort of Cintra. Never losing sight of his goal, love and human happiness become temporary phases and means to an end, and Emhyr returns to Cintra only in the form of flames and death to pursue his daughter in insane ambition. The White Flame retains an active disposition; a lust for life. Neither Emhyr nor Auberon gallop at the head of their armies though, leading instead from the rear. They have lackeys for carrying out their will remotely (e.g. Cahir and Eredin). Emhyr, however, is said to be otherwise highly involved in the ruling of his empire, even if many revolutionaries who had helped him on the throne had hoped he would remain but a banner of the revolution. In contrast, the Alder King has more or less withdrawn from life and active service. In presence of Avallac’h and Eredin, Auberon appears much more like the standard Emhyr had refused to become. Of course, many decisions the equivalent of which Auberon has already made are still ahead of Emhyr, including as concerns the freedom of his daughter.

A ruler’s heart

Did Emhyr believe that he would be able to see Pavetta in Ciri and thus push through with the incest? Did Auberon hope to glance the memory of his wife in the eyes of Lara’s “daughter” and manage in this way? As already noted, neither ruler is pursuing their plans out of lust, but as lust must be induced for the act to bear fruit I cannot help but wonder what these characters must do to themselves to follow through with their plans. Because the love that is called for between a woman and a man in order for new life and hope to be born is in this instance abnormal. Yet it is undoubtedly love that plays a huge role in determining both Emhyr’s and Auberon’s eventual fate.

Until the emergence of false-Ciri, Emhyr var Emreis is said to have had numerous ladies in the imperial court. Little is known about Auberon’s disposition, but by the time Ciri starts frequenting his bed chamber it has become evident the image of a dowager king fits the elf like a glove; disaffected with romantic dalliance, he is still aware of the courtly intrigue and expectations surrounding it.

The next evening, for the first time, the Alder King betrayed his impatience.

She found him hunched over the table where a looking glass framed in amber was lying. White powder had been sprinkled on it.

It’s beginning, she thought.

…

At one moment Ciri was certain it was about to happen. But it didn’t. At least not all the way.

And once again he became impatient. He stood up and threw a sable fur over his shoulders. He stood like that, turned away, staring at the window and the moon.

- Lady of the Lake

Emhyr’s marriage to Pavetta, Ciri’s mother, was an unhappy one. In his own words, he did not love “the melancholy wench with her permanently lowered eyes,” and eventually would have had the vigilant Pavetta killed. Inadvertently, Emhyr caused Pavetta’s death anyway.

‘I wonder how a man feels after murdering his wife,’ the Witcher said coldly.

‘Lousy,’ replied Emhyr without delay. ‘I felt and I feel lousy and bloody shabby. Even the fact that I never loved her doesn’t change that. The end justifies the means, yet I sincerely do regret her death. I didn’t want it or plan it. Pavetta died by accident.’

‘You’re lying,’ Geralt said dryly, ‘and that doesn’t befit an emperor. Pavetta could not live. She had unmasked you. And would never have let you do what you wanted to do to Ciri.’

‘She would have lived,’ Emhyr retorted. ‘Somewhere … far away. There are enough castles … Darn Rowan, for instance. I couldn’t have killed her.’

‘Even for an end that was justified by the means?’

‘One can always find a less drastic means.’ The emperor wiped his face. ‘There are always plenty of them.’

‘Not always,’ said the Witcher, looking him in the eyes. Emhyr avoided his gaze.

‘That’s exactly what I thought,’ Geralt said, nodding.

- Lady of the Lake

After Pavetta’s demise Emhyr hounds his own daughter to the ends of the earth, killing her grandmother, burning down her home, and driving Ciri into an exile from which she never fully recovers. An exile which kills the innocence in her; the snow-white streaks in Ciri’s hair are from the trauma. In contrast, Auberon does not seem to even know what became of Shiadhal – his partner and the mother of their daughter together. On the verge of death he confuses Ciri for Shiadhal and says, “I am glad you are here. You know, they told me you had died.” The Alder King recalls Shiadhal affectionately, in the same loving breath as he recalls their daughter Lara. Lara whose exile – voluntary or not – killed her.

When Ciri was six years old, Emhyr took a lock of hair from her and held onto it; out of sentiment and for his court sorcerers to use. One of Auberon’s last lines to Ciri involves tying a loose ribbon back into Lara’s hair.

In regard to their brides-to-be, both rulers are saddled with fakes. A fake Ciri-Pavetta and a fake Shiadhal-Lara. But Emhyr’s and Auberon’s attitude toward the fake is diametrically opposite. Emhyr sees false-Cirilla as “a diamond in the rough.” Auberon calls Ciri “a pearl in pig shit, a diamond on the finger of a rotting corpse.” For Emhyr, a diamond is the essence of his poor peasant girl. While a pearl in pig shit, for Auberon, remains the essence of Ciri. Neither ruler can entirely ignore the social vigilance extended toward the ruler’s bedchamber either. The idea of a “foreign bride” is frowned upon among the Nilfgaardian aristocracy; it decreases their ability to influence the Emperor. Ciri’s social status at Tir ná Lia is never explicitly addressed, but the presence of human servants – all of whom that the reader sees are female – and casual xenophobia from Auberon himself does not make it hard to venture a guess.

‘If I were … the real Cirilla … the emperor would look more favourably on me. But I’m only a counterfeit. A poor imitation. A double, not worthy of anything. Nothing …’

- False-Cirilla Lady of the Lake

‘It’s all my fault,’ she mumbled. ‘That scar blights me, I know. I know what you see when you look at me. There’s not much elf left in me. A gold nugget in a pile of compost—’

- Ciri Lady of the Lake

The Alder King is unable to bring himself to love Ciri. The Emperor relents, caring for his daughter at last as a father should at the very end, in the one moment where it matters. Moreover, Emhyr ends up eventually marrying his own reason of state and comes to love the false-Cirilla. The contrasts do not end here. Real Ciri threatens to tear Emhyr’s throat out for what he is planning to do to her (unknowing that he is her father), yet with Auberon Ciri turns submissive and grows attached. She weeps over Auberon’s corpse and vows vengeance on Eredin for killing the Alder King. Ironic as Auberon never intended to let Ciri go, while Emhyr does let his daughter walk free. The shard in Auberon’s heart never melts. It shifts in Emhyr’s.

In their last meeting with the girl, both rulers implicitly reveal their blood relation to Ciri.

  Cursed Rulers of the World

Emhyr’s tale begins and is framed with a curse. Likewise Auberon’s. And for both it is love in its different manifestations that will shift the curse just enough to offer closure. For healing largely entails obtaining closure.

‘They were silent for a long time. The scent of spring suddenly made them feel light-headed. Both of them.

‘In spite of appearances,’ Emhyr finally said dully, ‘being empress is not an easy job. I don’t know if I’ll be able to love you.’

She nodded to show she also knew. He saw a tear on her cheek. Just like in Stygga Castle, he felt the tiny shard of cold glass lodged in his heart shift.’

- Lady of the Lake

The reference to H. C. Andersen’s fairy tale of the Snow Queen is self-evident. Emhyr var Emreis is an Emperor whose heart has been pierced by a shard of ice. In the Saga the legend is elven and refers to the Winter Queen who conducts a Wild Hunt as she travels the land, casting hard, sharp, tiny shards of ice around her. Whose eye or heart is pierced by one of them is lost; they will abandon everything and will set off after the Queen, the one who wounded them so gravely as to become the sole aim and end of their life.

There are two ways in which to interpret the way Sapkowski applies the legend of the Snow Queen in the Saga. First, as a complement to the author’s stance that in life - where most things are shit - the Holy Grail is a woman, because it is the love of a woman and the hope a woman instils that often makes men act in inconceivable ways; love is the great motivator and the great balancer of scales. Almost as powerful as death. Or more so?

‘I would not like to put forward the theory that hunting for the wild pig was the primordial example of the search for the Grail. I don't want to be so trivial. I will - after Parnicki and Dante - identify the Grail with the real goal of the great effort of mythical heroes. I prefer to identify the Grail with Olwen, from under whose feet, as she walked, white clovers grew. I prefer to identify the Grail with Lydia, who was loved by Parry. I like New York in June… How about you?

Because I think the Grail is a woman. It is worth investing a lot of time and effort in order to find it and gain it, to understand it. And that's the moral.’

- A. Sapkowski Swiat króla Artura. Maladie

In this reading, we find the framing to the stories of Geralt and Yennefer, Lara and Cregennan, Avallac’h and Lara, and many others. Including the story of Ciri herself – for Ciri is ultimately the author’s Grail in more ways than one. More than one party goes to great lengths to solicit her favour in a guise that includes elements of a love relationship but not the heart of it.

Secondly, we can interpret the legend in universal terms: the shard of ice is the definitive experience of our lives which distorts reality and makes the rest of our lives spin around it in one way or another. For Emhyr, such an experience could have been the trauma experienced in his youth. Fergus’ uncompromising death conditioned the boy early on to sacrifice personal feelings to the cause and let the only true feeling in his heart remain forever locked behind the ends a ruler must go to unthinkable lengths to achieve. Fergus did not deem his son above suffering for a cause and the son learned the lesson. Until…

In Andersen’s Snow Queen, Gerda manages to find her brother Kai in the Snow Queen’s castle, but despite her calls his heart remains cold as ice. Only when Gerda cries in despair do her tears finally melt the ice and remove the piece of glass from Kai’s eyes and heart. In the Witcher, the shard in Emhyr’s heart moves first upon witnessing his true daughter’s angry tears. For the second time – in thanks to the bogus princess of Cintra; his poor raison d’etat.

It brings us to the defining contrast in Emhyr’s and Auberon’s stories, and it concerns alleviating the suffering of those are bound to you by blood or love.

Recalling another case of incest that resulted in Adda the strigga, we may remember that the Temerian king recognises that his daughter is suffering and insists on disenchanting her instead of killing her. Realising that your own blood – who has been thrown into this world of suffering thanks to you – is suffering and consequently choosing to do something to alleviate this suffering fortifies the Saga’s faith in enduring human decency. Geralt himself is thoroughly vexed by the prospect of letting the same evil happen to Ciri that happened to himself and does everything within his power to prevent it (failing, trying anyway). Here lives the redemption of man, and in redemption his rebirth.

‘They passed a pond, empty and melancholy. The ancient carp released by Emperor Torres had died two days earlier.

“I’ll release a new, young, strong, beautiful specimen,” thought Emhyr var Emreis, “I’ll order a medal with my likeness and the date to be attached to it. Vaesse deireadh aep eigean. Something has ended, something is beginning. It’s a new era. New times. A new life. So let there be a new carp too, dammit.”’

- Lady of the Lake

As Emhyr and false-Cirilla take a stroll in the gardens after Stygga, they pass a sculpture of a pelican pecking open its own breast to feed its young on its blood. An allegory of noble sacrifice and also of great love – as False-Ciri tells us.

‘Do you think—’ he turned her to face him and pursed his lips ‘—that a torn-open breast hurts less because of that?’

‘I don’t know …’ she stammered. ‘Your Imperial Majesty … I …’

He took hold of her hand. He felt her shudder; the shudder ran along his hand, arm and shoulder.

‘My father,’ he said, ‘was a great ruler, but never had a head for legends or myths, never had time for them. And always mixed them up. Whenever he brought me here, to the park, I remember it like yesterday, he always said that the sculpture shows a pelican rising from its ashes.’

- Lady of the Lake

It is difficult to set aside our trauma and not pass it on to our children. Letting our children be free to choose and not sacrificing them on the altar of our fate is to rip open ourselves, calcified and bound to our path, and to feel all of it as we grope in the dark to feel for them. Emhyr’s father might not have gotten it entirely wrong, though his mind at the time was set on making his child an extension of himself. The cycle of death and rebirth begins and ends within that to which we give birth. Giving our children a chance before it is too late, we also give a chance to ourselves. By finding it in his heart to extend to his daughter the courtesy his father Fergus never extended to him - by letting Ciri free - Emhyr lets the part of himself that has defined his entire life die. His end stops justifying the means. He breaks the cycle on the edge of the precipice to which he has brought them and thus allows for the possibility of new beginnings for himself and for Ciri.

In a sense, False-Cirilla and Emhyr get the ending Ciri and Auberon might have gotten if –

If.

The story of Auberon Muircetach achieves a fundamentally different resolution.

‘What does the spear with the bloody blade mean? Why does the King with the lanced thigh suffer and what does it mean? What is the meaning of the maiden in white carrying a grail, a silver bowl—?’

- Galahad Lady of the Lake

Galahad asks the questions that the innocent Perceval in his Story of the Grail failed to ask, thus losing his chance at freeing the Fisher King from his curse. And the Fisher King is the guardian of mysteries, among them the Holy Grail. But it is not because of gain that a chivalric knight with a shining sword should seek to free the Fisher King from his curse, but rather because it is a human thing to do. Sapkowski claims to be partial to Wolfram von Eschenbach’s rendition of the Grail myth in Parsifal. Wolfram’s message, according to Sapkowski, is the following:

‘Let's not wait for the revelation and the command that comes from above, let's not wait for any Deus vult. Let's look for the grail in ourselves. Because the Grail is nobility, it is the love of a neighbor, it is an ability for compassion. Real chivalric ideals, towards which it is worth looking for the right path, cutting through the wild forest, where, as they quote, "there is no road, no path". Everyone has to find their path on their own. But it is not true that there is only one path. There are many of them. Infinitely many. … Being human is important. Heart.’

‘I prefer the humanism of Wolfram von Eschenbach and Terry Gilliam from the idiosyncrasies of bitter Cistercian scribes and Bernard of Clairvaux...’

- A. Sapkowski Swiat króla Artura: Maladie

The unimaginable sadness in Auberon’s eyes belies the suffering of the Alder King who is the avatar of the Fisher King. In the Witcher’s story between elves and humans, it is the elven males who all share aspects of the Fisher King’s fate, because they are the keepers of their Grail – the protectors of elven women. Auberon’s wound is wrought by time: by surviving his wife and daughter, by the witnessing of the fading of his ambitions and the results of pursuing them without success. He has lost his line. The Fisher King’s injury represents the inability to produce an heir. A ruler who is the protector and physical embodiment of his land, yet remains barren, sterile, or without a true-born successor, bodes ill for the realm. The Alder King’s injury consists in having lost control of the source of his people’s power, leaving the elves imprisoned and scattered across two worlds. Auberon’s personal tragedy, however, subsists in the lost power having been functionally manifest in a daughter.

‘Lara.’ The Alder King moved his head, and touched his neck as though his royal torc’h was garrotting him. ‘Caemm a me, luned. Come to me, daughter. Caemm a me, elaine.’

Ciri sensed death in his breath.

- Lady of the Lake

Elder Blood is indeed an accursed blood because it enslaves its carriers to its purpose. Emhyr has a theoretical chance to walk away from the pursuit of earthly power; the construct is social. Elder Blood, however, has a particular and real, magical function, and in virtue of being a genetic mutation it is embedded in the gene-carrying individuals. Functionally, Elder Blood allows to shape fate with degrees of freedom unimaginable for an ordinary individual. It’s a difference comparable to the one between a character in a story and the story’s author. Therefore the Aen Saevherne – the carriers of the gene – are bound to the thing they carry within their DNA that allows them to a greater and lesser degree shape the fate of reality. However dearly Auberon, or Lara, might have ever wished to untie themselves from their own essence, it seems impossible. The loss of control over power then is quite simply so pivotal as to necessitate a moment of original sin.

As already witnessed by way of the legend of the Winter Queen, the original “myths” of the Witcher world usually originate among elves; humans, the interlopers, push themselves into those myths only later. This creates an interesting conundrum. In Parsifal, the Fisher King is injured as punishment for taking a wife who is not meant for him. A Grail keeper is to marry the woman the Grail determines for him, which – if we equate woman with the Grail – is what the woman determines. Unfortunately, we know nothing about Shiadhal, so we cannot verify if this part of the legend dovetails. But generally, in a wholly elven world which may have matriarchal tendencies, in lieu of worshipping the mother Goddess, such cosmology is relatively unproblematic. Except suddenly there are humans too. And Auberon – the highest leader of elves and the father of the new scion of Elder Blood – is indirectly injured because a human sorcerer – Cregennan – turns himself into a Grail keeper (in place of another, special elf) by taking a woman not meant for him.

‘Witcher,’ she whispered, kissing his cheek, ‘there’s no romance in you. And I… I like elven legends, they are so captivating. What a pity humans don’t have any legends like that. Perhaps one day they will? Perhaps they’ll create some? But what would human legends deal with? All around, wherever one looks, there’s greyness and dullness. Even things which begin beautifully lead swiftly to boredom and dreariness, to that human ritual, that wearisome rhythm called life.’

- Yennefer Sword of Destiny

Cregennan’s injury is to die. But what about the original Fisher King figure? What is Auberon’s original sin in this?

I see two possibilities. It could be that Auberon in his ambition hastened his daughter’s way into exile and, in a display of his displeasure, never made any effort to ease his daughter in to the personal sacrifices they, as Aen Saevherne, must make; walking without blinking to the end of the path Emhyr turned away from. It could equally be that Auberon, instead of locking Lara up in a tower to protect her from the folly of youth, let her go to Cregennan. It could be an amalgam of both, and the misjudgement of a father who allows freedom, who feels for his child, and is rewarded with an irreversible injury is probably the greater tragedy.

Because, regardless of the origin of the curse upon Auberon, one thing does not change – the icy eternity in the Alder King’s heart never fractures.

‘‘Zireael,’ he said. ‘Loc’hlaith. You are indeed destiny, O Lady of the Lake. Mine too, as it transpires.’

- Auberon Lady of the Lake

Ciri passes through the shadow world of the Alders; a manifestation of fate. Her footsteps sowing discord and movement and change into the immutable, time-locked amber of the elven utopia. Her presence providing the trigger that will unshackle the past from future in a world where for a long time nothing has changed, died, or been reborn. She is destined and destiny, annihilation and rebirth, the grain of sand in the gears of the great mechanism; a strange girl. The child of hope and the Goddess who ought to be Three. Lara, the true daughter of the Alder King, is dead. Emhyr’s daughter still lives. There is nothing Auberon can do for Lara anymore and thus the ice in Auberon’s heart has crystallised. Emhyr still has a chance; he is where Auberon once was. And yet, there is one thing Ciri, the witcher girl with a sword of her own, can still do for the Alder King.

‘Va’esse deireadh aep eigean… But,’ he finished with a sigh, ‘it’s good that something is beginning.’

They heard a long-drawn-out peal of thunder outside the window. The storm was still far away. But it was approaching fast.

‘In spite of everything,’ he said, ‘I very much don’t want to die, Zireael. And I’m so sorry that I must. Who’d have thought it? I thought I wouldn’t regret it. I’ve lived long, I’ve experienced everything. I’ve become bored with everything … but nonetheless I feel regret. And do you know what else? Come closer. I’ll tell you in confidence. Let it be our secret.’

She bent forward.

‘I’m afraid,’ he whispered.

‘I know.’

‘Are you with me?’

‘Yes, I am.’

- Auberon Lady of the Lake

The only way Ciri the Grail knight will be able to find her true self – the Grail – is to cure the suffering Alder King from his curse. Ciri’s presence in the world of the Alders is after all also part of her coming of age story. Through becoming Auberon’s destiny, Ciri must close the circle for him and bring closure. He would never let her go because the shard in Auberon’s heart is no longer able to melt. Auberon does not follow the motif of alleviating the suffering of one’s blood and/or love; and he dies. The roles are reversed, in fact. It is Ciri who realises Auberon is suffering. So Ciri must do what only she can do, because remaining human is important. Heart is important. The sacrifice a ruler makes on the altar of power includes his own heart, which is why there should never be only one, but always two; always.

‘Time is like the ancient Ouroboros. Time is fleeting moments, grains of sand passing through an hourglass. Time is the moments and events we so readily try to measure. But the ancient Ouroboros reminds us that in every moment, in every instant, in every event, is hidden the past, the present and the future. Eternity is hidden in every moment. Every departure is at once a return, every farewell is a greeting, every return is a parting. Everything is simultaneously a beginning and an end.

‘And you too,’ he said, not looking at her at all, ‘are at once the beginning and the end. And because we are discussing destiny, know that it is precisely your destiny. To be the beginning and the end. Do you understand?’

She hesitated for a moment. But his glowing eyes forced her to answer.

‘I do.’

- Lady of the Lake

Death Crone to Auberon Muircetach, Ciri never becomes the Mother Goddess in the Saga. It is a choice she must make for herself and the choice still lies ahead of her. The predicate to making such a choice at least for now, however, she achieves; she goes her own way. In a sense then, both rulers are father figures, who through their choices “beget” the child who is destined. Perhaps this too the Knowing Ones knew, and for this reason Auberon never could have budged, never could have changed his mind in regard to his purpose in the long and winding story of his life. Something is ending, but something is also beginning. A good ruler is responsible for the flourishing of their realm, for providing hope. It is Ciri’s role to be the beginning and the end, and though there might be ways in which to nudge the hand of Fate, whatever is destined must happen. Destiny, however accursed, must run its course.

That is the hope and the release.

---

If you like my writing, consider buying me a coffee. Thanks! ❤️

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐤

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: For those who are dangerously curious and greed for their appearance.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // SMUT/NSFW, Yandere Themes.

|°𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬°| |°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| • {𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐤}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐤

A monster of war simply put. It’s best to accept your fate if you find its talons locked onto your vessel with its heavily armored hide and scales slowly crushing your vessel. Taking the joy of seeing your crews blood staining its deep waters. No one knows how old it is either, to become so massive in length and impenetrable muscle. Some say it was just born bigger than the others or this creature was here since the World Serpent: Jörmungandr. Battling against the mythed creature.

It maroon scales shift along it serpentine-like body when in the more deeper waters, but up near the surface they change to a deep blueish-green, blending into its surroundings. Its spinal fins, anal fins and pelvic fins are surprisingly graceful for such a big, powerful creature. Flowing against a current with ease. It’s best to just keep out of this creatures pathing or else you will find yourself being pressurized by its tail/body wrapping around your vessel with its pitch black arms/talons ripping into your haul. Unknowingly or not, it does not care for casualties.

𝐍𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬:

With Spartak being a “monster of war” he is quite calm. Simply roaming the territory’s of the waters for an unfortunate snack or some…bloody interest, but other than being huge, terrifying and territorial. He’s a good serpent-creature-god-thing to cuddle and lounge with.

Spartak doesn’t have many interests or… companions. He’s mostly just meditating while he patrols, but every once in a while he carefully watches what you do; either it would be cooking, looking at the tiniest materials he’s ever seen or presenting him a… gift? He’ll blow bubbles for you. Yes, bubbles, and it tickles. He thinks it’s funny how effective it is against your small body.

Spartak will wrap his long tail around you if he deems cuddle time or sleepy time. Most of the time he’ll just leave you resting atop of him, but the monster gets touchy! He wants cuddles after so, so, so long without contact, and your free real estate.

If in a…battle(squeezing ships) he would like for you to watch; like his main characterization. Watch how his muscles and coils squeeze the blood right out of a ship. Watch at how safe you can be under his fins and arms. Yeah… that sight of metal and mush definitely didn’t get him anymore crafted gifts and good scritches from you.

If in an actual battle? He’ll be so quick to shut that down. Any challenger is a dead one, and nothing much could challenge him. It’s how he… professes his loyal courtship to you. Ripping their heads off and using the skulls to decorate his nest and be trophy’s of those who tryed to get you to be theirs. No, you’re only his.

𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬:

If you happen to see him rip into his combatant and he wins? You bet he’s staking his claim wherever he pleases. His talon trapping you underneath him as he would take you raw. His teeth leaving big, purple marks along your back and shoulders as the pleasure of his cock prevents you from feeling anything else but him.

Oh, once your time comes or his? He is having the time of his eternal life! He’s happily rutting into you with such power and depth you have never felt from him. Watching as your body would bounce forward only for him to drag you back onto his cock again and adjusting his position. Cry’s leaving you before they are silenced with too much vocal use, or by his slimy tongue. He’s been far too lonly little world, he wouldn’t mind some pups.

You run from him? Ooooooh boy, I seriously don’t recommend it. He’s the apex predator of his seas, what makes you think you can run from him? He’ll be hot on your tail. Capturing you before breaching the surface and idling right where he…floats. Looking so angrily down at you before using you like a fleshlight, or a tasty meal set before him.

He can be… friendly however, when he senses he has done too much to you. A low, deep whine leaving him when he leans down to gently nuzzle your aching neck all the while changing his brutal pace to a more slow and deep one. He doesn’t want you to break just because he was fucking you too hard or wounding you too much. You mean so much to him than you realize.

Aftercare is surprisingly sweet of the monster of war. He knows he was too much, did too much. So he stays around you the best he can; carefully nuzzling and licking up your wounds he made on your precious skin. His talons gently tracing your skin in an effort to make you feel safe and collected under his touch, soothing that ache of mating, and his body curled close around you, purrs of his own relaxing you in your unconscious state.

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Pothos (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- The Lover by the people of Olympius

Sweetheart by Zeuxo

Age- 19 (immortal)

Location- Cyprus, Olympius

Personality- He's a bit serious, idealistic, deeply feeling, empathetic, & authentic- an individualistic being who follows his own path that has an appreciation for the beautiful. He can also be dramatic, moody, & self-absorbed sometimes. He's pansexual and is currently single.

He has the standard abilities of a god except shapeshifting. As the god of longing & yearning his other powers/abilities include flight (due to his wings- one is light magenta while the other is light blue), invisibility, having an innate sense of a being's crush/infatuation, cardiology manipulation (can manipulate the heartbeat of a being's), having an innate sense of the location of a being he cares about, and truth inducement (by way of a kiss).

Pothos lives on his own in a secluded cliffside beach house in the state of Cyprus- the "backyard" being Mesaoria Beach. The interior design is classic and romantic with lots of lacy & silk floor length curtains, floral print wallpaper, soft lighting (like dimmers), crystal and gold chandeliers, antique Victorian style furniture pieces, leather & velvet furniture in warm neutral tones, as well as a four-poster bed covered in silk and satin pillows & sheets in his bedroom. There's vintage paintings and his own scluptures throughout the house.

Roses, ranunculus, hydrangeas, & hyacinths are his favorite flowers.

Members of Pothos' immediate family includes his mother Zeuxo (goddess of marriage) and his step-father Imbrasos, god of his namesake river in Samos. He's aware of his biological father- a merman named Aegeus who died while fighting in the Battle of the Aegean Sea during the Titanomachy.

When in open water, he's able to generate a tail which is covered in silver-violet scales.

From a young age as a godling, Pothos was never comfortable with his feminine energy or his status as a soon-to-be goddess. He hated when his mother fussed over his long curly dark hair (which was decorated with bows) or placed him in the standard young girl outfit of the time consisting of knee length lace dresses, white stockings, & buckled shoes. When playing outside he would intentionally stain his pinafore dress with dirt and mud. The only respite for Pothos during his childhood was the time dedicated to his piano lessons & poetry.

Things became more uncomfortable for him after his induction ceremony. From the unwanted male attention of the public to the offers of marriage from some of the male deities. The only person who saw Pothos for the being he really was was his close friend Aerin (goddess of the ethereal), who was going through something similar. They understood each other.

One night during the 40's, Pothos & Aerin dressed in drag as they went to an underground gay club. It was at this point when things finally became clear for him.

It wasn't till many decades later, brought on by the public transition of Aerin, that Pothos felt the need to be honest with the most important being in his life- his mother. Zeuxo's initial reaction was a quiet and confused sounding "Oh." Though disappointed, Pothos didn't push her. A short time later, he moved out.

He initially celebrated his coming out by burning all of his old clothes in a BIG bonfire with Aerin.

Pothos' transition began not too long after and he chronicled a lot of his journey on Fatestagram- his haircut, his newly developed workout regimen, the development of facial & body hair, the deepening of his voice, and his top procedure. He made his official debut as a god on the cover of The Rainbow Room magazine, proudly & confidently showing off his naked chest.

He now looks forward to his morning rountine which now includes shaving and applying aftershave.

Pothos can play the piano, violin, & lyre.

A typical breakfast for him his a breakfast wrap (added with scrambled eggs, sun dried tomatoes, extra spinach, and feta cheese) along with a cup of yogurt (topped with granola) & a homemade protein shake. He also likes a plate of smoked salmon, turkey bacon, and hash browns & Golly Grains caramel curls cereal.

Pothos is fluent in French, Cypriot, and Latin.

Once a month he visits the doctor's office of Paean (goddess of physicians) for ambrosia hormone therapy.

Pothos' fashion style is a mix of casual, androgynous, & romantic. Staples in his closet include pastel hues, embroidered collared shirts, ripped slouchy jeans, stamenent quote tees, silk dress pants, oxfords, and sneakers.

His relationship with his mom has changed drastically since his transition. Zeuxo has made the effort to respect Pothos' pronouns, but has slipped up absentmindedly. He knows that she doesn't do it on purpose or out of disrespect, so he mostly doesn't mind it. Instead of saying "my daughter" or "my son," Zeuxo refers to Pothos as "my child." He looks forward to small dish of keftedes his mom brings over when she visits and when they go swimming & surfing on the beach afterwards.

A go-to drink for him is a vodka soda. He also likes beer, classic martinis, bellinis, champagne, red wine, cola, white wine, earl grey tea, cherry vanilla milkshakes from The Frozen Spoon, and mezcal margaritas. Usuals from The Roasted Bean are a large iced tea, a large lemonade, an olympian sized iced green tea, & a cafe au lait.

Pothos is aware of his position and privilege as a "passing" trans deity/being. With the help of his step-father, he donated a quarter of a million drachmas to the gender affirming clinic in downtown New Olympus.

He has a good relationship with his step-father Imbrasos. They go sailing sometimes and he was the one who taught Pothos how to shave.

He quickly blocks & deletes profiles and messages of beings on Fatestagram that leaves behind rude comments or invasive personal questions about his genitals.

The club sandwich is his favorite thing to get at The Bread Box.

The majority of the money he earns is through his accomplishments as a professional writer. Aside from being a contributing writer to The Rainbow Room magazine as well as Kytheiria, Pothos has published a few poetry collection books- with his most popular one being Love Stained Lips. Intimacy, romantic relationships, identity, sexual agency, love, and consent are major themes in his work. He's also a talented vocalist, primarily providing background vocals on the songs of Apollo (god of the sun, music, poetry, healing, medicine, archery, plague, light, & knowledge). Pothos also models for/endorses Maison du Drame, andro-cene, ViVoTrack, & Bow + Arrow. He's also an intimacy coordinator in Olympius' film industry!

He wholeheartedly believes that kissing is the most intimate act, next to lovemaking. He also believes that the strongest and most meaningful height of climax happens when a heart's G-spot is reached.

A guilty pleasure for him is an order of steak (well done) served with crispy salt & vinegar fries.

Pothos' first time was with Aerin, before either of their transitions. He looks back on that moment fondly because it was something that mattered and still matters to them. He appreaciates how gentle she was & how often she checked in.

In the pantheon he's also good friends with Himeros (god of impetuous love), Aphrodite (goddess of love & beauty), The Graces, Ditus (god of bisexuality, effeminacy, & fertility), Ganymede (god of homosexual love & desire), Naeus (god of weddings), The Muses, Philyra (goddess of perfume, paper, & beauty), Nephele (goddess of clouds), Hedylogos (god of sweet talk & flattery), Aoide (goddess of voice & song), Dionysus (god of wine), Móda (goddess of fashion), and Gelos (god of laughter). He's also aware of the youngest trans deity in the pantheon Philautia (goddess of self love).

Pothos sometimes uses the professional cuddle services of Paregoros (goddess of soothing words).

He's been a guest DJ at Neon Palace, the hottest & most well known gay club in New Olympus!

In the past he's had prolonged makeout sessions with Euphrosyne (grace of joy), Móda, and Melpomene (muse of tragedy). Everyone knew what it was & meant. Pothos really enjoys the act of kissing.

He's been one of the subjects in Euphrosyne's photgraphy exhibit.

There have been weekends that he spent with Aphrodite, laying with her her in her bed while they eat tons of chocolate and watch a chick-flick & rom-com movie marathon on TV.

Lately Pothos has been thinking about adapting Love Stained Lips into an anthology of black & white short films.

He's extremely selective about the beings he chooses for a hookup- which he partakes in every once in a while. He's not into the idea of threesomes or group sex because he eants to enjoy giving all of his attention and pleasure to one.

Pothos' latest crush/infatuation is Alke (goddess of courage). Her bold courage & personality was initially appealing, but things shifted after he had a fantasy of them making out in the rain. Pothos hasn't initiated a conversation with her or asked her out because he's worried that she's not open to dating a trans being.

His all time favorite meal is meditteraean baked fish.

In his free time Pothos enjoys reading, working on his writing, listening to music, sculpting, basketball, going to the opera, sunbathing, football (soccer), photography, volleyball, going to the cinema, hiking, and hanging out with friends.

"Thinking of you keeps me awake. Dreaming of you keeps me asleep. Being with you keeps me alive."

[obraveyouth]

❛ isn’t it warming you, the world going up in flames? ❜

❝ △ &. 𝐡𝐨𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

❝ △ ╼ ⟨ @vairuler ⟩

transcription of ballads and oral tradition full of fable and mythos was the least unerring way to transmit the chronicle of the world’s populace—pieces of hoodwinked certitude solely foretold by the battlefield’s conqueror in a triumph scribed in slain ichor. when was not the world flickering? when wasn’t link’s prerecorded destiny paved in carnage and slaughter? ( it always had been and as forebode, would always be just so ): balsam poplars wept a fallen hero’s hymn of spring born viridescent ( all hoary and clareta ): vernal equinox gave cloudburst of damp cotyledon and sun beamed achromatic tributary flowed as sanctified hylia scripture in the ever revered and ever worshipped hidden scared realm of golden goddesses and a mortal worn deity. 

a courage baring luminary written out of the ancient gospel narrative ( a holy text he’d never desired to be apart of ): casted aside from his known existence by the completion of a role bounded soul but a flesh and bone unshackled to legislation nor homeland. itinerant woven core served as remnants of a what if eulogy. femme fatale sprouted verity as bethlehem exclaimed praises of a newly green clad incarnated savior, a brave adolescent and a proud beatific eyed beast. that is, her eyes spoke of life and ruin ( of desert flora and a million ghost eyes ): a look of a bygone paradisal era once gulped in earnest by a harsh solar radiation that held the comforts of battle and home.

❛ its warmin’ but wha can i do of it but extinguish da embers. no betta would i be than any otha if i gave into the worst parts of me. ❜

perhaps, link, too had a bit more warfare than peaceful aspiration inside. perhaps perpetual viridity held more ache than contentment ( but, truly, was dawn and dusk courage ever gratified? had he ever been? ): maybe, he too, wanted to see all of golden creation burn. conceivably who could see fault in all of his vexation and rightfully contained fury. a mere puppet to be used then discarded until the kingdom saw need of him again, until destiny bore another of valorous pneuma once more. the hero of twilight’s tombstone was already moss pelted prior to his first breath, a living necropolis of antiquity.

even if he yearned for it, even if he contemplated it. proud green garb adorned proscribed all prospects. for, those pure of heart could still falter, could still be led astray. sacrilegious articulation may boil from behind teeth but the aptitude to act in spite of anger, hatred, rage, and abhorrence—is what made the goddesses newest chosen hero, albeit an oxymoron of a divine and impious exemplar. it had been said that courage was the magic that turns dreams into reality, but what if the reality one sought was one steeped by the embrace of netherworld eclipsed embers? ❛ da world gives me nothin’ but misfortunes. it takes when ‘m ‘pposed ta give and give. wha am i if i stop givin’, what am i if i wanna be the one ta set da world ablaze too? ❜

[gimmethatagustd]

hi jai my love 💕 if you're still answering, how about 1, 12, & 19? thank you, love you!

hi jess MY love 🥰 i fell asleep but i have returned lol

favorite fic you wrote this year

this is too hard for me to answer jhskdfs but i can give you top 5

blood on the sheets

love you for infinity

what the fire gave us

the love witch

lavender lover - a fic that hasn't be released yet, but i wrote it this year so i think it counts jhkdfs i'll post it likely mid- to late january

favorite character to write about this year

OOO THIS IS INTERESTING. for a reader-insert fic, i would say ghostie tae from love you for infinity. he's just so fucking precious and made me heart ache to write him. and for a mxm fic, definitely incubus tae from the love witch (do you see a trend jshkdfjs)

any new fics to start next year

LITERALLY SO MANY but these are my top priority reader-inserts:

hush | namjoon ○ dark fic, fantasy, dark academia

wanna stream a porno | taehyung ○ part 4 of the wannabe photographer chronicles

ichor & ambrosia | jungkook ○ greek mythology, arranged marriage

bad for you | hoseok ○ dark fic, supernatural

✨ spend some time reflecting on 2023 with jai ✨

[pinpieper]

THE ICOUROUS CHRONICLES: Part one:

ok well here is the beginning prologue whatever the heck of my characters from the Ichorous Chronicles. inspired by DOAI, check out Pastra's work btw, he is a really good creator, ok, so I'm going to try desperately to narrate this in a cool manner... let's do this:

YOU HAVE ACCESED THE ADSO DATABASE: ENTER A COMMAND:

access file: <ichortranscript1>

WARNING, THIS FILE REQUIRES VALID ADSO CREDENTIALS TO ACCESS: ENTER USER CRENDENTIALS: USER: jOan_sim97 PASSWORD: GT%#@t123976hj1 CREDENTIALS VALID:

WELCOME: JOAN SIMMONS

[TRANSCRIPT START]

when one hears the term Tulpa, one immediately is brought to the concept of an imaginary friend or sleep paralysis demons, creatures formed from belief, this is not the context in which we at ADSO (the Anomaly Documentation and Study Organization) use this word. we here at ADSO are similar in concept to the (entirely fictional) SCP Foundation, however due to certain limitations, we are unable to contain anomalies, instead we document them such that the public becomes aware and safe such that they can protect themselves. (In hindsight our organizational structure is more like that of The Serpent's Hand)

Our motto, fittingly enough is this:

""In tenebris cadimus, ut illuminemus.""

or

"In the dark we fall to make it light."

anyways. Back to the topic of tulpas (pulls out old binder with yellowing pages). See, when tragedy of some sort strikes, and enough grief or similar emotions, it can, warp reality and create a substance called ichor. this stuff can surround and absorb humans or other creatures, very, VERY rarely can the emotions of only one creature create a tulpa, a tulpa has a body made entirely of ichor, resulting in most parts of the body absorbing all light and appearing pitch black, all tulpas share a few common characteristics, namely:

-They all have empty eye sockets with yellow irises and large pupils, save for those that don't have visible eyes.

-The body of a tulpa will, without fail, warp in order to reflect the circumstances of creation.

-Most tulpas have no lower limbs, but instead their bodies fade into a pool of ichor on the ground, as if they were melting or dissolving, (the tulpa known as "The Taker" is a notable exception, given that it has fully developed legs).

-tulpas due to not being fully physical are capable of de-manifesting and remanifesting (with limitations varying).

anyways, I have another event to attend, this is Pieper, signing off.

[TRANSCRIPT END]

NOTE: This document has been shadow-edited several times and is now OBSOLETE