#If he has to do a few questionable deeds to accomplish his goal he will

[chiropterx]

Moral Alignment Test

You are 55.8% good, 26.7% lawful, making you neutral good.

People who are Neutral Good are guided by their conscience and typically act altruistically, with only secondary regard for whether their actions are lawful or in line with cultural expectations or traditions. Neutral Good individuals have no problems with what is lawful as such, and nor are they rebels by nature, but they believe in furthering kindness and good deeds through whatever means seem necessary to them. If fostering good means supporting an organized society, then that is what must be done. If good can only come about through the overthrow of the existing social order, then so be it. For many who are Neutral Good, insistence on either lawfulness or rebellion is seen as detriments to or distractions from the greater goal of promoting true kindness in the world.

[phoeebsbuffay]

Imagine you are a lady-in-waiting to Padmé who used to be a Padawan before being designed to serve the Queen. You live to your task until your life dramatically changes when you unintentionally capture the heart of a Jedi, who’s about to dive into the dark waters of the Sith…

Warnings: smut. Drama. Violence.

***

Intro.

You are meditating in the gardens of the temple when Master Yoda comes to you in person. You are a young lass, no more than seventeen years old. A youngling with dreams of spring, unprepared for the role that might lead you into a turbulent path.

Yoda knows it’s a risk what he’s about to request you as he watches serenity stamps in your features. Your hair falls down in cascades, the sunbeam highlighting the shades of your curls. There seems to be a halo over your head. The Force, with no doubt, had led him there.

You sense his presence, but do not let him interfere your exercise. Yoda is patient, though. There’s little need for hurry. Whilst he waits, he remembers his recent encounter with Force Ghost of Master Qui-Gonn Jinn.

“The darkness grows, my friend.”

“Inside the temple I sense it is”, Yoda lamented to agree. “Worried about Skywalker I am.”

“Letting go of his Padawan was difficult for him.” Qui-Gonn seemed to hesitate. “Nonetheless, the present forces us to look somewhere else… Another option in case he fails.”

Yoda looked at his former fellow Master. There was little time to say.

“If ready for the task she is, I have my doubts.”

“We need to try before it’s too late.”

Yoda closed his eyes. Had he seen this earlier, perhaps the current events in regards to the conduct of the Clone Wars would have been different.

“There’s little time to dwell in events that did not happen, old friend. She must play her part. It is what it is.”

And now here he is. You open your eyes and greet the ancient master with due respect as you stand and move in his direction.

“A word, Padawan.” He leads you to a stroll in the labyrinth of roses, jasmines and lavenders. It feels peaceful. “To my attention your conduct to Jedi affairs has come. Most pleased is your Master, surprised he is with your great achievements.”

That you have defeated Ventress and general Grievous recently did surprise the entire Council, even though you refused the honors, hiding away from such attention.

You blush.

“Master Yoda, with all due respect but I don’t think I am worthy of being congratulated for these deeds that are only the result of the trainings Master Y/C put me into.”

Yoda smiles at your answer, one of the kind that few would give. Perhaps he has in mind Skywalker’s recent concerning behavior. Just the other day he contested the Council’s decision of spying the Chancellor.

“But yours these deeds are. Deny them you must not. Stronger they made you.” He then pauses. “However, not about this is why I’m here. Before the usual age a youngling as yourself to trials must go. A greater mission for you awaits. Depending of your trials, it does.”

You barely blink. You thought only after you are eighteen you’d be able to go to trials. Despite the doubt in your eyes, you don’t question Master Yoda.

“Of course, Master. As you wish.”

You prepare for your trials. Because you are going a year earlier in consideration of your achievements, these are as difficult as the latests missions you’ve been. Nonetheless, Master Y/C is very pleased to have you knighted.

“The last one to succeed like you did was Master Kenobi.” He smiles down at you as you blush. “A bright future awaits for you. Congratulations, knight Jedi!”

You seem to be the prestigious that everyone talks about. You don’t mind the flatteries, though you are happy for such accomplishment. Now you have the goal to become Master in due time.

However, frustration is inevitable when you are asked to protect Queen Amidala. Perhaps you are not this humble as you thought. To realize this, that you were expecting greater missions and more difficult, embarrasses you.

Yoda knows it. But even so, was there anyone who did not fall into the graces of the age? He pats your hand and says:

“Trying can be the easiest missions. Careful must you always be with appearances, Y/N.”

You nod, eager to fix your mistake.

“When should I begin?”

You are surprised when you are told:

“Today. Waiting for you is Queen Amidala.”

Your journey is just about to begin without knowing the great expectations Yoda places in you. Could you save the Jedis from the unavoidable rise of darkness that might engulf the Order? He prays so. He prays so.

***

Three years later. Great Palace, Naboo.

You are dressed not in typical clothes of a lady-in-waiting but as if you are Queen yourself.

“We are expecting a retinue of Senators of the planet Y/C who we came to know to have joined Dooku’s dark forces.” Padmé is telling you as she makes sure your hair is perfectly braided and the make up covers details that must not give your identity away. “I know it’s a great risk exposing you this way…”

“My lady, there’s little need to justify yourself.” You smile warmly at her, the one who surprised you by becoming a good friend to you in the last years. “It’s part of the mission I was assigned to serve you. If this is how should go, let me do my job.”

Padmé heavily sighs.

“If you are sure…”

“Being a Jedi is often a risk. Do not carry that burden, my lady. I ask you with all my heart.”

“Very well. It’s time then. We are awaited.”

It’s strange to incorporate somebody else, especially the Queen of Naboo. But you have been too observing in the last three years to ignore the details. You close your eyes moments before you go to the Great Salon, located in the Great Palace where the royal household is located, so you meditate.

I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.

You open your eyes and open the door. There’s not enough time to speak with Padmé. Your duty awaits to be performed. However, as you begin to greet the guests, welcoming them all the while you look amongst the faces for the suspicious retinue of Dooku’s men, you are surprised to bump right into… him.

“Your Grace”, Anakin bows before you. A smirk is seen in his lips. He then leans close to your ear. “Or should I say Y/N?”

Your blush deepens and you look at him, horrified.

“How’d you know?” You are careful in not saying it too loud.

“Because I sense those who have Force. You didn’t disguise your signature either.” His smirk remains in his face as he watches you up and down. You don’t like to feel this affected by his presence. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I have heard a lot about you.”

You somehow feel your shoulders tense, but taking his subtle advice, you disguise your Force so you don’t give away the disguise. You could not forgive yourself for missing the detail, though.

“Have you really?” You speak in a nonchalant manner. Not only because you ought to pretend to be Queen Amidala, but also it’s another way to keep your emotions in check. Surely it’s not because Anakin Skywalker is a tall, handsome man with the most blue eyes you’d ever seen. Right?

“Indeed. A Padawan who defeated Ventress and the long wanted General Grievous? Such a reputation cannot go unheard of.” Anakin is now smiling at you. “I’m Anakin Skywalker, by the way. The one Jedi who’d been following the Master you’ve been compared to.”

You try not to laugh at his gallant manners.

“I do not deserve the comparison to Master Kenobi, General.” You protest softly. “Though he’s an example to be followed, there’s a great distance before I reach to his level of competence and experience.”

Anakin’s eyebrows are raised. Not only he’s impressed with your eloquence but with the display of humility. Here’s one who could rival in that dispute of being “the chosen one”. The idea almost makes him laugh.

“Because Obi-Wan is my master and friend, I don’t think there are many out there who deserves the comparison. But why talk about him anyway? Otherwise he might get full of himself.”

You giggle softly, missing the nature of his thoughts. Anakin could tell who you are underneath the regal mask you put for your mission. You feel his eyes are lingering on you, though. It awakes sentiments you’ve never been in contact with—to which you don’t even have words to name them.

“Should I ask you then if the ball is fit for your tastes?” You ask him, partially teasing. You smile here and there, sometimes interrupting the conversation to talk to a subject. “I have to wonder what brings you to Naboo, though.”

Anakin captures the moment your eyes meet his. It is as if this results in an electricity that sends waves to the Force, teasing the balance. Oh. That is interesting.

“The Jedis thought better to send me to check on you. They seem concerned for your safety.” He does not tell you that they also wanted to distract him from his distress of losing Ahsoka and the constant clash he’s been having with the Council by supporting the Chancellor in his moves in this never ending war.

“The clonic wars are, indeed, the cause of my preoccupation with the queen”, you say, suspecting there might be more than his words give in. “Perhaps if you wish to stay, we can see these things together. In all frankness, though, I appreciate their concern. How are they fairing?”

“Well as they must be.” You notice he’s not telling the truth entirely but this is not the best moment to question him.

There’s not much to be said now because the thread is interrupted by the presence of the retinue you’ve been looking for. It’s time to play your role and carry on with the mission to you assigned.

Anakin watches as you excuse yourself from his presence. His blue eyes, an announce of tempest to some, are glued in your moves. Though you have disguised your signature, Anakin is definitely impressed for sensing in you the Force in a level that he’d not seen in anyone before.

He’d never taken seriously the possibility of someone rivaling him in this level. Whilst this proves a comfort for him, it also intrigued him. He did not tell you he was there not because of Jedi, but because of the Chancellor. Why, however, does this bother him?

He waits until the ball is over to come after you again. It ends with some of these men being arrested, another proof of your success as a spy and as a Jedi. How you conduct yourself so calmly baffles him.

Anakin speaks briefly with Queen Amidala but his interest lies in you. And by seeing his interest in you, she concedes the two of you talk. So he leads you outdoors. Your braid is now down to your waist and your face is clean off the heavy make up you’d been wearing. But you are still dressing the majestic robes used to impersonate the queen.

“You are very bright for someone so young.” He tells you. “Why are you wasting all of this potential here?”

You don’t see the malice in his speech. You are tired and you don’t seem to think your fellow Jedi is tempted to the dark side. You might suspect something is going on, but exhaustion is blurring your judgement.

“Every mission has a purpose. Not always it is there to match our expectations.” You hesitate but add: “I used to think serving the queen was below my expectations as the warrior I think I am. In the end, I was just feeding my vanity.”

“It’s not vanity if you want better opportunities to yourself.” Anakin scoffs before softening. “But why are we talking about this? You are exhausted. Come, let me take you to your quarters.”

You smile at him as he offers you his arm. You gently take it.

“I sense you are a temperamental Jedi, General Skywalker.”

“Me?” Anakin laughs. “I just…operate differently.”

“Do you, really?“

He stops by your door. As tired as you are, you look hesitant in going inside.

“Are you staying for the week?” You inquire, whether innocently or not you are afraid to tell.

Anakin smirks at you, aware of the conflict that seems to rise in your heart. He puts a loose lock of your ear behind your ear.

“I suppose I can stay, yes. Good night princess.” He takes your hand and there pressed a gentle kiss. The sight of your blush mesmerizes him.

***

He ended staying for a month, though. The Queen keeps a blind eye for his extra official affairs in Naboo all the while Anakin plays an effort in getting to know you.

In the wake of the summer, you are dressed as a lady-in-waiting to Padmé when you are invited to train with Anakin.

“I wonder what does keep you busy here”, Anakin teases you. His heart warms every time he makes you smile; it lightens his soul. “It’s too quiet for a country that is affected by the clone wars and you are too powerful to be kept in here.”

You roll your eyes as you follow him in the depths of gardens, surrounded by sunflowers. Your dress is yellow with details in brown and shows your shoulders. Your hair is tied in a bun. A princess look, indeed, one too gracious to behold according to Anakin. When you hold your saber, though, his smile opens wide.

Aren’t you adorable?

“You are starting to sound like a brat”, you tell him, all smiles. How could you not? Your heart got used to him. Perhaps a little too much. “I do enjoy here.”

“Do you?”

He turns his saber on and prepares to fight you. You giggle as you do the same. The field of sunflowers doesn’t help your moves, but Anakin is surprised that it poses little difficulty for your maneuvers.

“By the Maker! Aren’t you special?” Anakin eyes you intently, his smile making you melt inside.

Uh-oh.

“Don’t look at me like that, Anakin. It makes me uncomfortable.” You tell him amongst giggles. “But no, I am not special.”

He actually manages to defeat you, but only because you misstep and you end up tumbling: Anakin tries to hold you, but both of you fall in the grass.

“Yes, you are.” He says, watching as you laugh loudly because, Maker, you are so damn disastrous. Anakin laughs too, but there’s something in his eyes that you melt.

“What?” You say, lifting your hand to play with his curls and leaving a finger there hanging for too long.

“You are special.”

“Anakin!” You protest, blushing.

“Yes, you are. You are special to me.”

That is how it begins. You know the first day you saw him, you felt attached to him. Your heart races loudly.

You respond with a kiss. Anakin beams as he rolls you over him, his arms involving you in a warm embrace. The kiss is long, slow but very passionated.

“Ani…” you break the kiss to catch your breath. “What have we done?”

But he doesn’t read any sign of regret in your eyes, which makes him smile.

“There’s nothing wrong in falling in love.”

You peck his lips again. You never thought this is what it feels to be loved. You’ve seen Padmé and Clovis together in some occasions, but until Anakin came to your life, you’d never expect to live such a dream.

He senses your discovers when looking into the color of your eyes, diving in the shades of y/c that paint your irises. Anakin hears your thoughts, a mess of words that never reach your tongue. The intensity that drowns him into live his wildest dreams.

So he kisses you again. You pair your tongues together, not minding your inexperience. You belong to him and every sense of duty is left aside. He rolls over you again and there he is, with eyes that announce a tempest. Eyes that carry you into the core of a hurricane, threatening to sweep you out of everything you know, out of your comfort zone. Eyes that open the door of his soul to welcome you in.

You cup his face with your gentle fingers and kiss him passionately. In this pleasant silence, you don’t let him go freely; your kiss savors his, the taste of his tongue awaking something different, unbeknownst to you until now.

“You electrify my life”, you hear the confession slip your tongue.

Anakin is on his elbow, hearing every word said and that non-said. What remains unspoken he captures. His smile spreads yet again because you give him peace.

To hear what he hears now reinforces the good in him, turning the light inside that darkness seems to take place. He takes your hand and intertwines your fingers.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Just like that he says it. Just like that you know it. Just like that the destiny of you both are sealed.

“I love you too, Ani.”

You beam.

He leans his forehead against yours, eyes closed. Yours do too, and there is serenity.

There is peace. Force seems balanced.

But for how long?

***

You lose track of the time when you two are together. It’s difficult to concentrate when you see that tall, handsome man, whose smile is secretively addressed to you.

It begins to become a burden to hold back the desires he awakes you. You’ve always thought to be above the pursuits of the flesh. But there is one day you find him shirtless for some reason.

Oh, Maker.

You could not look away. The image of his well builded muscles are enough to make you experience an unbearable heat. You’ve once heard the ladies of the queen talking about how to relieve it.

Oh bloody hell.

Thankfully that day you are free of your tasks. But it’s been days since Anakin had to go back to Coruscant and that image of him—unintentionally captured by your eyes—remains in the back of your mind.

When Anakin manages to pay you a visit, he knows something is not right. You are where the two of you usually encounter—a secretive place where only Queen Amidala is aware of—-and when Anakin comes to realize the possible cause of your disturbance, he’s amused by it.

He reaches right behind you and begins to kiss your neck. You leave out a surprising moan. You clearly are not expecting that.

“Has my princess been missing me?” Anakin chuckles before turning you to see him. He presses your small frame against the tree. His hands are running to your sides, lifting the skirts of your dress as his hands pursuit you…just the way you want to. “You should have contacted me.”

“Ani, I don’t think we…” you try to suppress this strange lust, but when his fingers find his way to you, any resistance you had in your heart dies. “Oh!”

“Do you like that?” Anakin whispers hotly in your ears as he overstimulates you. “Have you been thinking about me?”

“Yes. I…” you cling onto him, trying to mute your moans. “It feels so good!”

“Imagine when I take you to bed.” He plants soft kisses around your neck, enjoying how much he’s teasing you.

He continues to do so until you explode in his hand. The only reason why you aren’t so absurdly scandalous is because Anakin kisses you passionately too.

“Oh my love…” you lean against him. “You ruin me…”

Anakin chuckles softly, the idea of corrupting you arousing him. But he holds back his own need when contemplating your beauty, which only reinforces the purity of your soul.

Which reminds him of…

“I thought I could love you in moderation”, you say whilst you kiss his lips, your hand driving right there to his pants. You smirk at his surprise as you begin to touch him softly. “But turns out I cannot, Anakin. You’ll be the death of me.”

So you go down on your knees. You did miss him, after all…

***

Your legs are wrapped around his waist, shivering in response at every thrust, a sigh escaping your lips as your body moves with his.

Anakin is kissing your neck, locking hands with you, nearly reaching the climax as you do yours. It’s synchronized. It’s melodic. It’s perfect.

“I don’t think I’m sleeping tonight.” You tell him, pleased to bring your beloved to laughters. And then you roll over him, your body bathed in sweat and your back covered by your long hair. “What have you done to me?”

Anakin watches you with a mist of lust and devotion. He then takes a seat and holds you against him.

“I’ve come to ruin you.” He mutters against your lips. Anakin thrusts right into you, making you gasp before you are involved in love making again.

As promised, neither of you would sleep properly that night.

***

But when you finally begin to sleep… your peace begins to ruins without your knowledge.

You are in Mustafar. There is fire everywhere and the heat is unbearable. A man dressed in dark, long cape awaits holding a red saber.

“What have you done?”

Your voice is broken. He there remains on his back to you. You carry yourself, heavy, hurt, sweaty.

“Why?”

A laughter so cold. A pair of yellow eyes turn at you. But you can’t recognize their owner. He lifts his hand. You suffocate.

“You will not ruin my plans, Y/N.”

You begin to choke. You try to awake, but you can’t. You scream. Your life seems to run out of your control. You scream again. You can’t hear your voice…

“Y/N! Y/N!” Anakin is shaking you, making you open your eyes. You are shaking and sobbing. “My love! What happened?”

“I…” you don’t know where you are until he hugs you close. “I don’t know.”

You sob. Anakin tries to read into you but somehow he cannot. He holds you close, soothing your fears.

“Don’t leave me, Ani. Please don’t abandon me.” You hear yourself say. The usual composed self is no where to be seen. A sudden fear washes over you.

“It’s just a dream, my love. I’m here. I’m never leaving you.”

You cling into him. You pray he’s right. The next day, he’s trying to assure you that you’ll be well.

“I love you”, Anakin assures you after he’s told of the nightmare you’ve had. “I will never let go of you. Never.”

You nod eagerly, holding on to this promise. You look up at his eyes and smile softly when sensing his concern over you remains.

“I’ll be fine, my darling.”

As the day begins, the nightmare is soon forgotten. The Queen is amused to see you and Anakin ever so close: clearly neither are trying enough to conceal the nature of your relationship.

Despite the clouds announcing a storm, the light of the sun comes to irradiate when Anakin proposes you. You have never been the happiest. The Queen helps preparing the arrangements.

“Witnessing the love you have for each other gives me hope to battle our enemies outside. The good always prevails by the end of the day.”

A thought you share. But it’s put to question when your nightmares come back to plague you. You have to meditate, you try to appeal for reason. There are nights you win. You leave the illusion, the untrue trap victorious. You are exhausted each time. There’s another factor that doesn’t contribute to your health.

Until one day, the nightmares stop. But it’s precisely when Anakin doesn’t go back home. What happened? Why hasn’t he come to you… right when you are about to get married?

***

He promised to go back to you. He often did. But Anakin feels betrayed by the Jedis. An attack is orchestrated by Count Dooku against the temple. He is outraged, though, when learning of his machinations that eventually turn him against his own master.

There is a huge fight between Kenobi and Skywalker. All the while the Chancellor interferes… thinking Kenobi to have been killed, he prepares to depart.

Somehow all these events lead you into Mustafar. Your fears threaten to become true. An illusion you know you’ve been manipulated to believe is now set to happen. You seem the Force. You refuse to let this happen.

You’ve been feeling unwell all day. Queen Padmé tried to prevent you going because she believed… you didn’t want to hear, so you never made to hear her suspicious. You may had some yourself, but you don’t want to hear.

I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.

You are dressed in your robes when you land in that planet. Your eyes are already blurred by tears because you can tell the man in dark cape is Anakin.

“Ani?”

Your voice comes out in a sob. Anakin turns at you, surprised. He’d not expect to see you. He’s appalled, confused.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?”

“You promised you’d never leave me.” You choke your sob. You walk right into him. “You may have broken that oath, but I am not breaking mine.”

He hesitates, mostly because he can see you are unwell. But it’s when Lord Sidious comes in.

“End with her life if you want to live.”

So here’s how I will meet my fate.

You close your eyes and turn your saber on. Sidious tries to push Anakin against you, but seeing his reluctance, he comes to fight you.

“Ani…” you mumble, but you know he’ll hear you so. “Don’t give up. I am not giving up on you. I understand your frustration, but this is not the way.”

Your belly gives you nauseas, but you struggle with yourself whilst battling the Sith Lord. You try to resist him as much as you can. Anakin watches the scene, confused.

It’s when he comes to realize…

You are sick.

“The last of Jedi is to die!” Sidious manages to overpower you. Like in your nightmares, you are lifted in the air. You begin to suffocate.

But you are sick for a reason. When Anakin concentrates, he comes to realize you are carrying his children. The fruit of the love you have for each other.

“DON’T!”

It all happens very fast. You begin to lose the air of your lungs. Your resistance is inutile. Darkness plagues you with a sense of pain you’ve never been under such a rough test before. A shock comes to your body. It’s all blurry. Your eyes close. And you drop on the floor.

***

Anakin is by your side all the while you are unconscious. He hates himself for hesitating, for letting the battle come to the point where he was close to lose you.

“What matters the most is that you won, Anakin.” Obi-Wan tells him. He places a hand over his shoulder, giving the consolation the younger male required.

Obi-Wan had found Anakin, perhaps moved by a feeling he could convince his former Padawan to resist the dark side. When he landed in Mustafar,h he was happy to know there was no need to do that because you did—even though a great price came with it.

Now you are tubed and the medical droids are looking after you. Anakin is double distressed because he cannot tolerate the idea of losing you and the children. Yes, children. Because he’s told you are carrying twins.

It takes a while, but you eventually wake up. To your delight surprise, Anakin is by your side. You weep as he leans forward to kiss your lips.

“I’m here, my love.” He holds your hand tightly, a gesture that implies he’s not letting you go. “I’ll always be here. I’m so sorry. I was such a stupid fool.”

But this is not why you weep. As you touch his face, a small smile is seen in your lips.

“I’m happy because you came back to me. Oh, Ani. You came for me.”

He rests his forehead against yours and there the two of you stay together, quiet and in peace.

***

Epilogue.

Though the two of you had married discreetly the moment you landed in Naboo, Padmé suggested you to marry properly now that your twins are able to walk without falling to the sides. An idea Anakin was much enthusiasmatic to perform.

So now you are finally living the dream you had the moment you laid your eyes on Anakin. Dressed in a long white gown with details in purple, there’s also a veil that falls right down your face.

As you begin to walk down the aisle, Luke and Leia are brought to you.

“My precious babies!” You exclaim when seeing them dressed in a royal manner of Naboo. You don’t care about messing up yourself when you lean to kiss each one before struggling not to squeeze them in your motherly hugs.

When Obi-Wan finally leads you down the aisle, he’s very emotional.

“I can’t believe this is all happening.”

Anakin gets lost at your sight when seeing his twins going right where he is. He picks each in his arm and presses long kisses, beaming at them. He’s such a loving father that even Obi-Wan is brought to tears.

“By the Maker, the Skywalkers turned me into a sensitive man.”

You giggle as you thank him for bringing you to the aisle. Ahsoka then comes to pick your twins not only because Anakin requested, but because she ended up growing attached to the twins.

“Is this a dream?” Anakin asks when holding your hands. “If so, I don’t want to wake up.”

“No, my love. We won the darkness. We are the light. There’s nothing to fight anymore, nor to be frightened for.”

He leans forward to kiss you. As he does so, it’s Anakin again who feels it before you.

“Our family looks about to grow again…” says he against your lips, loving to see you blush.

“This time we are better prepared.” You giggle.

And so the ceremony begins…

[bethanydevos]

“What’s on Your List?” by Justin March

“And he said to his disciples, 'Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you eat, nor about your body, what you will put on.  For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing.  Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them.  Of how much more value are you than the birds!  And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?  If then you are not able to do as small a thing as that, why are you anxious about the rest?” - Luke 12:22-34

     Boy do I make a lot of lists!  I have a list for work of all the tasks I want to accomplish for the week.  I have a list for home of all the chores I need to get done.  I have a list of all the vinyl albums I possess so I don't duplicate a purchase when flipping through the used sections at the music store.  I have a list of all the books people have recommended I should read.  I have a list of all my accounts and passwords as it would be impossible for me to remember them all.  And I have a list for this, a list for that, and a list for everything in-between.  I have more lists than time, and sometimes when I stare at all the things I would like to accomplish, these lists become daunting and weigh me down.

      So, why do I allow these lists to take over my life?  Well, I guess I deem the tasks within them are important.  They help me remember what is important in life, and they help remind me to get things done.  They keep me from wasting time, they allow me to stay on track, and when something is crossed off the list, I feel fulfilled and satisfied.  Yet, these lists can also be a burden as they never seem to get completed.  And when tasks remain undone, I can often feel unworthy with the stress of knowing that I am failing and drowning in the pressures of everything I am not getting accomplished.

      As I think about all the lists that encompass my short life, there is one that is missing.  If my lists help remind me what is important in this life, then where is my list of the deeds God wants me to fulfill?  Why do I not have a list that helps me remember to take care of His mission for my life?  And if I had a list like this, wouldn't the satisfaction be much greater when I knew I had accomplished something from this precious guide for my life?

      Maybe I should try this for the week?  Maybe I should make it a priority to take care of this list, above all others, so that I am fulfilling the promises I made to my Savior?  I think that is a good idea, and here is a new list I now have in front of me.

1.  Pray multiple times a day.  Pray for a loved one, a stranger, the world, and our leaders. 

2.  Be thankful for what I have.  Let God know how much I appreciate all His gifts and workings in my life.

3.  Tell someone I love them.  Make it a point to reach out to them, listen to them, and embrace them unconditionally.

4.  Get outside and enjoy God's beauty.  Keep my eyes open to what He is trying to show me through His wondrous creation.

5.  Smile.  The world is dark and angry.  Make sure my smile brings light so it may shine upon others.

6.  Be generous.  Volunteer at a non-profit organization or make a donation to those organizations helping the less fortunate.

7.  Kiss the dogs.  In a world of judgement and ridicule, these creatures do nothing more than show gratitude and devotion.

8.  Spend a few moments in silence.  God has so much to say, but if I never slow down, I am unable hear those beautiful messages.

      Wow!  It felt good to make that list!  It gives me inspiration, hope, and purpose.  It reminds me to be humble, thankful, and gracious.  And it brings a satisfaction that only God can provide as He uses me to be a blessing in a world that hungers for His love.  I will always have my other lists, with chores to tackle and goals to accomplish, but this list seems so much more important.  It is a list that gives my life meaning, a list that helps me share my gifts, and a list that may actually bring a lost soul to the foot of the cross.  It is a list full on intention, and a list I must focus on so I am fulfilling my promises to the one who saved a wretch like me.

      What do you need to do to make sure you are fulfilling your calling?  Is God putting something on your heart that you need to add to your list?  I pray you find time this week to focus on what He is asking you to do.  And when the week ends, and you are able to take time and think about the things you got done, I pray there is a comfort in knowing that some of the tasks accomplished brought a light into this world, spread love amongst God's people, and ignited hope into the lost and lonely.  God has His list for you, but the question is this, what do you need to do to make sure it gets completed?

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: Who are some women in history that would be comparable to Napoleon or Alexander? Women who rose to power because they sought greatness and not because they used the feminine form to seduce for an easier life? How can the feminine mind come out of the mentality of being “the weaker sex”?

The short answer is that there are no women in history comparable to Napoleon or Alexander but equally I would quickly add that there are no other men in history either. These two contrasting men are unique. Alexander and Napoleon share similarities in their warfare, and how they used it to conquer and establish new lands. Both left legacies in which their very name has been equally loathed and loved down the ages. But they were unique.

Both were outsiders whose personal qualities rose above obstacles. Alexander was Macedonian and the Greeks looked down upon him as uncultured barbarian in the same way Napoleon was Corsican nobility and the old French aristocracy pulled up their noses in snobbish superiority. And yet able to rise through the grit of discipline and learning, luck and skill.  

Both were great battle field commanders with a greater understanding of how to use one’s forces at hand to the terrain. Both were not quite true innovators as many might imagine. Alexander's military brilliance is beyond dispute but the groundwork for his superior tactics and strategies were laid by his father Philip of Macedon. Much of Napoleon’s greatness relied on the conscription model that the French revolutionary wars ushered in.  

Alexander used new technology in new ways, invented new formations, and used his battlefield successes to accomplish his strategic goals with the innovative use of propaganda that was unseen before. Alexander was very unmatched in winning battles against much larger enemy formations as he was often outnumbered 2:1.  He was a tactical  genius in finding the weakness in the enemy’s lines and making the surgical strike necessary to ensure victory. He was quick witted at being able to make quick tactical decisions in the thick of the battle.

He was able to snatch victory from the claws of certain defeat, time and again, always against overwhelming enemy superiority in numbers, always in a terrain that his enemies had carefully chosen to maximise their advantages.

Any city he ever attacked he conquered. His own father the great Philip II failed to take Byzantium, and was defeated by Thracian tribesmen, but not Alexander. He made land out of a sea and conquered the heavily fortified island city of Tyre, and he used rock climbers to take the Sogdian Rock in Bactria/Afghanistan, an impregnable citadel that was compared to an eagle’s nest. Moreover he never lost a battle.

Napoleon was a brilliant general and even in his time earned grudging respect from his enemies. Napoleon was very successful in most of his military campaigns, and that laid the foundation necessary for his political achievements.

He fought 60 battles in his career,  losing only 8 with two being considered “tactical victories” only (Second Bassano and Aspern-Esseling) . Nevertheless in the vast majority of his defeats (as well as victories) he was horrendously outnumbered, logistical suffocated, or betrayed by his allies.

He was exceptionally talented both strategically and tactically. In campaign after campaign he defeated larger armies with a smaller force, through methods like moving boldly and quickly, defeating them in detail, cutting off their lines of retreat, and doing what his enemies least expected.

Less glamorously but even more important he was great at logistics. One of his most famous maxims is that, “An army marches on its stomach.” If troops are not well equipped and well fed, they can not be expected to fight well. Napoleon had his armies live off the land, and marched faster than his enemies. While Napoleon still had supply lines, much of the food, clothing, and pay for his men was looted from conquered territory. This allowed him to march faster, and he often did forced marches where his men would march twice as far each day as the enemy predicted.

His opponents were often shocked at how quickly he outmanoeuvred them. At Ulm he surrounded an enormous Austrian army and forced them to surrender - while they thought he was over a hundred miles to the west and were waiting for reinforcements. Again, another thing that got him into trouble in Russia: the Russians retreated even faster, and burned everything in their wake, so there was nothing to loot.

He was innovative too in his use of light horse artillery - smaller cannons were pulled by fast horses, ridden by their crew - who could get into position rapidly and move into a new area when required. Napoleon loved these guys and used them in combination with his slower artillery to great effect often in support of heavy artillery.

Both were inspirational leaders of men in battle. In Alexander’s case he almost killed himself jumping into the Indian city of the Malians alone, a wound which weakened his body and eventually probably contributed to his death. He was simply fearless. Like the Carthagenian Hannibal, and all ancient Greek military leaders, Miltiades, Epameinondas, Philipos II, etc, and Romans, like Caesar, Alexander was always leading from the front line. In Napoleon’s case he too was fearless At Arcole he tried to inspire his men to attack, by grabbing a flag and stood in the open on the dike about 55 paces from the bridge. Both were loved by their men and their very presence on the battlefield was an inspiration to their fighting men.

Both were superb political strategists who were able to build on military gains with statecraft skills. Alexander the Great’s strong perseverance and incredible battle strategies led to increase his power over his empire. Napoleon used his intelligence and skill of manipulation to earn respect and support from the French people, which gained him great power.

For all this, they were both losers in the end. Both lost because they failed the most valuable lesson history can give: success is a bad teacher. Their military victories made them increasingly cocky and their political gains made them overreach. In the end their own personal qualities that brought them so much unprecedented success was the harbinger of their downfall.

So we are left with the question: what is greatness? The judgement of history seems to suggest that glory is fleeting but true greatness lasts the test of time.

There are simply too many women to list that would be worthy of anyone’s attention to show that women have achieved greatness throughout history.

Here is a good basic list of warrior women in recorded history https://www.rejectedprincesses.com/women-in-combat

Indeed one doesn’t have to stray too far from antiquity to show that women as warriors did make an impact.

I shall just focus on a few from antiquity that stand out for me and and a few more modern choices that are very personal to me.

Penthesilea

I had heard of Penthesilea and the Amazons before as a small girl. But the first time I really understand just how impressive and unusual it was in the ancient world to be a woman who “fights with men” was when I was taking Latin at my English girls’ boarding school.   Contrary to popular belief, Penthesilea’s story isn’t actually told in the Iliad (which ends with Hector’s funeral, before the Amazons arrive), but in a lost ancient epic called  Aethiopis.  This poem continued the story of Achilles’ great deeds, which included the killing of several famous warriors—Memnon, King of Aethiopia, and Penthesilea most prominent among them.

The Amazons had a number of famous Queens, but Penthesilea is perhaps the most storied. She was a daughter of the war-god Ares, and Pliny credits her with the invention of the battle-ax.  She was also sister to Hippolyta, who married the hero Theseus, after being defeated by him in battle.  Penthesilea ruled the Amazons during the years of the Trojan war—and for most of that time stayed away from the conflict.  However, after Achilles killed Hector, Penthesilea decided it was time for her Amazons to intervene, and the group rode to the rescue of the Trojans—who were, after all, fellow Anatolians.  Fearless, she blazed through the Greek ranks, laying waste to their soldiers.  

During the battles, Penthesilea was not a queen who sat by and watched the men fight. She was a warrior in the truest sense.  It is said that she blazed through the Greeks like lightning, killing many.  It is written that she was swift and brave, and fought as valiantly and successfully as the men. She wanted to prove that the Amazons were great warriors. She wanted to kill Achilles to avenge the death of Hector, and she wanted to die in battle. I love Vergil’s glorious description of her in battle: “The ferocious Penthesilea, gold belt fastened beneath her exposed breast, leads her battle-lines of Amazons with their crescent light-shields…a warrioress, a maiden who dares to fight with men.”

Although Penthesilea was a ferocious warrior, her life came to an end, at the hands of Achilles. Achilles had seen her battling others, and was enamored with her ferocity and strength.  As he fought, he worked his way towards her, like a moth drawn to a flame. While he was drawn to her with the intention of facing her as an opponent, he fell in love with her upon facing her. However, it was too late.

Achilles defeated Penthesilea, catching her as she fell to the ground. Greek warrior Thersites mocked Achilles for his treatment of Penthesilea’s body after her death. It is also said that Thersites removed Penthesilea’s eyes with his sword. This enraged Achilles, and he slaughtered Thersites. Upon Thersites’ death, a sacred feud was fought.  Diomedes, Thersite’s cousin, retrieved Penthesilea’s corpse, dragged it behind his chariot, and cast it into the river. Achilles retrieved the body, and gave her a proper burial. In some stories, Achilles is accused of engaging in necrophilia with her body. In other legends, it is said that Penthesilea bore Achilles a son after her death. Yes, I agree, that does feel creepy.

Penthesilea’s life and death were tragic. She is portrayed as a brave and fierce warrior who was deeply affected by the accidental death of her sister. This grief, compounded with her desire to be a strong warrior who would die an honourable death on the battlefield, led her to Troy, where her tragic death weakened Troy, but also led to unrest in the Greek camps due to her death’s impact on Achilles and his revengeful acts. In the end, she died the ‘honorable’ death on the battlefield that she had longed for, at the hands of the legendary Achilles, no less.

The heroines of Greek mythology tend towards thoughtfulness, fidelity and modesty (Andromache, Penelope), while the daring and headstrong personalities generally go to the antagonists–Medea, Clytemnestra, Hera.  But Penthesilea is something else entirely: a woman who meets men on her own terms, as their equal.  Perhaps in honour of this, Virgil doesn’t give her the standard heroine epithet of “beautiful.”  For him, it is her majesty and obvious power that make her notable, not her looks.

By the way, the word that Virgil uses for warrioress is bellatrix, the inspiration for Bellatrix Lestrange’s name in the Harry Potter books. So she lives on in immortality through our modern day Virgil, J.K. Rowling (just kidding)

Cynane (c. 358 – 323 BC)

Cynane was the daughter of King Philip II of Macedon and his first wife, the Illyrian Princess Audata. She was also the half-sister of Alexander the Great. Audata raised Cynane in the Illyrian tradition, training her in the arts of war and turning her into an exceptional fighter – so much so that her skill on the battlefield became famed throughout the land. Cynane accompanied the Macedonian army on campaign alongside Alexander the Great and according to the historian Polyaenus, she once slew an Illyrian queen and masterminded the slaughter of her army. Such was her military prowess. Following Alexander the Great’s death in 323 BC, Cynane attempted an audacious power play. In the ensuing chaos, she championed her daughter, Adea, to marry Philip Arrhidaeus, Alexander’s simple-minded half-brother who the Macedonian generals had installed as a puppet king. Yet Alexander’s former generals – and especially the new regent, Perdiccas – had no intention of accepting this, seeing Cynane as a threat to their own power. Undeterred, Cynane gathered a powerful army and marched into Asia to place her daughter on the throne by force.

As she and her army were marching through Asia towards Babylon, Cynane was confronted by another army commanded by Alcetas, the brother of Perdiccas and a former companion of Cynane. However, desiring to keep his brother in power Alcetas slew Cynane when they met – a sad end to one of history’s most remarkable female warriors. Although Cynane never reached Babylon, her power play proved successful. The Macedonian soldiers were angered at Alcetas’ killing of Cynane, especially as she was directly related to their beloved Alexander. Thus they demanded Cynane’s wish be fulfilled. Perdiccas relented, Adea and Philip Arrhidaeus were married, and Adea adopted the title Queen Adea Eurydice.

Olympias and Eurydice

The mother of Alexander the Great, Olympias was one of the most remarkable women in antiquity. She was a princess of the most powerful tribe in Epirus (a region now divided between northwest Greece and southern Albania) and her family claimed descent from Achilles. Despite this impressive claim, many Greeks considered her home kingdom to be semi-barbarous  – a realm tainted with vice because of its proximity to raiding Illyrians in the north. Thus the surviving texts often perceive her as a somewhat exotic character.

In 358 BC Olympias’ uncle, the Molossian King Arrybas, married Olympias to King Philip II of Macedonia to secure the strongest possible alliance. She gave birth to Alexander the Great two years later in 356 BC. Further conflict was added to an already tempestuous relationship when Philip married again, this time a Macedonian noblewoman called Cleopatra Eurydice.

Olympias began to fear this new marriage might threaten the possibility of Alexander inheriting Philip’s throne. Her Molossian heritage was starting to make some Macedonian nobles question Alexander’s legitimacy. Thus there is a strong possibility that Olympias was involved in the subsequent murders of Philip II, Cleopatra Eurydice and her infant children. She is often portrayed as a woman who stopped at nothing to ensure Alexander ascended the throne. Following Alexander the Great’s death in 323 BC, she became a major player in the early Wars of the Successors in Macedonia. In 317 BC, she led an army into Macedonia and was confronted by an army led by another queen: none other than Cynane’s daughter, Adea Eurydice.

This clash was the first time in Greek history that two armies faced each other commanded by women. However, the battle ended before a sword blow was exchanged. As soon as they saw the mother of their beloved Alexander the Great facing them, Eurydice’s army deserted to Olympias. Upon capturing Eurydice and Philip Arrhidaeus, Eurydice’s husband, Olympias had them imprisoned in squalid conditions. Soon after she had Philip stabbed to death while his wife watched on.

On Christmas Day 317, Olympias sent Eurydice a sword, a noose, and some hemlock, and ordered her to choose which way she wanted to die. After cursing Olympias’ name that she might suffer a similarly sad end, Eurydice chose the noose. Olympias herself did not live long to cherish this victory. The following year Olympias’ control of Macedonia was overthrown by Cassander, another of the Successors. Upon capturing Olympias, Cassander sent two hundred soldiers to her house to slay her.

However, after being overawed by the sight of Alexander the Great’s mother, the hired killers did not go through with the task. Yet this only temporarily prolonged Olympias’ life as relatives of her past victims soon murdered her in revenge.

Artemisia I of Caria (5th Century BC)

Named after the Goddess of the Hunt (Artemis), Artemisia was the 5th century BCE Queen of Halicarnassus, a kingdom that exists in modern-day Turkey. However, she was best known as a naval commander and ally of Xerxes, the King of Persia, in his invasion of the Greek city-states. (Yes, like in the action movie 300: Rise of an Empire.) She made her mark on history in the Battle of Salamis, where the fleet she commanded was deemed the best against the Greeks. Greek historian Herodotus wrote of her heroics on this battlefield of the sea, painting her as a warrior who was decisive and incredibly intelligent in her strategies. This included a ruthless sense of self-preservation. With a Greek vessel bearing down on her ship, Artemisia intentionally steered into another Persian vessel to trick the Greeks into believing she was one of them. It worked. The Greeks left her be. The Persian ship sank. Watching from the shore, Xerxes saw the collision and believed Artemisia had sunk a Greek enemy, not one of his own.

For all of this, her death was not one recorded in a great battle, but in legends written by the victors, the Greeks - so one must obviously be skeptical of accepting what they said as 100% truth. It's said that Artemisia fell hard for a Greek man, who ignored her to his detriment. Blinded by love, she blinded him in his sleep. Yet even with him disfigured, her passion for him burned. To cure herself, she set to leap from a tall rock in Leucas, Greece, which was believed to break the bonds of love. Instead, it broke Artemisia's neck. She's said to be buried nearby.

But much like Penthesilea, she lives on in our modern culture, but arguably more dubiously through Hollywood in the sub-par action movie 300: Rise of an Empire. Now I forever think of Artemisia as the beautiful and sultry French actress, Eva Green.

Boadicea (also written as Boudica)

Boadicea was a Celtic queen who led a revolt against Roman rule in ancient Britain in A.D. 60 or 61. As all of the existing information about her comes from Roman scholars, particularly Tacitus and Cassius Dio, little is known about her early life; it’s believed she was born into an elite family in Camulodunum (now Colchester) around A.D. 30.

At the age of 18, Boudica married Prasutagas, king of the Iceni tribe of modern-day East Anglia. When the Romans conquered southern England in A.D. 43, most Celtic tribes were forced to submit, but the Romans let Prasutagas continue in power as a forced ally of the Empire. When he died without a male heir in A.D. 60, the Romans annexed his kingdom and confiscated his family’s land and property. As a further humiliation, they publicly flogged Boadicea and raped her two daughters. Tacitus recorded Boudicca’s promise of vengeance after this last violation: “Nothing is safe from Roman pride and arrogance. They will deface the sacred and will deflower our virgins. Win the battle or perish, that is what I, a woman, will do.”

Like other ancient Celtic women, Boadicea had trained as a warrior, including fighting techniques and the use of weapons. With the Roman provincial governor Gaius Suetonius Paulinus leading a military campaign in Wales, Boadicea led a rebellion of the Iceni and members of other tribes resentful of Roman rule. After defeating the Roman Ninth Legion, the queen’s forces destroyed Camulodunum, then the captain of Roman Britain, and massacred its inhabitants. They went on to give similar treatment to London and Verulamium (modern St. Albans). By that time, Suetonius had returned from Wales and marshaled his army to confront the rebels. In the clash that followed–the exact battle site is unknown, but possibilities range from London to Northamptonshire–the Romans managed to defeat the Britons despite inferior numbers, and Boadicea and her daughters apparently killed themselves by taking poison in order to avoid capture.

In all, Tacitus claimed, Boadicea’s forces had massacred some 70,000 Romans and pro-Roman Britons. Though her rebellion failed, and the Romans would continue to control Britain until A.D. 410, Bouadicea is celebrated today as a British national heroine and an embodiment of the struggle for justice and independence.

Queen Zenobia

In the 3rd century AD, Queen Zenobia, natively know as Bath Zabbai, was a fierce ruler of Palmyra, a region in modern day Syria.  Throughout her life, Zenobia became known as the ‘warrior queen’. She expanded Palmyra from Iraq to Turkey, conquered Egypt and challenged the dominance of Rome.

“Zenobia was esteemed the most lovely as well as the most heroic of her sex,” Gibbon wrote in an awestruck account of her brief reign. “She claimed her descent from the Macedonian kings of Egypt, equaled in beauty her ancestor Cleopatra, and far surpassed that princess in chastity and valour.” The only contemporary representation we have of Zenobia is on a coin, which makes her look rather witchlike, but Gibbon’s description of her pearly-white teeth and large black eyes, which “sparkled with uncommon fire,” cast a spell over future historians, both in the West and in the Arab world, who quarrel over nearly everything having to do with Zenobia and her confounding legacy.

Many legends have arisen about Zenobia’s identity, but it seems she was born into a family of great nobility who claimed the notorious Queen Dido of Carthage and Cleopatra VII of Egypt as ancestors. She was given a Hellenistic education, learning Latin, Greek, the Syriac and Egyptian languages. According to the Historia Augusta her favourite childhood hobby was hunting, and she proved to be a brave and brilliant horsewoman.

Despite this, many ancient sources seem to gravitate to one quality – that she was an exceptional beauty who captivated men across the whole of Syria with her ravishing looks and irresistible charm.

She was probably in her twenties when she took the throne, upon the death of her husband, King Odenathus, in 267 or 268. Acting as regent for her young son, she then led the army in a revolt against the Romans, conquering Egypt and parts of Asia Minor. By 271, she had gained control of a third of the Roman Empire. Gibbon sometimes portrays the warrior queen as a kind of well-schooled Roman society matron. “She was not ignorant of the Latin tongue,” he writes, “but possessed in equal perfection the Greek, the Syriac, and the Egyptian languages.” Palmyra’s abundant wall inscriptions are in Latin, Greek, and an Aramaic dialect, not Arabic. But to Arab historians, such as the ninth-century al-Tabari, Zenobia was a tribal queen of Arab, rather than Greek, descent, whose original name was Zaynab, or al-Zabba. Among Muslims, she is seen as a herald of the Islamic conquests that came four centuries later.

This view, popular within the current Syrian regime, which boasts Zenobia on its currency, also resonates within radical Islamic circles. Isis radical fighters have believed Palmyra to be somehow a distinctively Arab place, where Zenobia stood up to the Roman emperor.” Indeed, Isis fighters, after seizing Palmyra, released a video showing the temples and colonnades at the ruins, a unesco World Heritage site, intact. “Concerning the historical city, we will preserve it,” an Isis commander, Abu Laith al-Saudi, told a Syrian radio station. “What we will do is pulverise the statues the miscreants used to pray to.” Fighters then set about sledgehammering statues and shrines.

Zenobia’s nemesis was the Roman emperor Aurelian, who led his legions through Asia Minor, reclaiming parts of the empire she had taken. Near Antioch, she met him with an army of seventy thousand men, but the Roman forces chased them back to their desert stronghold. During the siege of the city, Aurelian wrote to Zenobia, “I bid you surrender, promising that your lives shall be spared.” She replied, “You demand my surrender as though you were not aware that Cleopatra preferred to die a queen rather than remain alive.” Zenobia attempted to escape to Persia, but was captured before she could cross the Euphrates. Palmyra was sacked after a second revolt. Aurelian lamented in a letter to one of his lieutenants, “We have not spared the women, we have slain the children, we have butchered the old men.”

Some Arab sources adhere to the theory that Zenobia committed suicide before she could be caught. Gibbon follows Roman accounts that place her in Rome as the showpiece of Aurelian’s triumphal procession. “The beauteous figure of Zenobia was confined by fetters of gold; a slave supported the gold chain which encircled her neck, and she almost fainted under the intolerable weight of jewels,” he writes. The grand homecoming apparently elicited a snarky response from the commentariat. According to the “Historia Augustus,” Aurelian complained, “Nor would those who criticise me, praise me sufficiently, if they knew what sort of woman she was.” Instead of beheading her in front of the Temple of Jupiter, once a common fate of renegades, he awarded her a villa in Tivoli. The historian Syncellus reported that she married a Roman senator; their descendants were listed into the fifth century. She is said to have died in 274 AD in Rome.

Eleanor of Aquitaine (1122-1204)

Eleanor was a formidable Queen twice over – first as Queen of France, then of England! Her father William X died in 1137, leaving Eleanor to inherit his titles, lands and enormous wealth at just 15. Suddenly one of France’s most eligible bachelorettes, she married Louis, son of the French King, and not long after became Queen of France, still in her teens.

Famously fierce and tenacious, Eleanor exerted considerable influence over Louis, and accompanied him on the Second Crusade of 1147-49. After their marriage was annulled in 1152, she stayed single for just two months before marrying the heir to the English throne Henry Plantagenet, and in 1154 they were crowned King and Queen of England. Eleanor took a leading role in running the country, directing church and state affairs when Henry was away, and travelling extensively to consolidate their power across England. This was all while raising eight children, and finding time to be a great patron of courtly love poetry!

Eleanor and Henry separated in 1167, and after Eleanor sided with her children over Henry during a revolt, she became Henry’s prisoner. She was held under house arrest for over a decade, and it was only in 1189 after Henry died and her son Richard the Lionheart became king that Eleanor was freed.

By now a widow in her 70s, instead of retiring to a quiet life away from court politics, Eleanor became more badass than ever. While Richard was away on crusade she took a leading role once again in running the realm and fending off threats of attack, and when he was taken hostage by the Duke of Austria she personally collected his ransom money and travelled to Austria to deliver it and ensure his safe return to England.

After spending many of her final years criss-crossing France and Spain on diplomatic and military missions, Eleanor died in 1204 at a monastery in Anjou. The nuns there described her as a queen ‘who surpassed almost all the queens of the world’.

Elizabeth I of England (1533-1603)

Elizabeth I is one of my favourite Queens of all time. She reigned for 45 years and is well remembered for her defeat of the Spanish Armada, her progresses, her economic policies, and her patronage of the arts – as well as her virginity. The history books talk much of her make-up and spinsterhood, but there is no doubt that she was one of the most badass monarchs England ever had.

Elizabeth’s early life did not start well. By the age of three, her father had had her mother executed, and Elizabeth had been deemed illegitimate. Nonetheless she was given a rigorous education. One tutor even noted that her mind showed “no womanly weakness”. She excelled at Greek, Latin, French and Italian, as well as theology – knowledge that would equip her for diplomatic leadership so necessary in later life.

In 1554, under the reign of her devout Catholic sister Mary, Elizabeth became the focus of a Protestant rebellion. She was arrested and sent to the Tower of London, but was found innocent and escaped with her life a few months later. Her true commitment to the reformed church was only openly revealed upon her accession to the throne.

Indeed, as Queen Elizabeth promptly expressed her support for the Protestant church, and yet her reign is celebrated for bringing relative religious stability to the country. She adopted a policy to not “make windows into men’s souls”, which allowed for a margin of freedom beyond that of the monarchs before her. Her astute appointment of ministers and officials along with careful housekeeping also led to a period of relative economic stability, which in turn allowed for the arts to flourish during this time. Elizabeth attended the first performance of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream and appointed the acclaimed miniaturist Nicholas Hilliard as a court painter.

Elizabeth’s choice not to marry was radical (and wholly understandable given her monster for a father and abusive step-father.) Yet, throughout her reign the expectation remained that she would find a husband and give birth to an heir. Instead, the Queen used her ‘eligible bachelor’ position as a political tool, while creating an image of herself as married to the nation. Her popularity with her subjects and her own self-styled image as Gloriana made Good Queen Bess into a legendary figure; today, she has been portrayed in more films and television shows than any other British monarch.

Her most amazing achievement is the fact that her name defined a chapter of Western history so that even today we talk of Elizabethan era. A feat matched only by Queen Victoria to define the 19th Century.

Tomoe Gozen

When I was living in Japan as a child I began to appreciate Japanese history. I also took an interest in the Japanese martial arts as well as being thrown in at the deep end to struggle to learn the language. So as an outsider I was happy to discover that Japanese women were not always demure and subservient or even passive witnesses to history. Some even made it. Outsiders don’t truly know how some Japanese women had shaped their own destiny as well as their country’s within the constraints of the rigid social structures of Japanese society. Contrary to what many think there were indeed female samurai. Not many but one or two who became the stuff of legend and lore.

The most famous onna-bugeisha (female samurai) in Japanese history was Tomoe Gozen. Gozen was a title of respect bestowed on her by her master, shogun Minamoto no Yoshinaka. She fought alongside male samurais in the Genpei War, which lasted from 1180 to 1185. While a woman fighting among men was highly unusual, it seems Yoshinaka's high esteem for Tomoe and her fighting skills overcame prejudice.

In the history tome The Tale of Heike, Tomoe was described as "a remarkably strong archer, and as a swordswoman she was a warrior worth a thousand, ready to confront a demon or a god, mounted or on foot." She was also said to be beautiful, fearless, and respected.

Her hobbies included riding wild horses down intimidatingly steep hills. She regularly led men into battle and to victory. Her last was the Battle of Awazu, where Minamoto no Yoshinaka was killed. Tomoe escaped her enemies there, and gave up her sword and bowed to retirement. From there, some say she married. Years later, when her husband died, it's believed Tomoe became a nun.

Nakano Takeko

The other known onna-bugeisha (female samurais) in Japan's history, Takeko was educated in literary and martial arts before distinguishing herself in the Boshin War, a Japanese civil war that lasted from January 3rd May 1868 to 18th May 1869.

In the Battle of Aizu in the fall of 1868, she and other females who chose to fight were not recognised as an official part of the Aizu army. Nonetheless, Takeko led her peers in a unit that was later dubbed Jōshitai, which translates to the "Women's Army." Her weapon of choice was the naginta, a Japanese pole arm. But while it helped her earn glory, it would not safeguard her through the war.

Takeko was shot in the chest while leading a charge against the Imperial Japanese Army of the Ogaki domain. Fearing that her enemies would defile her body and make her head a gruesome war trophy, she asked her sister to cut it off and bury it. This was her final wish, and her head was subsequently buried beneath a pine tree at the Hōkai-ji Temple in modern-day Fukushima. Today, a monument to her stands nearby, where girls come each year to honour her and her Women's Army during the Aizu Autumn Festival.

Laxmibai, the Rani of Jhansi (1828-1858)

Laxmibai would have made any of warrior women of Classical antiquity proud. She was the last of the true warrior queens. The fact she was Indian and bitterly fought the British to the death doesn’t deter me from admiring her hugely in the same way the British still admire Joan of Arc.

Like many other families scattered across the British Empire, my family lost brave relatives who died during the tragic Indian Mutiny of 1857 (the Indians call it the First War for Independence). But however ugly and bloody that chapter of British imperial history was, I find myself in awe of the life of Laxmibai, the Rani of Jhansi.

When as a family we moved to India I learned a little about her from Indian school friends. I learned a lot more from a couple of Indian officer cadets at Sandhurst (Sandhurst takes in officer cadets from the Commonwealth and other countries) with whom I struck an affable friendship because I could speak Hindi and we used to watch Bollywood movies with our platoon mates. Laxmibai is every bit as remarkable as Jeanne d’Arc and much more. I can say I am humbled when I try to retrace her steps of her life when I visit India from time to time.

By the time Laxmibai (or Lakshmibai) was a teenager, she had already violated many of the expectations for women in India’s patriarchal society. She could read and write. She had learned to ride a horse and wield a sword. She talked back to anyone who tried to tell her to live her life differently. But where those spirited ways might have been scorned in another young Indian woman, they would prove to serve her well as she went on to leave an indelible mark on Indian history.

In the mid-19th century, what became the modern nation of India was dotted with hundreds of princely states, one of which, Jhansi, in the north, was ruled by Queen Laxmibai. Her reign came at a pivotal time: The British, who were expanding their presence in India, had annexed her realm and stripped her of power. Laxmibai tried to regain control of Jhansi through negotiations, but when her efforts failed she joined the Indian Rebellion of 1857, an uprising of soldiers, landowners, townspeople and others against the British in what is now known as India’s first battle for independence. It would be 90 years before the country would finally uproot the British, in 1947.

The queen, or rani, went on to train and lead her own army, composed of both men and women, only to perish on the battlefield in June 1858. In the decades that followed, her life became a subject of competing narratives. Indians hailed her as a heroine, the British as a wicked, Jezebel-like figure. But somewhere between these portrayals she emerged as a symbol not just of resistance but of the complexities associated with being a powerful woman in India.

Laxmibai wasn’t of royal blood. Manakarnika, as she was named at birth, is widely believed to have been born in 1827 in Varanasi, a city in northeast India on the banks of the Ganges River. She was raised among the Brahmin priests and scholars who sat atop India’s caste system. Her father worked in royal courts as an adviser, giving her access to an education, as well as horses. In 1842, Manakarnika married Maharaja Gangadar Rao, the ruler of Jhansi, and took on the name Laxmibai. (It was — and, in some parts of the country, still is — a common practice for women to change their names after marriage.)

By most accounts she was an unconventional queen, and a compassionate one. She refused to abide by the norms of the purdah system, under which women were concealed from public view by veils or curtains. She insisted on speaking with her advisers and British officials face to face. She wore a turban, an accessory more common among men. And she is said to have trained women in her circle to ride and fight. She attended to the poor, regardless of their caste, a practice that even today would be considered bold in parts of India. While she was queen, the powerful British East India Company was beginning to seize more land and resources. In 1848, Lord Dalhousie, India’s governor general, declared that princely states with leaders lacking natural born heirs would be annexed by the British under a policy called the ‘Doctrine of Lapse’.

Laxmibai’s only child had died, and her husband’s health was starting to deteriorate. The couple decided to adopt a 5 year-old boy to groom as successor to the throne, and hoped that the British would recognize his authority despite the declaration. “I trust that in consideration of the fidelity I have evinced toward government, favour may be shown to this child and that my widow during her lifetime may be considered the Regent,” her husband, the maharaja, wrote in a letter, as quoted in Rainer Jerosch's book,  “The Rani of Jhansi: Rebel Against Will” (2007). His pleas were ignored. Soon after he died, in 1853, the East India Company offered the queen a pension if she agreed to cede control. She refused, exclaiming: “Meri Jhansi nahin dungee” (“I will not give up my Jhansi”) - a Hindi phrase that to this day is etched into India’s memory, stirring up feelings of pride and patriotism.

Beyond Jhansi’s borders, a rebellion was brewing as the British imposed their social and Christian practices and banned Indian customs. The uprising spread from town to town, reaching Jhansi in June 1857. Dozens of British were killed in the ensuing massacre by the rebels. The British turned on Laxmibai, accusing her of conspiring with the rebels to seek revenge over their refusal to recognize her heir. Whether or not she did remains disputed. Some accounts insist that she was wary of the rebels and that she had even offered to protect British women and children during the violence.

Tensions escalated, and in early 1858 the British stormed Jhansi’s fortress.

“Street fighting was going on in every quarter,” Dr. Thomas Lowe, the army’s field surgeon, wrote in his 1860 book “Central India During the Rebellion of 1857 and 1858.” “Heaps of dead lay all along the rampart and in the streets below….Those who could not escape,” he added, “threw their women and babies down wells and then jumped down themselves.” As the town burned, the queen escaped on horseback with her son, Damodar, tied to her back.

Historians have not reached a consensus on how she managed to pull this off. Some contend that her closest aide, Jhalkaribai, disguised herself as the queen to distract the British and buy time for her to get away.

In the end, the British took the town, leaving 3,000 to 5,000 people dead, and hoisted the British flag atop the palace. Left with no other options, Laxmibai decided to join the rebel forces and began training an army in the nearby state of Gwalior.

The British troops, close on her heels, attacked Gwalior on a scorching summer morning in June 1858. She led a countercharge — “clad in the attire of a man and mounted on horseback,” the British historians John Kaye and George Malleson wrote in “History of the Indian Mutiny” (1890) — and was killed. However accounts differ on whether she was stabbed with a saber or struck by a bullet. It was the last battle in the Indian Rebellion.

“The Indian Mutiny had produced but one man,” Sir Hugh Rose, the leader of the British troops, reportedly said when fighting ended, “and that man was a woman.”

The violence left thousands dead on both sides. The British government dissolved the East India Company over concerns about its aggressive rule and brought India under the control of the Crown. It then reversed Lord Dalhousie’s policy of annexing kingdoms without heirs.

Today, Queen Laxmibai of Jhansi has been immortalised in India’s nationalist narrative. There are movies, TV shows, books and even nursery rhymes about her. Streets, colleges and universities are named after her. Young girls dress up in her likeness, wearing pants, turbans and swords. Statues of her on horseback, with her son tied to her back, have been erected in many cities throughout India.

And, almost a century after her death, the Indian National Army formed an all-female unit that aided the country in its battle for independence in the 1940s. It was called the Rani of Jhansi regiment.

There are plenty of other women that one could write about of great women leaders who while not on the front line of battle did lead their countries to greatness or skilfully pulled the strings from behind the throne. History is littered with many examples.

What metrics we determine to define ‘greatness” is very much in the eye of the beholder. It’s not a matter of masculine or feminine virtues - although they are important in their own way. Above all I would say what makes a leader great is character.

There is no ‘weaker sex’ - that would be a terribly unfair slur on our men.

I’m joking of course. But my point stands. I don’t believe it’s about who is the weaker sex. But let’s talk of character instead.

Character defines the essence of leadership. I say this because I often encounter a perception among women that they need to become more like men to be considered equal to them. Nothing could be further from the truth. What makes you uniquely who you are as a woman is highly important.

We are all called to become the best versions of ourselves, and as women, we don’t do that by trying to be more like men. It would be a mistake to put one’s heroines on a pedestal because they are all flawed and have feet of clay - just like men. Character knows no gender. Character is virtuous. Character is rising to greatness despite one’s flaws.

As early as the 1300s, Catherine of Sienna wisely said, “Be who you were created to be, and you will set the world on fire.” More than 500 years later, Oscar Wilde reiterated that notion: “Be yourself, everyone else is already taken.”

So be the best version of yourself.

Thanks for your question.

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book Four: War (Gladiolus x Reader) Chapter Five

(Y/n) headed back to the chocobo with the boys hot on her tail. She wasn't upset that they found out who she was because she would've eventually told them sooner or later. Although, she did wish it could've been a secret just a little longer.

"Hold on, (Y/n)!" Noctis shouted.

War stopped, spinning around to face the boys. An emotionless expression was glued to her face. "What?"

"You really can't expect us not to ask questions after that bombshell, are you?"

"Why does it matter?" She sneered. "All of that's in the past and I'm trying to forget it."

"Can you at least tell us a little bit?" Prompto begged.

"Like what?" She groaned.

"Y'know, your kingdom!"

Her (e/c) eyes stared off into the distance as memories of her birthplace played inside her head. Seeing as giving them some information wouldn't hurt, she told them about her kingdom and the time of her rule. "Vanaheim was the sister kingdom of Niflheim. I was crowned queen when I was only twelve because my father died of an illness. Some...things happened and now Vanaheim lies at the bottom of the ocean."

"What did Gentiana mean by the crimson queen?" Noctis pried.

A sorrowful frown manifested on the horseman's face. The nickname brought back bloodied, painful memories of her tyrannical rule. The guilt from what she did as queen returned tenfold. "If I told you the truth, you'd probably never wish to see me again."

Noctis was about to ask another question, but Ignis stopped him. "We've pried too much. Our apologies, (Y/n)."

"It's only natural to be curious of the unknown," War mumbled. She turned her back to them. "Sorry, but I need to clear my head. I'll catch up with you guys later..."

Teleporting, War traveled to Galdin Quay. She appeared on the sandy beach, collapsing to the ground. It made her happy to see the rain caused by Ramuh wasn't affecting the Leide region. She laid on her back in the sand with a heavy, melancholic sigh. Staring up at the sky, an image of one of the many innocent people she killed in Vanaheim resurfaced in her mind. Her sword pierced the young woman's chest, blood splattering across the white marble floor in the throne room. She remembered watching the life vanish from the woman's eyes as she fell lifeless to the floor.

Covering her face with her arm, (Y/n) hid the tears that formed in her eyes. Although she wanted to blame Gaius for manipulating her, it was by her hand she killed so many. Her love for him blinded her from the truth. He was the puppeteer and she was the marionette he manipulated. By the time she reached her senses, it was too late.

"Ahhh," a voice sighed. "I miss lounging around on a beach."

War recognized the tone of voice and lowered her arm. "Not sure how good it'd be for you to lounge on the beach with how pale you are, Death. You'd fry easily in the sun."

"Hey, I wasn't this pale in my previous life," Death retorts playfully. "Then again, I still burnt pretty easily back then too."

(Y/n) chuckled in amusement. "Sunburn sucks."

"I agree one hundred percent." Death laid beside her sister on the sand. "So, what's bothering you?"

"The boys know who I was in my previous life," the redhead confessed.

"Is...that a good or bad thing?"

"Neither. I really don't care that they know."

"Then why're you out here, crying?" Death inquired.

"Just...old, painful memories resurfacing..." War answered.

"Ah, I know that feeling all too well," the inky-haired girl said. "But I know my memories are not as painful as yours. Out of the four of us, your past is the most painful. If I could go back and change what happened, I would."

"I was my own downfall," (Y/n) whimpered. "Blinded by love, I didn't see the monster standing before me. But still, I was the one who did the killing."

"You were a puppet used by Gaius. He did all his dirty deeds through you because he couldn't get his own hands dirty."

War pushed herself up into a sitting position. "That bastard convinced me so many people were plotting against me. In the end, the one I should've killed was him."

"But in the end, you were victorious!" Death chanted. "You were able to summon Leviathan and stopped Gaius from claiming Vanaheim for Niflheim!"

"I destroyed the entire kingdom!" The redhead bellowed in anger. "I ordered a god to drown everything! I may have stopped Gaius, but only at the cost of all the people who called Vanaheim home."

"I wish I could say I know how you feel, but I can't," Death sorrowfully muttered. "But please, don't let the past blind you and stop you from seeing what could become of your future. We may be immortal, but that doesn't mean we should give up on our futures."

(Y/n) hugged her knees against her chest. "How is it you, Famine, and Pestilence always find the time to be happy and philosophical?"

The inky-haired girl giggled. "Once you leave the past behind, you'll be able to find happiness. And, of course, be philosophical all you want. But for now, just take some time to gather your thoughts. If you ever need any of us, you know how to contact us."

"Thanks, Death," the redhead smiled.

Death smiled back. "Take care, War."

(Y/n) watched her sister disappear before throwing herself back on the sand. She gazed up at the sky, focusing on the white puffy clouds sailing by. "My own happiness..." She whispered to herself. "Is that even possible for me...?"

<------------<<<<<

A few days later, (Y/n) composed herself and her thoughts. She accepted some of what she did when she was a queen, but not all. Deciding to regroup with the royal retinue, she did her best to detect the summoning orb. When she did, she decided to give herself some more time and summoned Ares. Hopping onto the horse's back, she rode in the direction she sensed the orb.

In the afternoon, the Horseman arrived at Sothmocke Haven. She dismounted Ares and walked up to the top of the large rune-carved stone. Seeing the tent set up and the boys relaxing around the campfire, she couldn't deny the fact that she was happy they were safe. With a stoic expression, she made her presence known. "Hey."

All eyes fell on her. Prompto waves at her with a smile while Gladio smirked as she sauntered over towards them. Noctis and Ignis were happy to see War was safe and back together with them.

"Welcome back, firecracker," Gladio grinned.

"Again with the ridiculous nickname," she grumbled. Looking away from Gladio, she met Noctis' gaze. "I see you've claimed the Mark of the Fulgurian. Now you've received the favor of two Astrals."

"Yeah, well, I was getting sick of the rain," Noctis sighed. "Speaking of Astrals, you once earned their favor."

War blinked in surprise. "How'd you know that?"

"I spoke with Gentiana again." He leaned forward in his seat. "Does it ever get any easier?"

"No, it doesn't," she answers honestly. "It'll only get more difficult from here on out. That's why I'm gonna teach you a few things. It's the least I can do."

"You mean like with the armiger and warping?"

"Yes."

"How can you even do all that?" Noctis asked.

"Lucis isn't the only kingdom that was gifted a crystal. Vanaheim was also gifted one. But now my kingdom's Crystal lies at the bottom of the ocean with the rest of Vanaheim. I was only able to retain my abilities because the Crystal is still active." She combed a few crimson strands of hair behind her ear. "But before we do any training, why're you four camped so close to an imperial stronghold?"

"Cindy found the car!" Prompto announced gleefully.

"Which is currently inside that stronghold," Gladio added.

"You plan on infiltrating such a heavily defended stronghold?" She crossed her arms. "That's a hefty task for just the four of you."

"You plannin' on joining us?"

A mischievous glint shines in her (e/c) eyes. "Only if I get to destroy things."

"I don't see why not."

"Then will you serve as a distraction, (Y/n)?" Ignis asked.

"Leave it to me," she replied.

"Since that's settled..." Noctis stood up. "Show me some of your tricks, (Y/n)."

War and the prince walked a short ways from the haven. Gladio and Prompto tagged along, curious as to what the Horseman was going to teach Noctis. Ignis remained behind, deciding to get a head-start on dinner.

(Y/n) took a few steps away from Noctis. "Let's start with the armiger." Out of the blue, myriads of weapons materialized around the girl.

He stared in amazement at how many weapons she had and the large variety. "Damn. How many weapons are there?"

"Thirty. But unlike your ancestral weapons, mine are those of the enemies conquered by Vanaheim. Each one has a dark origin tied to it. But let's leave that for now and focus on your armiger. It may lack the weaponry like mine, but that means nothing if you know how to wield it." She dispelled her armiger, grinning widely. "Hope you're ready, Noctis. I won't go easy on you."

Gladio and Prompto watched from the sideline as (Y/n) taught Noctis how to wield the armiger in different ways. Both were amazed at how the prince's full attention was into the training and how he wasn't complaining after an hour.

Another hour passed and the Horseman moved on to warping. She taught Noctis a few of her techniques that she knew would be beneficial in the future.

By the time she ended the lesson, Ignis finished dinner. Noctis and Prompto dashed off, their stomachs growling simply just thinking about food. (Y/n) watched the two run back to the haven while combing a hand through her crimson locks.

"Hey." Gladio walked over to her. "Thanks for teachin' him."

"Like I said, it's the least I can do," she sighed. "I know what it feels like to have so much weight on your shoulders. I pity Noctis yet I envy him."

"You envy Noct?" He scoffed lightly. "Why?"

"Because he has people like you, Prompto, and Ignis by his side. When I was queen, I thought I had someone I could share my burdens with. Turns out he was just a manipulative asshole who was using me to accomplish his true goal."

"This guy..." Gladio's voice lowered. "His name wouldn't happen to be Gaius, would it?"

Her (e/c) eyes widen in horror. "How the hell did you know that?"

"The nightmare. It's becoming clearer. So, you gonna tell me who he was or do I have to wait for this nightmare to get worse?"

Her eyes narrowed into a glare. "Why do you even care?"

"Because every time I close my eyes at night, I see that asshole kill you," he remarked.

"Listen, I don't know why or how you're having this nightmare, but what you're seeing is my death over and over again. While I was queen of Vanaheim, a boy I knew since childhood was appointed as my advisor. We did everything together and I eventually fell in love with him. I confessed my feelings and so did he. For five whole years, I thought he loved me. Turns out, he never did and was only trying to take Vanaheim away from underneath me. That bastard twisted my mind and made me believe every word that came out of his mouth. The moment I was no longer of use to him was when he stabbed me from behind." (Y/n) clenched her fists tightly, her nails digging into her palms. "Now that I've told you, are you satisfied?"

Gladio heard the hurt in her voice as she spoke about her past. He regretted asking, but at the same he was happy to know a little more about her. "Yeah, sorry for pryin'."

"I'm going to scout the stronghold," she said, desperate to change the subject.

"You don't wanna enjoy Iggy's cooking?" He asked.

"I'm basically a walking corpse and no longer need to eat. What would be the point?" She didn't wait for Gladio's response and left.

<------------<<<<<

Once finished scouting Aracheole Stronghold, (Y/n) returned to the haven where the boys were waiting for her. She told them what she learned, earning a thank you from Ignis.

After sharing everything she knew, the group departed from the haven. Back at Aracheole Stronghold, the Horseman excused herself in order to begin her diversion. She wandered into the stronghold, setting her sights on the one area that caught her attention during her earlier scouting. A grin made its way onto her face as she stood in front of the lines of mechs that were freshly assembled. She looked around, noticing the MTs and soldiers on duty had yet to notice her presence. Cracking her fingers, she held out her hands. "I've always wanted to do this."

Using her powerful fire magic, War created a large fiery vortex. She watched with a wicked grin as it toasted the large mechs. The hunk of metals and wires turned into piles of molten metal because of the extreme heat while others exploded. Because of the fiery vortex and the loud explosions, she was able to gain the attention of every enemy within the stronghold.

The Horseman was quickly surrounded. Soldiers aimed their guns at her while the MTs waited for their orders to attack. She tapped her chin, humming in curiosity. "Swords, bows, pistols..." Her eyes widen as she grinned, snapping her fingers. "Javelins!" Summoning a handful of javelins, she manipulated them with ease. The javelins soared through the air, impaling the imperial forces.

Within seconds, she killed a majority of the enemies surrounding her. A few bullets pierced her body, but she was unfazed as they were absorbed into her body and the bullet hole wounds healed. Seeing this, the remaining soldiers retreated in fear. Unfortunately, the MTs didn't follow their allies and continued to attack her. She easily wiped them out with her javelins before dematerializing her weapons. Looking around at the various bodies splayed across the ground, she sighed. "This wasn't as fun as I thought it'd be..."

Moving to another part of the base where they were manufacturing airships, (Y/n) got to work destroying them. She dragged her finger across the side of one of the airship, creating a large crack in the exterior. Backing away, she smirked in satisfaction when seeing flames erupt from the crack. Before long, the air vessel exploded and destroyed even more airships. The fiery explosion lit up the night sky, fueling the girl's need to destroy even more.

Setting her sights on the horde of MTs running straight for her, War summoned a bow and fired arrow after arrow. Each one pierced the metallic skull of an enemy. She watched in amusement as they fell like flies.

Suddenly, (Y/n) felt a familiar god-like presence. Looking up, she saw Ramuh. The feeling of overwhelming power washed over her as the Astral used his power to kill the remaining imperial forces residing within the stronghold. A small smile appeared on her face. "Looks like Noctis did it."

Just as the Fulgurian vanished, the sun peeked over the horizon. The redhead ridded herself of her bow, hearing nothing but her heart racing from the adrenaline rush. Seeing her job was done, she decided to search for the royal retinue. Wandering around the entire base, she finally found the boys and the car they'd been desperately searching for.

From her peripheral, she saw a person she'd encounter on a couple of occasions while traveling across Eos-Ravus Nox Flueret. He'd been a pain in her side due to his and the empire's interference in her mission to slay the monsters that escaped from the Inner Sanctum. She knew exactly why he wanted the creatures and wouldn't allow him to do as he pleased with such dangerous, unpredictable creatures.

From her perch, she watched Ravus approach the boys. She kept her eyes glued to them, keeping her distance. Her plan was to avoid interfering, but that idea went out the window when Ravus threatens Noctis with his blade. The heterochromia-eyed man slowly raises his sword above his head, then brings it down fiercely. Gladio briefly blocks it with his own sword before Ravus parries the weapon away and slams the pommel of his sword into the shield's chest, sending him flying into the side of the Regalia. Prompto runs to check on Gladio while Noctis gets between them and Ravus.

Unable to stand by any longer, (Y/n) summoned multiple javelins and sent them towards Ravus. Sworn to not harm any mortals, she manipulated the javelins and created a makeshift cage around Ravus. The moment the man spotted her, she hopped down from her perch and sauntered over.

"You..." Ravus growled.

"Still being a pain in the ass, I see," War groaned.

"Your presence on Eos is a plague, Horseman," he spat.

"I'm pretty sure many would say the same about you," she hissed.

Suddenly, Ardyn appears and joins their conversation. "Now, now. I'd say that's far enough. A hand, Highness?"

"Not from you," Noctis spat.

"Oh, but I'm here to help."

Ignis was skeptical of the chancellor's sudden appearance. "And how is that?"

"By taking the army away," he explained.

"You expect us to believe that?" Gladio growled.

"When next we meet, it'll be across the sea. Just so happens we have business of our own with the tutelary deity. Don't we?" Ardyn looks at Ravus before glancing at (Y/n). "My dear, would you..." He gestured to the javelins entrapping his ally.

Reluctantly, War released Ravus. The javelins vanished, allowing him to go free. Ardyn thanked her before looking back at Noctis. "Fare thee well, Your Majesty, and safe travels." Ravus and Ardyn walk away, leaving the group behind.

Prompto looked around at the faces of his friends. "You guys know that guy?"

"Ravus Nox Fleuret, first son of Tenebrae...and elder brother to Lady Lunafreya," Ignis said.

"How do you know him, (Y/n)?" Noctis asked.

"Bastard's been a thorn in my side ever since I came to Eos. He's allied himself with the empire and desires to use the monsters from the Inner Sanctum as puppets. I'm not sure why the empire believes they can control such creatures. They're not like daemons or the beasts native to Eos. They're unpredictable and dangerous. That's why they were sealed away within the Inner Sanctum. And if we thought mortals could handle them, there wouldn't be any need for me and my sisters to be here." She walked over to Gladio and offered him a helping hand.

The shield was surprised at her gesture but accepted it regardless. She helped him to his feet, where she healed him and the others. "Thanks for that, (Y/n)," he said.

"Let's just get the hell outta here."

[kali-tmblr]

The Opposites: Contrasts in the Lives of Jaune and Oscar

There are those who wish Oscar had never been introduced and that Ozpin had moved into Jaune's mind instead. Children, please. While Jaune is going to be a great leader in the end, he would last maybe five seconds under the burden of the Oz collective before his mind crumbled from panic caused by self-doubt. He's got both the wrong psychological profile and the wrong literary profile for that particular fate.

Let's deal with the psychology first. Every mind (I say "mind" in this case instead of "person" because the process is largely subconscious) has to decide where to place their trust. Do they trust their inner self? The outside world? Both? Or neither? That choice causes some profound differences down the line.

Jaune doesn't trust himself, but instead places his trust in the outside world. He is quick to think that he isn't good enough and to accept other people's assessment of him, both negative (Cardin) and positive (Pyrrha). He is quick to form external connections, while his own self-confidence grows with a glacial slowness. When we first meet him he is also prey to adopting false images of what he should and should not be, even when those images are nonsensical. In the beginning he frequently feels inadequate, and goes to great lengths to hide those feelings of inadequacy.

Oscar trusts himself, but is skeptical about the outside world. He doesn't question that he is good enough to do the extraordinary task he has been given, instead he questions the extraordinary sacrifice he will have to make in order to do it. Will the deed be worth the price he must pay? He takes his time in forming opinions about the outside world, even when that "outside world" includes a voice literally inside his own head, and frequently complains that the world doesn't make sense. He freely admits when he feels scared, weak, and helpless; and asks others for tips on how to deal with those feelings of inadequacy.

These internal differences cause some very big behavioral differences. Jaune initially rejects lessons from Pyrrha because it conflicts with the false image of himself that he put up to conceal his feelings of inadequacy, while Oscar doesn't have a problem with accepting lessons from others. Jaune knows that he's not ready to be the great hero when we first meet him, and broods over being "the loveable idiot stuck in the tree". Oscar knows that he's not ready to be the great hero when we first meet him, accepts it, and finds what he can do right now. Instead of brooding he carries messages, lights fires, and cooks meals. Stick him up somewhere high and he becomes the team spotter.

In regard to the Oz collective, Jaune's inner feelings of uncertainty would have overwhelmed him when confronted with another presence inside his own head. His mind would have broken, and while Oz would have had free use of his body, that wasn't what the God of Light wanted from this particular arrangement. He wanted Oz to have a partner, to "never be alone". Oscar's self-confidence means he is able to accommodate having another being inside his head without his ego crumbling, and if necessary to stand up to Oz inside his mind the same way he stood up to Hazel at Haven.

(As for the question of whose mind is going to absorb whom, I posted a three-part essay on why I think Ozpin wants Oscar's mind to absorb the Oz collective, and is actively working towards that end.)

But we don't have to use fancy psychological terms. The difference between the two young men can also be summed up in literary terms. They fit two different definitions of the term "hero". Jaune is a hero in the Modern mold, while Oscar is a hero in the Classical mold of the Greeks and Romans.

As a Modern hero Jaune has to overcome self-doubt to accomplish his goal. As a Classical hero Oscar must wrestle with his Fate. There's a big difference between the two. A Modern hero is like the character in a modern video game. You work hard, fail, learn, win, and probably get the girl. A Classical hero is like the character in a primitive 1970s era videogame. Surviving isn't an option. You are not getting out of here alive. Your Fate is foretold, your death is known the moment you step on the battlefield. All that matters is how high a score you leave on the leaderboard. But when that score goes up, you will still be dead, and you have to accept that fact.

Jaune would not have been able to accept the eventual dissolution or at least radical reconstruction of his mind required of the heir to the Oz collective, but Jaune is instead willing to sacrifice his life for others. "If I die buying them time, then it's worth it. They're the ones that matter." Oscar is willing to accept the potential literal sacrifice of his self as long as it serves a Higher Purpose. "These past few days, I've been scared of the same things you were. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be... me. But I did some thinking, and I do know that I want to do everything I can to help with whatever time I have left." Jaune's great fear is that he won't be good enough to save others. Oscar's great fear is that his inevitable sacrifice will serve no purpose. "We signed up to save the world, not just delay the inevitable."

In terms of other characters in the show, Jaune is most like Weiss and Oscar is most like Ruby. Both Jaune and Weiss start out with massive insecurity problems hidden behind false selves. Like Qrow and Winter, the psychological journey Jaune and Weiss must make is remarkably similar in spite of the fact that they started on opposite sides of the social ladder (I'll post separately on them later), and one of the great ironies of the show is going to be how they were so caught up in projecting false images of themselves at first that they took forever to realize this fact. Likewise, both Oscar and Ruby share a rural background and an easy acceptance of the idea of sacrificing themselves to serve a Higher Purpose.

At the end of their growth, if they're still alive and nothing has gone spectacularly wrong, Jaune is going to be a mountain, both physically and in terms of his self-image. His slowly accumulated, hard-won self-confidence is going to be as solid as basalt. That steady sense of self and ability to figure out how to win the battle in front of him will make him an empathetic leader who is revered by his troops. Meanwhile Oscar will be looking at the big picture and figuring out how to win the war. Together they will make a formidable opponent few would want to take on.

[ultravioletsoul]

Maybe an unpopular opinion regarding Makarov/Character Analysis (part 1)

Sometimes I read comments of CoD fans saying that Vladimir always was an asshole for apparently no reason, that he was the typical Russian cliché villain doing cliché bad things (such an original concept, I know). And while I do agree that for the most part the games didn’t do a very good job at giving him any significant depth (and he acts like a jerk, it’s true), I also have to say that he’s probably one of the most misunderstood characters in the series. Not because I think he was some poor innocent man who did nothing wrong, but because his villainous portrayal tends to take the spotlight every time he’s onscreen and we literally cannot see anything else beyond that. Which, of course, makes him look very one-dimensional since the game always has to remind you in oh-not-so-subtle ways how evil he is.

The story of MW never goes into full detail as to what drove him to do the horrible things he did. And it’s not clear unless one bothers to analyze some obscure information hidden in the loading cutscene of No Russian and does a little research on the side. In all honesty, I wish his story would have been better explained and developed by other means than just a slideshow of newspaper articles and an overview of his dossier. I would have been content with a special trailer that actually explained his background, rather than have him say some pseudo Sun Tzu lines in a few teasers and let that be the entirety of his character development but okay… I guess this was as far as Infinity Ward’s story-telling capabilities went back then.

Sure, you may think: who the hell cares about his motivations? He was an evil mofo and needed to be put down. Well, unfortunately for these people, I exist and I do care because Vladimir is one of my faves— perhaps my most favorite character in the entire MW universe. And though I like him because he’s an unapologetic baddie, that’s not the only reason.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t think Vladimir is this super complex character that nobody else gets, but there are definitely some elements that give him a few extra layers and they’re worthy of being analyzed.

Beware, this is going to be a long post and will contain a few historical references. This isn’t a comprehensive breakdown, and I’ll probably make a lot mistakes along the way because I’m not a history buff by any means (please, don’t yell at me ;A;), but it should be a rough explanation of what I think led Vladimir to such extremist views and why I think he’s a good antagonist in Call of Duty. Also it could be a helpful reference for anyone who wishes to write a story about him.

I’m not claiming this is the most accurate interpretation of Vladimir, or that it’s the only valid one, but if any of this information comes in handy or offers a different insight into his character then I’ll consider my mission accomplished.

Without further ado, here we go!

Tagging @sunset-and-periwinkle​​​ and @renegad3spectre​ because they may be interested in this post :v

1. No Russian

So one of the first recollections that come to mind when thinking about MW2 is the infamous mission of No Russian. This kind of content was so violent and crude for its time that it caused quite the controversy and it still divides the opinion between people who think videogames should push boundaries and people who believe there are things that shouldn’t be portrayed in such an offhanded way. Whether including that level in MW2 was a good or terrible choice is not the point of this post. However, I’ll share my personal experience.

Me, back when I played this mission I didn’t give it much thought. I mean… it didn’t have this serious impact on me as I’m guessing the developers intended, from what I’ve read, but that’s mainly because I wasn’t mature enough to make a proper assessment of the story-line and to me CoD games weren’t about deep narratives either. Keep in mind that I was an immature kid and I just wanted to play a game that my brother enjoyed. So yes, without much thought I breezed through No Russian, accomplished the objectives and it wasn’t until the end of the mission that I realized I’d been played like a damn fiddle.

And my first reaction to seeing Makarov killing me was “bro, I thought we were allies”. Never mind the carnage that had ensued moments ago, never mind that I had participated in it. I was more offended by this unexpected 'betrayal' and well... imagine how stupid I was for thinking Vladimir could be my friend. The fact that Allen was a CIA agent completely eluded me and I didn’t understand a freaking thing of what was going on but that was on me. I shouldn’t have been playing those games at my young age because evidently I wasn't ready to handle adult themes like that.

Replaying this mission now that I’m older made me realize how messed up it was, and maybe not for the most obvious reasons. Yeah, innocent people die all around us and that's something we cannot stop from happening, no matter what we do. However, it’s not really necessary for us to hurt civilians to complete the level (we’re not punished for not doing it) so we can be simple witnesses to the brutality ensuing in front of us, which is as equally messed up perhaps. You can even skip the whole mission altogether if you want to, so no biggie: you’re spared the nightmare fuel and you can happily head to Brazil to capture Alejandro Rojas. Heck, you’re even rewarded a glimpse of Ghost ready to torture Alejandro’s assistant and all is back to normal, yay!

However, when you think about it, from the perspective of the story, Allen wasn’t given the option to skip anything. He was pushed to commit a vile deed and ordered to follow Makarov’s lead no matter how morally questionable those actions turned out to be in the end. Shepherd told him that this mission would cost him a piece of himself and he was right about it. Had Allen survived, I’m pretty sure he would have been scarred for life after what he did. I don’t know how he could have lived with himself knowing that he slaughtered all those innocent people. Vladimir killing him off was kind of… an act of mercy in a way, though of course we know he had completely different intentions for doing so.

So people may wonder, why the heck Vladimir carried out that massacre? Some common opinions I read is because he’s an asshole, because he’s crazy, because he wants to make a statement, because he enjoys being a psychopath and hurting others. All these may be true to some extent, we’ll never know for sure, but it’d be very simplistic to just leave it at that without taking into consideration other elements of the story that were left implicit.

I’m going to say that, from my perspective, I didn’t get the impression Makarov enjoyed killing those civilians (but hear me out, neither did he regret it!). It would have been pretty easy to make him this psycho that slaughters people with a smile on his face, but that’s not what we see in No Russian… and perhaps it’s even more terrifying when you realize how casual he is about the whole affair. You really get the impression that he’s a man on a mission and he carries it out in a very no-nonsense manner, does it all with a straight face, without batting an eyelash, without any trace of doubt about what he’s doing, not even a hitch in his voice, absolutely no emotion whatsoever. His actions, his words, his whole demeanor, all scream about being a professional at what he does for better or for worse.

He didn’t know these people, he had no quarrel with them, and yet he killed them all in cold blood. Why? Because they were stepping stones to his goals and there was a very established purpose for that op. To the rest of the world, yea, it  may seem like there’s no logical reason for what he did other than he’s nuts but, honestly, Vladimir could care less about that. The only thing that matters to him are the results.

Even if the whole world thinks that he’s insane, in his mind this was the most reasonable course of action. To him it had to be done, there was no other way, and he didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger when the time came because he was truly convinced it was the right thing to do. The fact that he (a criminal who’s wanted by the entire world and probably cannot afford to leave himself out in the open) participated in that brutal event shows the utmost importance it had to his plans. Vladimir personally oversaw and carried out the operation, he didn’t leave anyone else in charge because of the very special meaning it had for him. He says “for Zakhaev” before engaging FSB units because this incident would mark the beginning of a new chapter in Russian history, a chapter Vladimir would write in honor of the man who was his friend and mentor— the man who started it all, who gave him a cause to believe in and fight for.

He definitely had his reasons for what he did. They were the wrong reasons of course, but Vladimir didn’t act on a whim nor did he waste his time on matters that didn’t advance his agenda. He didn’t start a war nor massacred hundreds of people at that airport for simple fun and without a solid motive (though this isn’t by any means a justification, it still was a pretty shitty thing to do). We all know that it was a false flag operation, as he wanted to put the blame on the US for the attack. His intention was sparking a war between Russia and America and he was willing to achieve that by any means necessary, even if thousands of his countrymen had to die, even if he had to make common cause with Shepherd (we don’t know under which circumstances and terms), a man who by all accounts should have been his worst enemy— a man who had set up an entire task force for the sole purpose of hunting Vladimir down. And don’t get me wrong, they weren’t buddies, they still hated each other’s guts and would kill the other in a heartbeat, but they were willing to work together towards the same goal because none of them would succeed on their own.

So, ultimately, Vladimir’s objective was riling up the public opinion to push for an invasion of America and provide the Russian government a ‘legitimate’ reason to do it. Does this have 9/11 commentary undertones? Well, I’m not gonna be the judge of that but it could be a possibility.

However, to understand this moment, we’ll have to go much further back in time.

2. His Childhood

This is going to be a huge oversimplification of Soviet history, I’m afraid, so my apologies in advance. Don’t take my word as the absolute truth, this is barely scratching the surface.

According to the information seen in No Russian, and Return to Sender, little Volodya was born on April 10th (not sure how reliable is the wiki since I was convinced he was born on October 4th *shrugs*) of 1970 in Ivanovo, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic. Or for those who, like me, don’t like those long names, better known as Soviet Russia.

As a curious fact, Ivanovo is known as the City of Brides because it was a very important center of textile industries in the Soviet Union that attracted many young women seeking work. It also has an important historical significance as hotbed for revolutionary activity in czarist Russia and was the city where supposedly the first Bolshevik assembly took place (earning the nickname of City of the First Soviet). During the Second War it proved invaluable as a front city, located close to enemy lines, receiving refuges and injured soldiers of the Red Army that treated their wounds in the many hospitals that were set up for that purpose. Also, in addition to producing armament and fighting in the war, the citizens made good use of their industries and donated huge quantities of fabric to make millions of uniforms.

Back to the topic, next thing we have to wonder is what Vladimir’s life was like as a child born in the 70s. We don’t know much about it and it’s never even mentioned anywhere in the game but, if we had to hazard a guess, he most likely had a relatively happy childhood— raised like any average Soviet kid at the time. His parents were maybe workers, maybe doctors, maybe engineers, maybe teachers, maybe in the military, but they surely weren’t bad people and they wanted their son to be a decent member of society. They didn’t raise him to be a criminal, they didn’t shape him into a monster. If Vladimir had at least one grandfather alive, then he would have served during the Great Patriotic War (a term used in Russia and other former Soviet republics to refer to the conflict in the Eastern Front during WWII). And as a kid, Volodya probably grew up in a typical khrushchyovka apartment with his family. It wasn’t very luxurious but, you know, it wasn’t so bad either and it was home sweet home for them.

Now you gotta imagine what growing up in the Soviet Union was like. Education was heavily influenced by the Communist party and children swam in a sea of propaganda. No, no matter what western propaganda says, they didn’t teach him to hate the west as a kid. Vladimir didn’t want to wipe out Americans from the face of the Earth or skin them alive as you probably imagined at some point, but from a young age he was taught to be proud of being born in the greatest country in the whole world and he pitied the ‘oppressed’ American workers for their lack of Soviet blessings, for being unable to stand up to their imperialist overlords. Heck, this was a popular song in the 80s, when he was about ten years old and probably every Soviet kid sang it at school, including him.

Speaking about that, at school he must have been in contact with several ethnic groups— remember that the industries attracted a lot of people to Ivanovo, particularly women, from many places all over the Soviet Union and, even to this day, Ivanovo is a multi-cultural city with over a hundred nationalities. It’s safe to say that Vladimir would have never given it much thought if someone wasn’t an ethnic Russian nor would he have cared. There weren’t nationalities or differences back then. Everyone was a Soviet citizen and everyone was equal or so it would seem at least, if you ignore the multiple genocides, mass killings, deportations and other horrors of the Stalin era before the Soviet Union adopted a more moderate domestic policy and started a process of de-stalinization after his death— eliminating his cult of personality and other institutions that allowed him to hold autocratic power.

This was also known as the Khrushchev Thaw period, and it was during this time that repression and censorship began to become more lax thanks to Nikita Khrushchev’s policies, and millions of prisoners were released from the gulags. It also opened up the Soviet Union to some economic reforms, trade with other countries, as well as educational and cultural exchanges in the form of foreign uncensored books and movies, music, dances, fashion, and new forms of entertainment in national television. So all this would seem a shift towards a more positive outlook for the Soviet citizens.

Our little Volodya shared and played with other kids in his neighborhood in the playgrounds of the apartment buildings, maybe fell off those Soviet swings and whacked his head a few times but that was okay, he still had fun and laughed and cried like any other child. He grew up listening to old pop music, synth (because people just didn’t listen to patriotic music all the time) and watching Bollywood movies which were all the rage at the time in the USSR as an alternative to western cinema. He had friends, a family that loved him. He spent weekends at the dacha (cottages outside the city) working the land with his family, growing fresh produce. He probably had an affectionate babushka that looked after him, told him many stories, and cooked hearty meals for him because she was a genius at handling finances and feeding the family. She surely was a god-believing woman despite the widespread atheism in a society where the word of Marx and Lenin had an almost religious significance, who took no shit from anyone, and who would  chew Vladimir’s head off if he so much went out under-dressed in a breezy day. Even as a grown ass man, she would still intimidate him because you don’t mess with babushkas!

Like a good Soviet kid he was taught to never lie, to help his parents and respect the work of others, to have good manners and not be a spoiled brat, to be considerate and kind to his elders, encouraged to be resourceful, to do things by himself and not expect others to come to his aid, to improve his culture and intellect, to study hard and become someone who would help build the future of socialist paradise. He probably collected silly trinkets like many kids do, he spent his time learning to carve wood and other crafts, reading about the great war heroes and the communist leaders. Year after year he played zarnitsa, a war game for kids and a very popular activity in the Young Pioneers (the Soviet ‘Boy Scouts’, so to speak) that trained young generations for military life, compulsory for every man, cultivating their love for the USSR and preparing them to defend the homeland from the enemy.

Life back then could be tough at times, true, but he must have been quite happy and there was joy to be had. He was raised to be patriotic, a good communist, living in what he believed was a place of peace where all were equals and all were comrades. Having little contact with western influences, he grew up listening to a carefully woven narrative and was told of the decadence of warmonger capitalists that feared the spread of communism so much that they would wage countless wars to stop it and destroy other peace-loving nations. So much could be argued regarding this statement, sure, but this is what he was told and it was during a time when Operation Condor (the US-backed campaign of state terrorism and wave of right-wing dictatorships in Latin America during the 70s-80s) was in full swing to eradicate communism and any Soviet influence from South America. Not to mention the many proxy wars waged throughout these decades, as well.

“For years the western hypocrisy has made the world a battlefield.”

Little Octobrists and Young Pioneers were a thing and the Communist ideology was still going strong even if some started to quietly question it. Not that many did, at any rate, since the dreaded KGB kept a close eye on everyone so dissidents wouldn’t spread the wrong ideas in the Soviet society. Well, at that time maybe you wouldn’t be sent to a gulag just for saying bad things but someone would ‘talk’ some reason into you and there would be subtle threats to tone your attitude down or else your life and that of your relatives could be screwed. Don’t say this, don’t do that, the walls have ears and you’re being watched.

You have to keep in mind that he also grew up under the constant threat of nuclear annihilation. And much like American kids, Vladimir would have been greatly concerned about nuclear armageddon and be familiarized with procedures to follow in case such a terrible event came to pass.

The US and Russia pointed nukes at each other for many years and the NATO military exercises of Able Archer— at the peak of Cold War hysteria— didn’t help matters. These were annual exercises but that year of 1983, new elements never seen before had been introduced, and then there was the menace of the new Pershing II nuclear missiles that had been recently deployed in Western Europe. If launched, these would be able to reach their target in less than ten minutes (faster than any other missile known until then), landing with high accuracy and virtually no warning.

Until then the only thing stopping a nuclear war was the threat of mutually assured destruction, but these missiles tipped off the scales in favor of the west, since the Soviets would have no way to retaliate if their command centers or even their own missile launch facilities were targeted. So the Soviet Politburo was very concerned about this situation, in a time when president Reagan poured great efforts to fight the Brezhnev Doctrine (which established the legitimization of military interventions in Eastern bloc states, or any country that became a threat to international socialism) and show the world that the USSR wasn’t indestructible.

The increase in realism of these exercises, the strained relationship with the US under the Reagan administration, previous psychological operations, participation of heads of government in the exercise, and recent deployment of these new ballistic missiles, made the Soviet military believe that the US and NATO were preparing for a preemptive strike and that the exercise was nothing but a ruse. In response, the Soviets readied their nukes, air forces in East Germany and Poland were put on high alert to any funny business, and Soviet intelligence monitored the situation closely for signs of an impeding attack.

After nine days, the exercises came to an end and that was probably the time both countries were the closest to nuclear annihilation since the Cuban missile crisis of 1962.

So in those years, Vladimir was living under the administration of Leonid Brezhnev famously known for his era of stagnation and also for his passionate kisses (the famous socialist fraternal kiss, you guys :v). Though it’s worthy of being mentioned that in the early 70s the Soviet Union had reached the peak of international power and prestige.

Nikita Khrushchev, Brezhnev’s predecessor, had promised that by the 80s communism would be a reality and maybe that wasn’t so hard to believe at the time. The economy was growing at a rate of about 3% annually and things had started off relatively well in the mid 60s when Brezhnev assumed office. There was full employment, even minimal wage was sufficient to afford basic necessities, healthcare was a given, education in all levels was free and once you finished university or a vocational course, there was a job waiting for you. Things were pretty much settled for everyone. There wasn’t a lot to worry about, not many uncertainties. It was a pleasant predictive life for the most part. Not perfect, by any means, and it had its difficulties but Vladimir’s family felt protected and safe and they had great hopes for the future.

What went wrong then?

To be continued in part 2

[wisdomrays]

TAFAKKUR: Part 80

Aging: Part 1

I will start with the cliche: “man is born, grows, ages, and finally dies.” So this cycle of life is inevitable, although at different times in history the speed of this process has varied tremendously. In early times, when there was purity in nature, it is narrated that Prophet Noah lived for 950 years. Whether other people at the time had that long a life span is not known for certain, but this suggests that human beings lived longer lives in earlier times. Later, at some point it was reduced to a mere 30 or 40, years due to wars and diseases like the plague. Nowadays, lifespan depends on the level of prosperity in a society, ranging from 33 in Zimbabwe, for example, to 80 in Sweden. But then, why bother to avoid or prolong a life whose end is inevitable, namely death? If you consider the time needed for a human to mature and be educated, you will see that these days, people are assumed to have gained experienced after the age 30, and that the longer they live, the more wisdom they can gain and impart and the more good deeds they can accomplish for this world and the Hereafter. So prolonging the life span is not just a decadent materialistic pursuit, rather it can actually bear beneficial fruit for humanity, both spiritually and materially.

However, as one’s age increases, most bodily functions peak and then start to diminish. A better aging strategy would be to age in the healthiest possible manner; i.e., keeping the physical and mental functions as sharp as possible, in particular the memory, so as not to lose human dignity in old age.

Aging and Memory

As one ages, reactions start to slow, the speed of understanding and the level of concentration diminish. The precipitous decline of dopamine-containing neurons in the human brain after age 45 is a universal characteristic of the aging process. The nigrostriatal region of the brain is richest in dopamine and undergoes the most rapid aging of any brain area. Age-associated depletion of dopamine also accounts for less noticeable symptoms, like a decline in physical drives and brain functions. These reactions are mostly on a mental or psychological level. In addition to these, wrinkles appear in the skin, hairs gray, and joints become gnarly. Perhaps, most important of all, is that according to recent research carried out on the brain, by the time most people hit 40, their brainpower starts to weaken. This does not mean that people become incompetent, just a bit slower in the cognitive process. This phenomenon is called “generalized slowing” by psychologists. According to James Birren, the Associate Director of the Center on Aging at the University of California, Los Angeles, the first signs of aging appear on tests used to measure mental speed and acuity, in which people count the number of lights flashed on a screen, for instance, or trace a complicated pattern while looking at a mirror.

“But eventually the down-turn affects almost everything we do,” says Birren, “From how fast we hit the breaks when a car pulls in front of us to how quickly we learn new skills on the job or remember old what’s-her-name’s name.”

Then the question is whether the slowing process is unavoidable. According to psychologist Robert Dustman, the answer to this is yes. One of the country’s top experts on aging and the brain, Dustman directs the Neuropsychology Research Laboratory at the Veterans Affairs Medical Center in Salt Lake City. He’s just turned 70 and shows no signs of slowing down himself. “It is true that when we compare 20-year-olds with 60-year olds on almost any test that measures the speed of information processing, younger people on average score significantly better than the older ones,” he says, “But that does not have to be. There is a simple way I can ward off the scourge of slowness,” Dustman says. And the way to do this is to stay in shape.

At first it seems to go against common sense that in some way a mindless act like jogging or striding around a park is relevant to the speed of thinking. But Dustman explains the connection in a very logical way.

Every cell in the body requires a continuous supply of oxygen and nutrients to function at its peak. But surprisingly, no cells need a greater oxygen supply than the gray matter that rests between our ears. The brain, although it makes up only 2% of our body weight, uses up 25% of the glucose and oxygen supply.

Now suppose a person slips out of shape, their heart gets lazy, the arteries get clogged, the blood flow to capillaries slows down, and the oxygen and nutrient supply to the brain falls us. As a result, neurons get less than they need to function properly, the electrical signals slow down, and hence the mind slows down. A recent study shows that blood pressure (or lack of it) is highly correlated to memory; so much so that, a reduction of it causes the memory to weaken.

But getting older does not mean that one must face a full-scale slowdown, Dustman says. The problem is that by 45, when the brain is quickly falling into decline, most of us neglect to perform the activities that keep the arteries open, the heart strong, and blood flowing; namely exercise. Dustman’s own studies suggest that working out might be an antidote. In one of his studies, he ran 60 male volunteers, half in their twenties, half in their sixties, through the standard mental tests. As expected, the younger group had higher mental speeds. But when Dustman looked closely at the older group, he noticed that the ones who were exercising or had remained active had a brain speed that was comparable to that of the younger set.

The tests included actions as simple as pushing a button each time an X appeared in a long string of O’s to memorizing numbers and symbols. “On many measures,” says Dustman “the older men in good condition scored just as well as men 30 and 40 years their junior.” In real life, that is, they could find a number in a phone book or remember that sensible is a synonym for rational.

When one exercise, in other words, the sections of the brain which control movement and balance are fired up, the electrical signals zap back and forth along the nerves from the brain to the muscles and tendons. The eyes, the inner ear, and other sensory nerves all roll into action. The benefits of these can be detected clearly in the brainwaves and electrical impulses recorded by researchers.

Indeed, in Dustman’s study, the older men who were still fit had surprisingly youthful-looking brain waves. They produced more alpha waves, a pattern associated with calmness under pressure, and had steeper peaks and valleys in waves, which signifies an ability to block out distractions. Furthermore, when subjected to a sudden flash of light or a sound blast, they were faster to produce a wave called P-300, which is associated with fast reactions. “People in good shape can really focus,” says Dustman. “They can pen a letter to a friend without the sound of children playing downstairs disturbing them. They can fill out tax forms correctly after reading the directions once.” For someone who’s out of shape, the news is grim. In addition to problems that range from overweight to heart disease and diabetes, the results of a sedentary life style, it turns out that the brain will very likely start to weaken as well. Still, Dustman is optimistic. He once encouraged 42 sedentary people over 55 to exercise (walking or jogging) three times a week. After four months, the aerobic capacity of the volunteers increased 25 % and they scored better on mental speed tests. In light of this study, Dustman thinks that even easy exercise, such as brisk walking can speed up the minds of people after years of inactivity. The time required varies, however. In similar studies, it took about a year to observe an increase in the speed of the brain.

But it is not time that is important here; the goal is rather not to lose brain capacity until a very old age. It would be better if one were always to keep in shape, as it is easier to keep something that works running than to start it up again once it has slowed down. “The real benefit seems to come from making a lifelong habit of staying active,” says Dustman.

It is better to maintain a regular routine of exercises than to start up new ones. Researchers at the University of Illinois compared middle-aged lab rats who padded daily on a running mill to rats who negotiated a complicated obstacle course of rope bridges and seesaws a few times a day. Predictably, both groups got more blood flowing to the brain. But the obstacle-mastering rats had 25% more hard-wired connections between neurons. Assuming the same is true for humans, then exercises which require more brain activity are potentially more rewarding.

Aging and Sleep

The obvious dangers of not getting enough sleep include mental fuzziness, an increased chance of accidents, illness, psychological problems, and decreased productivity at work or school. But Dr. Eve Van Cauter wrote in the prestigious medical journal Lancet that less sleep can actually speed the process of aging. In her informative study, young men who were allowed to sleep only 4 hours each night showed signs of aging in less than a week. Their glucose tolerance dropped considerably, and they started to release cortisol, the stress hormone, at a greater rate than normal.

Sleep offers the body an opportunity to heal and rebuild itself. Pro-sleep nutrients might help in this cause. For example, it has been shown that nutritional supplements containing zinc, magnesium, and pyridoxine (vitamin B6) , among other benefits, help sleep efficiency. A herbal amino acid 5-hydroxytryptophan is another promising sleep aid to use in times of extreme stress. Among sleep promoting herbs from traditional Chinese medicine are ziziphus spinosa (jujube), schisandra chinensis, and bupleurum chinense (Chinese thoroughwax). These herbs seem to relax the muscles and soothe the central nervous system. Sleep is and remains to be the most precious source of energy replenishment.

Melatonin: A God-given Sleeping Pill

Melatonin is a natural molecule made by the pineal gland, which is located in the brain. Melatonin is made from an amino acid called tryptophan. Tryptophan is an essential amino acid, that is, the body cannot make it; we need to get it from the foods we eat. Tryptophan is found in wide variety of foods. As we consume tryptophan during the day, the body converts it into serotonin, an important chemical for the brain that is involved with moods. Serotonin, in turn, is converted into melatonin. This conversion occurs most efficiently at nights.

Melatonin helps to set and control the internal clock that governs the natural rhythms of the body. Each night the pineal gland produces melatonin, which helps us to fall asleep. Research about this molecule has been going on since it was discovered at Yale University by Dr. Lerner in 1958, but recently there has been a great deal more attention being paid to melatonin. About a thousand articles on melatonin are published annually. One major reason is that scientists are discovering that melatonin is not only associated with deep sleep, but also with our hormonal, immune, and nervous systems. Research is accumulating about melatonin’s role as a powerful antioxidant, its possible anti-aging benefits, and its immune-enhancing properties.

Aging and Free Radicals

A free radical is a molecule that contains an unpaired electron through reactions with the essential element oxygen. These molecules “steal” electrons from nearby molecules to complete that final electron pair for stability. Then they are no longer free radicals, but they convert the new combined molecule into a new free radical. In a living organism, this process can cause a chain reaction of severe cellular damage, unless prevented.

The theory that free radicals are agents of bodily destruction is gaining widespread acceptance, as is the value of antioxidants in preventing such an occurrence.

According to the journal Annals of Clinical and Laboratory Science, the excess of free radicals in our body, i.e. “the domino effect”, is a critical factor in many health problems. An interesting and concerning fact about free radicals is that they cause the same reactions within the cells that occur during exposure to radiation. Free radicals released in the body destroy even proteins, the essential constituents of the body that regulate hormones and enzymes and that make up nerves, muscles, skin, and hair. It is usually suggested that antioxidants are used to fight these harmful free radicals. Fruits and vegetables are plentiful in vitamins A, C, and E, the key antioxidants. Polyphenols, which are found in grapes and green tea extracts are potent antioxidants. In fact, scientists have found out that procyanidins are the most promising polyphenols. In Japan, scientists have discovered that they may be 50 times more powerful than vitamins C and E in fighting free radicals. Alpha-lipoic acid, which is soluble in both water and lipids, can neutralize free radicals throughout the body. In fact, alpha-lipoic acid is involved in so many different antioxidant functions that it has been called the “universal antioxidant.” Citrus bioflavonoids and certain fruit and vegetable pigments are also strong free radical fighters.

Deprenyl: An Anti-aging Treatment?

Deprenyl (selegiline) provides selective protection against age-related degeneration of the dopamine nervous system. It is the only inhibitor used in clinical practice. The rate at which dopamine neurons age is quite variable. Before age 45, dopamine levels stay quite stable. Starting at 45, the decrease in average dopamine content in healthy people is linear, at 13% per decade. When it reaches 30%, the symptoms of Parkinson appear.

The sensitivity of the dopaminergic nervous system to oxidizing free radicals has been well established. The protective effect of deprenyl in lessening the neurotoxic effect of the oxidants (6-hydrpxydopa and 6-hydroxydopamine) appears to correlate with increased antioxidant enzyme levels. The increase in the antioxidant level is proportional to the deprenyl intake.

There as yet has been no definitive study of the long-term use of deprenyl in healthy people as a life-extension and cognitive-enhancing drug. But there has been extensive animal research. The lifespan of deprenyl-taking rats is significantly greater than normal rats, in fact, all the control rats died before the first deprenyl-taking rat died. Early research with deprenyl in humans (early-diagnosed Parkinson patients) shows delayed development of symptoms. Deprenyl has also been established as a treatment for Alzheimer’s disease. Eventually, deprenyl has the potential of becoming a general treatment for aging in people above the age of 45.

Conclusion

Although we know for sure that there cannot be an absolute cure for aging, the results of it can be slowed down considerably. Soundness and health of mind are desirable traits for all ages, not just for the elderly. After many years, many elderly people lose much of their memory and mental capacities; this occurs just at the time when they can pass on all their wisdom and experience to the younger generations. Hopefully, with the advent of science and technology, the deficiencies in the brain due to aging can be avoided to a certain extent. The solution lies in a balanced collaboration of modern medicine and traditional natural cures that have been practiced for centuries.

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 48

It’s like reading a reaction-gif summary of the previous chapter except every gif is just pain and also made of words instead. With bonus prophecy.

Chapter 48: Reading the Commentary

Min sat in Cadsuane’s small room, waiting—with the others—to hear the result of Rand’s meeting with his father.

Yeah about that.

A low fire burned in the fireplace

And a much less low (bale)fire burned in Rand’s hands…

Mix that with Min’s discomfort around Rand lately

The fact that even Min feels ‘discomfort’ around Rand is uh. Telling.

Though perhaps, just maybe, he turned a corner of sorts in that last chapter. Via attempted patricide, but whatever works.

Then again, maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part and he’s gone off to incinerate someone else instead.

But the pattern of the narrative points more towards the former, I think.

Min’s uncomfortable about Rand, and a very different sort of uncomfortable about Cadsuane—or perhaps ‘ambivalent’ is a better word. Cadsuane does not make for an easy ally, but she does have her talents, and their aims do align even if just about everything else about them differs.

So Cadsuane’s planning and Min’s reading commentaries on the Prophecies of the Dragon. This ought to be interesting.

One line in [the Commentary] teased at her, a sentence mostly ignored by those who had written commentary. He shall hold a blade of light in his hands, and the three shall be one.

OH OKAY PROPHECY INTERPRETATION TIME. HERE WE GO.

The blade of light seems like it has to be Callandor, especially given Rand’s own musings about it last chapter.

And the three shall be one…the first thing that comes to mind is the fact that Callandor can only safely be used in a circle of three. Which Rand currently sees as a box, as strings tied to him, as a trap…but flip that around and it’s an image of balance and unity and trust. So that’s definitely an option.

Or maybe it’s something else entirely; maybe the ‘blade of light’ is another reference to ‘he shall slay his people with the sword of peace’ and the three that shall be one are…maybe the three major groups of people? The Aiel, the Seanchan, and the ‘wetlands’? That feels like a bit of a reach; the three people in a circle to use Callandor safely seems more likely.

Though apparently various scholars fall more on the nations side of things and tend to think it’s about three major cities or kingdoms. In that case I’d side with my own choice of three rather than just three wetland nations, but either way if that’s given as the default opinion in the text it’s almost certainly wrong, so I guess we can throw that one out.

Min, no, you’re not useless.

And what of Min’s own relationship with Rand? She was still welcome in his presence; that hadn’t changed. But there was something wrong, something off. He put up walls when she was near—not to keep her out, but to keep the real him in. As if he was afraid of what the real him would do, or could do, to those he loved…

Rand, fix this. Min Farshaw deserves better.

But now he has been brought directly to that point of crisis, to looking down at his own father and weaving the balefire that would erase him from existence, and thinking, truthfully, that it is no more than I’ve done before. His own fear of that exact fate brought him to that point—so was he right to be afraid? Or is it the fear that made it into a near-reality, as he fought so hard to deny it or prevent it that he ended up in a war with himself that made it into not just a possibility but a near-inevitability?

It’s perceptive of Min, though, to recognise that he’s not keeping her out but trying to hold himself in. Even Rand can’t quite see it that way, because he is in effect locking himself into a box of his own making and calling it liberation.

And it would be so easy for Min to be hurt by it and think it was directed at her, think that he was indeed trying to wall her out; that’s a pretty common response from anyone who’s being kept at a distance by someone they care about. But Min is Min, by which I mean she’s fucking incredible, and so she sees past that and to the truth: that this isn’t about her; it’s a war of Rand against himself and she is a casualty, not a cause. And not just that, but she sees the reason why, and sees much closer to the truth of what it’s doing to him, and instead of being angry or offended she’s trying to find any way she can to help him.

Again, Rand, Min deserves better and you should thank her profusely when you uh…sort some of your shit out.

He’s in pain again, she thought, feeling him through the bond. Such anger. What was going on?

Do you really want to know?

Still, it’s more than the flat nothingness he’s felt when committing atrocities in the past. Because that’s what that last scene was: a shattering of the ice, and a point of collision of everything Rand’s tried to hold at bay, a collapse of all those walls and barriers and a flood of the feelings he’s tried to suppress. But hopefully it’s an implosion rather than an explosion; Rand’s been externalising his pain without really…acknowledging that he’s doing it for so long, when what he needs to do is actually deal with it and with everything else about himself he’s been trying to ignore or suppress.

She had to trust in Cadsuane’s plan. It was a good one.

The sad thing is that it really is a good plan. By which I mean it has—on paper—a good chance of succeeding at Cadsuane’s goal of getting Rand to re-learn laughter and tears (well, a better chance than just about anything else at this point), but it also is simply good for Rand himself. He needed to see Tam, and Tam is someone who can offer him the kind of help and support and love he so desperately needs but can’t ask for. And Tam, as his father, is going to see him as Rand, the boy he raised, rather than as the Dragon Reborn who owes salvation to the world. It’s a good plan because while there is of course a motive outside of simple concern for Rand’s wellbeing, it’s not a trick or a trap even if Rand sees it as such. It’s just…something good for him. Something he and Tam both want and need and should get to have.

And the fact that it fails precisely because it’s Cadsuane’s plan is sort of a cruel twist and yet at the same time a fitting case of catastrophic consequences.

Cadsuane and Rand get along like oil and water. Or perhaps like flint and steel, striking sparks when they interact simply because of who they are.

Cadsuane’s intentions are good—she wants to save the world and she has, at a few points, actually said out loud (and she cannot lie) that she is trying to do what is good for Rand, not for her or for the White Tower or anyone else. She’s trying, in the best way she knows how. And she’s right about so many things: that he needs to relearn laughter and tears, that he cannot face the Last Battle as he is now, that in many ways he still is just a boy and he’s lost and without direction or guidance, that like it or not he carries the task of saving the world, that he’s becoming too cold, that balefire is dangerous, that he needs to see his father.

Her aims are good, and even some of her reasoning for how to accomplish them is fairly solid. She tries putting Rand off-balance and making it clear that she is not going to be cowed by the simple fact of who he is…which again comes very close to being exactly what he needs. If she fears him he will not respect her, and if she doesn’t push him he will never listen to her.

But it falls apart when it comes to her specific methods. She means well, and her follow-through is almost what he needs…and then veers off in the opposite direction. It’s part of why I appreciate her so much as a character, I think, because that’s such a fascinating dynamic to watch. And it’s a fascinating way to show absolute failure: by anchoring it in very good reasoning and insight and perception and logic, and letting it come very close to something that will work, and then just…swerving away at the last second. It’s frustrating and agonising at times and yet feels so much more real than if she were just hopelessly misguided from the start.

Instead, it comes down to personality and communication and trust, as so many parts of this series do. It’s a conflict of personality and a misunderstanding of motive and a lack of communication; two strong personalities shouting at each other across a room and refusing to budge, rather than taking a step towards where the other stands and meeting somewhere in the middle.

So when she fails it doesn’t feel like the cheap failure of a plan that was stupid and doomed from the start, the way you often see in fiction. Instead, it feels like the frustrating failure of an intelligent, capable woman who tried her best and executed a plan that could have worked but that fell apart because of a chance word and a clash of personalities and a problem of methods.

Though I wonder.

Did she fail? I’m framing it as if she had, but in a way…she was right that Tam was, probably, exactly the person Rand needed most to see. The one person who might be able to get through to him, and force him out of the mindset he’s in one way or another. And…well, he sort of did, I think. Could anything else have brought Rand to that point? Would anyone else have survived that moment where he came closer to that last line, to repeating Lews Therin’s last deed? Would anyone else, watching Rand weave balefire in terror, have caused him to question, and at the last moment make a different choice?

It’s certainly not the precise outcome Cadsuane might have intended or expected or hoped for, but…was it really a failure?

And the other side of the question is: if this does work, and if the result of all of this is somehow Rand coming back to himself (or some version thereof), does it really matter who gets the credit? Would it be Cadsuane, for orchestrating this, or Tam, for being exactly who Rand needed and also just an all-around excellent father, or Rand himself, for holding back, or anyone else all the way along the chain of causality?

In the end, can any one person take credit for what ultimately has to be one man’s choice?

I guess we’ll just need to see what the actual aftermath of that last chapter looks like. After all, Rand made…I think…the right choice in that moment but what comes next? Does the collapse continue, and can he pull some of himself out of it intact? Or will he turn away again and drag those walls up again and set another city on fire? Personally I lean towards the former but we’ll see.

What were Rand and Tam discussing? Would Rand’s father be able to turn him?

That’s…still an open question at this point, I think. But it looks like maybe yes. Kind of. Perhaps. Just about. Indirectly. By way of balefire and internal crisis and memory of the worst moment of his last life. You know, as you do.

“Cadsuane,” Min said, holding up the book. “I think the interpretation of this phrase is wrong.”

Round of applause for Min! Imposter syndrome who?

Seriously, stating outright disagreement with the opinions of a well-respected scholar when you’re the equivalent of an undergrad is hard. Especially when your audience is Cadsuane.

Beldeine seems to take the standard view that Min is an undergrad and therefore has no idea what she’s talking about. Well, Beldeine, unfortunately for you Min is on the protagonist side of the narrative so she’s probably right.

Nobody could humiliate one more soundly than an Aes Sedai, for they did it without malice. Moiraine had explained it to Min once in simple terms.

That alone is astonishing: an Aes Sedai explaining anything in simple terms is practically unheard-of.

Aes Sedai would be very good at the icily professional business email of shame.

“And why,” Cadsuane said, “is it that you think you know more than a respected scholar of the prophecies?”

“Because,” Min said, bristling, “the theory doesn’t make sense. Rand only really holds one crown. There might have been a good argument here if he hadn’t given away Tear to Darlin. But the theory doesn’t hold any longer. I think the passage refers to some way he has to use Callandor.”

“I see,” Cadsuane said, turning yet another page in her own book. “That is a very unconventional interpretation.” Beldeine smiled thinly, turning back to her embroidery. “Of course,” Cadsuane added, “you are quite right.”

So while we’re on the topic of Cadsuane’s methods…

It’s a harsh challenge to Min, especially as it plays directly into what she must know are Min’s insecurities about her position as a young self-taught scholar. At the same time…actually, I think the main reason I don’t have any problem at all with this is because I’ve had professors like this. The ones who push you in precisely the places where you’re most uncertain because they want to see if you can create a strong argument against the exact challenges you’d get from the field as a whole. It’s a case of ‘this is what you’re going to face if you publish this, so you’d better be prepared for it and have a sound argument’.

Does Cadsuane have to say it the way she does? No. But in a way, this is her giving Min a fighting chance to prove herself. Cadsuane is old and competent and walks a line between highly confident and arrogant, but she does listen to young people and unconventional ideas when she genuinely thinks they have merit. It isn’t always easy, and she absolutely has her biases that prevent her from being fully open-minded, but she is capable of changing her mind. So she’s giving Min a chance here, because she believes in giving people what they deserve. She’s not going to dismiss Min on the same basis Beldeine did; she’s going to credit or dismiss Min based on how sound her ideas are.

Cadsuane’s methods often centre on challenging people, and pushing them in directions that make them uncomfortable, and yeah there are all kinds of problems with that and she sometimes comes down on the wrong side of it. But at other times there’s value in the way she does it. It’s just that, like anything else, taken to extreme or excess it’s a problem, and it’s not a one-size-fits-all solution, and she’s a flawed person like most people so sometimes she fucks up by letting her own confidence/arrogance carry her across the line from challenging and somewhat abrasive into unnecessarily harsh and somewhat abusive.

Anyway, Min seems to have acquitted herself well in this mini thesis defence here, but…it makes me wonder if it’s too simple a win to actually be correct.

“Through a great deal of searching I discovered that the sword could only be used properly in a circle of three. That is likely the ultimate meaning of the passage.”

As soon as a character says ‘that’s probably what it really means’, I begin to doubt. Especially because there’s sort of a rule of threes, here. We get the first explanation from the scholars’ interpretation, which is there to be proven wrong. Then you get the protagonists’ first interpretation, which is usually closer but ultimately also either wrong or incomplete. And then at some stage you get the third and ‘true’ explanation, in which everything comes together.

Sanderson holds to this particular rule of threes in his other work, so the pattern seems especially…likely, here.

So what else do we have three of? Past, present, future would be an interesting one. There’s the trio of Elayne, Min, and Aviendha but that doesn’t seem to fit here. There are far more than three people in Rand’s head at this point or else I’d have posited an outside guess at Rand, Lews Therin, and Moridin.

There are a lot of dualities in this series, but fewer trios than one might expect from epic fantasy. I blame the gender binary.

But seriously, there are so many opposing or balanced pairs—Light and Shadow, Creator and Dark One, saidin and saidar, salvation and destruction, White Tower and Black Tower, men and women, what hand shelters, what hand slays?, chaos and order, Rand and Lews Therin…it’s a series that deals with this idea of balance, and of what happens when one side of a balanced system is thrown off, and of how to find that balance between opposing or antagonistic forces without erasing one or the other. Which is fascinating and all, but right now I need sets of three.

I guess there’s technically the True Power along with saidin and saidar.

Okay actually that’s interesting. Rand has channelled the True Power, after all. And according to Lews Therin, his attempt last Age failed because ‘we used saidin, but we touched it to the Dark One. It was the only way! Something has to touch him, something to close the gap, but he was able to taint it.’

And Rand touching the True Power, while it certainly served to turn that scene into…*waves hands wildly in the direction of everything That Scene is*…that, seems like yet another of those things, like Callandor, that should have some further purpose. What good does dragging your character to that point of absolute horror do, if it can’t then be flipped around later into some kind of key?

Well, I mean, it causes great pain and suffering for the character and thus for the readers, which really is plenty of purpose in and of itself and I’m sure as hell not complaining, but. My point is. That right there is a loose end that, used correctly, could be part of a really satisfying twist or tying-off.

But then how does that relate to Callandor? Unless it’s just that he needs to be in a circle of three, and thus allowing flows of saidin and saidar to be controlled, and then he separately but alongside that channels the True Power as well? Hmm. When I try to put it all together it doesn’t fit as well as I thought it would. So either I’m wrong or I’m still missing something.

But it would fit with the rule of threes I was playing with earlier (first answer characters come to is wrong, second is closer but incomplete or slightly incorrect, third is a late realisation that brings it all together) in that it would allow Min and Casuane to be partially but not completely right: Rand needs to be in a circle but there’s more to it somehow.

Maybe.

Nynaeve is in the room as well, being Nynaeve. In case anyone was wondering.

And…what was that vision that was suddenly hovering above Nynaeve’s head? She was kneeling over someone’s corpse in a posture of grief.

Min was just thinking about Lan so that seems like the connection we’re supposed to make here, which of course makes me doubt it. I also am still holding on to my certainty that Lan is going to live (denial? What are you talking about?). And the fact that this is appearing suddenly, given that we know exactly what’s happening in another part of the palace, suggests that it’s related to something Rand has just done or decided, something that has tipped the future towards this outcome.

And that makes me think of Egwene’s own dreams, and Min’s other viewings, of Rand and corpses and funeral biers or pyres, and mourners. Which of course brings us back to that whole question of what happens to Rand? Thanks, Aelfinn, for your clear-as-mud answer on that topic.

At one point, when all the Forsaken were coming back in different bodies, I thought maybe Rand had a chance of something similar, especially as there are definitely some lines that seem to point in that direction…but so far that seems like the Dark One’s domain, so now I’m not so sure. Maybe to live, you must die really does just mean he has to die in order to be part of the cycle of rebirth again. Or maybe he could be reborn immediately, and given a chance to live in peace in the world he has bought with his sacrifice? Or, with Egwene’s dream of a funeral pyre, some sort of phoenix-like death-and-rebirth healing or renewal of body and soul? It would fit the Fisher King theme we’re working with: the land renewed and changed and maybe healed, and so the Dragon getting the same, through some kind of cleansing fire type thing. Rising from his own death, finally healed of the wounds he has carried and thus taking part in the renewal, but no longer recognisable as who he once was, because this will be a different Age and the man who had to play that role is effectively dead (at peace), allowing Rand al’Thor to have a life?

I don’t know. I predict metaphysical fuckery, and beyond that I give up.

“Cadsuane,” she said. “This is still wrong. There’s more here. Something we haven’t discovered.”

“About Callandor?” the woman asked.

Min nodded.

“I suspect so as well,” Cadsuane replied.

Well at least they agree with my little rule of threes.

Oh hi Tam.

“What have you done to him?” he demanded.

Cadsuane lowered her book. “I have done nothing to the boy, other than to encourage him toward civility. Something, it seems, other members of the family could learn as well.”

“Watch your tongue, Aes Sedai,” Tam snarled. “Have you seen him? The enitre room seemed to grow darker when he entered. And that face—I’ve seen more emotion in the eyes of a corpse! What has happened to my son?”

Oh, Tam.

He’s furious here, and it’s directed at Cadsuane, and perhaps rightly so…but I think there’s another layer to this, which is that he has just seen his son, who seems barely alive and is surrounded by darkness and Tam had to stand there and talk to him and still feel powerless to help. He’s grieving.

And it’s an excellent counterpoint to the Tam we saw last chapter, because it’s a way to almost watch the scene again through his eyes. We saw him filtered through Rand’s, and we saw him careful and gentle and offering anything he thought Rand might take. He pushed Rand a bit, towards the end, but even then he was absolutely the father trying to help his wounded child.

Here, though, we see Tam’s side of it. We get his impression of Rand, we get his shock at the darkness that surrounds him—a shock he absolutely could not let Rand see.

We see his pain now, when he tried so hard to hide it in that last scene for Rand’s sake.

Tam al’Thor is a good parent and this hurts.

And I also really like how the love that pushes Rand to this breaking point, to the point of repeating but then rejecting Lews Therin’s past, is the love between parent and child rather than, say, the love he feels for Min or Elayne or Aviendha. And it’s not even the second cliché of a mother’s love; it’s the bond between an adoptive father and his son. I mean sure, that comes  up plenty in the genre as well, but it’s just nice that that’s the tipping point. It’s something a little different and it’s lovely.

Tam took a deep breath, and the anger seemed to suddenly flow out of him. He was still firm, his eyes displeased, but the rage was gone.

Tam was the one who taught Rand the trick of the flame and the void, after all. And he’s using it here because now he’s feeling more than he can deal with; it’s all too much all at once. But he knows, too, how to steady himself.

“He tried to kill me,” Tam said in a level voice. “My own son. Once he was as gentle and faithful a lad as a father could hope for. Tonight, he channelled the One Power and turned it against me.”

I am emotionally compromised.

And he’s not even angry at Rand for that, because it’s all so wrong, and so instead it’s just pain. Pain for Rand’s own pain, shock at what Rand has become, grief for the boy he was who—by his own words and Tam’s acceptance—may as well be dead now, and something almost like disbelief that they could have come to this. I think he even knows that it’s not really personal, but that doesn’t make it better. This is his son except he’s so lost and broken that Tam doesn’t know how to bring him back.

Because at this point Rand is the only one who can do that. If he chooses to.

The words brought back memories of Rand looming over her, trying to kill her.

But that hadn’t been him! It had been Semirhage. Hadn’t it? Oh, Rand, she thought, understanding the pain she’d felt through the bond. What have you done?

This is precisely the distinction I tried to make last chapter, but it gets harder and harder to hold those things separate, and now Min has to wrestle with that and face what Rand has just done of his own volition, and that’s twice now that he’s almost killed those he loves most, and the first time he was controlled by Semirhage, but what does it mean that he almost did the same now?

Does it help, Min, that he’s asking himself that exact same question? What am I DOING?

There’s so much pain in these chapters it’s overflowing the book and I’m FINE.

Of course Tam went immediately off-script. That feels like a genuine flaw in Cadsuane’s plan; she shouldn’t have given him a script at all. She should have known that wouldn’t help, that Tam and Rand needed to be able to just…talk.

“I don’t know what you did to him, woman, but I recognise hatred when I see it. You have a lot to explain to—”

On the one hand, Tam does certainly have cause to be angry with Cadsuane. On the other hand, Rand’s state of mind is not Cadsuane’s doing, any more than it’s any single person’s doing. It’s the result of two years of torment and responsibility and trying to endure the unendurable.

But then, can you fault Tam for being angry, and looking to any target he can find? This is his son, and what he’s just seen is horrific, and he has to do something.

In short, we’re all emotionally compromised.

Except Rand, who has simply compromised his emotions.

Cadsuane calling Tam ‘boy’ is…grating. Though she does have several centuries on him. Still.

“Cadsuane!” Nynaeve said. “You don’t need to—”

“It’s all right, Wisdom,” Tam said.

HE CALLS HER ‘WISDOM’. I mean, with a second or so to think about it, of course he does. But given all she’s struggled with, and her entire character arc of growing beyond Wisdom of Emond’s Field and finding her strength and authority in a world so much larger than her village, and learning to make her place and claim respect in her own right…it’s just really lovely for her to get this nod from Tam. To him, she is still Wisdom, and he accords her that respect without even a moment’s hesitation.

It’s like Rand said: Tam is one person who hasn’t changed. He’s a fixed point in a world where so much is uncertain and so much is shifting.

Tam stared [Cadsuane] in the eyes. “I’ve known men who, when challenged, always turn to their fists for answers. I’ve never liked Aes Sedai; I was happy to be rid of them when I returned to my farm. A bully is a bully, whether she uses the strength of her arm or other means.”

…fair enough.

And it’s good to see someone challenging Cadsuane on that point, especially someone like Tam who can sustain that challenge. He’s like Gareth Bryne that way: he’s damn near unflappable, and she can’t get a reaction out of him through her usual tactics. It’s the sort of thing a character like her needs to run into sometimes, because the thing with Cadsuane is that she’s been on top for so long, and in the Aes Sedai power structure that means no one challenges her. And so there’s no check on arrogance that can so easily creep in to what once was simply confidence, no pushback when she takes something too far. That’s not good for anyone.

“Didn’t we warn you that Rand had grown unstable?”

“Unstable?” Tam asked. “Nynaeve, that boy is right near insane. What has happened to him? I understand what battle can do to a man, but…”

Ow ow ow this hurts.

(I feel like the whole second half of this book, and especially the last several chapters, have been basically just…[not pictured: me, trying to walk quickly across hot sand sprinkled liberally with broken glass and burning coals, mostly failing and going ‘ow’ a lot]).

One thing that stands out here is how differently Tam responds to Rand’s…‘instability’…than so many other characters do, or would. Because once again, he responds entirely as a parent, above all else. He doesn’t shiver in fear of what this might mean for the world, or simply stop at stating that Rand hardly seems sane as if that’s all that needs to be said, or suggest a course of action. No, he just asks, calmly but with this undercurrent still of loss and something like desperation, what has happened. He hasn’t seen Rand in years and now he sees this, and he wants to know what has hurt his child.

It stands out especially given that Cadsuane’s next statement is to tell him that’s irrelevant. Because she is one who looks to the world first, and the person second. (And I’ve said this before, but her viewpoint absolutely has its place as well, but it’s that as well that’s important. You also need people like Tam or Nynaeve who look to the person first).

Tam knows what PTSD looks like and this is something else, and he’s angry, yes, but mostly I think everything about his response in this whole scene is just a manifestation of…shock and grief and confusion and pain at seeing his son hurt in a way that he doesn’t even know how to identify, much less help.

I am not a parent, so I could be completely off-base about all of this, but this seems like it has to be right up there with a parent’s worst nightmare: to see their child so hurt and so far gone and to be helpless to do anything at all to save them. I mean, Rand outright said that the Rand Tam knew, the Rand Tam raised, was dead. And Tam just had to stand there and take that, and again I’m not a parent but even I know that no parent should have to bury their child, much less stand there and watch him bury himself.

And that feels like the root of Tam’s responses here: his gentleness with Rand; his pushback when he thought he had just enough of Rand’s attention that maybe, maybe Rand would listen; his horror at watching Rand weave balefire because I think he was just as afraid for Rand as of him in that moment; his uncontrolled anger at Cadsuane when there’s no other way to release what he’s feeling; his shock and confusion now as he tries to figure out what has happened to his son.

This is not Tam al’Thor’s best day, is what I’m getting at here. He rescued an infant from the slopes of Dragonmount, only to find that some part of that child never truly left that mountain and everythign hurts and nothing is okay and I would like ten million more chapters of this please.

“If you’d explained to me how he regarded you,” Tam said, “it might have gone differently.”

He’s probably right, there. That’s one she really should have been more open about.

But she has a point, too: there’s no use going over the woulds and shoulds and maybes. And…I have to wonder if there was really any way for that conversation to end other than it did. If it hadn’t been the mention of Cadsuane, it could just as easily have been something else that set Rand off. A rage in him fit to burn the world, and he holds it by a hair. That’s more true now than it was even when Cadsuane first said it; he is unstable for all that he thinks he is cold and controlled, and he has almost no limits on what he is willing to do (except perhaps one), and that whole conversation was, in retrospect, a time bomb.

Because at this point, given how far he has gone, I don’t think anyone could truly just…call Rand back in a single conversation. I think it has to come from him; and I think with all the walls he’s built and all the damage he’s done to himself, with this war he’s been fighting against himself as much as on the field, a violent moment of crisis might really have been inevitable, and possibly the only way to force him to face that.

So passing blame around like a hot-potato is…an understandable part of the process, because they’re human (silly mortals), but ultimately probably not going to accomplish anything.

“This is what we all get,” Min said, “for assuming we can make him do what we want.”

The room fell still.

Okay so.

On the one hand, this is a great line, and to a certain extent I agree…

But. On the other hand, it feels a bit…I don’t know. Cheap? Simplistic? Not quite true? Because at least three of the people in this room are among those very very few who do actually look at Rand as a person, as the person he was, rather than as the Dragon Reborn, saviour and destroyer of the world. Nynaeve followed him out of Emond’s Field, with the others, and followed him into a dream battle and said ‘at least let me heal you’ because there was nothing else she could do. Min has stood by Rand through most of the series purely because she loves him, and when so many other people’s perceptions of him were changing, she told him ‘I see you, Rand. I see you.’ Tam al’Thor is Rand’s father, and hasn’t had a chance to do much for him directly, but he hiked to Tar Valon to try to find him, and then specifically stayed out of his way because he thought that was the best thing he could do for him.

These are not people who have been trying all along to manipulate Rand into doing what they wanted.

And even this…this is an intervention, more than anything else. When your friend, lover, son, former babysittee, whatever is willing to annihilate cities, I think it’s fair to step in.

What help would they be to him if they just stood by and watched his descent this entire time? What good would it do anyone—Rand included—for them to never push back when they thought he was going too far, to never question his decisions? It’s like I was just saying above regarding Cadsuane: it’s not good for anyone to live unquestioned and unchallenged, especially if they hold that kind of power, authority, or influence.

And when talking to someone stops working, when reasoning with them stops working, when begging them stops working, and when, again, they’re ready to annihilate entire cities…yeah, you’re going to have to look at other options.

But none of them started at that point, and they’re some of the few who really haven’t been manipulating him to their own ends in general, and so this feels a bit…unfair, I guess.

I love Min, but I’m not sure I completely agree with her here. It would be a very true and very fair statement if made in just about any other company, but to Nynaeve and Tam? Not sure I buy it.

That said, in light of everything happening, I think everyone’s entitled to a bit of unfairness and anger and shock and all the other emotions flying around because hell, I’m emotionally compromised and I’m just the reader.

“He opened one of those gateways right on the balcony. Left me alive, though I could have sworn—looking in his eyes—that he meant to kill me.”

It has to mean something that he stopped himself. That has to be the turning point we’ve been waiting for. It’s too perfect a mirror/inversion of The Last That Could Be Done for it not to be…right?

Also someone please just sit Tam down with a giant mug of hot chocolate. This genre is not easy on parents even when they survive the first chapter, as it turns out.

“I’ve seen that look in the eyes of men before, and one of the two of us always ended up bleeding on the floor.”

Wow, okay, uh, sure, that’s…a line. Damn. There’s a whole conversation to be had here about swords and ploughshares and men who have seen too much and yet find a peaceful life for themselves in the aftermath but I don’t have much more than an ‘in this essay I will…’ for that so I’ll leave it for now.

But I think, in that exchange, it’s Rand who is left bleeding.

That moment tore open the wound he’s been trying to stifle and ignore, the gaping wound in his past life that led him to his own suicide once and that he is now forced to remember but has never been able to process. How the hell do you even begin to process something you never did, except a past you did do it, and suddenly you get that just…dropped into your brain and it’s yours but not yours and is it any surprise Rand has ended up where he is?

It tore that wide open by forcing Rand to face it head-on (no more than I’ve done before) and face it as himself rather than as a memory of a past existence that he can try to shove away. And it tore down his walls and threw emotions like knives at the shields he’s been trying to hold up and even if he’s not bleeding physically, he is absolutely bleeding.

And so is Tam, if we’re talking metaphorically here. That conversation was not without casualties.

“Ebou Dar,” Min said, surprising them all. “He’s gone to destroy the Seanchan. Just as he told the Maidens he would.”

But that would mean closing down anything that might have come of that conversation and realisation, shoving it all away back behind those walls of ice, and I’m no more a therapist than I am a parent but I’m pretty sure genocide is not a recommended coping mechanism for…uh…anything.

“Light preserve us,” Corele whispered.

Rand’s been evoking that reaction a lot, lately. It’s become something of a repeated chapter ending the way ‘Tarmon Gai’don’ echoed throughout Knife of Dreams.

Next (TGS ch 49) Previous (TGS ch 47)

[the-quantum-flower]

day 01.

I didn’t start this blog to gain followers, or readers. I just wanted to make a diary stored in a public place. It’s sort of like hiding a notebook under the stones of the city’s main square - going out there every late night and adding some scribbles, and then tuck it back in the dirt and go back home, secretly hoping that when you open it the next night there will be a short “ah, you’re alright, mate” written at the bottom of the page. Fact is, I am alright. More than alright. And that’s another reason for writing this. I am intelligent. Not in the sense that I am good with numbers, or with anything, really. But my stream of thought is both entertaining and often somewhat consistent with reality. I was one of these children that always was praised for my wit and knowledge, and just like with most of the spoiled and moderately gifted middle class kids of my generation, it has made me sickeningly arrogant. I knew I wanted to do philosophy since I was around 10 and heard about Schrodinger's cat for the first time. For me, that experiment didn’t represent anything remotely scientific or practical. Instead, it was a doorway to the world of metaphysics, asking the question if there could be many realities existing at once. Without reading much about it, I started creating small, silly theories about how the world worked. Descartes and Plato joined me, and soon I was the nerdiest kid on the block (I grew up on a farm, so this statement makes zero sense). When I was 14 I took guitar lessons in a nearby village, and I remember seeing a sticker on a lamp-post, questioning the injustice of the world and warning about the dangers of globalism. When I came home, we had salmon for dinner in our big, modern dining room, and I asked my father was syndicalism was. Very, very left, he answered. Since then I took a new direction in my interests. Feminism. Liberalism. Socialism. I was very careful never to use any of these labels and I never joined any parties or groups: since if there’s one thing teenagers hates it is to be compared to other teenagers. I was sick most of my teen years and didn’t leave the house much. I still don’t. This has given me a lot of time for thought, and I’ve enjoyed it greatly. I fell in love with economical theories, and legal issues. The big questions about democracy and governance. In high school I came in touch with John Rawls, and remembered taking a lot of proud in a line I wrote on my final exam: I am not a leftist. I am a person who fights for the human rights. And if I were a right winger, I would ask myself why those two are always mixed up. I’ve studied international law for over four years now. My goal was Russia, at first. Then it became Israel-Palestine (can you sense the arrogance yet?). And it was when reading a translated speech by a Hamas official it all took a new turn once again. Suddenly, this wave of nihilism hit me with such force I couldn’t walk properly for days. I don’t want to out my love here on this site. So I am gonna call him HE, for the sake of anonymity. HE was a religious man until very recently. HE prayed, went to his place of worship and lived according to the rules of his faith. HE has told me he tried for a long time to fight the realization that was dawning in front of him. But he couldn’t, and he fell, rather unwillingly, into the deep, dark well of atheism. We sat at the park one day and he said he could still feel the pain of it. This burning, aching need for meaning, now forever there to be left unanswered. Once you know you cannot unknow. God’s left. And he’s not coming back. I tried to be supportive, and maybe I was successful - but at the time, I didn’t understand the feeling HE was describing. I’ve been an atheist all my life. Life has never had a meaning. There has never been someone watching over me from above. I didn’t experience this kind of loss. But now, I am pretty sure that I have. I think it’s been coming to me for a while now. But it wasn’t until I heard the words of the Hamas soldier I fully realized it: I don’t believe in politics. I don’t believe in human rights. There is no morals. There is no rights and no wrongs. There is no cause that matters. In the end, we are all just dying entities, with no power, no nothing - and nothing that we are today will last. No words, no arts, no conclusions. Even the most beautiful, political theory will be outdated before it’s even commonly known. The field of political science, or political philosophy is nothing but a self confirming, arrogant and lazy pile of circle jerks. The most you can possibly accomplish is to prolong a dying child's life by some years. And when that dying child is you, and all you see is the poisonous, bleeding, gray mass that is humanity - it’s quite hard to find motivation. Especially with this deafening ticking in your ears. This striking awareness of time passing. Aging. Wasting. I am wasted. I feel like that. I am a wasted life that has no direction, no meaning, no path. Intelligence just dripping from an abandoned sink in a third world subway bathroom. Desperately I am trying to leave some sort of mark before I move on. But there’s no tools, no patterns, not even hands. Just… slippery, wet awareness. And not the good kind. This of course doesn't mean I will stop. I will study my studies. Write my writings. And do the deeds that I think I should do. But I will also do something else. I will go back to the only thing I’ve ever found any meaning in - the theories of the world and the universe. This is what I want to blog about. I want to go deeper into the things that matters. The few things that actually gives us a tiny glimpse into a universe bigger than just human suffering. I think that is the only true purpose there is: Knowledge. And lasting knowledge isn’t found in politics, not in Rawls, not in law and definitely not in Israel or Palestine. I am going back to the fucking cat, since everything seems to start there. Quantum physics. Why not become self taught in that? I mean… How hard can it be?

[freedandrestored]

If you haven't found your God given man, would you be happy to grow old single?

Hmm, tbh God knows my desires. And I admit, I love getting married, to have my godly family. But yeah, In His time. ♥️

You know what, in the world of dating, even when you try to take it slow and date casually, you know underneath that your ostensible goal is to find "the one." It’s easy to internalize the idea that getting married is practically a must; it’s an accomplishment, a victory. It’s demonstrable proof that you are worthy of love. But don’t get married—or stay married—just because you think you should. 

Now to your next question, would I be happy to grow old single? Hmm, by God's grace, I believe YES! Singleness is a gift from above.

When Paul speaks of singleness as a gift, he isn’t speaking of a particular ability some people have to be contentedly single. Rather, he’s speaking of the state of being single. As long as you have it, it’s a gift from God, just as marriage will be God’s gift if you ever receive it. We should receive our situation in life, whether it is singleness or marriage, as a gift of God’s grace to us.

Singleness has an advantages as Paul mentions two advantages of singleness in 1 Corinthians 7:

1.) Single people are spared the “troubles” of marriage. There are many great blessings in marriage, but there are difficulties too. Understandably, Christian couples don’t often talk openly about the hard things they face, which can give singles a rose-tinted view of marriage. But there’s a downside even when a married couple’s relationship is good: life is more complicated. There’s more than one person to consider in decisions about use of time, accommodation, holidays, even the daily menu. And there’s more than one person to worry about. Children bring great pleasure but plenty of anxiety as well. Marriage does bring “many troubles in this life” and, Paul says, “I want to spare you this” (1 Cor. 7:28). He mentions these troubles here chiefly because of the bearing they have on the next point.

2.) Single people can devote themselves more fully to God’s work: “An unmarried man is concerned about the Lord’s affairs—how he can please the Lord. But a married man is concerned about the affairs of this world—how he can please his wife—and his interests are divided” (1 Cor. 7:32-34). A vital part of the Christian responsibility of married persons is to care for their spouse and children. That should take time, time that cannot therefore be spent in witnessing to people, helping out at a camp, doing the church finances, or leading a Bible study. Single people have more time to give to such things. It’s no coincidence that many activities in church life depend to a large extent on those who aren’t married. A few consciously choose to stay single to devote themselves to Christian work. Most single people haven’t chosen singleness in that way and yet they have the same advantages as those who have. Instead of focusing on the difficulties of being single, as some do, we should all make the most of the advantages of God’s gift of singleness while we have it.

After we had spoken about heaven, an elderly single lady said to me, “I can’t wait for my wedding day!” We should all share the same hope. And we can already experience something of that intimate marriage with Christ here on earth by the work of the Spirit in our lives. Human relationships do matter, but none is nearly as important as our eternal relationship with Jesus.

A final word to those who are single:

Thank God for the gift of singleness. Whatever your experience of singleness, recognize it as a gift from God and make the most of it for as long as you have it.

Do all you can to be godly. It’s easy for those who are single to lapse into a selfish, self-centred lifestyle and into sexual sin, whether in thought or deed. Be self-disciplined and accountable to others.

Keep your eyes fixed on heaven. It is our eternal relationship with Christ that ultimately matters.

A final word to those who are married:

Don’t think of singleness as second best. Christian preacher and author John Chapman spoke of friends taking him for long walks and telling him he should be married. He commented: “It would have been a great help if they had read the Bible, wouldn’t it?”

Remember that your family is the whole church. There should be no lonely people in our church. We need to be opening up our homes to one another and relating to one another not just in the nuclear family, but in the church family.

Keep your eyes fixed on heaven. Human marriage matters, but it will not last forever (Mark 12:25). Our relationship with Christ must come first.

ref:https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/four-things-god-says-singles/

[jaeminlore]

Vulcan and Venus | Jeno

summary: somehow, love blooms out of the ashes words: 7.7k+ category: royalty!au, fluff, sad for a bit, mostly word building and less romance :/ a/n: this is for @jenology, who has a birthday today!! happy birthday love!!

Focis certainly felt like a world of it's own. After a volcanic eruption, Prince Adrien salvaged the land the best he could and built his own kingdom up and away from the large mountain that threatened Focis. Focis was a city built upon ashes, the very heart of the world's hearth, but Prince Adrien believed that treating the land kindly — respecting it — would please the god Vulcan and protect the village that still lay oh so close to the volcano's base. And so far, it had worked. The volcano had yet to erupt again, and the land of Focis had a budding business in forging.

You happened to be an interning blacksmith. After completing trade school and learning the main functions of the hammer and anvil, you were given a shop. Though hidden away in the depths of Focis, where the air smelled of sulfur; where there was always a hazy gray fog in the air. It wasn't ideal, but you knew for a fact this is where all the best blacksmiths started out. It was well known throughout Focis that no blacksmith was true unless he had a bit of smoke in his lungs.

Now Prince Adrien was old, and his son was almost old enough to take his throne as the new reigning prince of Focis. He'd be looking for a personal smith to stay with him from his eighteenth birthday and on, and you hoped to be the one to do it. You just had to get the prince's attention.

The problem was that you didn't even know his name. He was called the Phoenix Prince, and while you supposed he answered to it, you also figured that couldn't be his actual name. Besides, even if it was, it wasn't like you could just ask around for a boy named Phoenix. It would sound pathetic: Hello, if you see the prince could you please tell him to come to my little rundown shop that smells like rotten eggs and molten metal, I would really appreciate it!

No, your best bet was making it to the annual Vulcan Festival to present your best pieces. In just two months, you'd be in the middle of the square, watching as your fellow villagers performed dances and showed off their pieces for the prince. Prince Adrien would dedicate his favorite pieces and performances to Vulcan, and the Phoenix Prince would choose the man or woman he wanted crafting his royal sword and armor.

You'd be welcomed onto the royal staff — the prince's personal staff — and be set for life. Of course it was anyone's dream, but for you it would be the biggest honor and compliment on your craft. And while you were just a novice, the thought of somehow impressing the prince brought a thread of joy that helped you sleep better at night.

That is, until Jeno started working with you.

Jeno was some kind of mystery. He had simply appeared one day with the deed to half of your shop. You didn't know why your landlord would offer your already cramped space to someone else. You just knew that Jeno is the complete opposite from you, and he messed with your aura.

If you were following Vulcan, god of the volcano and metal crafting, he was following Venus, goddess of love and beauty. You didn't think of this because he was lovely or beautiful, but because he was a crafter of lovely and beautiful things.

He was a glassblower. With each day of him crafting his side of the shop, the more tense you felt. A blacksmith with their hammer around glass objects felt too much like a bull in a china shop.

While everything he made was crafted with elegance and care, your pieces were crafted by a heavy hand and an even heavier hammer.

You didn't think it would be such a problem if he respected personal space rules. But no, he crafted far too many things to fit in his half of the shop, and most days you found small glass-blown kittens perched precariously on the shelves your unfinished projects hung from.

Jeno had a thing about sharing space. You had a thing about wanting space. Because your anvil and forge didn't take up more than a small corner of the shop, and any weapons and armor you made and mended were either hung up or given back to their owners, your craft didn't take up much room.

Jeno's craft did. Jeno took up the entire shop with his elaborate sculptures and small figurines. He had to let them cool as well, which was hard to do beside two forges. Often times he'd take them home to cool and bring them straight back.

That's what drives you crazy. Jeno could easily leave his pieces at home and bring them in after he runs out. He could stop making them faster than people are buying them. He could keep his dumb sculptures away from your swords and daggers.

But he didn't. The soft-spoken boy didn't really talk to you much either. He always pretended not to hear you when you chided him for getting in your space. He just worked quietly and leaves.

While his need for space irked you, the true rivalry hid behind the fact that Jeno kept talking about the Vulcan Festival. He kept mentioning how he'd present his craft.

You weren't sure who was going to tell him the festival rules: each shop could only have one representative.

So, it would be you or Jeno, despite the fact that you both had different crafts. Only one could attend as a representative, and you were positive that you would fight for that position or die trying. Jeno's glass sculptures were nothing against your well-crafted weapons and armor.

Maybe, if you had time, you'd even smith a crown for the prince.

No matter what happened, you would be the representative for your shop, and Jeno could kiss his glass blowing dreams goodbye for all you cared.

✱

You weren't supposed to live at the shop. Under law, no one was supposed to live that close to the volcano for health reasons. But your family lived in another kingdom, one closer to fresh air and the sea. This meant that you had nowhere to go when the smoky haze got too heavy, or the air got too hot.

There were mornings when you woke up in a coughing fit, lungs filled with soot and ash. Usually, after a bit of water and a stroll around the square, you were well enough to be back in the shop, accepting orders from fellow villagers.

It took Jeno two months to notice it, and three weeks to bring it up. "You know, you should spend a few nights in the square at my home. I don't want you getting sick."

It was one of the first things he ever said to you, and one of the most considerate things anyone had ever said to you. Part of you wanted to jump at the chance of breathing in clean air as you slept.

Another part of you hoped that in one month, you'd be sleeping with the castle staff. "No thanks, Jeno. By this time next month, I'll be the prince's head blacksmith."

Jeno rose his eyebrows, looking more surprised at your goal than your declination. "Oh. You're attending the festival? As a representative?"

"I am," you smarted, placing your hands on your hips. "So don't even think about presenting before the prince."

For a moment, you were sure you had scared Jeno into agreeing. After all, you could be scary, with your wild eyes, messy hair, sooty face, and determined attitude. Against the delicate and soft Jeno, you were sure you had the advantage.

However, you were wrong. "Well now you've got me thinking about it. I bet Prince Adrien would love my art, wouldn't he? Especially if I made something for his son, the Phoenix Prince?"

It was most you'd heard him speak, and none of it sat well with you. Even worse than your dusty lungs, this felt like a punch in the gut. This was a genuine threat. A Hey, I'm going to actively try to destroy your dream.

It made you upset. "What would your dumb glass even do? Vulcan wouldn't appreciate an offering like that."

Jeno looked solemn for a moment. "I don't make them for Vulcan."

"I suppose you make them for Venus, then? Or Jupiter? Ugh, you would give offerings to Jupiter. But of course you would do it wrong. You need flint stones for offerings to Jupiter, you know."

One side of Jeno's mouth quirked up, amused. "I don't know, because I don't give offerings. You know, it's not your business to assume things about someone you barely know. Some would say it's quite rude."

You rolled your eyes. "I would say that I am allowed to challenge anyone who gets in the way of my dream."

"I bet you aren't so big and tough," Jeno seemed so calm and collected. It was as if everything you said rolled directly off of his back and settled into a puddle on the floor. A puddle that you were undoubtedly slipping into. But you were persistent, and Jeno had made you mad.

"I'll prove it to you," you said. "You'll be left in the dust and I'll be working under the Phoenix Prince himself."

"Prince Adrien doesn't pick arrogant children to be a part of his son's royal team, you know."

"I'm neither arrogant or a child," you assured the boy, who seemed far too proud to have gotten you so riled up. "I'm protecting what is rightfully mine."

"Hm. Territorial too," Jeno smirked and turned back to his station. "That's another negative trait."

"Curse you."

Jeno only laughed, and that alone made your blood boil.

✱

"Why is there a pomegranate on my anvil?" It was a simple question, perhaps packed with a bit more spite than you meant it to. Still, it was your anvil, and Jeno knew that.

"Don't touch it," is all he said. No "Oh, let me move that over to my space so you can get to work", no "I bought that for you to apologize for my lack of character yesterday. Truly it is you who deserves to represent before the prince."

Just "Don't touch it."

So you didn't touch it. But your hammer touched it, and as the blood red fruit dripped down the hard steel, you felt a small inch of accomplishment.

Jeno sighed from behind you. In his gloved hands, he held a small glass-blown pomegranate. With a pair of steel tongs, he pulled at the bud of the fruit to shape it better. "I hope you know that I spent my lunch money on that, and I was going to eat it once I finished sculpting it."

For a moment, you felt bad. Then, "Just have half of my lunch, and don't leave your stuff on my mine again."

So the two of you shared lunch. You had to go out and buy it fresh every day, mostly because things like grapes didn't really sit well with the smoky atmosphere.

Jeno popped a grape into his mouth and then used his free hands to paint the finishing touches on his pomegranate. "You know, this back and forth is really confusing me. I didn't know that talking to you would start a feud between us."

"It's not a feud," you assured him. "After all, you're a decent person, albeit quiet. Once the festival is over, I bet we could part as good friends. As long as I represent the shop."

Jeno pushed his dark red sleeves further up his elbows and shook his head. His mop of black hair followed just a second behind. "You're stupid, you know."

"I'm passionate."

"You're immature."

"I'm determined."

"You rely on the royal family to fund your life when you could easily take help from me, a friend you know."

"I'm—" You fell silent. "Well, that's different and you know it. I can't be a village blacksmith. I'm made for better things. Bigger things."

Jeno shook his head and stood up, handing the small cluster of grapes back to you. "I'm heading home early. I think all of this ash has gone straight to your head."

✱

Within your shop, there was a storefront, perfect for displays and transactions. Your already-made weapons hung high upon the walls, while blueprints of weapons you could also make were racked below. Jeno's glass pieces took up the entire front room. From small characters to large replicas of rose bushes, there was definitely a chance of something braking.

And every day, without fail, something broke. Whether a child walked in, or an adult who had too much wine, or simply a clumsy teen, characters would fall, and glass would shatter into every direction.

It made you upset, having seen how long it took Jeno to make them. After seeing how low he priced the pieces in the first place. After watching him refuse to let anyone pay for the damage they've inflicted. Jeno was different than you. Jeno smiled, and offered the child a free character to keep her from crying. Jeno guided the drunken woman out of the store and into the arms of her family. Jeno told the teen a joke about how much he hated that piece anyway, and made sure they left unworried.

It was admirable, but gods it was frustrating to see Jeno's face once the customer left. It was hard to see his face crumple into sheer disappointment as he swept up the glass shards. But he never complained.

While you would follow the basic procedure of you break it, you but it, Jeno managed to make up his own rule: you break it, I'll give you an extra one for free.

So that's why you stole Jeno's replica of a cat. The minuscule gray and white cat had meant a lot to the boy. You knew because it took him one day alone to sculpt a pretty pink bow around it's neck. The entire week he made it, the two of you didn't fight once, because he was too busy telling you about the cat he used to own. He told you how excited he was to display it.

Maybe you should've left it out. After all, Jeno wanted people to see it. But then again, you weren't sure you could bare to see his face if that precious cat fell to the floor. After watching Jeno craft it for a week, even you felt a personal connection to the dumb figurine. There was no way you were going to let anyone harm it.

But Jeno was like Venus, and you were still like Vulcan, who was by far the most clumsy of the gods. And, like an erupting volcano, you managed to stomp all over Jeno's beautiful creation. You managed to ruin everything.

And it wasn't even your fault, really. You had placed it on your shelf and got back to work. But the vibrations of the hammer must've shaken it to the edge, and you were too invested in your task to hear it fall and break into a hundred little pieces.

The only thing that alerted you that something was wrong was Jeno's voice, distraught in a way you hadn't heard before, "What did you do?"

"What?" When you turned around and saw the mess, your heart stopped. "I put it on the shelf to it wouldn't get broken by careless customers. I thought you'd take it home at the end of the day..."

Your head felt light and warm and your hands felt shaky as you awaited Jeno's reply. "Please, Jeno, I know how hard you worked on it. I didn't want it to get messed up. It was my fault, because of the hammer, but I didn't mean it. I promise, Jeno."

For the first time, Jeno didn't look serene or calm. His dark eyebrows furrowed and his heart-shaped lips twisted into something like sadness. Something maybe close to disappointment. "I'm just sad. I understand it's not your fault. But you understand that I'm trusting your words, because anyone else would agree that this seems suspicious."

"Jeno, I swear on Vulcan himself, I wanted to keep it safe."

"Okay," Jeno said, though his eyes avoided your desperate gaze. "I believe you."

✱

It took Jeno another week to complete the cat again, and a second week to mold it into a field. You watched during your break as he added a small blue butterfly, connecting it to the cat's paw to look as if it were a small chase.

Jeno was meticulous and patient with his work. You'd never seen someone so focused before. In fact, it made you feel threatened, because your crown prototype was looking bulky and ugly.  

It made sense that Jeno would remind you so much of Venus. He could craft anything into living beauty, while your pieces were looking uglier as the days went by. Truthfully, you wondered if you should learn how to make things less bulky. You wondered what a more delicate style would look like around such an army as Forcis'.

"Hey, if you were the prince—"

Jeno popped his head up, and you noticed that he had a small fleck of soot on his chin. "Huh?"

"If you were the prince," you repeated, "what kind of crown would you prefer?"

After the whole cat incident, you tried to not challenge the boy so much. Sure, you were still going to absolutely dominate as a representative, but that fight could come later. For now, you would show Jeno that you could be nice if you wanted to. You could prove it to him that you were truly just passionate about what you did.

Maybe asking him for help would show him that.

"What about a circlet?" Jeno said. He had already gone back to his piece, now pulling the hot glass upwards into a sort of hill shape. But he was listening to you, so you kept going.

"Do you think a circlet would fit his face?" You asked. "I've never seen it."

Jeno shrugged. "Most say he has a kind face. Maybe it would look nice."

You were beginning to think Jeno really did worship Venus. You'd never known anyone in the land of Forcis to be so fascinated with the minimalist things in life. He found the beauty and delicateness in a kingdom of fire and brimstone, ashes and soot. He was truly one of a kind, and the sudden realization made your toes curl in your sandals.

Maybe Jeno deserved to be a representative. Because, honestly, there would be tons of blacksmiths representing, and as much as you would hate to admit it,  the chances of Prince Adrien choosing you were slim to none. In fact, at this point, with your impatient attitude and inability to design anything new for the prince, you felt like giving up.

So you sat and watched Jeno blow glass. It was, of course, a beautiful thing to watch. The way he somehow knew how to twist blend two different shades of brown so that whatever mountain he was crafting could look like a legitimate mountain. It wasn't just a flat mountain either, it was made out of swirls and coils of glass. Everything about the sculpture looked light and happy. It looked peaceful and serene.

Then Jeno blew red and orange glass into the mountain. Like spurts of lava and ash, he coiled strips of red until it seemed like the volcano was screaming the very fires of the underworld out of it's core. It startled you: the drastic change. The way one cat turned into a sculpture of broken innocence and impending doom.

"Why did you make that?"

"It's for my father," Jeno said, simply but firmly, as if that was all he wished to say on the matter.

"I miss the way it used to look," you said, mostly because you couldn't help it.

Surprisingly, Jeno met your eyes with a smile that seemed void of emotion. "Me too."

✱

The Vulcan Festival arrived, and Jeno suddenly disappeared the day of.

You hadn't been prepared for it at all. While you forged your first circlet, he worked endlessly on the most minuscule details of his sculpture. The two of you bantered back and forth, with little to no bite behind your motives anymore.

At this point, you weren't fighting that much to become a representative of your shop. To be honest, you had been thinking of giving up on the prince altogether and setting up a booth in the square to make money and advertise your shop.

Maybe then you could live in the square, away from the ashes that harmed your lungs. Maybe you could escape before anything became permanent. Because truly, that's what terrified you the most: becoming sick while still young.

So on the first morning of the festival, you decided to let Jeno present his sculpture. After all, he had worked harder on it that you had worked on your circlet.

You thought Jeno deserved it far more than you did, even just for being a better person than you.

But then he wasn't there. And even when you waited around a tinkered for two hours, he didn't show up.

His sculpture was set upon the table, finished and ready to be presented before the two princes. And yet, the artist was no where to be found.

Maybe Jeno had rubbed off on you. Maybe, after all this time, you needed just a bit more of Venus' influence. Just a little more delicateness. Just a bit more consideration for others. Just a little less carelessness.

So in a not-so-split decision, you set your circlet down and pick up the sculpture.

✱

The Vulcan Festival was in full swing, so you took a path behind the booths to avoid getting bumped or jostled. You were not going to break his pieces again. You were going to prove to Jeno that his pieces were important enough to be showcased to the prince and his son. Today, two princes would see his works. Not a child, not a drunken adult, not a clumsy teen. True royalty would see his talent, and for some reason that felt more important than your weapons being recognized.

Maybe there was enough of Vulcan's influence in the world. Maybe Forcis needed more of Venus.

You signed up under your shop's name, and gave artist's credit to Jeno. You could represent, but he would get the praise.

The presentation was set up in a coliseum, with nobles and royals seated in the high seats. Your couldn't see inside yet, but from the sound of the crowd's hushed chatter, you could be certain the audience wasn't too impressed so far.

As you waited to be called, you wondered if this was a stupid decision. Maybe Jeno left for a reason. Maybe he didn't want anyone to see his pieces — at least, no royals. Maybe this would just be another one of your bull-in-a-china-shop moments.

But maybe, just maybe, this would all be worth it, and for once you'd be doing something for someone else. You'd be helping a friend.

When someone — presumably Prince Adrien — called Jeno's name, you almost missed it.

You were too busy wondering if now would be the time to start praying to Vulcan. Maybe he could help you keep from breaking this precious art piece. Or maybe he'd remember how many nights you cursed at his volcano, and perhaps he'd tip the piece on purpose.

You didn't have time to think further once you enter the sandy arena. The audience's ooh's and ahh's drew a sort of satisfaction through your veins. You wished Jeno was here to hear it.

You set the piece down on the pedestal and finally looked up to face your princes. Only you stopped short, because one of the prince's was Jeno. And he looked shocked. Upset, almost.

And suddenly there was this tidal wave in your chest. Disappointment bubbled through your chest, and it's like you now knew what Vulcan's punishment was for cursing his volcano. It was being lied to. It was bragging openly about your mediocre craft in front of the prince himself.

It was just like a bull in a china shop, and you were the last left to know. Now, it felt like looking back at all the shattered pieces and realizing just what a mess you've made. It was realizing that you really were in over your head. And the prince knew it. The Phoenix Prince knew it because the Phoenix Prince was Jeno.

Your tongue felt like sandpaper. Rough and thick, and unable to utter a word without scratching at you throat — at your conscious.

So you bowed to each prince, picked up Jeno's display, and left.

✱

Jeno was already at the shop when you came in. He was back at his volcano piece, and it occurred to you that he hadn't finished it.

It occurred to you that maybe Jeno had kept his identity a secret for a reason. Maybe Jeno wanted to perfect his art away from the kingdom.

Maybe you ruined everything.

"I'm sorry," you both blurted it at the same time, and somehow that made your nerves fizzle out.

Maybe you just overthought things.

Jeno turned back to his mold, and you noticed now the small flowers he had added. And, in the corner, it looked as if he was adding a pair of legs. Perhaps he would add a person. "I'm sort of glad you brought it so that my dad could see it," Jeno said suddenly.

"You aren't mad at me?"

"No," Jeno said. His eyes were still trained on his mold. "I mean, it's not like he didn't know I was doing this. He's the one who gave me permission in the first place. Although, he's never really cared for my art, or my beliefs, and I made this mold out of spite after one of our arguments. You crashing the cat didn't bother me nearly as much as the fight I had with my father earlier that day. I think after that I just built off of it. Until this was created."

You felt prickled by curiosity, as well as this weird middle ground between pity and confusion. "What do you argue about?"

"My mom," Jeno said. His voice caught suspiciously in his throat l as he continued, and you felt your heart lurch in pain at the sight of his distress. "She died in the eruption when I was a baby, you know. The main reason my father kept Focis' main village so close to the mountain was to try and please Vulcan. I think he sometimes thinks that if he pleases Vulcan enough, Mother will just reappear, out of the ashes. And I know she won't, but it doesn't stop him from crafting his entire life around that hope."

Jeno let out a sigh. Some part of you wanted to give him a hug. But the other part of you felt like that would interrupt his thoughts, and you longed to hear the rest of his story.

"It's just... the volcano doesn't have a large range. If we could just move the village out of range, then it could be safer for everyone. I always worry about the volcano erupting again. Every night I think about how deviating it would be to wake up in a city of ashes. And ever since I met you I've thought about just how close you are to the mountain, and how much you cough, even if you don't realize it. Every day I see your skin get grayer and I can't help but think that—" his voice cracked at the last moment, and your feet moved on their own, towards him — "that you're becoming part of the ashes too."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and let him bury his face into your shoulder. You suddenly felt self-conscious, because Jeno was a delicate prince and you were nothing but a sweaty blacksmith. But Jeno's arms were tight around your warm waist, and your shoulder kept getting wetter with each second, and in that moment it occurred to you that maybe Jeno needed you more than you originally thought.

✱

It took a few weeks before things felt normal again. Of course, the fact that Jeno was a prince would always be somewhere in the back of your head. But then he made too many figurines and set them on your side of the shop, and you felt things shift back to normal.

You found yourself thinking about him a lot more. Specifically, how his role as the Phoenix Prince would play out as his birthday drew nearer. You assumed nothing would change politically, as Jeno couldn't truly change laws until Prince Adrien gave up his title in full. But when you thought about the shop, and your rivalry-slash-friendship with Jeno, the more you hated to think of a day spent without him.

Because Jeno was annoying, with the way he set his figurines around your armor and weapons. But he was your friend, and thinking back, he must've known all along that he wasn't going to be representing the shop in the festival. Yet he was there, pushing you to do your best through insults and jests.

Maybe you worked better from his constant teasing. The need to be better than him perhaps turned you into a better-than-decent blacksmith.

Now things felt more mellow, and you weren't sure why, but something felt off.

Perhaps it was the shift in Jeno's personality: the revealing more of what happened to his mother. It wasn't all that surprising: you knew the late princess had died from the eruption. Still, hearing someone so close to her talk about how it affects him every day, made you wish you could do something about it.

The volcano in Focis was small. So small, that the square (where the royals resided) was well away from any damage, save for a bit of heat and maybe some stray smoke. The true terror lay in the small cluster of shops just at the foot of the mountain. Jeno was right, you did cough often, but that was because the eruption had left gaping holes in the mountains walls, and it was easy for ash and smoke to seep out of the cracks, making its way to unsuspecting villagers' lungs.

You didn't want to die from a lung disease, though you always figured that's how you would go. It wasn't easy to live away from the volcano. If so, you would've packed up a long time ago. But the economy in Focis just wasn't like it used to be, and there were too many blacksmiths to compete with. Spending what little money you got on rent and food was all you could do to stay alive.

After working with you for months, Jeno knew that.

And all of this information made you wonder, what was the prince going to do about it?

✱

You fell sick only a week later. It startled Jeno; the way you collapsed onto the floor, heaving in what oxygen you could.

The smoke was especially heavy today, as it was every once in awhile. You casually told Jeno — through coughing fits — that you figured it had something to do with the tides and the moon.

Jeno thought it was foreshadowing.

Perhaps it was, because there you lay in a guest bedroom of the palace, accepting whatever strange medicine the physician would feed you. He told you that your lungs where in danger, and you should pray to Vulcan now that he wouldn't claim them wholly.

You ignored him and closed your eyes, hoping it to be a big enough hint for the physician to leave.

When you opened them again, it was because a wooden bowl was being pressed to your lips. The feeling startled you, but upon seeing that Jeno was the one on the other side, you relaxed and took a small sip of what tasted like maple syrup.

"It's fenugreek," Jeno said, watching your eyebrows furrow at the taste. "It helps the lungs."

"How bad is it?"

"Oh, we don't know," Jeno said. "It's not like we can see through your body. But, judging by your breathing patterns and your dizziness, our physician says you might've caught pneumonia. With how dirty the air is down by the shop, he's surprised you made it this long."

You sat up. Your chest felt almost folded, like you had curled within yourself. And taking a deep breath felt like forcing air around a hundred small hurdles. Shakily, you exhaled. "I'm sorry you had to bring me here. I'm assuming this is the palace?"

"Yeah," Jeno wasn't looking around the room. Instead, his eyes were glued to your face still, perhaps from worry. "I thought this would be your best chance."

"Are you gonna kick me out once I'm better?" You nudged his body with your lower leg and giggled.

"Actually" — Jeno's eyes somehow seemed to get brighter as he spoke — "I was hoping you'd stay and be a part of my royal entourage."

"No way," you squealed in ecstasy.

"Yes way, so get better soon." Jeno took the bowl and set in on the nightstand. Then, he leant down and gave you a mischievous look, "After all, if you get worse we'll have to ship you off to Rome."

You crinkled your nose. "I don't like Rome. I like it here."

"Oh?" Jeno smiled. His face was close to yours, but not close enough to let you breathe on him. "But Rome has coliseums."

"So does Focis."

"Yeah... built to copy of Rome."

The gaiety of Jeno's expression made your heart stir for a moment. You were positive the new feeling wasn't the pneumonia, because this one gave you the urge to reach out and touch Jeno's face.

And that would be weird.

"Prince Jeno, why on earth are you in my quarantined room?" The physician waddled back into the room, looking angry at the younger male.

Jeno sent you a wink and gave your leg a quick pat. "And that's my cue to go!"

✱

"Have I ever told you why they call me the Phoenix Prince?" Jeno lay beside you on your bed, a silk cloth over his nose and mouth to protect him from any sickness. He refused to leave you alone for more than a few hours, always returning to keep you company.

"Everyone knows it," you said, voice raspy and barely there. "It's not exactly a happy tale."

"I suppose not," Jeno whispered, lifted one ankle to fit over the other.

Above you both, the ceiling was made of glass. It expanded across the entire room to showcase the midnight sky. Stars twinkled brightly, almost illuminating what would otherwise be a pitch black room. And in the far corner, you could see the Big Dipper in it's muted glory. The scene made you feel, in some sense, romantic.

The only thing to make it more romantic would be if you could breathe properly, which was not a choice on this particular night.

You turned your head to the right, just in time to see Jeno fiddling with the stone necklace around his neck. "In that moment, it felt very surreal, you know? I was only three, and I doubt many people remember life at three years old. I don't, except that exact moment when my mother was buried in stone. I remember the heat, and the magma that splattered everywhere — this was back when the palace was right beside the volcano — and I just remember knowing that I was gonna die. I don't even think I knew what death was at that age, but I definitely knew something bad would happen to me."

Jeno sighed shakily, "I must've fainted or something, because my only other memory is this extreme pain in my side, and then everything was black until I woke up miles away with my father sobbing above me."

"Didn't you get burnt?" Your eyes unconsciously trailed towards Jeno's side, where a thin shirt covered his skin.

Sensing your gaze, he pulled his shirt up. "The building I hid in caught fire. They saved me just in time."

You gasped and reached out slowly, thinking for some reason that his skin would still be hot to the touch, just like the night he got the wound. But once you're fingertips brushed the elevated skin — pink and rough in comparison to his smooth, olive-toned stomach — you could feel that it was only warm, and that was from the summer night itself. "I'm sorry. It must've hurt. Physically and emotionally, you know?"

Jeno grabbed your hand suddenly and linked his fingers with yours. One calm exhale left his lips before he spoke again. "It was definitely rough. My dad brought in a soothsayer to help me with the night terrors. Of course she told me that it was my mother trying to connect with me from the afterlife. She was the same one who convinced my father that Vulcan would send my mother back if he offered sacrifices, so I never really trusted her judgement."

You used your free hand to trace the lines and dips of his scar. "Your father is killing us, his people, for a pipe dream."

"I know. I know exactly what he's doing and there's nothing I can do about it. That dumb volcano is going to erupt again, and Focis will cease to exist. And my mother won't return, no matter what my father believes; no matter how many innocent lives he thinks he's letting Vulcan take."

Jeno truly was an essence of Venus. It was the thought that lulled you to sleep that night, after Jeno left to his own slumber. His elegant manner of speech, despite the harsh words being said made you think of how proud the goddess must be, looking down on him.

Because Jeno was everything rational, and beautifully so.

And you? You were falling in love with him.

✱

By the time you were allowed back in a forge, it was the castle's own private forge, and you were given a list of weapons and armor to mend for Jeno.

After seeing all the weird dents and dips in his armor, you wondered what exactly it was that Jeno got up to in his spare time. After all, up until now you'd only ever saw him for a few hours in the shop. He must've had an entirely separate life away from the shop.

After many night just lying next to each other, stargazing and discussing foreign affairs, you felt as if you've known Jeno your whole life. At this point, it would be hard to go on without his presence, should Vulcan ever curse you with something so horrific.

You ached to be close to Jeno. Just being around him set a small fire in your belly that flowed through your veins like molten lava. Though he had a world without you, you were beginning to see an entirely new world in him.

Perhaps Jeno liked you back, and just as much. However, with your avid need to be better than him and your constant insults, you wouldn't be surprised if Jeno revealed that he wasn't too fond of you after all.

And though it would break your heart, you knew deep down that you would understand.

For after all, someone as beautiful as Venus would never fall for someone as rough as Vulcan.

✱

"You're back!" Jeno said in surprise. He quickly turned his back towards you, hiding whatever project he was working on. He was working with glass again, pulling a beautiful pink color into something you couldn't make out.

The funny thing was that he has his own little glassblowing forge right in the palace courtyard. This one wasn't filled with sulfur or smoke, but with clean air and lavender incense. Dry flowers hung from the ceiling, as well as beautiful bouquets that were not yet dried completely.

Jeno casually mentioned that they were bouquets given to him by the people, and he wished to keep them around.

"But why," you said, reaching up to touch a white rose, "would you work near the volcano if you have a safer option here?"

Jeno's shoulders tensed, but before you could apologize and retract your statement, he spoke. "My father isn't the only one who believes in offerings."

"You... You lied earlier! That's why you craft so many figurines and don't sell them? You're offering them to Vulcan?"

Jeno ran a gloved hand through his hair. "My father wants to sacrifice people to get my mother back. He prays that the volcano will erupt for that very reason. If I can bite back and create beauty from the ashes, than surely Vulcan will hear my prayers too. After all, he is married to the goddess of love and beauty. It would be crazy to think that Venus herself isn't listening in on our prayers to her husband, just to be sure that everything is running smoothly."

It hit you in the chest, nearly bubbling up your throat and out like a choke of happy tears. All this time you compared Vulcan to Venus, and how the two were so obviously different that their dynamics would never work. And yet all this time you had forgotten that they were married and in love, for Venus had looked past the rough exterior of Vulcan.

Jeno hadn't forgotten at all. Jeno had used the information to his advantage to save his people. Jeno truly was the Phoenix Prince, beautiful and risen from the ashes. He could protect Focis — you had no doubt. Not now; not ever again.

✱

Your lungs still bothered you from time to time, but spending afternoons in the palace garden under the sunshine seemed to heal you far more than the physician ever did.

Jeno made you agree to drop smithing until your lungs were clear. He secretly hoped you'd quit altogether, and you secretly knew that, but there was a big piece of your heart that still belonged to the fire, and you didn't think it would be quenched any time soon.

As the days passed, your heart still reached out for Jeno and your mind filed in secret every word he spoke to you, in case you wished to think about him in your spare time. These days he was busier, with Prince Adrien stepping down and allowing Jeno to be crowned an official prince by title and not just by blood, there were many duties to be taken up.

Jeno had his hands full with his first project: moving the city away from the volcano. It would be tough, as he would have to make deals with other kingdoms and build almost entirely from scratch, but he couldn't help but think it was worth it to let the children breathe clean air again.

He was in the middle of speaking with contractors now in the hopes of moving the entire village miles away on the other side of the palace, out of range from the smog and sulfur that normally plagued the air.

To say you were proud of him for taking on such a task would be an understatement, for the amount of love and pride you felt for Jeno could barely be hidden anymore in its extreme quantity. Though it was selfish of you to want Jeno to stop being so busy, you couldn't help but wish that he would just sneak up to your room some nights like old times, if just to hold your hand and point out the stars.

When Jeno finally did have free time, he sent for you and asked that you would meet him in the garden.

Upon seeing him in his clean white tunic, partly covered by a ruby red toga, your heart beat just irregularly enough to remind you how much you loved him. The golden laurel wreath that sat comfortably in his dark hair made him look all the more regal and perfect in your eyes.

"Why are you dressed so formally?" Part of you felt very undressed, considering you were still only wearing your nightshirt tucked into a pair of cotton pants. But Jeno didn't mind. He never did.

"Because I have a proposition for you," Jeno said.

Though you wanted to feel nervous, his smile and crescent-shaped eyes put you at ease from the moment you stepped foot into the garden 'til now, when he grabbed your hand and linked his fingers with yours. "I made this for you."

He pulled a small flower out from behind his back. The clear, glass stem molding into dark green leaves and pale pink petals caused your heartbeat to speed up. You could see the small air bubbles where he hadn't quite smoothed out all of the glass, and the sight was so obviously Jeno that it caused a small giggle to pour through your lips. "I love you so much."

You heard a gasp leave his mouth just before it's muffled by your lips. He tasted just like he felt, soft and honey-like in ways that seemed so hard to describe because all it made you want to do was curl your toes into your sandals and ask for more.

Jeno's fingers threaded through your hair and cupped your jaw, finding a stronghold there to press further against you. His lips opened and close around yours. Your mind began to fog, from the low sounds that came from his mouth and the heat that rushed to his cheeks after such an incident. The whole experience had your mind reeling for more and less, but mostly just this — the feeling of Jeno in the palm of your hands.

No one else got to feel the way you did, or be treated the way Jeno treated you.

For this was a treaty between two lovers, much like a god and goddess in love, and for a moment you don't think you've ever believed in something more.

[luffywhatelse]

A Girl’s Gotta Have Guts

Arakawa once said that a great manga artist is “someone who can find the perfect balance between complying with readers’ expectations and betraying said expectations.” Arakawa seems to employ this philosophy in her own work to challenge her audience’s expectations about gender.

While her stories employ some gender tropes that are commonly present in shonen manga, action stories, and coming-of-age stories with male main characters, she also (whether consciously or not) confronts quite a few clichés and tears them apart with her narrative. By doing this, she subtly encourages her readers, mainly young boys and girls, to challenge the stereotypes about women that they see in other fiction or even in real life. Arakawa once stated, “Our family motto is ‘those who don’t work, don’t deserve to eat.’ Everyone has to work hard to make ends meet, including women and kids. That’s the reason there are so many working women in Fullmetal.”

She points directly to Winry and Pinako Rockbell from Fullmetal as an example of this. The grandmother and granddaughter are skilled mechanics who run their own automail business, which the main character of Fullmetal depends upon. Since Winry builds and provides maintenance for Ed’s limbs, Ed owes his mobility and ability to do alchemy to her. The mechanic profession is shown to be male-dominated in Fullmetal, like it currently is in real life, yet Winry thrives in her career and is incredibly accomplished. She even strikes out on her own at age 15 to establish herself in a busier area and have a wider range of customers.

Winry is a tough mechanic but also a very nurturing, emotional person. She’s shown to enjoy baking and be domestically skilled. Since Winry has medical know-how and puts Ed’s limbs back together when they break, in some ways she is in the traditional “civilian healer” role women tend to occupy in action stories. But the work Winry does as a healer is shown to be just as impressive and important as the daring deeds that Ed and Al do, and perhaps even more admirable.

A huge theme of Fullmetal Alchemist is the power to create versus the power to destroy, and as someone who builds new limbs for people, Winry is the embodiment of the former. Winry’s “traditionally feminine” work as a healer is shown to require just as much grit as anything Ed does. A scene where she prepares to deliver a baby in the 2009 Fullmetal anime is accompanied by epic fighting music to underscore this point.

Ed often admires Winry’s skill and ability to save lives. He notes she is able to do what he with his alchemy can’t—bring human life into the world. In many ways, Winry is our protagonist’s hero. She is what he aspires to be—a human who creates rather than an alchemist who destroys. Through Winry, Arakawa challenges the idea that women who aren’t action heroes have less value than those who are.  Giving the Civilian Female Character Her Due:

Everyone’s probably familiar with the trope—the superhero’s girlfriend or female relative provides endless support, yet the protagonists don’t ever have to consider her problems. She exists for them, and her life outside them is not of consequence. Not only that, the protagonists don’t see fit to tell her their secret identities, what they’re doing, or even let her in on things that directly affect her (like the threat of villians coming for her). And all for her “protection.” Arakawa presents a similar situation, with the boys depending on Winry but keeping things from her, but then smashes it apart by showing the consequences of treating someone this way. Winry is vocally upset about the boys leaving her out. A huge part of Ed and Al’s character arcs are about how they need to realize that shutting Winry out “for her own good” is hurtful and disrespectful.

Moreover, it is fully acknowledged that Winry has her own problems to deal with—she struggles with her identity and finding the right path to take in dealing with the loss of her parents. Arakawa makes a point that because of this, Winry can’t just function as constant emotional support without getting any from the boys in return. Arakawa takes great pains to show that while Ed and Al are a big part of Winry’s life, she has a fulfilling existence outside of them. The fact that Winry has her own career, acheivements, and a community that depends on her is what keeps her going.

Essentially, Winry is the hero of her own story. Through Winry, Arakawa encourages her male readers to be more respectful of the women in their lives. She also encourages her readers not to see women as an endless source of emotional healing and support, but as complex people with their own lives and goals who also require support at times. Promoting the Importance of Emotion and Communication: Arakawa’s work challenges another common cliché: the idea that it is better not discuss your feelings and that “real men” don’t show emotion. Early on in Fullmetal, a male character tells Winry that the reason Ed and Al don’t talk about their feelings is that “men speak with their actions” and “hide their pain so as not to burden their loved ones.”  

However, Winry proves that her way of handling things—by actually communicating her feelings—works a lot better than that macho nonsense. She ends up resolving a conflict with communication. She informs the male character that sometimes you do need to communicate with words, and he agrees with her. Arakawa explicitly shows that the more “feminine” method of being open about your feelings actually gets things done, and that burying your feelings hurts your loved ones more. This is a really good lesson for young people to learn, especially boys, who are often taught to be ashamed of their emotions. Challenging the Damsel in Distress and Lack of Female Agency: The “damsel in distress” trope is incredibly common in action stories, especially ones with a male protagonist. A female character close to the hero will be put in peril in order to motivate him. The villain in the story often does this knowingly, seeing the woman in question as nothing but an object to use as leverage against the hero. The narrative will often back the villain up in this—the female character may protest or fight, but ultimately she will fulfill her function as a motivation for the hero. Arakawa encourages her readers to question this particular trope by putting it in play and then tearing it apart. In Fullmetal, the villains threatens the women close to two male protagonists—Winry is threatened to force Ed and Al’s hand, and Riza is threatened to force the hand of her partner Roy Mustang.

However, not only do both women engineer their escapes, they turn the hostage situation to their advantage and save others. It initially looks like Winry has been kidnapped by another faction, only for it to be revealed this was a clever trick Winry engineered to fool her captors and allow her allies to escape. Winry recognizes that her captors see her as a victim without agency and turns this into their downfall. Arakawa even frames the narrative in a way that forces the reader to feel foolish for assuming Winry was helpless. Riza, on the other hand, uses her position as a hostage to gather intel for the resistance.

The most important thing about these situations is the female characters are ultimately put in peril to further their stories more than those of the male characters. Winry’s hostage situation is largely a device to bring her into a confrontation with her parents’ killer, and her story takes center stage during this confrontation, with Ed and Al acting as her support.

Moreover, in taking control of the situation, Winry is finally able to confront her fear of being a burden to her loved ones, resolve her issues with feeling helpless, and even figure out her identity. It also shows Ed’s positive development in that he doesn’t prevent Winry from making her own choices out of a desire to “protect” her. Source: https://www.themarysue.com/hiromu-arakawa-part-three-women/

[mr-entj]

Hi Mr. ENTJ! Have you ever taken the StrengthsFinder Assessment or Clifton Strengths Assessment by Gallup? If so, what were your top 5? Thanks!

Yes, my firm paid for all consultants to take the StrengthsFinder test when we first joined. My top 5:

1. Competition

Instinctively, you usually keep pushing yourself until you have claimed victory or been named the best. Finishing a close second is disheartening for you. Driven by your talents, you act like a rival when you are pitted against others and only one person can be declared the very best at something. Your deep-seated desire to finish in first place probably drives many of your choices and explains much of your behavior. Because of your strengths, you sometimes find that your capacity for using common sense or reason gives you an edge — that is, an advantage — over some people in certain situations. Perhaps you motivate yourself to use your brainpower to accomplish more or do better work than you ever have. Chances are good that you automatically vied for the top ranking in contests and games as a child. Reflecting on your youth, you might remember a few instances of being self-sufficient, assertive, or bold. By nature, you really push yourself to be the best. You typically gain an advantage whenever you can dictate how the game will be played or how a project will be organized.You characteristically prefer to be the person in charge of your life.

2. Significance

Because of your strengths, you toil with little rest and enjoy it as long as you can partner with individuals who share your strong work ethic. Having slackers in the group certainly tries your patience, especially when they are content to meet the minimum expectations. Your drive to do more and better work undoubtedly annoys and even threatens them. It’s very likely that you work diligently to govern all kinds of situations, decisions, or plans. You ordinarily refuse to let anyone take charge of any aspect of your life. By nature, you derive much satisfaction from doing whatever you can to help people prosper and flourish. You probably boost their spirits each time you acknowledge their accomplishments, talents, knowledge, and/or skills. Chances are good that you set definite goals for yourself. These performance objectives allow you to exercise control over the events in your life. They also influence many of the choices you make. Instinctively, you characteristically are joyful and upbeat about life. Your words of encouragement, optimism, and affirmation cause people to feel blissfully content and highly accomplished as individuals or as professionals. You have a way of reminding others about their good deeds, fine work, and strengths. In your presence, it is unlikely anyone can disregard, discount, or dismiss something he or she has done very well.

3. Restorative

Driven by your talents, you regularly study your mistakes. You want to understand what you must do differently in the future to succeed. Because of your strengths, you diligently spend time working to compensate for your real or perceived shortcomings, limitations, or flaws. Self-improvement activities rank quite high on your list of personal or professional goals. It’s very likely that you consistently strive to improve yourself personally and professionally. You are inclined to target your shortcomings rather than enhance your natural abilities. You aim to minimize your limitations or eradicate them altogether. You think this is a smart short-term plan for reaching your long-term goals. Chances are good that you are keenly aware of your limitations and deficiencies. This knowledge motivates you to take advantage of self-improvement opportunities in the workplace, educational settings, or your community. Instinctively, you usually find better ways for people to cooperate. You normally identifythe strengths, limitations, ideas, goals, or experiences each person brings to the group. You probably set up partnerships so these individuals can acquire the knowledge and skills they lack.

4. Achiever

Because of your strengths, you labor for hours, days, or weeks when the money you earn allows you to provide for your family’s needs. Your work ethic permits you to give loved ones many of the things you did or did not have as a child. Instinctively, you have the extra energy to work hard whenever you are acquiring information to broaden your base of knowledge. You desire to deepen your understanding of various topics, opportunities, problems, solutions, situations, events, or people. Driven by your talents, you may ignore distractions to concentrate on your assignments. Sometimes you keep reading, researching, experimenting, or writing until you know all you need to know about a particular subject. You might not rest until you have mastered certain concepts, committed important information to memory, or completed specific course requirements. Chances are good that you might spend considerable time examining the details underpinning an idea. Rather than rush through your research, perhaps you stick with it until you are convinced everything makes sense. It’s very likely that you intentionally increase your chances of being the best by diving into projects and working industriously. You regularly compare your scores, rankings, ratings, outcomes, or performances to those to others. You are quite motivated to participate in activities in which only one person can finish in first place.

5. Focus

Instinctively, you might offer assistance to people when the predicament in which they find themselves fascinates you. Maybe you come to the aid of others when they ask you to study an intriguing problem, unanswered question, or unfamiliar subject. Occasionally you are delighted to report back to them your discoveries and conclusions. By nature, you are unsentimental and not often swayed by emotional arguments or passionate pleas. People are likely to describe you as quite realistic and practical. Because of your strengths, you may relish reading about certain topics that fascinate you. Some individuals are not surprised to find you with your nose in a book — that is, reading all the time. When a particular subject intrigues you, you might review a wide range of printed materials. Perhaps this is how you glean — that is, collect bits and pieces — of information about your areas of interest. Chances are good that you occasionally show certain individuals your personal or professional plans for the coming months, years, or decades. Perhaps this helps them understand where you are headed, how you plan to proceed step by step, and why you say success is possible. It’s very likely that you are determined to be in charge of your own destiny. This is your life. You intend to be the ultimate decision maker regarding personal and professional matters.

[doodlingadventures]

Spirits be with you pt 1 - beta

Hey! this is a transcription of the questline “The fallen chieftain”, regarding Vol’jin’s fate in Battle for Azeroth. It includes the quest texts, but also a few screenshots, the dialogues in between, and a bit of commentary. This is as far as we have in the beta, and there is a missing quest line between the end of this one and Talanji and Vol’jin’s cinematic, so remember that what I’m showing you now can change once it hits live.

It’s spoilers for BFA, so if you want to avoid them, stop reading and come back at a later time! (and if you’re on the app… i’m so sorry. this is going to be long).

After completing the Scenario “Zandalar Forever” and turning in the quest, Rokhan will appear on the Great Seal, offering the following quest

Zalzane returns.

Rokhan: Hero, I’ve never needed your help as much as I do this day. My home be under attack.

I only just heard myself, Master Gadrin be callin’ for aid. Zalazane, an old enemy of da Darkspears, has returned to da Echo Isles and has brought with him an army of da dead.

Zalazane be a traitor who has slain many Darkspears and defiled their souls. Will you come with me to defeat him? We can take da ship dat departs da Port of Zandalar.

Rokhan (to Talanji): I gotta borrow da champion for a bit. An old enemy somehow escaped Bwonsamdi and now be threatenin’ my home.

Talanji: My dear Rokhan, de Darkspear tribe has more than earned de aid of de Zandalar. I will join you to help as I can.

Once you take the ship and arrive to the Echo Isles, you can already see hostile undead trolls attacking the Darkspear NPCs.

(the only thing I don’t like about this is that they took the red feathers from the urn :C now it looks less like Vol’jin)

Broken Bargain.

Master Gadrin: These mindless undead just keep coming. They be far stronger than they were last time Zalazane walked this world.

Please help us drive these undead back.

The Glaive of Vol’jin.

Zen’tabra:When fighting someone who has escaped the grasp of Bwonsamdi, as Zalazane has, it is best to bring weapons that can hurt him.

In Darkspear Hold you will find the Glaive of Vol'jin. It should have enough bond with Vol'jin's spirit to aid us in this fight.

As you kill the Undead Trolls, you can hear Zalazane yelling.

Zalazane: Search, minions. Find da ashes of Vol’jin and bring them to me.

When retrieving the glaive, you can notice one of the undead just observing it.

Broken Bargain. Completion.

Master Gadrin: The dead should stay dead.

The Glaive o Vol’jin. Completion

Zen’tabra: The bond between Vol'jin and Zalazane was one of magic and bargains with loa.

The bond between Vol'jin and dis weapon was also great. Dis may be what we need to finally destroy that spirit.

Vengeance for Vol’jin.

Master Gadrin: If we mean to destroy Zalazane then we gonna need something that can damage that spirit.

Da Glaive of Vol'jin might be what we need to do this.

Zalazane be hovering near where he fell so many years ago. Rokhan and Talanji have already gone to face him. Go, slay Zalazane, and then plunge da glaive into the spirit before it can escape. Let us hope de bargain Vol'jin made be powerful enough to destroy this enemy.

When you head towards Zalazane’s fall and engage him, he has a few lines.

Zalazane:Ya not be hidin’ him from me forever. I’m gonna have my revenge on Vol’jin and all of da Darkspear!

Zalazane: I have learned much by watching Bwonsamdi as he tortured my soul. Let me show ya some of his style of voovoo.

Zalazane:Ya be tinkin’ ya can win? Ya can only delay ya destiny.

Spirit of Zalazane: Ya tink destroyin’ my body… that’s gonna stop me… from ripping ya apart?

Once you kill him, his spirit appears and starts attacking you. This is when you can activate Vol’jin’s glaive effect on use.

Spirit of Zalazane:What? Vol’jin… you could not have grown so strong without becoming… a…

(Vol’jin does not show up. Zalazane just glows for a moment and then banishes in the same effect Bwonsamdi uses to appear and disappear)

Before turning in, the characters have a few lines.

Master Gadrin: Da dead, dey be fallin’...

Rokhan: Zalazane not gonna come back from dat. Even in death, Vol’jin be watchin’ over us.

Talanji: Few spirits have ever shown such… power. Master Gadrin, I invite you to bring dis chieftain’s ashes to Atal’Dazar. If his spirit is worthy, he may have a place of honor amongst our greatest kings.

Vengeance for Vol’jin. Completion.

Master Gadrin:Da blade... it be glowin'. It never did dat before.

Squad goals.

Honoring a true leader.

Master Gadrin: Vol'jin. I have often felt our old chieftain's spirit whisperin' to me. His strength was da lifeblood of da Darkspear tribe. Some would even say he was da spirit of da true Horde.

Princess Talanji's offer is a great one. I shall travel with Vol'jin's ashes to Atal'Dazar. If ya be wishin' to join us for dis procession, meet us upon da famed Golden Road.

We take back the ship and head towards Atal’dazar’s flightpoint. Master Gadrin and Talanji are waiting for us.

Honoring a true leader. Completion.

Master Gadrin: Da power here... it be in da very earth. Da spirits be strong and ancient in dis land.

Vol’jin, son of Sen’jin.

Master Gadrin: Even in da Echo Isles we have heard of da traditions of da Golden Road. We must walk in da presence of royalty and hail da accomplishments of Vol'jin so dat his spirit be welcome here amongst da ancient kings.

I shall carry da ashes, if you light da fires. Know that any member of any other tribe may contest us. As our champion, we will need you to fend them off if they do.

The quest starts, and you follow Master Gadrin and Talanji.

Master Gadrin: We come bearin’ da ashes of Vol’jin, son of Sen’jin, ta be honored in dis sacred place.

Talanji: Dis is an honor seldom awarded to one not of Zandalar. Come, walk de path with me and share dis Vol’jin’s deeds.

There are three Braziers on the path that you must light. Each one shows a familiar scene.

First brazier lighted.

Master Gadrin: Vol’jin made a deal wit’ Bwonsamdi ta defeat da powerful Zalazane.

Vision of Vol’jin: Aid us, Bwonsamdi! Help us regain our home! Return de Darkspear to d Isles and hear your drums again! Drink your ritual offerings once more! Dis, as de Son of Sen’jin, I swear (with his old voice. It’s the scene from the old event on teh Echo Isles during Wrath).

As you try to continue your path, two sandfury challengers appear, yelling : No Horde filth gonna be worthy of dis place. We of da Sandfury challenge ya!

Master Gadrin and Talanji will simply wait for you at the next brazier while you kill these idiots. You can take your time.

Before reaching the second brazier, a Gurubashi berserker appears, bellowing: No Darkspear! No dumb trolls in fancy troll place!

Second brazier lighted.

Master Gadrin: When Zandalar tried ta unite da troll tribes, Vol’jin chose da safety of his people over da prophet’s dar powers.

Talanji: At de time, Zul’s vision of a grand troll empire was very tempting to my father. I must commend your chieftain for seeing de bigger picture.

On your way to the last brazier, a couple of Amani challengers yell : Ya not gonna be bringin’ dat Horde lovin’ traitor to dis sacred place! (bitch eat my shrapnel bombs)

Third brazier lighted.

Master Gadrin: When it be clear dat our warchief, Garrosh, be unwillin’ ta lead with honor, Vol’jin led da rebellion ta depose da warmonger.

Talanji: It is a hard thing to do what your leaders will not.

Vol’jin, son of Sen’jin. Completion.

Talanji: Vol'jin. I must admit, I am impressed with his deeds. Had we met in dis world, I am sure he and I would have had much in common.(blizzard pls)

Atal’dazar; Ashes of a Warchief.

Talanji: I have learned much of de Darkspear lately. Truth is, I have quietly admired dem since I was a little girl, hearin' of Vol'jin's defiance of Zul's reckless call to action. (girl HOW OLD ARE YOUU?!?!?!?!)

Vol'jin was Warchief of the Horde, chieftain of de Darkspear, and more troll den most can claim to be (thank you). His ashes should be honored in a place of kings and queens.

Take de ashes to Atal'Dazar with my blessing and honor your former Warchief as he deserves.

If you’re not a rogue or a hunter, you’ll need a group for this.

Past  the first boss, starting at the right, there’s a small, tranquil lake where you can see the glowing silhouette of the urn.

Once you place it, Bwonsamdi will materialize.

Bwonsamdi: No, no, no, my little hero. Ya not be leavin’ dat here.

Atal’dazar; Ashes of a Warchief. Completion.

Bwonsamdi: You and I need be talkin'.

You owe me a spirit.

Bwonsamdi: Ya not leaving that here. Ol' Vol'jin not be dancin' in my house. I not be seein' his spirit for a long time. 

Its absence has broken de bonds dat held Zalazane in my control. So... I want you to lift dat heavy urn, and bring it to my necropolis.

Vol'jin and I gonna have a face to face on my ground.

Then you have to go to the Necropolis, in Nazmir. The only thing different is that Zalazane’s spirit is no longer dangling at the entrance.

You owe me a spirit. Completion.

Bwonsamdi: I have waited some time for dis. Long overdue hee hee... wait a moment.

As for now, you only get the achievement “The fallen chieftain” (first half of the “spirits be with you” questline). There are no following quests to this one, yet, but if you stay, Bwonsamdi has a few extra lines.

Bwonsamdi: Be off, hero. Ain’ nothin’ for ya here now.

Bwonsamdi: Ay, Vol’jin? Come one outta dat urn. Wait… wait, wait… no! Where be da spirit?! Where be Vol’jin?

Bwonsamdi: No! No! Impossible. Da boss ain’t gonna like dis.Ol’ Bwonsamdi not be losin’ a spirit in… oh, dis be bad.

This raises a lot of questions. Like, a lot XD but for now it’s all we have. I am curious as to where they are taking this.They keep mentioning Vol’jin’s past deeds as a leader, and also the union of the tribes keeps being mentioned; in this questline, in other as you advance the story, and by a couple of “predictions” a certain NPC on the Zocalo give us. (Madame Konawla)

(I mean, she gives a lot, but these two are the most interesting regarding our current topic)

Uniting the troll tribes (this I have repeated enough on my theories xD) and “ressurection of former friend”. I can only think of Vol’jin or Zalazane , since she  mentions “it will depend on your friend” (although Zalazane would only makes sense if she was talking to a darkspear, and she gives this to any race I’ve tried) If you can think of someone else please say, I get stuck very easily

Well, you know where the inbox is 8D I’ll say as soon as I find the second questline avaiable!

[wisdomrays]

WINGS OF HUMBLENESS: Part 1

Question: How is it possible to reach a balance between pursuing high achievements and seek perfection on one hand and to be self-critical and remain humble on the other?

Answer: A real believer is a resolute person whose faith in God is doubt-free. A believer does not lose hope even in the face of the most daunting circumstances. For this reason, such a person never gives in to hopelessness but always stands firm, even when all roads are blocked, and keeps walking toward his ideals; he knows that God Almighty has never left those who walk on His path with no ways to reach their goals.

When it was not possible to live in Mecca, God opened the way of miraculous Ascension of the Prophet to the heavens, along which every one of the greatest Prophets saluted him. The Messenger of God reached such a point that even Gabriel the Trustworthy said, “I will be perished if I take one more step.”

Seeking perfection

God Almighty never let down those who walked on His path; He held their hands even at the most unexpected moments, delivering them safe and sound. You may fall down a well, but when you least expect it, a strong rope will be dropped down. There may be times when you are mistreated by a few jealous brothers. However, after a term of spiritual journeying, you just see that God sets thrones in hearts for you. In this respect, no matter what hardships are faced, believers who always feel the Divine help and support behind them will seek out great achievements, and try to give their willpower its due in terms of fulfilling those accomplishments in accordance with their worth. They will thus try to produce the most perfect works, because the Prophet commanded believers to be equipped with the morality of God.

The Divine morality of this issue is related to us by statements like, “He who makes excellent everything that He creates,” (as-Sajdah 32:7) and, “This is the pattern of God who has perfected everything” (an-Naml 27:88). Thus it is pointed out that He brings everything into existence in the best, most beautiful, soundest, and perfect fashion. If He created something out of nothing, built it up, and breathed life to it, those who witnessed His works could not help but say, “There could not be anything better.”

“There is no possibility of anything more wondrous than what exists in this universe.” A person who beholds this universe with a comprehensive perspective, and moves his shuttle of wisdom between the cause and effect, will have to make the following confession: “God created the universe so beautifully that, had I been given a life of thousand years long and assigned to build a little piece of existence, I could never do it.”

Thus Divine morality shows us this: while striving on the path of God, believers should do their best and try to carry out their tasks in the best and soundest fashion.

As if presenting your work to God’s supervision

Concerning the fact that a believer should seek the perfect for the sake of gaining God’s good pleasure, we can ponder over the following verse: “Say: ‘Work, and God will see your work, and so will His Messenger and the true believers; and you will be brought back to the Knower of the Unseen (of all that lies beyond sense-perception) and the witnessed (the sensed realm), and He will make you understand all that you were doing (and call you to account for it)’” (at-Tawbah 9:105). God Almighty does not command as “if’alu” (do), but as “i’malu,” which means to “fulfill a certain deed.” The Qur’an frequently refers to deeds by putting emphasis on “righteous deeds,” so we understand that the term “deed” refers to fulfilling a certain task positively and flawlessly, within a certain plan, and by considering the results.

The verse also commands fulfilling deeds with the consciousness that God, His Messenger, and all true believers will see these deeds. Namely, a believer should fulfill their deeds so that God Almighty will approve, the Prophet will express appreciation, and believers will wish to have fulfilled their own deeds in such a way. However, the purpose of a believer who seeks perfection in his deeds is not to cause envy in others. On the contrary, they try to gain God’s good pleasure by giving the task its proper due. It is good to aspire to do the same good deeds another person has done, but this issue should not be approached with a feeling of jealousy or rivalry.

Angels as examples

Concerning the angels, the Qur’an states: “(They) do not disobey God in whatever He commands them, and carry out what they are commanded (to carry out)” (at-Tahrim 66:6). That is, they fulfill every command scrupulously and do not disobey His orders in the least bit. They are important examples for us in this respect. Believers should fulfill their tasks comparably to the archangel Gabriel and seek Divine appreciation. They should feel a pulsing in their temples, as if their brains would come out through their noses. It is said that whoever does his best for the sake of accomplishing a certain task, God will grant that person what he seeks.