#Tabernacle Courtyard

[doulafaith]

Anchored in Hope

  Posts Secured “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain,  Where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf. He has become a high priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek.”  Hebrews 6:19-20 While studying the construction of the Tabernacle I saw the fence that enclosed the courtyard as significant as it relates to the…

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

HORNY PRIEST JOHN PRICE

breeding kink, sacrilege (?)

john joined the church after leaving the military, though he never spoke much about what led him there. some men left war and found peace in quiet towns, in family, in distance. john, meanwhile, found himself in the shadow of the cross, searching for something he couldn't name.

he knelt, prayed, studied scripture— not because he'd had a sudden divine vision, but because he’d needed something to tether himself to.

he's never been one to talk about faith in absolutes. the young priests, fresh out of seminary, speak with a certainty that makes him envious. they talk of god’s mercy like it’s a thing they’ve held in their hands, like they’ve never doubted it for a second.

john doesn’t have that luxury. his hands have held a rifle, pressed down on wounds, ended lives.

what right does he have to stand in the confessional and tell a man his sins are forgiven when his own are still heavy in his chest?

he doesn’t let it show. not when he stands before his congregation, not when he delivers the homily, and not even when he listens to the confessions of those who kneel before him.

the words come easy. “god is love. god is mercy.” he says them with the confidence of a man who believes them. perhaps if he says them enough, one day it'll drive home.

he's decently well-respected in his parish. john speaks in measured tones, and listens with the kind of patience that makes people trust him. he’s rarely if ever unkind, never raising his voice even when the children at sunday school test his patience or when the older priests debate doctrine with a stubbornness he doesn’t bother entertaining.

the congregation admires him for it.

he keeps a well-worn rosary in his pocket, fingers brushing over the beads when he’s deep in thought. it’s an old habit, one he never lost even when he stopped saying the prayers as often as he should. late at night, when he can’t sleep, he walks the empty church, the only light coming from the red glow of the tabernacle lamp.

he runs his fingers over the smooth wood of the pews, listens to the creak of the floorboards beneath his boots, and exhales smoke into the dim air. it feels like a kind of penance, staying here long after everyone else has gone, keeping watch over something he’s still not sure he belongs to.

the first time you meet, it’s in the courtyard after sunday mass.

you’re new to the church. new to the neighborhood. moved in just a month ago, so he’s heard. he hadn't taken much notice at first— he rarely does. parishioners come and go, faces blending into one another over time.

but then he sees you. all wide eyes and bright smiles, the late-morning sun catching the warmth in your hair, laugh spilling out like a song. you shake hands with mrs. calloway, nod attentively as she chatters on about her garden, and there’s something about the way you tilt your head, the way your lips part in quiet amusement, that makes something ugly and raw twist in his gut.

john shouldn’t be looking. he knows he shouldn’t be looking.

and yet.

you catch sight of him, and your smile brightens, something open and eager in your face as you step forward. “father price.”

your voice is softer than he expects. sweeter. a fact not good for his health.

he nods. “you’ve settled in well, i see.”

“i have. everyone’s been so kind.” your hands clasp in front of you, fingers tangling. “i wanted to introduce myself properly. i should have done it sooner, but-” you shake your head, sheepish. “i guess i was nervous.”

nervous? of who— him?

he watches the way you glance down, the way your teeth catch the plump of your lower lip, the slight shift of your weight from foot to foot, and something slow and molten pools in his stomach.

and then, unbidden—

i want to fuck her mouth.

the thought slams into him. his fingers curl, blunt nails pressing into his palm. john's throat tightens, heat crawling up the back of his neck, shame dragging its claws down his spine.

he schools his expression, keeps his voice level. “there’s nothing to be nervous about.” a beat. his gaze lingers on your lips a second too long. “i hope you find what you’re looking for here.”

your eyes meets his then. for a moment, he swears you see it. the crack in his composure, the way his restraint stretches thin around you like fraying rope.

but then you just smile again— so fucking gentle— and bid him a polite goodbye before slipping back into the crowd.

he exhales, tries to control his breathing, before turning on his heel and heading inside.

it doesn’t get better after that.

oh no. in fact, it only gets worse.

because you linger. you stay. you join the congregation, sit near the front every sunday, your hands folded neatly in your lap, your lips parted slightly in quiet reverence as you listen to the sermon. you bite your lip when you concentrate, tuck your hair behind your ear absentmindedly, shift in your seat just enough to make his mind wander places it has absolutely no right to go.

and it haunts him.

creeps into his thoughts when he thinks he's already run far away from it. slips into his head when he least expects it. a slow, insidious thing, winding around his ribs, sinking its teeth into the softest parts of him.

john finds himself getting lost in his imaginations more and more as the weeks pass by. it starts with something simple. something small.

you, in his kitchen.

the space is yours as much as it is his now— he hardly steps foot in it unless you usher him in, your hands on his arms, guiding him to sit, to rest. the scent of warm bread and roasted meat fills the house, seeping into the wooden beams, the stone walls. the windows are cracked open just enough to let the breeze in, carrying with it the scent of the fields, the distant bells of the church.

you hum as you work, a quiet little tune under your breath, flour dusting your fingers, smudging along the curve of your cheek. you’re barefoot, the hem of your dress skimming your ankles, your apron tied neatly at the back. domestic. wifely. His.

"you’re spoiling me, love."

you laugh, glancing over your shoulder at him where he sits at the table, his elbows braced against the wood, his chin resting on his hand. john hasn’t even touched the sermon notes laid out before him, hasn’t even opened the book he’d planned to read. no, his attention has been on you— watching you move, watching the light catch on your hair, watching the way you fit so perfectly in his home.

"you work too hard," you murmur, turning back to the stove. "someone has to take care of you."

the words sink into him, low and warm, wrapping around something deep in his chest.

you do take care of him.

you set a plate before him, still warm from your hands, and press a kiss to the top of his head, your lips soft against his hair.

you fold his robes neatly after they’ve dried in the sun, pressing your hands over the fabric like a prayer. you pluck a stray thread from his collar before mass, your fingers deft and careful, your brow furrowing in quiet concentration.

you brush his hair back from his forehead when he sits too long at his desk, rubbing slow circles at his temple, your fingers easing away the weight of his work.

and in the evenings, after the dishes have been washed and the fire burns low, you climb into his lap with a soft sigh, tucking yourself against his chest.

"long day?" you ask, your fingers smoothing over the front of his shirt.

"mm." john presses a kiss to your hair, lets his hands settle at your waist, palms warm through the thin fabric of your nightdress. "better now."

and it is better, with you here, with your warmth seeping into his, your breath brushing his throat.

he wants all of it. the soft, easy domesticity. the routine of waking to you curled beside him, of pressing sleepy kisses to your bare shoulder before dragging himself out of bed. of watching you move through his home with the comfort of a woman who belongs there.

and, god help him—

john wants to fuck you too.

until you leaked him, until his seed dripped down your thighs, making a mess of soft, perfect skin. wants to bend you over his desk, press your face into the worn wood, break you open on his cock until you sobbed for him, begged him to fill you. he’d grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

he wants to whisper filth into your ear, his breath hot— gonna fill you up, love. gonna fuck you so full of me you’ll be dripping for days. you want that, don’t you? want me to breed you like the needy little thing you are?

he wants to press his fingers into your mouth, make you suck them clean before shoving them between your legs, fucking them into the soft clutch of your pussy until you cried for him.

and when he finally sinks his swollen cock inside you— he’d make you feel it.

john wants to fuck you raw, grind his hips against yours, keep you pinned beneath his weight, stuffed full of his cock. he’d press a hand to your belly, feel himself inside you, make you watch as you take a cock too big for you.

and when he’d spill inside you he wouldn't stop. oh no— he’d fuck it deeper, press his fingers to your swollen clit, make you come with him, make your body take every last drop of his seed.

because he wouldn't just fill you. he’d breed you. over and over, until you couldn't keep yourself up, too boneless to thrust back into him, too full to take any more.

but he was a man of god.

and men of god did not shove their sweet, willing parishioners over their desks, did not drag their teeth down soft skin, did not slap needy little cunts until they were wet and dripping.

they did not fuck desperate little things in church pews, in quiet confessionals, did not fist their hands in soft hair and shove pretty mouths onto their cocks, did not whisper filth between gasped-out prayers.

they did not spend their nights with their heads buried between trembling thighs, devouring the taste of sin, holding squirming bodies still as they licked deep, sucked hard, forced sweet, innocent things to come against their tongues.

they did not rut into them like beasts, gripping soft wrists, pinning them down, owning them with every brutal thrust. they did not press their hands to swollen bellies, fill their women over and over until their bodies were wrecked, too full of come to take another drop.

men of god did not fuck.

but god forgive him, he would.

all those thoughts come to this moment, this night—

john finds himself alone under the dim glow of candlelight, sitting on the pews, head tilted to the cross.

his breathing is uneven, ragged in the dim hush of the empty church. each inhale scrapes against his ribs, sharp and burning, like penance for the filth curdling in his mind. his hands tremble as they move beneath his robes, fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt. the metal clinks, far too loud in the sacred silence, but he doesn’t stop.

can’t.

his breathing is uneven, ragged in the dim hush of the empty church. each inhale feels like it scrapes against his ribs, sharp and burning, as though the very air is punishing him for the thoughts festering in his mind. his hands tremble as they move beneath his robes, fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt. the metal clinks softly in the quiet, a sound far too loud in the sanctity of this space.

the leather gives way, and his cassock feels suffocating now, the fabric too heavy against skin flushed with heat. his fingers slip lower, dragging the waistband of his pants down his hips with shaky, desperate movements until he’s free— finally free— from the painful confines of his underwear.

his cock springs forward, already hard in his hand, flushed dark at the tip, the skin tight and aching. a bead of precum glistens there, catching in the flicker of candlelight like something obscene in the house of god. he wraps his hand around the base, his grip firm but not enough to ease the pressure coiled in his gut. the heat of his palm sends a shudder rolling down his spine, breath hitching as his thumb swipes over the sensitive head, smearing the slick wetness down the length.

his cock is long, veins pulsing along the shaft, the kind of thick that demands attention. his foreskin still covers the swollen head, slick with the evidence of his own arousal, precum smearing against the soft skin of his lower stomach. he hisses through his teeth as he wraps his hand around the base, fingers barely closing around the girth, feeling the steady throb of blood pulsing beneath his grip.

his balls hang full and tight, pulled close with need, the skin sensitive to the faintest brush of fabric. every movement is torment, the soft rub of his cassock against his bare thighs sending a shudder through him, making his hips jerk forward, seeking relief.

he strokes himself slowly, dragging his foreskin back to expose the flushed, leaking head, then rolling it forward again, savoring the sensitivity. his thumb swipes through the slick wetness pooling at the tip, smearing it down the length, adding just enough glide to make his fist slip easier over his cock.

his grip tightens, dragging the pleasure out like a prayer he’s too ashamed to speak aloud. the church is silent around him, the air thick with the scent of burning wax and old stone, but all he can think about is you.

on your knees before him.

john sees it so clearly, feels it like it’s already happened. the way you’d sink down, your eyes looking up at him through thick lashes, expectant. your soft lips parted just enough for your tongue to wet them before stretching around his cock. the thought makes his stomach clench, his fingers twitching as he strokes himself tighter, his foreskin gliding over the swollen head before he pulls it back again.

you wouldn’t be able to take all of him at once. he knows that much. He’s too thick, too long— your jaw would ache just trying, your tongue pressing firm against the heavy weight of him, struggling to make space. the first inch would be easy, maybe even the second. but when he pushes deeper, when his tip nudges the back of your throat and you gag, just a little, he knows he’d lose whatever control he has left.

he swears he can see it— your fingers curling against his thighs, the little choked noise you’d make when he holds you there, when his cock throbs against your tongue. your throat would flutter, swallowing around him, trying to adjust to the stretch. and oh, god, the way your lips would look wrapped around him, swollen with abuse and slick with spit and precum. john nearly loses himself at the image alone.

his hips jerk forward into his own grip, chasing the fantasy, breath coming through the vaulted ceilings of the church. he’d guide you through it, hand buried in your hair, tilting your head just the way he likes. gentle, at first. Letting you set the pace. But then when you get too comfortable, when you start to tease, pulling back just to trail soft kisses along his length— he’d snap.

he’d pull you down, bury himself deep in the hot sleeve of your mouth until your throat clenched around him and you whimpered against his balls. his other hand would cup your jaw, feeling the bulge of himself pressing against your cheek, watching as tears bead at the corners of your eyes, shuddering from the effort of taking him.

he wonders if you’d try to pull away, fingers gripping his thighs in a silent plea. would you struggle? would you whine? would you let him break you like this?

john groans, his grip tightening almost painfully. he pumps himself faster now, the obscene slap of skin against skin filling the empty church. his balls are drawn tight, aching with the need to spill, and in his mind, he’s not coming into his own palm.

he’s coming down your throat.

you’d swallow, wouldn’t you? just for him. he can see it— his cum thick on your tongue, your lips parting to show him before you close your mouth and swallow it down. maybe a little would escape, dripping down your chin, and he’d swipe his thumb through it, pressing it back to your lips.

“messy thing,” he’d murmur. “but you took it so well.”

the thought sends him over the edge.

his hips stutter, cock jerking in his grip as his orgasm crashes over him, hot and sudden. cum spills over his knuckles, , dripping onto the cold stone beneath him. his breath comes in harsh, broken gasps, his thighs trembling as he rides out the aftershocks, his vision hazy with the force of his release.

and when it’s over— when he finally stills, his body spent, his mind heavy with guilt— he drags his gaze upward.

The cross looms above him, watching.

if this is damnation, he’ll sin again.

[lordgodjehovahsway]

Leviticus 8: Moses Performs the Ordinations of Aaron and His Sons Before God

1 The Lord said to Moses, 

2 “Bring Aaron and his sons, their garments, the anointing oil, the bull for the sin offering, the two rams and the basket containing bread made without yeast, 

3 and gather the entire assembly at the entrance to the tent of meeting.” 

4 Moses did as the Lord commanded him, and the assembly gathered at the entrance to the tent of meeting.

5 Moses said to the assembly, “This is what the Lord has commanded to be done.” 

6 Then Moses brought Aaron and his sons forward and washed them with water. 

7 He put the tunic on Aaron, tied the sash around him, clothed him with the robe and put the ephod on him. He also fastened the ephod with a decorative waistband, which he tied around him. 

8 He placed the breastpiece on him and put the Urim and Thummim in the breastpiece. 

9 Then he placed the turban on Aaron’s head and set the gold plate, the sacred emblem, on the front of it, as the Lord commanded Moses.

10 Then Moses took the anointing oil and anointed the tabernacle and everything in it, and so consecrated them. 

11 He sprinkled some of the oil on the altar seven times, anointing the altar and all its utensils and the basin with its stand, to consecrate them. 

12 He poured some of the anointing oil on Aaron’s head and anointed him to consecrate him. 

13 Then he brought Aaron’s sons forward, put tunics on them, tied sashes around them and fastened caps on them, as the Lord commanded Moses.

14 He then presented the bull for the sin offering, and Aaron and his sons laid their hands on its head. 

15 Moses slaughtered the bull and took some of the blood, and with his finger he put it on all the horns of the altar to purify the altar. He poured out the rest of the blood at the base of the altar. So he consecrated it to make atonement for it. 

16 Moses also took all the fat around the internal organs, the long lobe of the liver, and both kidneys and their fat, and burned it on the altar. 

17 But the bull with its hide and its flesh and its intestines he burned up outside the camp, as the Lord commanded Moses.

18 He then presented the ram for the burnt offering, and Aaron and his sons laid their hands on its head. 

19 Then Moses slaughtered the ram and splashed the blood against the sides of the altar. 

20 He cut the ram into pieces and burned the head, the pieces and the fat. 

21 He washed the internal organs and the legs with water and burned the whole ram on the altar. It was a burnt offering, a pleasing aroma, a food offering presented to the Lord, as the Lord commanded Moses.

22 He then presented the other ram, the ram for the ordination, and Aaron and his sons laid their hands on its head. 

23 Moses slaughtered the ram and took some of its blood and put it on the lobe of Aaron’s right ear, on the thumb of his right hand and on the big toe of his right foot. 

24 Moses also brought Aaron’s sons forward and put some of the blood on the lobes of their right ears, on the thumbs of their right hands and on the big toes of their right feet. Then he splashed blood against the sides of the altar. 

25 After that, he took the fat, the fat tail, all the fat around the internal organs, the long lobe of the liver, both kidneys and their fat and the right thigh. 

26 And from the basket of bread made without yeast, which was before the Lord, he took one thick loaf, one thick loaf with olive oil mixed in, and one thin loaf, and he put these on the fat portions and on the right thigh. 

27 He put all these in the hands of Aaron and his sons, and they waved them before the Lord as a wave offering. 

28 Then Moses took them from their hands and burned them on the altar on top of the burnt offering as an ordination offering, a pleasing aroma, a food offering presented to the Lord. 

29 Moses also took the breast, which was his share of the ordination ram, and waved it before the Lord as a wave offering, as the Lord commanded Moses.

30 Then Moses took some of the anointing oil and some of the blood from the altar and sprinkled them on Aaron and his garments and on his sons and their garments. So he consecrated Aaron and his garments and his sons and their garments.

31 Moses then said to Aaron and his sons, “Cook the meat at the entrance to the tent of meeting and eat it there with the bread from the basket of ordination offerings, as I was commanded: ‘Aaron and his sons are to eat it.’ 

32 Then burn up the rest of the meat and the bread. 

33 Do not leave the entrance to the tent of meeting for seven days, until the days of your ordination are completed, for your ordination will last seven days. 

34 What has been done today was commanded by the Lord to make atonement for you. 

35 You must stay at the entrance to the tent of meeting day and night for seven days and do what the Lord requires, so you will not die; for that is what I have been commanded.”

36 So Aaron and his sons did everything the Lord commanded through Moses.

[underdark-dreams]

[ch1] - [ch2]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.3

Rainstorms, hard conversations, and long-awaited kisses.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Pining | Word Count: 4,189 [Read on AO3]

In a lucky turn of events, Lorroakan was called away from the Tower earlier than usual. Perhaps more Nightsong business connected with Tav’s visit today. 

More likely a soiree in the Upper City with the newly ordained Archduke Gortash and the city’s elite, Rolan thought to himself. Those were the parts of archwizardry that seemed to agree with his master the best.

Whatever the reason, his evening’s lessons were abruptly canceled—as Lorroakan’s projection materialized for a few seconds to unceremoniously inform him. Rolan felt his aching head throb with relief. He’d just been given a night of escape. 

When the closing hour’s bells rang out from Stormshore Tabernacle, Rolan fastened up the shop in record speed.

Rather than head to his siblings’ rented flat, Rolan carved a path toward the Elfsong. It was still early yet—Cal and Lia wouldn't expect him for hours, if they expected him at all tonight. 

A bit early to be visiting the tavern, as well. But watching the gray and downcast weather through the doors of Sorcerous Sundries all day had left him thirsty. Rolan breathed in the cloud-thick and misty air as he walked.

Even for the early hour, the main taproom of the Elfsong was almost completely empty. All the better; fewer chances at unwelcome stares and comments.

Despite having his pick of the entire floor, he slumped into a small table in the farthest corner possible and spilled a few coppers on its surface in preparation. He’d been ready to drink this day away for hours.

"Chancing murder this fine afternoon?" 

As if summoned, a cup of Arabellan Dry appeared in front of him. Lakrissa plucked his coin from the table in the same motion.

Rolan’s work had left him little time to follow the city’s goings on. But he did recall something the Gazette's paper boys had been shouting in the courtyard this morning—the most recent in a string of grisly murders, apparently occurring just above his head. 

No wonder the place was deserted.

"Can hardly be worse than what's behind us," Rolan said glumly, raising the cup to his lips without missing a beat. 

Lakrissa plopped herself down at his table uninvited. "I expected to see your lover with you tonight." 

"My—" It was different hearing someone else say it aloud; he coughed slightly into his wine.

“Cal told me she made it to the city,” Lakrissa explained.

Apparently Cal had taken the liberty of telling her everything else while he was at it. 

"Of course he did." Rolan huffed a sigh. He supposed it was good that his siblings kept in contact with old friends from the road…but could they find nothing more interesting to talk about than his personal life?

"She's pretty," Lakrissa said, as if the compliment was somehow directed at him. "Brave, good fighter…good heart. How exactly you pull that off?"

Her candor would've insulted him, had he not asked himself the same question many times today alone. "No idea," Rolan said, unshouldering the heavy weight of his ego for just a moment. 

"Hm. But you're hiding alone in a tavern, instead of off with her."

"I am not hiding," Rolan glowered at her, though he really was—and for the second time today no less. "I just needed to think, that's all."

"Ah…I get it." Lakrissa swung her bar towel over one shoulder. "She’s seen you."

For all of the times Rolan had visited the Elfsong Tavern while Lakrissa was waiting tables, she'd never commented on the ever-shifting landscape of wounds on his face. She was the type to keep her nose out of other peoples’ business, whether from discretion or from genuine disinterest. 

Either way, Rolan appreciated it about her. He got enough prying and questions from his siblings anytime he went home; the last thing he needed was to be interrogated while he was trying to drown his sorrows.

Perhaps that was why Rolan felt he could ask her the next question. If nothing else, Lakrissa was a realist.

“Be honest. If you were her, seeing me like this—" he gestured a hand stiffly in the direction of his aching face. "What would you think?”

Lakrissa propped elbows on the wood table to support her chin, regarding him in her casually thoughtful way. "I'd think that your apprenticeship with that wizard isn't going too well. But that you must have a good reason for staying."

That seemed more optimistic than he could hope for. Would Tav respect his reasons the same way? Surely she must know by now that he'd take much worse for the opportunity he'd been handed, if that's what it took. He didn't put Cal and Lia through everything he had on the journey here just to give up now.

But for a moment, Rolan pictured what it might be like in reverse. Watching a mad narcissist like Lorroakan lay hands on her; watching her willingly return for more. His knuckles gripped pale around his cup.

Rolan surfaced quickly from that disturbing image. "Sure she wouldn't see a pompous idiot who’d bragged to anyone who would listen?"

Lakrissa tipped her head in a way that suggested she saw his point. "You've never struck me as an idiot, though. How about this, then—I’d see the man who stepped up to get his people through a nightmare and safely to Baldur’s Gate.”

Rolan swirled the wine in his cup, watching the waves gloomily. “She’s the one who made the way safe for us. You know that.”

“You’re so—” Lakrissa leaned back from the table with a laugh. “Gods. For a smart bloke, Rolan, you can be so stupid. I respected Zevlor,” she told him with sudden emphasis, as though Rolan might think she didn't. “All of us did. He’s the one who got us out of Elturel when half of them wanted to chuck us right back into Avernus. And I’ve no idea why he left us, or whether he’s even alive—” A rare wrinkle of emotion appeared between her brows. “But I do know that you were there. Alfie told me all about how you protected the kids and got everyone to Last Light after…everything.”

"Alfira's a bard," Rolan told her, as if she of all people needed reminding. Foolish dreamer was the actual term that came to mind, but he suspected Lakrissa was the type who would smack people for rudeness. "I've no doubt she exaggerated."

"Oh no, she said you were a complete ass about it," Lakrissa replied matter-of-fact. "And that you spent most of your time drinking the Harpers dry before Tav showed up."

Rolan's pride stung at the comment, but he couldn't exactly deny it. Lakrissa went on. "That doesn't change the fact that you kept them safe. You saved people’s lives, Rolan."

He let out a bitter laugh. "It was only me because all the good ones were already dead."

They stared at each other in silence for a beat.

"That's a pretty shit thing to say,” Lakrissa said quietly. “About them, and about yourself."

Rolan looked down at the dark liquid in his cup, but he couldn't think of anything nicer to say on the subject. He was finding it hard to be nice about anything these days. 

"You're a hero, Rolan," Lakrissa told him simply. "And so is she. I reckon the two of you can figure it out���you deserve to give her a chance, at least."

Rolan only let her advice wash over him in silence. When Lakrissa shifted, he saw her grimacing over his shoulder. 

“Damn. Alan’s giving me the eye—ugh, like there's anyone else to serve anyway—” 

But she rose, and Rolan was ready to return to his glass until he felt a hand rustle between his horns—the way he'd often seen Tiefling parents do to their children back home.

“When you do see her, send her by?” Lakrissa asked. “I still owe her a drink.”

—

Rolan left the Elfsong a few minutes later. He found the wine had done little to quiet his troubled head, and something in Lakrissa’s pointed speech had made him feel too guilty to stay any longer.

As he stepped out through the tavern’s wide oak doors, a chill rustled through his robes. The storm was rolling angrily up from the port now. 

Rolan kept his head down against the breeze that pushed much sharper and colder through the streets than before, sweeping river mist off the roiling Chionthar and plastering it against his face and hands. He thought wistfully of his good cloak—currently sitting useless in his room at the Tower. 

Even after weeks in Baldur's Gate, Rolan was still learning to anticipate the rapid changes in weather that could descend on them from proximity to the coastline. Elturel was set deeper inland; they never got sudden squalls like this. 

The few others he encountered in the streets were also rushing to their destinations with bowed heads, or else frantically boarding up their stalls against the oncoming storm. As he glanced up at the clouds again, a large, foreboding drop landed on his brow.

Rolan ducked down an alleyway south past the print shop. Not normally a shortcut he'd take at twilight, especially through Heapside. But any cutpurse stupid enough to be out in this weather would be easy to dispatch.

Within its walls, the narrow space muffled the sounds of the city. Rolan could practically smell the electricity crackling through the stormclouds above as he walked. All of a sudden there was a blinding flash, a clear peal of thunder, and rain erupted on top of him.

Sheets of it swept down like curtains with breathtaking ferocity, drumming loud against roofs and cobblestones and smothering the warm light from any street lamps he hurried past. His robes were soaked through almost instantly. Rolan swore and raised an arm to shield his vision against the rivulets already running from his hair.

Despite the shortcut, the path to Cal and Lia’s took longer than usual. Small rivers were forming through the streets from the rapid downpour, and the cobbles grew slick under his boots. Rolan had to catch his balance against stone walls and fences a few times. The clatter of rain and thunder was so deafening he could almost feel his brain rattling around inside his skull.

When Rolan stepped under the footbridge around the corner from home, the muffled reprieve made him let out a breath of relief. He paused for a moment to wipe the rain from his forehead and eyes, even wrung out the ends of his hair.

With his head tilted so, he caught sight of a cloaked figure standing on the doorstep to his siblings’ front door. 

Where he stood was cast in shadow—combined with the thick curtains of rain falling between them, Tav hadn't noticed him yet, though they were standing just a few meters apart. She was squinting up at the number above the doorpost. One hand reached from under her cloak to knock, but she paused halfway through the motion as if second-guessing herself.

Was she just looking for Cal and Lia? Or had she somehow known Rolan would be here? But that didn’t make sense—even he hadn’t expected to spend a night with his family until a few hours ago.

Rolan stared at Tav’s upturned face, watching her lashes flutter as she blinked away a few droplets of rain. His heart leapt against his ribs from a bewildering mixture of love and fear.

“Rolan?”

Despite the downpour around them, her voice reached Rolan’s ear with a clarity that made him start where he stood.

She was peering at his figure through the curtain of rain between them. Then she rushed forward without a word, and before Rolan could react, her body collided against his wet robes with a smack. 

He found himself immediately enfolded in her familiar scent as her cheek pressed against his. Rolan's arms circled to hold her of their own volition, every other tumultuous thought conveniently swept from his head.

Then she drew back, and she leaned up to kiss him. 

Her lips were warm and welcoming as hearthfire. Rolan shivered slightly as he realized just how much the wind and rain had chilled him. When her mouth grazed a spot of broken skin, he flinched back at the sting.

"Oh." She stepped away as though he’d burned her. "I—sorry."

"It's not that," he told her. Unbidden, his hand reached toward the edge of her cloak to find one of hers.

Their fingers hooked together finally, and she inhaled in surprise. "Rolan, you're freezing! How long were you out in this?"

Without waiting for his answer, she tugged him forward to the door on the corner. She neglected to knock and simply reached for the latch, and the two of them spilled across the threshold in tandem with another peal of thunder.

Lia leapt up from the table, her shortsword at the ready and polishing rag in hand. Cal’s face appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking equally alarmed. The four of them stared at each other as rain poured into the doorway.

“For hell’s sake—”

Lia darted forward, and for a wild moment Rolan half-expected to be caught up in a hug. But she only pushed past him and wrenched the door shut against a fresh gust of rain, drawing the bolt across. 

Muffled silence blanketed the room around them. After being out in the storm, it made Rolan’s ears ring. Beside him, Tav pushed her cloak’s hood back to her shoulders. 

“Sorry about that,” she told his siblings with a breathless smile.

It triggered a flurry of activity. Lia was drawing her into the room, whisking her cloak off to hang it near the hearth to dry. Cal plunked a large cast iron pot of something steaming onto the central table—a good bit of it spilled over the side—and began poking around in cabinets to find another bowl. They were both talking over each other to Tav the entire time.

Rolan found himself rather left out of it all, and a bit indignant at the fact. 

He spread his palms wide to either side, dripping a path across the floor in the process. “Hello?”

“Oh—” Cal blinked over at him as though just noticing he was there. “Hi, Rolan.”

Lia made no response, suddenly busying herself with putting away her whetstone and sheathing her sword. The cool reception wasn’t lost on him.

“Nice place,” Tav remarked, stretching her hands appreciatively toward the fireplace.

“It’s really not,” Cal said cheerfully. “But it’s better than we hoped, really. All paid for by that bast—”

“Hungry?” Lia interrupted, looking pointedly at Tav and not her older brother. Tav exchanged an uncertain glance with him.

“Not for me,” she answered. “But thanks, and thanks for the invitation. It’s good to see you both well.”

Rolan caught her eye. “Lia and I caught up the other day,” she explained.

“About what?” Rolan asked, unable to stop himself.

Finally, Lia leveled a stare at him. “Take a guess.”

She and Rolan looked at each other in silence for a tense moment. Internally, he was fitting together the pieces of Tav’s visit to the Sundries.

“Anyway,” Tav interrupted slowly, “Rolan and I were actually just hoping for a place to talk.”

“Ah—right. Should we step out?” 

Cal’s voice sounded a bit strained; maybe he assumed that ‘talking’ was some kind of euphemism. The thought made Rolan’s ears grow warm under his hair, but Tav responded before he could open his mouth.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you two can’t go out in all this.” Her face turned toward Rolan, questioning. “Do you have a room we could go to?”

He nodded wordlessly and started down the hall. The fact that Lia and Cal both refrained from comment was a surprise—one that he felt grateful for. Perhaps they’d finally picked up on the tension between the two of them.

Rolan held the door to his bedroom open for her and followed her inside. He felt around for the candle sconce near the doorway and lit it with a word. 

The space was small and plain, but quite clean; his duties didn’t allow him to spend many nights here. Even the narrow bed along the wall was still neatly made from last week.

As she reached to lock the door behind them, she turned to Rolan. “Do you keep clothes here?”

“What are you talking about?” He cringed at how bluntly his own words came out.

Without explaining, she slipped the small pack from her shoulders and tossed it to the floor. Then she swept past him toward the wardrobe and began rifling through its contents.

“Here—” She tossed a set of clean clothes onto the bed. “Change into these. Towel?” Not pausing for an answer, she dug for one at the back of the shelf and added it to the pile.

Rolan frowned at her back defensively. “I can take care of my—”

“Rolan, please just shut up,” she interrupted. She was still turned away, but there was a slight tremor in her voice. “We have a lot we need to talk about. And I can't concentrate with you looking like a wet cat.”

Rolan glanced down at his robes; droplets from the hem were steadily forming a small puddle between his boots. His combined appearance must be pitiful indeed at the moment. Too embarrassed to protest further, Rolan began working at the fastenings of his garments.

Though she'd seen him entirely naked before, something about this moment felt even more intimate somehow. He undressed silently as the muffled rainstorm continued against the shuttered window of his room.

As he removed each soaked layer, she kept her gaze averted to respect his privacy. Rolan did catch her glancing at him a few times when she thought he wouldn't notice, but there was more concern than desire in it. As if she was checking him over.

It did feel much more comfortable to slip a dry tunic and trousers over his chilled skin. Before he set his wet robes aside, Rolan turned away as if folding them in order to retrieve her handwritten note from the pocket. Rain had smudged the ink a bit, but the three most important words were still legible. He exchanged it for the dry pocket at his hip.

The leather tie from his hair—the same one she'd used that very first night—was slipped off and into his pocket as well.

Then he moved to sit on the edge of the bed and began roughly scrubbing at his wet hair with the towel, as if the force might inject some courage into his skull. His mind was currently swirling with uncertainty of what she would say next.

Rolan caught her eye from behind his loose strands of hair. To his very great relief, her expression softened.

“Let me—”

In a flash, she had curled up cross-legged behind him on the bed and was taking the cloth from his hand. She smoothed his hair back and squeezed rainwater from the ends.

Her touch was much gentler than his own—the gentlest thing he’d felt in weeks. Rolan closed his eyes at the feeling of her fingers combing against his scalp. He found himself very grateful she couldn't see his face. If this was the most she ever wanted to touch him again, he thought he could almost be satisfied. 

“I spoke with Lorroakan today.”

Rolan sat quiet for a moment. “I know.”

“You’ve got more magic in one hand than that charlatan has in his whole fucking body.”

Her bluntness caused his lips to twitch with an unwilling smile. “I know,” Rolan repeated, more confident this time.

The fingers in his hair paused; he could practically feel her eyes boring into the back of his head. “Rolan, is that why he's doing this to you? Hurting you?

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Rolan told her. Making sense of Lorroakan was futile. He had stopped trying long ago, to save his own sanity. Even now, her questions stirred up an anxious frustration in his chest. “Does it matter?”

There was a soft rustle as she scooted sideways into his sight line—Rolan glanced over to see her brow wrinkled in a sad expression. 

“How can you say that?” She replied. “Of course it matters what happens to you, Rolan.”

There was not a trace of insincerity in her face. Rolan found he badly wanted to kiss her again. Instead, he bowed his head toward the floor.

“This is just how it is,” he told the floorboards. “It won't be forever. I'm strong enough to bear much worse than this, you know.” 

“I know you are—” Her fingers resumed their work in his hair, gently tugging and working at a small knot. “The point is you shouldn't have to.” 

She was right, of course. He had no logical defense against her words. The room lapsed into silence instead. Beyond the walls, blustering sheets of rain continued to buffet against the roof tiles and window panes.

Tav spoke up behind him again. “Some of those bruises are old. You aren't healing yourself at least?”

She gave his skill more credit than he deserved. “I’m still learning how,” Rolan admitted glumly, glad again to be facing away from her. 

In truth, healing scrolls were what he'd been searching for that night Lorroakan had accused him. If only he could see the techniques for himself—he was certain he could master them. The archmage had conspicuously neglected to allow any lessons on abjuration magic thus far.

The mattress behind him shifted as Tav rose. Rolan watched her move to snatch up her pack from the corner, then barely managed to catch it as the object sailed toward his lap.

“Take those,” she said as she clambered back up behind him to continue gently toweling his hair. “Keep them here, study from them whenever you want. They're yours.”

Rolan felt a thrill of pure excitement as he peered down into the leather bag—and found it filled with a score of tightly bound spell scrolls. This small cache was worth more gold than he’d ever seen together in one place.

He pulled one out to examine its formidable wax seal. “Where did you get all of these?”

“Um…don't worry about it.”

“Stolen,” he finished dryly.

Her tone grew playfully defensive behind him. “From a very bad man who is now dead. There, does that satisfy you?” 

Rolan had turned to kiss her before the last word left her lips. The pack slipped to the floor between his feet as his hands notched behind Tav’s jaw to pull her forward. He felt a damp weight land in his lap as her now-empty fingers slid around his torso.

Rolan broke away just enough to speak. “Stay here tonight,” he told her. It wasn't a question.

Tav nodded, leaning back in for his mouth.

Her fingers splayed in the dip between his jaw and his ear, tilting his face into hers. He kept his palm firmly pressed on the curve of her waist. Each time her lips slid softly over his, Rolan found his heart filled with another shimmering pearl of hope. They stayed there connected in a kiss until his back began to ache from the contorted position. 

To his immense disappointment, Tav pulled away first. But she only made a hesitant request to borrow some clothes for herself. Rolan finally realized with a jolt of guilt that her own were wet down the front, no doubt from that moment she'd held him outside in the rain.

Rolan trained his eyes away to give her the same privacy. But though Tav didn't meet his eye, she made no attempt to hide her body—in fact seemed to move with deliberate slowness as she stripped down and pulled the threadbare tunic over her head. It barely skimmed the tops of her thighs.

Then she moved to the candle near the door and extinguished it with a puff.

Through the near-darkness, Rolan worked the bedcovers down to slip beneath them. As his damp hair landed on the pillow, he felt the mattress dip beside him as Tav promptly curled herself in along his front under the blankets. Underneath, his tail moved with a mind of its own to wind around one of her legs. She let out a small, happy sigh that tickled across his chin.

Rolan briefly wondered if they were intentionally trying to distract each other. Tav had clearly come here to find him and talk, after all. And there was much more to say—he could feel all the words unspoken hanging between them like a tangible thing. From the way Tav’s fingers worried the laces of his shirt, he wondered if she was thinking the same. 

But neither of them spoke for the moment, just lying together as they listened to the storm continue outside on the streets of Baldur’s Gate. 

Eventually, Rolan laid his arm still across her and closed his eyes. She was so warm, her quiet presence so comforting—and he found now that he was very, very tired. 

Perhaps the rest of it could keep until the morning.

[hebrewbyinbal]

Sukkot: A Time of Celebration and Connection 🍋✨

Sukkot, also known as the Feast of Tabernacles, is a vibrant and joyous Jewish holiday that holds a special place in the hearts of many.

It's a time when families and communities come together to celebrate the rich tapestry of Jewish tradition and the bountiful harvest season.

At the heart of Sukkot is the סוכה sukkah hut, a temporary dwelling that symbolizes the humble shelters used by the Israelites during their 40-year journey in the desert.

One hut is soo-'kah סוכה.

More than one is soo-'kot סוכות (as well as the name of this holiday).

These soo-'kot סוכות are lovingly constructed in backyards, courtyards, and even on balconies, adorned with colorful decorations and natural elements like branches and fruits.

The sukkah becomes a gathering place for family and friends, where meals are shared, stories are told, and blessings are recited. It's a place where we are reminded of the impermanence of life and the importance of gratitude for the abundance we have.

As the sun sets and the stars twinkle above, many even choose to sleep in the soo-'kah, connecting with nature and reflecting on the blessings of the harvest.

Sukkot is a time of great joy, filled with traditions that bring families and communities closer.

It's a reminder of the importance of gratitude, unity, and the simple pleasures of life.

So, as Sukkot approaches, let's embrace the spirit of the soo-'kah, celebrating our shared heritage and the beauty of gathering under the open sky. 🌟🌾

[rinwellisathing]

Paint The Lines, Cut The Flesh Part 31,first half

Yeah this 100% needs to be in two halves because it's really fucking long. Also there will be an epilogue but holy shit I couldn't sleep last night and wrote like 25 pages over the course of a day.

When Sentry finally did leave his tent, he wandered the camp aimlessly, everyone else seemed to be asleep, he knew Halsin was, since the druid had remained by his side. He was vaguely aware that at some point, Astarion had stopped in to his tent to make sure he was alright. The elf had made no mention of whatever had happened to him in the battle Karlach had been so angry about, but Sentry could sense the tell tale resurrection magic Withers used. He knew he should have felt guilty, he knew he should be glad that almost everyone seemed to have forgiven him, but he felt hollow. He stared briefly at the path out of camp that would lead back to Rivington, a powerful urge to go and curl up between Commander Ojeda and Father Lorgan's graves and just be alone filled him, but a tug of shame at his chest held him back. He knew these people were his friends, he knew Astarion and Halsin loved him, he knew more than that that Astarion viewed Sentry as the reason he'd been strong enough not to ascend and no matter how flippant he was acting, Sentry being the one to turn on the others had to be a knife in the heart. But then, why should it surprise him that other people had self control, other people could be good and kind. Years of being a child of Bhaal had allowed Sentry to believe he had the capacity to do the right thing, to be good, but now, free of Bhaal's influence, he had carelessly tried to toss away every 'good' influence in his life, including someone who had been where he'd been, at least to some extent. His ears twitched as he heard the soft sounds of crying from a small courtyard by the Stormshore Tabernacle. Slowly, he made his way there and peered around the wall, eyes falling to Shadowheart, who was standing before a statue of Selune, looking almost as empty as he was. Clearing his throat, he approached her.

“Hey...” Was all he managed, raising a hand in greeting. “Oh....Sentry, did I wake you? I'm sorry, it's just...” She shifted awkwardly, gripping her upper arms and withdrawing into herself as though she were cold. “Just that I thought if I came here, to this shrine, that maybe I'd feel something...maybe it would all make sense, it would all be worth it...” Sentry cocked his head curiously, regarding the shabby, untended outdoor shrine of Selune, pitiful and lackluster even in The Moonmaiden's own light. “And you don't feel anything at all? You wonder what it was all for? Everything you lost, everything you went through?” She nodded her head. “It's stupid, isn't it? I never really even KNEW my parents and the other Sharrans were ever REALLY my friends...well...except Nocturne, really...she's the tiefling I remembered when we ate the Noblestalk...” “No, it isn't stupid.” Sentry replied, despite himself, he placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “Look at us, we were pawns to gods all our lives, our so called 'families' rang us out like dirty rags and would have tossed us aside and now that we're free of them, now that it's all over, we're just supposed to be okay.” He laughed hollowly. “Okay, Sentry, okay Shadowheart, okay Lae'zel, Astarion, Karlach, Wyll, Gale, everything you went through led up to you being a big damn hero and garnering the privilege of sacrificing even more to save a world that didn't help you when you needed it, that doesn't seem to care about you now! Sorry Kroger, sorry Jaina, sorry Octavia, you'll need to just spend a little more time on your knees in the dirt for people that made your lives hell. Sorry, Jaheira, a dead husband and a ton of friends ripped apart and thrown in the gutter just wasn't enough. Sorry Halsin, you haven't shouldered quite enough burdens in your lifetime.” Shadowheart nodded. “It is....”She screwed up her face and thought a moment, settling on the right words finally. “fucked up...isn't it?” Sentry nodded. “So if you don't feel any connection to Selune now, and hells, even if you never do....you don't have to.” He gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “Feel what you need to feel....It's alright to be angry, because this isn't fair...none of it is.” Feeling her lean close to him, he gently pulled her into a hug, rocking her softly and briefling hoisting her up off her feet. “It was never fair.”

She returned his embrace tightly. “I know this is going to sound...” She was sniffling now, warm tears soaking Sentry's neck. “like a platitude...” She squeezed him tightly. “But I'm sorry about your lover. He sounded like an absolute prick, but still he was yours and I'm sorry...” “And I'm sorry about your parents...and...hells, about the other sharrans...they sounded like pricks too, but hey, I know better than anyone that sometimes family is family.” He murmured. “And you know what? Your parents...I may not have known them....but I think they must have been so proud of you in the end. That doesn't mean shit right now, I know...but even though everything hurts, Shar didn't win. She doesn't have any control over you anymore...you freed Aylin from her, you freed yourself from her, so fuck her. Fuck that bitter old hag sitting in her little dark corner hugging her knees and sulking, trying to convince herself she broke you....I don't think she did...Because feeling like this is normal and every day from now on, even if it always hurts, every day you keep on going and find any kind of happiness, that's telling her to fuck herself.” Shadowheart smiled just a little and looked up at Sentry. “Gods your terrible at speeches....and you're terrible at comforting people....but you're not wrong. For all of us...moving forward and finding ways to be happy is our revenge.” Sentry didn't release the hug until Shadowheart did, finally stepping back and giving a small smile. “You good, then?” Shadowheart shrugged. “I think I will be...” ---- “So that's it? You're just going to pretend nothing happened?” Karlach glared at Sentry as he tended to his armor. The confrontation with The Elder Brain felt imminent now and everyone was in the process of preparing, but seeing him there, just going along with everyone else as if he hadn't betrayed them, betrayed HER so thoroughly, Karlach's temper was rising and she knew she couldn't hold her rage back any longer. “You're the ones who chose not to kill me.” Sentry replied hollowly. “You're also the ones that chose not to just deal fairly with Enver...now he's gone and there's nothing left for me.” He didn't even look up from his repairs as he spoke, his voice held no emotion. “You're also-also the ones that just waltzed into Haarlep's room and threw Jaina into that situation when I already sacrificed my dignity and well being to protect her...so there's that.” He added bluntly.

“Fuck you, Sentry! How were any of us supposed to know that!? And you went back to Gortash of all people! As if he wouldn't have sold you off as Raphael's breeding sow or whatever just so his plans could go off without a---” Karlach didn't get to finish as before she processed the movement, Sentry was on his feet and his fist connected with her nose, sending her staggering back. “You don't know what you're talking about, I recommend you keep Enver's name out of your mouth and far from that sad excuse for a Cambion's name.” Sentry spat, stepping forward as he drew himself to his full height. He still couldn't quite match Karlach, but he was imposing, there was a feral darkness to him that spoke of danger. “You don't get to play the victim, and you sure as shit don't get to demand we respect him!” Karlach shot back, her own fist slamming into Sentry's jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. He aimed a vicious kick at her ankles, bringing her down right beside him and the two were on eachother in an instant, fingers digging into throats, tails raised in an aggressive stance, eyes burning with anger. The others were leaving their tents now to see the source of the commotion, eyes wide in shock as the bloodied tieflings rolled on the ground, punching and clawing, Sentry was even biting every now and then, blood was slicking the ground beneath them. “Let's go, bitch. You don't wanna go back to Avernus? Good! There won't be enough less of you to need to.” Sentry growled, slamming Karlach's head into the ground, only to be kneed hard in the stomach and tossed onto his back. “You wanna join Gortash so badly, you traitorous little shit? I'll send you to him first class Sword Coast Couriers direct.” Karlach replied, fingers closing around Sentry's throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. In a flurry of movement, Jaina's smooth, cool fingers wrapped around one of Karlach's arms and Wyll's warm, calloused hands around the other as the two struggled to pull her off of Sentry.

Halsin knelt down beside Sentry to help him to his feet and immediately catch him around the waist when he tried to charge at Karlach again. --- Sentry sat in his tent shortly after, healing his wounds with a look of annoyance. “Fucking bitch...She won after all, what's she so pissed about....Gortash is dead and I'm stuck here helping with the damned brain still even though I should be with him....what more does she want?” “For what she went through to mean something? Catharsis?” Astarion startled Sentry as he quietly slipped into the tent. “Was that meant to be rhetorical?” “I dunno....” Sentry bit his lip, staring miserably at the ground. “But anyway, she got catharsis and if she hadn't got sold to Zariel, she'd have been right there beside me protecting him, never met Jaina, never met Wyll....Never really appreciated her life...So uh....clearly it DID mean something.” Astarion laughed out loud, shaking his head. “Come now, Sentry, you don't actually believe that. I mean, you're beautiful and damned delicious, but if losing the chance to meet you spared me two hundred years of outright torture, being ground down to nothing, having to learn who I am again...Sorry to say it, my love, but I'd probably take the life where I don't get to be with you.” “Eh...don't apologize.” Sentry shrugged, slowly stumbling to his feet. “Sometimes I really would rather have just been born a man to begin with, born into the church of Ilmater, just been a fucking priest or something.”

“In which case you understand why Karlach doesn't feel better or feel like she won.” The elf examined his nails, leaning against one of the tent posts. He sighed and approached Sentry, gently taking his hand. “I won't pretend to understand why you did what you did, why you thought we didn't care or why he mattered more to you than we did....but...” He winced, the memory of that massive clawed creature tearing him apart, leaving his broken, torn body sprawled on the floor. He fought back the shiver of fear that threatened to overcome him. “You DID betray us, Sentry...What the hells were you thinking?”

Sentry looked away. “I love you Astarion, I really do...You understand me like very few other people do, you're beautiful, you're stronger and braver than you think you are...” He closed his eyes and sighed. “But Enver was the first. He was the first where it mattered.” He thought back to the letters, the long night time conversations as he lay on the cot in Enver's workshop and Enver tinkered away tirelessly at something or other. “I went my whole life believing no one would possibly relate to the things I'd been through, the constant violation, not even being a person....just a tool...and he did....” Sentry sighed. “He did...and so do you...and so does Halsin...But Enver was the first. I had a child with him, that was something I never thought I'd want to do after the way my father's faithful used me when I was little, but being with him made me believe it could be something good, that I could raise someone and give them the world and he would help me do it.” Sentry paused a moment and shrugged. “And then of course that world would burn at our feet, but that was beside the point.” Astarion sighed, sitting down across from Sentry. “When we confronted Gortash, he attacked us the second we walked through the door, he then proceeded to transform into some massive creature and eviscerate me. The second Karlach was disarmed, he came straight towards me and tore me apart from those massive claws...I died, Sentry. I suppose you and I have that in common too, now. Multiple deaths and all. We're very hard to keep down, I must say.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “But all that to say...Enver Gortash killed me, quite horribly too, and that reminded me of something we encountered quite some time ago.” He looked towards the strange sword Sentry had kept with him this whole time, the one that emitted strange music, the one Malta usually remained close to. “Do you remember that brain in a jar? The one that knew you?”

Sentry's face fell. He felt his stomach in knots as a handsome face with pale freckles like stars and constellations, scarred with ritual markings. Those bright violet eyes. 'I was your friend....I loved you...' “His name was Wysp....” Sentry began, slowly bringing his knees to his chest. “He worked at Sharess' Caress and he was like me.” He explained, lowering his head. He shook his head, eyes downcast. “But I didn't realize he loved me. We were friends. You know how pathetic it looks when a guy thinks the brothel worker is interested in him. I always just thought he treated me so nicely because we were friends and I was paying him.” Now that Sentry thought of it, Wysp hadn't liked Enver. He had been so concerned when Sentry had started seeing him and now even Sentry's mind was making the connection Astarion was hinting at. A sick feeling deep inside him reminded him that Wysp's consciousness had told him as much. Enver killed Wysp...and then he tried to kill Astarion...and still Sentry loved him. He knew he shouldn't, he knew he should be angry. Wysp didn't deserve that, Astarion didn't deserve that. But then again, if one was to judge another for murder, even murder done out of jealousy, Sentry would be a hypocrite. He remembered the look of shock on that woman's face as her head was relieved of her body, sailing through the air and bouncing down the stairs of her well appointed little manor. He could still feel her blood on his hands. “I'm sorry about what happened to you...I'm sorry I didn't protect you.” Astarion gave a small laugh and shook his head. “It's like I told Karlach, with Withers around, death is cheap....Besides, I should apologize as well for not protecting you. I should have followed you after The House of Hope. Maybe I couldn't have stopped what happened to you there, but I might have been able to protect you after...from yourself, I mean.” Sentry scooted a little closer, settling beside Astarion and resting his head on his shoulder, exhausted. “It's not your responsibility....You're not my keeper or anything...” He muttered. “But thank you for saying so anyway...It is my fault, but thank you for trying to make me feel like it's not.”

----- The path to The Elder Brain brought the party beneath the city once again. The tremors were getting worse now and Sentry could hear whispers deep in his mind. As they passed the trail to the temple of Bhaal, his chest tightened and he felt cold at the thought of Orin. Would Tomi carelessly store her for meat or another peace offering to the Myrkulites like Jackal? He should have gone back, he should have demanded she be given respect at least in death, but he was not of Bhaal anymore, not his chosen anymore, not even his son anymore, outcast and banished. Another failure to protect her. He was free, he was alive, she was gone and her memory was tainted by her defeat.

'You'll only keep failing me, Slaughterkin....you failed me, you failed your writhing Banespawn and its poxy-faced father....you failed your martyr-fool of a god....you'll fail your weak, simpering little friends too. See how already they mistrust you? You'll keep failing, dear brother, forever...and forever...and forever.' Her voice haunted his mind and he dug his fingernails into his flesh, hoping in vain that the pain would silence her voice. In the past, he knew the others might have noticed, might have reached out to him, but their gazes avoided him, Jaina and Wyll more distant from him than they'd ever been. Karlach's shoulder shoved his angrily as she passed him by, a glare back in his direction, and then she was with the others. He didn't snap this time, he knew he deserved it. A hand gently rested on his shoulder, the touch kind, and reassuring, the way it used to feel when Father Lorgan or Commander Mum were with him. Kroger gave him a small nod. “It'll be over soon, Sentry. Tensions tend to break once a big threat is conquered, at least that's the way it was at The Creche.” He explained, squeezing his shoulder gently. “The grief will still be there, it always is.” Sentry replied hollowly, the familiar dark chill of doubt and loneliness settling over him. “Grief hmm?” Kroger replied, looking away a moment as his mind returned to his recent encounter in Shar's cloister. “I think the thing about grief, Sentry, is that running from it or trying to lock it away makes it stronger, it feeds it...it traps you...” He looked up at the paladin. “I think you're very well equipped to face it, you charge in, you face things head on with your blade swinging. I think when this is all over, you'll confront grief and dispatch it like all your other foes.” “Like my sister?” Sentry shot back flatly.

“Some regrets haunt you.” Kroger replied. “But doesn't Ilmater teach you that bearing suffering is part of life?” He walked by Sentry's side as the decrepit Bhaalist undercity faded to deep, dark caverns. “Perhaps that's why your mentor's writings cautioned against suffering for the sake of suffering, so that you could face the suffering that couldn't be avoided.” “Ugh...this is why I never liked talking to the cleric students....” Sentry muttered, rolling his eyes. “You're punishing yourself when you don't need to, you've suffered for the things you've done. The scales can be balanced when this is all over, you've done good things on this journey, I've watched you do them. Now do good for yourself as well. What have you always wanted to do?” Sentry paused to consider as the party approached the edge of the fetid waters beneath the city, a small boat there at the waters edge. It wouldn't fit everyone, and so the party stopped to consider. “The boat will only fit five.” Jaina announced as her fingers brushed the wood, testing the sturdiness, the bouyancy. “It'll fit more than that, there's plenty of space. The githyanki are all fairly thin.” Astarion scoffed. “We need all the help we can get up ahead.” “No, it's not just a matter of space. More than five and it won't float.” Jaina protested. “And unfortunately Karlach and Halsin are right out or that number goes down to four, maybe three.” She bit her lip. “The remaining ones should divide and defend the city.” Wyll suggested. “We can meet up at Wyrm's Rock when we get the chance.” “We will require a secondary meeting place, should Wyrm's Rock prove inaccessible.” Lae'zel pointed out. “The Watch Citadel.” Jaina suggested. “It's twice as reinforced as Wyrm's Rock. If things go to hell we should bring people there for shelter. The upper city can care for the people for once.”

“I have the Orphic Hammer, I should go along to face the brain.” Kroger spoke up. “If we need Orpheus' help in the battle, we'll be prepared.” “I caused this mess, I'll go too...” Sentry stepped forward. “No one has to forgive me for what happened with Gortash, but I'll take responsibility at least...” “I'm not letting you go up there alone.” Astarion approached Sentry. “Whatever happens, I won't leave you by yourself again.” “I think I have the best chance of navigating these waters safely to the Netherbrain's lair, I'll go as well.” Jaina looked towards the boat and then back to the party. “Then I'm going with you. Besides, it's my duty as The Blade to protect this city.” Wyll joined Jaina by the water's edge. “Then it's settled, the rest of us will protect the city if things go to hell. And trust me, I have been through enough world ending catastrophes to tell you that it will go to hell.” Jaheira chuckled. The group divided. Shadowheart, Lae'zel, and Karlach in one group. Minthara, Octavia, and Gale in another, Jaheira and Halsin making up the final duo. As Sentry made his way towards the boat, Halsin reached out to take his hand gently. “Please be safe, Sentry.” He gazed intensely into the paladin's eyes. Sentry returned the gaze sadly, lost a moment in those hazel eyes, Sentry felt his guilt and pain threaten to swallow him up. He wanted to be vulnerable, he wanted to fall into Halsin's arms and cry for a moment, just forget everything, but he couldn't, he needed to see this through. “No promises....”He managed softly, squeezing the druid's hand. He gave a half smile as he stepped back. He couldn't bear the look of concern, the pure love and devotion in the druid's gaze, and he turned, letting go of his hand and hurrying to the boat. ----

The path to the Netherbrain was daunting to say the least. Sentry had spent so much of his life in darkness and squalor down in the sewers, he supposed he should have been used to it, prepared for it. But the darkness that engulfed the party in this moment was more even than the paths of the Bhaalist compound and the ground was slick with fluids much worse than blood and far more alien. Jaina's wide, luminous eyes lit up the darkness near her face, haunting and foreboding like a deep sea predator, the fin-like ridges revealed by the gaps in her robes also shimmered with a strange bio-luminescence. She moved more quietly than the others, this being quite the benefit when it came to surprising the various intellect devourers blocking the path ahead, often she could creep up and fry an entire herd of them with a well placed lightning storm before they became a problem. Kroger's fingers tightened around the orphic hammer and he breathed heavily, his wide green eyes focused on the path ahead. He knew it was unlikely freeing Orpheus would be easy, he knew The Emperor would have something to say about it, and more to the point he wasn't sure it would even be possible before they encountered the brain, a small part of him wished he'd left the task to Lae'zel, but no, he had to be strong. He was more than what Vlaakith had expected of him. The path twisted and wound until it came to a fetid shore overlooking a sea of slimy green water. Jaina peered curiously at it, raising a brow as she took a step forward. “Algae? No...something else...” She murmured as she knelt down, her fingers dipping into it. She blanched and immediately staggered back, falling backwards and scooting away. “Oh yuck! It's....it's not algae....there's something wrong with this water...”

Kroger knelt down and helped Jaina to her feet, furrowing his brow and sniffing as he got closer. “Cerebrospinal fluid...it's the liquid our brains are sort of sheltered in for lack of a better term. Though this is far more than I'm used to seeing, I admit.” The Ghustil wrinkled his nose, fighting back a convulsive shudder. “Many of our books say this sort of thing is prevalent in Ghaik colonies...which means...” “Which means The Elder Brain...Nether Brain....the big slimy thing...is in there.” Sentry concluded, joining the other two, arms folded across his chest. “So great...we found it, now what do we---AHH” He cried out, doubling over and clutching his head as the ground beneath them began to tremble. He felt himself off balance, he felt nauseous, overwhelmed, like his head was going to explode, skull shattering into a thousand bloody pieces. His vision went white. 'The stones, Sentry!' The Emperor urged in the back of his mind. Sentry guessed Kroger and Jaina could hear him too as Jaina hurried to gently steady Sentry and Kroger fumbled in Sentry's pack for the stones, pressing them into the paladin's hands. Secretly, he was grateful to them. He staggered slightly and regained himself holding out his hand with the netherstones hovering above his palm as he stared at the brain, his face set in a look of anxious curiosity as he regarded the massive being. It seemed larger, if possible, than it had been in the Illithid colony...but then, maybe he was just more afraid right now. The being throbbed and pulsated sickeningly as it gazed down upon him with cruel, sharp eyes. The Crown of Karsus loomed large atop its pink, ridged body and Sentry vaguely wondered for a moment what idiot had thought of putting it there to begin with when this was going to be the outcome...he very quickly remembered that he was that idiot and inhaled deeply, eyes darting to the side for a moment. “Fuck...” “Child of Bhaal, you have returned.” All eyes gazed up at the Netherbrain now. “You think you can atone for giving me my power by using the netherstones to destroy me, but you are wrong.” Well, that was fairly obvious, Sentry thought. In fact right now, he was regretting a great many life choices he'd previously thought would be simple or might be good ideas. “By killing Orin, Ketheric, and Gortash, you have only freed me, just as I intended...the crown is under my control alone.” “Hells...” Wyll gasped from the back of the group, staring in disbelief at the thing. “But it's got to be lying, it would have already killed you if you didn't have some kind of control over it.” He urged, looking hopefully to Sentry. “That or it likes to play with its food.” Astarion winced, taking a step back. “You brought the crown to me beneath Moon Rise Towers, Bhaalspawn, you made me what I am.” Sentry winced as he felt a tendril slither across the ground by his feet and up his body, the slimy appendage brushing against his neck and then the side of his face. “You believed the army that I amassed would become yours...You were cruel, devious....I would have followed you, you were exquisite...but then your sister destroyed you...she made you weak...” Sentry's eyes widened with true fear as he gazed helplessly into the creature's eyes. “Your lover was a fool, your sister was a mad beast, and Ketheric was a broken old man....I easily enabled their petty squabbles and when the time came, gave them the means to destroy eachother....They believed they controlled me but now it is I who gives the orders...” The tendril began to draw Sentry in and his body tensed. This is it, this is how I die...I'll see you soon Enver...at least I hope I will...fucking hell I was so stupid...

'I won't allow it. Take back control, Sentry! Dominate the brain!' The Emperor's voice pierced through his doubts and in the brief moment broken from his self pity, Sentry's nails glowed with a golden light and he raked at the tendril roughly, Ilmater's divine might in his very hands. The creature dropped him, the tendril retreating as the slimy flesh hissed and burned. Sentry stood tall again and held out the netherstones. Jaina rested a hand on his and Kroger's lay atop hers. Sentry breathed deeply, focusing on their closeness, on their belief in him. They believed in their friend even when he had proved so recently that they shouldn't, they chose to remember the Sentry who protected The Emerald Grove, who saved so many of the Elturel refugees, who freed the enslaved Ironhands. He felt a profound peace come over him. For one moment he was back in the kitchen of The Open Hand Temple, a plate of warm fry bread and honey on the table as Father Lorgan joked good naturedly about how much flour Commander Mum, Sentry, and Donnick were covered in and Commander Mum gave a pleasant, musical laugh. He felt power burning within the stones as his mind focused and cleared. Every story Jaina had ever heard from the bards in the bustling island village she and Tibs had grown up in talked about the power of love, the power of friendship, for one moment she really let herself believe that the fact that she cared for Wyll, that she forgave Sentry and loved him as a dear friend, that she and Kroger and become close, that that would be enough, that somehow, her warmth and friendship would empower Sentry and the brain would be brought to heel...But life isn't like the stories, she first realized that the very first night her very first lover had kicked her out of his chambers with the simple dismissal of 'my wife will be back soon...you should really get going...and anyway, a young woman isn't safe alone out on the streets too late at night'. She had further realized it when the only thing that staved off that wretched cough and her illness was a mindflayer tadpole. At this point, she thought, she really shouldn't have been shocked with the Elder Brain simply regarded them with cruel amusement and continued.

“The moment the illithid tadpole entered your brain, you became my pawn. Who do you think told The Chosen of the Astral Prism? Of Orpheus' power and the damage it could do? Who do you think allowed The Emperor to slip free? All according to my plan.” 'We were part of its plan all along!?' Sentry did not like how bewildered The Emperor's tone of voice was in that moment. “I only needed one Netherstone to break free and you have brought me all three!” The Elder brain declared triumphantly. “Now, my chains are broken and you will witness The Grand Design!” “No!” Kroger cried out, wide eyed, visions of the horrific Ghaik torments the Svaarsh spoke of when he and his sisters had been young flashed in his mind. His people back under their control, and this time the Istik of Faerun as well. It would be so, so much worse. He could not allow it. “Sentry, please! You have to focus!” “I'm trying!” Sentry shot back, gritting his teeth as he strained his mind, putting all his energy into focusing the stones on the crown. The stones glowed brightly again, beams of energy shooting from them, only to bounce off of the creature harmlessly. Sentry's eyes widened as the brain seemed to loom closer, he and the others staggered backwards, joining Astarion and Wyll, slowly retreating with fear as the being prepared to attack. Before it was able, a swirling portal opened behind them and The Emperor emerged, a swift casting gesture and the entire party was thrown backwards through the portal, The Emperor following behind after a slow, focused glare at The Brain.

----

The city streets rocked and rumbled beneath Octavia's feet as she and Gale arrived in the square outside Sorcerous Sundries. Minthara cursed under her breath as she kept her balance and turned to see the ground cracking. “T'skva!” Octavia yelped as she dodged out of the way of a particularly large fissure opening beneath her feet and pulling Gale with her. “What's happening!? Oh! Do you think my brother is alright?” She bit her lip with concern. “Wyll and Jaina suggested we meet at the Watch Citadel, we should make our way there, I'm sure Kroger will find us there, I'm sure.” Gale suggested. Meanwhile, it seemed they had problems of their own as Minthara backed over to the two wizards, her mace in hand as several newly formed illithids floated into view.

“We will have to fight our way there.” Minthara frowned. “ What ever happened down there, The Absolute is mounting its attack.” Octavia frowned and raised up her hand. “Ignis!” She shouted, calling a fireball to her palm and hurling it at the approaching mindflayers, injuring three of them as another crumpled to the ground, its body in flame. Minthara, not about to let the attack go to waste, reached into her pouch and hurled a bottle of grease onto the flaming illithid, the splash igniting two of the remaining three. Gale looked around the square, noting some civilians running in terror or peering out of their homes at the commotion. He murmured a spell under his breath and then spoke in a loud, projecting voice. “Make your way to The Upper City if you can, towards the Watch Citadel!” He instructed, throwing one more spell to lay an arcane shield over every person he could.

-----

As the ground beneath his feet shook, Halsin felt a cold fear in his chest as he pondered what that meant for Sentry. What had happened down there? Was he alright? He did not have much time to think on the matter, having to shake himself out of it as the air filled with screams. Intellect devourers and illithids poured into the streets, some in pursuit of civilians, others striking at the wooden doors of the various homes that lined the street. Jaheira cursed under her breath, her eyes darting subconciously towards her own home, not far from the park. A lithe armored figure dashed from the house, followed by a taller, bulkier figure in leathers, who paused a moment and raised his hands to cover the door and windows in thick vines. “Go, mother! You'll be needed somewhere else, we can handle things here.” The half elf shouted to Jaheira as her half orc brother nodded his agreement. “The little ones are safe inside, we'll keep the neighborhood from exploding.” He added. Jaheira was about to protest, but she could see another party of young adventurers coming to join her children, another half elf and half orc duo and a muscular young tiefling. She nodded. “Alright...you are prepared...but if you put yourself in undue danger, you had better hope I don't live to come give you a tanning for recklessness!” “You're one to talk about recklessness.” The half orc grinned as his sister rolled her eyes at Jaheira's words.

“Bloody hypocrite.” The half-elf added. “Will they really be alright without us?” Halsin asked quietly as Jaheira led him into the park proper, throwing up a wall of thorns between an onslaught of illithids and a group of civilians. “They will be better off, in fact. They won't feel the need to out do an old woman and her so called hero status.” Jaheira smirked. “Now, come on. We need to clear the way for these people to make their way to The Watch Citadel...and we DID promise Wyll and Jaina we would all meet there if things went south.” Halsin nodded. Sentry would be there too, he had to be. With a deep breath, he hunched over, his body awash with light as it bent and cracked into bear form, the massive creature rising to its hind legs and bringing its massive claws down on a grouping of intellect devourers. ---- The Steel Watch Foundry still burned at the docks as Karlach, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel made their way across the damp streets. The water was choppy and grey and the skies were darkening. There were screams all around as several dock workers and sailors hunched over in pain, their flesh beginning to rapidly slough off, giving way to the slick, strange skin of Illithids. “The Ghaik are hatching.” Lae'zel hissed, drawing her silver sword. “It looks like at least we're not the only ones fighting back here.” Karlach pointed out as she watched a broad, powerfully built male tiefling with long greying black hair slicing through illithid after illithid, all around him, more tieflings from teenagers to the elderly, all dressed in pirate garb engaged in the fight, blades slicing, storm magic filling the air with the thick scent of o-zone and petrichor.

A short distance away but still visible, Allandra Grey ordered her priestesses to arms as she called down lightning and raised powerful waves to bowl over the illithids who came to close to the temple. Each priestess of Umberlee wielded her magic expertly, raining death down upon their enemies. A small company of Flaming Fists, led by Tibs in his paladin armor, ushered civilians to safety. The paladin looked to Karlach and called out to her. “Hey! Karlach, right!? Where's my sister, is she safe?”

“She went after The Elder Brain with Wyll and some others. She sent us to help out here.” Karlach called back, drawing her axe and making her way over to assist. Shadowheart joined the priestesses, Selune's moonlight working in tandem with the fury of Umberlee's sea and storm. Lae'zel, meanwhile, found her place amongst the tiefling pirates, slicing down illithids without mercy, her face set in a look of fury.

---- “Miss friends, sky dark.” Nibbles announced as he padded across the camp, plopping down in front of Scratch. “It IS getting pretty dark...I'm glad you're not scared, though.” Scratch nuzzled against Nibbles' neck. “Any thoughts, Us?” He turned to look at the odd creature. “They are coming. IT IS COMING! Our friend will need. NEED OUR HELP” It replied, skittering back and forth anxiously. “Well, gentlemen...and...ah...little friend...” Malta leapt down to Scratch's side. “It seems the choice is obvious, isn't it? We need to find Mr. Ojeda and his companions...and who knows.” He stalked towards the edge of camp. “Maybe we can help out a bit as well.” “Yes! Find friends! Bite lots!” Nibbles leapt up and down eagerly. “When I used to make deliveries with Gommwick, we once went to a big building with strong walls in The Upper City, it was very important looking.” Scratch mused. “Maybe they've gone there?” “We must find them! WE MUST!” Us pranced in place, its tendrils flowing eagerly. The animals grouped up close and stood at the edge of the camp a moment, gathering their courage before they began to make their way out into the city. ---

“Well that certainly could have gone better.” Sentry winced as he slowly picked himself up from the ground within the Astral Prism. He looked to Jaina who was brushing herself off as she stood. Astarion and Wyll slowly approached, already on their feet. “Hey...maybe it's time to let bygones be bygones?” He looked to Kroger, who was shakily standing, The Orphic Hammer still strapped across his back. “I mean...in this situation, freeing Orpheus can't possibly be any worse than any other plan we've got, right?” The Emperor's expression darkned. “You STILL don't trust me? After all we've been through? I have been your guardian, your knight in shining armor--” “Yeah, which, again, was really weird as you took the form of my mum...” Sentry muttered. “I plucked you from the Nautiloid, prevented you from falling to your death...” He continued. “I have continued to protect you at no small cost to myself.” He righted himself, his tendrils rippling as though deeply exhaling. “I see now what our error was, The Elder Brain has evolved, it could detect your every thought and deflect your every movement. To out think the brain, you would need to be an illithid...” “What I told you I'm not doing.” Sentry shot back, folding his arms across his chest. “You don't need to, just give the Netherstones to me. I will face the brain by your side.” The Emperor insisted, holding out his hand. “But then why can't we free Orpheus? That seems like the perfect time to free him since we could just explain to him that we need you, that you're helping us.” Sentry argued.

“As I said, he would attack us on sight, and in that moment of distraction, that lapse in protection, all would be lost.” The Emperor replied. “But if we just explained it to him before we released him?” Jaina offered. “See reason, you can't keep him imprisoned like this forever, it's cruel.” As the two tieflings argued with The Emperor, Kroger looked up at the helpless form of Orpheus trapped in his prison of magic and infernal chains. He thought of life back at the creche, he thought of his instructor keeping him in her presence at all times, locking him in the infirmary. He thought of Vlaakith's oppressive grip on his spirt when he served her as a cleric. His fingers brushed against the shaft of the hammer at his back. It wasn't fair to keep someone imprisoned. It wasn't right to keep someone oppressed, to control them...His grip tightened on the hammer....to use them...he gritted his teeth in a look of fury. The Emperor, Jaina, and Sentry all turned in that moment, gazing wide eyed as Kroger brought the hammer down on the chains with intense fury, the mild mannered Ghustil crying out in rage as he shattered the chain. “So be it...You leave me no choice but to side with the Elder Brain....” The Emperor glared, disappearing with a snap of his fingers.

“Hey! Wait! You can't just!!!” Sentry reached out towards The Emperor, eyes wide with panic. But the illithid was gone...and now Sentry looked to Kroger, concern crossing his face. “Kroger?” Sentry took a step towards the Githyanki. “Are you alright?” Jaina asked, reaching out towards him. Kroger ignored them in that moment, staring at his prince, his breathing heavy, eyes wide and out of focus. The hammer rested beside him. His chest rose and fell anxiously and his mouth felt dry as he opened and closed it, trying to think of what he would said. “O..Orpheus?” He asked softly, reaching out towards the Githyanki, who was slowly coming to on the ground before him. The prince was imposing, regal. He had the features of a traditionally handsome githyanki male, his body covered in ornate tattoos and his eyes bright and fierce. The garb he wore was ancient, but that was to be expected. Kroger fought to find the words to say. Orpheus looked at the young githyanki before him and frowned, holding an arm out to the side, psionic energy pulsing through him as he summoned his sword to his hand and gripped it, pointing the blade towards Kroger and advancing, his glare turning on the two tieflings that stepped up beside the Ghustil to defend him if needed. “You reek of illithid, you slaughtered my honor guard...” Orpheus glared. “Yet it seems we must be allies...” He lowered his sword.

“Your majesty, I am sorry... We only did what we had to to free ourselves of the Ghaik tadpoles and to stand against The Elder Brain.” Kroger inclined his head apologetically. “Please, Kithrak Voss asked us to free you and---” “There is no freeing yourself from the tadpole! You should have surrendered yourselves to my honor guard, they would have given you an honorable end!” Orpheus snapped. “They would have freed me and I would have defeated The Elder Brain before it evolved into a Nether Brain.” He stood directly before Kroger now, bearing down on the younger Githyanki. “All this suffering...avoidable, had you only thought of anything besides saving your own skin!” Sentry frowned, opening his mouth to defend Kroger, but the Ghustil held up his hand to placate the tiefling. “That may be, my prince...But I did not consider that in the moment and now this is where we find ourselves.” Kroger spoke calmly and evenly. “I am not asking for your help for myself, I am asking for your help to stop The Grand Design.” He continued, frowning and taking a deep breath. Both Jaina and Sentry could see he was shaking just ever so subtly, doing his best to hold it back. “All I am asking now is that you help us correct these mistakes so that no more innocents are harmed and so no more Ghaik propogate.”

“Then in this we are aligned.” Orpheus nodded solemnly, sheathing his sword, but he frowned and looked away, deep in thought. “But the Ghaik was right in one thing....We cannot defeat The Nether Brain as we are now. Not even the strongest blade would cut through its mind. Only an illithid could face it...” “Then...would you bear that burden? For our people?” Kroger asked. Lae'zel would likely be furious, Kithrak Voss even moreso, but Kroger could not bring himself to offer. He was done putting himself last for gods and royals. He was done being a pawn. He could never ask that of Sentry, he knew the paladin had only just gained his freedom from Bhaal, to expect him to give his life like this would be monstrous and Jaina...she had so much to live for, Wyll and Karlach. Orpheus' eyes widened a moment and his expression journeyed from disbelief to anger to a solemn realization and acceptance. “Just as I was free...” He breathed deeply and braced himself, standing tall. “I will do it, I will sacrifice my soul to save my people and stop the grand design.” Psionic energy engulfed his hand again and he raised it to his temple, closing his eyes as a stoic expression fell across his face and his body was calm and still. “Even in my darkest hour I knew it was my destiny to save my people, but I never imagined this would be the way...” Black veins and angry dark bruises covered his face as his eyes darkened to jet black, he arched his back and threw back his head as the sickness claimed his body.

Jaina's hands flew to her mouth as she gazed in wide eyed horror, Wyll looked on solemnly, wincing and looking away at the last moment. Astarion drew back in disgust and Sentry audibly gasped, staggering backwards in shock. Kroger watched. He had to. This was, he supposed, something he would have to live with. He had read countless volumes on ceremorphosis, as was expected of any Ghustil in training. He knew he should feel a terrible sense of regret, he should feel responsible, but he knew now, after all that he had been through, all that he had seen to the contrary of everything that he had been taught, that he was no more guilty in all of this than Orpheus was. Why should it be his penance to become Ghaik? To give up the life he had only just begun to live for another leader? True, Orpheus certainly seemed to embody leadership more than Vlaakith did, he seemed to care for his people far more, but that did not make him more worthy to keep living than Jaina or Sentry, than Kroger himself. Still, he owed it to his people's savior to watch. Orpheus' body cracked and spasmed, his limbs twisting at terrible angles and the loud sounds of bones snapping breaking the still, silent air of the astral sea. His skin began to slough off of his body and his skull elongated and sprouted long tentacle appendages. This was the horror of ceremorphosis. Everything Kroger had ever learned back home could not do the true terror justice. But still, the Ghustil looked on, his gaze unbroken. He never looked away.

When it was over, Sentry quietly approached, handing the Netherstones silently over to Orpheus, inclining his head with at least a modicum of respect. “All to wield these...” Orpheus spoke quietly. He looked Kroger in the eye reproachfully. “When this is done, you must kill me. It is the very least you can do.” Kroger nodded solemnly.

[dfroza]

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures

for the 27th of may 2025 with a paired chapter from each Testament (the First & the New Covenant) of the Bible

[The Book of Revelation, Chapter 9 • The Book of Job, Chapter 15]

along with Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms with Proverbs 27 and Psalm 27 coinciding with the day of the month, accompanied by Psalm 69 for the 69th day of Astronomical Spring, and Psalm 147 for day 147 of the year (with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 1st revolution this year)

A post by John Parsons:

Desert Places...

Our Torah portion for this week, parashat Bamidbar ("in the desert"), is the first reading from the Book of Numbers, and is always read before the great holiday of Shavuot (i.e., “Pentecost”). The portion begins exactly where the Book of Exodus left off, that is, with the glory of the LORD (כְּבוֹד יְהוָה) hovering over the Mishkan (Tabernacle) as the Israelites were camped before Mount Sinai (see Exod. 40:38, Num. 1:1). On the first day of the thirteenth month following the great Exodus from Egypt – exactly thirty days after the Mishkan (Tabernacle) was first consecrated – God commanded Moses to take a census of all Israelite males over 20 years of age who would bear arms. Moses and the heads of each tribe recorded the results, with 603,550 men in all. This number did not include the Levites, however, since they were designated to take care of the Tabernacle during the journeys.

The LORD then gave instructions about how the Israelite camp was to be arranged. The Tabernacle would occupy the central location, with three clans of the Levites surrounding it on the north, south, and west (Moses and Aaron’s tents were placed before the entrance on the east). The twelve other tribes were divided into four groups of three. All of the tents of the Israelites were to face the Tabernacle on every side. This camp formation was to be strictly maintained while traveling throughout the desert.

Each tribe had its own prince (i.e., nassi: נשׂיא), its own flag (i.e., degel: דגל) whose color corresponded with the color of its respective stone in Aaron's breastplate (Exod. 28:15-21). For example, Judah's stone was a sky-blue carbuncle and therefore the color of his flag was like the color of the sky with a “fiery lion” embroidered upon it (see Gen. 49:9).

The portion ends with a census of the three sons of Levi (בני לוי), namely Gershon (גרשׁון), Kohath (קהת), and Merari (מררי). The sons of Gershon (i.e., the Gershonites) were to maintain the inner tent of the Mishkan and were to be located on the west side of the courtyard; the sons of Kohath (i.e., the Kohathites) were to maintain the furnishings of the Mishkan such (as the Ark of the Covenant, the Menorah, etc.) and were to be located on the south side of the courtyard; and the sons of Merari (i.e., the Merarites) maintained the frames and pillars of the Mishkan and were located to the north of the courtyard. Finally, though the sons of Aaron were technically descendants of Kohath, they were set apart to serve as priests (i.e., kohanim: כהנים) and were located before gate into the Mishkan to the east.

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

========

Numbers 1:1 reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/num1-1a-jjp.mp3

Parashat Bamidbar summary page:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Scripture/Parashah/Summaries/BeMidbar/bemidbar.html

Audio podcast:

https://hebrew4christians.com/training/parashat-bamidbar/

Bamidbar Table Talk:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Scripture/Parashah/Summaries/BeMidbar/ShabbatTableTalkPageBaMidbar.pdf

5.25.25 • Facebook

from Israel365

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

[christian-perspectives]

Do It God’s Way For Eternal Results

Years ago, a popular song called “My Way” became popular, with the tagline, “I did it my way.”  I suppose, in some cases, that works, but for eternal results, we must do things God’s way. The Apostle Paul referred to the Old Testament law as our schoolmaster. Thankfully, we not only receive guidance from its statutes, but we also get a glimpse of the character of God. While in the wilderness, the Israelites often moved. In the Book of Numbers, Moses gave them specific instructions on how to break camp, doing it God’s way. Only God’s designated clans could move the Tabernacle and its furnishings, and they had to do it His way. Why does this interest us? Because the details of God’s way still require obedience. God chose the three Levite clans to disassemble the Tabernacle. Before they could do anything, though, the sons of Aaron had the responsibility of preparing the Holy of Holies. When the camp moves, Aaron and his sons must enter the Tabernacle first to take down the inner curtain and cover the Ark of the Covenant with it. Then they must cover the inner curtain with fine goatskin leather and spread over that a single piece of blue cloth. Finally, they must put the carrying poles of the Ark in place.”  Numbers 4:5-6 Keep in mind that God did not permit anyone to touch the Ark of the Covenant. So, they needed to follow God’s instruction to the letter and prepare it His way. Later, the following occurred.

People Died, Not Doing It God's Way

During David’s reign as king, he tried to move the Ark to Jerusalem from Abinadab’s house. The cart carrying it hit a pothole, and Abinadab’s son, Uzzah, reached out to steady it. Uzzah reached out his hand and steadied the Ark of God. Then the Lord’s anger was aroused against Uzzah, and God struck him dead because of this. So Uzzah died right there beside the Ark of God. 2 Samuel 6:6-7 Back in Numbers, Aaron’s sons had the responsibility to prepare all the sacred articles for transport. Moses instructed them to cover each piece and put the carrying poles in place. Then, the Levite clan called the Kohathites, could perform their duties of carrying all the sacred items. They needed to carry them God’s way, or it could mean their instant death. The camp will be ready to move when Aaron and his sons have finished covering the sanctuary and all the sacred articles. The Kohathites will come and carry these things to the next destination. But they must not touch the sacred objects, or they will die. 2 Samuel 4:15 The next Levite clan called the Gershonites, had the responsibility for general service and carrying loads. Directed by one of Aaron’s sons, they moved equipment and did other work. They must carry the curtains of the Tabernacle, the Tabernacle itself with its coverings, the outer covering of fine goatskin leather, and the curtain for the Tabernacle entrance. Numbers 4:25 The Merarites formed the third clan of the Levite tribe. Poles framed the curtain walls that surrounded the Tabernacle and its courtyard. They carried those poles and other accessories.

Follow God's Instructions

Their only duty at the Tabernacle will be to carry loads. They will carry the frames of the Tabernacle, the crossbars, the posts, and the bases; also the posts for the courtyard walls with their bases, pegs, and ropes; and all the accessories and everything else related to their use. 2 Samuel 4:31-32 All the eligible Levite men between the ages of thirty and fifty served in the Tabernacle. They each had their own job to do. For their benefit, they needed to do it God’s way. I understand the logic of individuals having areas of responsibility and taking them seriously. We observed that during our tenure of serving as full-time children’s evangelists. At the conclusion of a week of Kids Crusade Services, we methodically took our equipment down. People often came to the platform and offered to help us which we appreciated. But we could only use their help to carry everything to our vehicle. My wife and I had the job of disassembling the large items and preparing them for transport. We packed the smaller things because they each went into their own particular box or tote. Once we put all the items in their appropriate containers, we took them off the platform. So, with everything accounted for and off the platform, we were ready for those willing to help. Cindy supervised the order in which they took each piece and tote out to our vehicle. Our helpful volunteers handed each item to me so I could get everything back into our vehicle. So, I somewhat understand about the responsibilities of packing and moving the Tabernacle.

God Demands His Way

God’s way demanded the consistency of the same people doing the same job each time. So, how does that apply to us today? God’s way may look different today, but it has the same concepts.  I like reading about the adventures in the Old Testament. But I also like how they relate to us: the Temple, Sacrifice, Passover Lamb, Pentecost, Promised Land. - Don’t you realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who lives in you and was given to you by God? You do not belong to yourself. 1 Corinthians 6:19 - And so, dear brothers and sisters, I plead with you to give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice—the kind he will find acceptable. This is truly the way to worship him. Romans 12:1 - Christ, our Passover Lamb, has been sacrificed for us. 1 Corinthians 5:7 - On the day of Pentecost all the believers were meeting together in one place. And everyone present was filled with the Holy Spirit and began speaking in other languages, as the Holy Spirit gave them this ability. Acts 2:1,4 - For this world is not our permanent home; we are looking forward to a home yet to come. Hebrews 13:14

God's Way is Still the Same

God’s still doing things His way; we will never change that. He has laid out for us only one way of salvation. He told us to call on the name of Jesus if we want to spend eternity with Him. For Jesus is the one referred to in the Scriptures, where it says, ‘The stone that you builders rejected has now become the cornerstone.’ There is salvation in no one else! God has given no other name under heaven by which we must be saved.” Acts 4:11-12 We will lose if we try to cut corners and do things our way instead of God’s. If you try another way, you will find yourself in the wrong place for all eternity. Lord, we want to do everything your way. Check us when we stray off the path you have laid out for our salvation. Check out these related posts on God's Plans for you. - God's Plans For Your Life Are Good And Encouraging - The Holy Spirit Will Guide You In This Life - Our Inheritance In Christ - God’s Plan For Us - The Story Of The Fall Of Man Read the full article

[freebiblestudies]

Line Upon Line Lesson 088: From Bronze Mirrors

Exodus 38:8 - He made the laver of bronze and its base of bronze, from the bronze mirrors of the serving women who assembled at the door of the tabernacle of meeting.

What is a laver? The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines a laver as a large basin used for ceremonial ablutions in the ancient Jewish tabernacle and temple worship. Ceremonial ablution was the washing of one’s body or a part of it, as part of a religious rite.  Today we will consider the significance of the laver in the sanctuary system and its relevance to us today.

Let's read together Exodus 40:7, 30-32; John 19:34; and 1 Peter 1:16.

The laver was filled with water and placed directly between the sanctuary and the altar of sacrifice. It is interesting to note that two symbols of cleansing - water from the laver and blood from the altar of sacrifice - were both present in the sanctuary courtyard.

Let’s read together Exodus 30:17-21; Matthew 22:1-14

The priest was to wash his hands and feet before entering the sanctuary. Failure to do so would mean death for the priest. Why was there such a harsh penalty for forgetting to wash your hands? Ritual cleansing was important to demonstrate the need for holiness in the presence of a holy God. 

Let’s read together 1 Samuel 16:7; 1 Corinthians 13:12; 2 Corinthians 3:17-18; and James 1:23-25.

It is interesting to note that the laver was made from objects intended for self grooming. It is possible that the laver had a very polished surface. If so, the priest could see himself while washing.

Perhaps as the priest saw his reflection in the laver, he was reminded God sees past outward appearances. God could see straight into people’s hearts.

Let’s read together 1 Corinthians 15:31; Ephesians 5:26; Titus 3:5; Hebrews 10:22; and 1 Peter 2:5.

We cannot be cleansed of our sins by our own merits or acts of righteousness. This can only be accomplished by the blood of Jesus Christ. Once we have that initial cleansing, we must seek renewal and regeneration by the Holy Spirit..

Taking one bath would not be sufficient to keep clean for a whole week, let alone an entire lifetime. In the same way we need to be washed daily in the Word of God. 

Friend, will you reflect on the lessons we learned today about the laver?

[waynecowles]

Daily Jot: Of sacrifice and obedience

Bill Wilson – www.dailyjot.com

Jesus said in John 14:15, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” What are those commandments? In Matthew 22:37-39, Jesus told us: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’” 1 Samuel 15:22 says “to obey is better than sacrifice.” Hosea 6:6 sums it up, “For I desire lovingkindness, not sacrifice, and the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.” Throughout the Bible, the concept of obedience is greater than sacrifice. Obedience is likened to your relationship with the LORD. This was established from the time of Moses and the Tabernacle.

At the end of Exodus, Moses assembles the Tabernacle on the very day one year later, that the Israelites had left Egypt, on the first day of the first month. The singular verbs imply that Moses does this himself: “Moses erected the Tabernacle, put its sockets in place, put up its planks, put in its crossbars and set up its posts. He spread the tent over the Tabernacle and put the covering of the tent above it, as ADONAI had ordered Moses (Exodus 40:18-19).” Moses put the testimony inside the ark, and set up the contents of the Tabernacle. He erected the courtyard around the altar and put up the screen at the entrance of the Tabernacle. This is important because it represents the pattern of God’s will toward his people and their relationship with him.

The rabbinic leader Nachmanides (13th century France), says that the Tabernacle, and later, the Temple in Jerusalem where an extension of the experience of the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai. It is only fitting that Moses, giver of God’s word, constructed the Tabernacle. In the center of the Tabernacle was the Ark of the Testimony which held and received God’s word, emphasizing the preeminence of the Bible as our most intimate connection to the Lord. All of this can also be applied to the Temple in Jerusalem—which is geographically in the center of the land of Israel, with the tribes surrounding it all around. Like our bodies as the Lord’s temple, we pray, opening our hearts and minds to the most sure way for God to dwell in our midst, and that is through the study and practice of His word.

The Hebrew word for sacrifice is korban, meaning “to draw near.” As important as that is, it is not our primary purpose as servants of God. The sacrifices were positioned outside the Tabernacle, not in the Holy of Holies, inferring that the purpose for prayer and worship is to draw us closer to God. Sacrifices are a means to an end, when we worship and pray to God, we draw near to Him, but it is the study of His word that gives us our mission, represented by the Ark of the Covenant with the word of God at its center. Understanding God’s word helps to understand His will, which puts us in the most intimate place of blending our thoughts with God’s. His will becomes our will and we then become His agents carrying out His will to the world. The Lord IS our center, and all we do revolves around Him and His son, the Word of God!

[rickpoet]

We're spending a lot of time at the foot of the mountain following detailed instructions. Here's a new poem for this week's Torah portion about that. #torah #poetry #terumah #tabernacle

[yhwhrulz]

Worthy Brief - October 17, 2024

Fill your lamps!

John 8:12 Then Jesus again spoke to them, saying, "I am the Light of the world: he that follows Me shall not walk in darkness, but will have the Light of life."

Matthew 25:1-10 "Then the kingdom of heaven shall be likened to ten virgins who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. Now five of them were wise, and five were foolish. Those who were foolish took their lamps and took no oil with them, but the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps. But while the bridegroom was delayed, they all slumbered and slept. And at midnight a cry was heard: 'Behold, the bridegroom is coming; go out to meet him!' Then all those virgins arose and trimmed their lamps. And the foolish said to the wise, 'Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.' But the wise answered, saying, 'No, lest there should not be enough for us and you; but go rather to those who sell, and buy for yourselves.' And while they went to buy, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went in with him to the wedding; and the door was shut.

During the feast of Tabernacles in Yeshua's (Jesus') day, the temple priests would set up four great lampstands with golden lampholders, which they would light with the aid of enormous ladders in the Temple courtyard. The lighting of these lamps began the celebration of the "Great Hosannah" (Hoshannah Rabbah, in Hebrew). The celebration went on in to the wee hours -- with music and dancing and rejoicing, while the beautiful lights lit up the night. Jerusalem was a breathtaking, illuminated city on a hill.

The following morning the Jewish people would recite the prayer for the eighth day of the feast -- "Be thou praised, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who makest light and causes darkness, who makest peace and createst all: the light of the world as the treasure of life…" Yeshua said, "I am the Light of the world.".

God is Light, He loves light, He creates light, He sheds light, He desires light. Lamps with oil produce light, both for those who carry them and for those who see the light bearers. "You are the light of the world", He said. So the Lord also expects light from and His people. The light of God in our lives comes from His Holy Spirit, and oil has always been associated with the Spirit's ministry in the lives of believers. Burning oil produces light. If we are spiritual "virgins"because we are betrothed to one Heavenly Husband, we ought to bear His light in this dark world. Yet He has told us that some virgins will not have the wisdom to do it, so it is a warning to us; a warning not to quench the Spirit, but be filled with Him and be the light of the world.

Pete, some of us, though virgins, have been walking in darkness. This could change. The choice to light our lamps belongs to us. The gift of the Holy Spirit has been given to all true virgins. The wise among us will "buy oil" and maintain our lamps thoroughly filled. To "buy oil" means to "spend time" with the One who supplies it, asking Him to fill us up, and to clean out the impurities in our "lamps". You know what this means for you personally, and I know what it means for me. We ought to think about the joy of the wedding, and prepare our hearts with His light… illuminated beautifully for all the world to see, and to be ready! At midnight, when the Bridegroom suddenly appears, our joy will be unspeakable.

Chag Sameach (Happy holidays), Shabbat Shalom, and have a great weekend!

Your family in the Lord with much agape love,

George, Baht Rivka, Obadiah and Elianna (Bradenton, Florida)

Editor's Note: Feel free to share any of our content from Worthy, including Devotions, News articles, and more, on your social platforms. You have full permission to copy and repost anything we produce.

Editor's Note: During this war, we have been live blogging throughout the day -- sometimes minute by minute on our Telegram channel. https://t.me/worthywatch/ Be sure to check it out!

Editor's Note: Dear friends — we are going to be heading WEST!!! Now booking in the following states: Alabama, Mississippi, Texas, and Arkansas …. If you know Pastors, Rabbis or Ministry Leaders who might be interested in some powerful Israeli style Hebrew/English worship and a refreshing word from Worthy News about what’s going on in the Land, please let us know how to connect with them and we will do our best to get you on our schedule! You can send an email to george [ @ ] worthyministries.com for more information.

[thepitofjob]

Job 17: 6-9. "Spitting."

The prior frame introduces what are called secondary villages. Secondary villages are "budens on Jehovah", "they are ridiculous." Ridiculous things are monotonous, unncessary trials and tribulations man could easily dispense with.

Every human being does something that is awkward, this is what makes us unique. What makes one ridiculous is failure to be upright as one is attempting to become as interesting as possible.

Bywords are ways one sidesteps good sense in order to be popular. The need to be popular is the opposite of being the Self. This was discussed in the story of Baalam in the Torah, which means "to swallow a thing that will destroy you."

"The verb בלע (bala') means to swallow with the implication of destruction of what was swallowed. Noun בלע (bela) means either a swallowing and by implication: a destruction, or a thing swallowed or destroyed.

The verb עמם ('mm) probably expressed to be inclusive or comprehensive. Its rare uses in the Bible relate to making secrets or making info available to an in-crowd. Preposition עם ('im) means 'with', מעם (me'im) means 'from', and עמה ('umma) means 'beside'. Noun עם ('am) means a people, ranging from all of mankind to the in-crowd of a small village. Noun עם ('am) refers to one's (paternal) kinsman."

6 “God has made me a byword to everyone,     a man in whose face people spit. 7 My eyes have grown dim with grief;     my whole frame is but a shadow. 8 The upright are appalled at this;     the innocent are aroused against the ungodly. 9 Nevertheless, the righteous will hold to their ways,     and those with clean hands will grow stronger.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 6: God has made me a byword. "There is no me in team." They say right before they do that clapping thing on the football team. Very strange.

What does it mean to spit in the face? Lying to someon's face is a sin, covered in Metzorah. Anyone with a dirty discharge, a man whose penis emissions are diseased, a male fornicator or adulterer who lies about it is doubly condemned. The behavior, the betrayal can even de done in a non-verbal way within the thoughts:

8 “‘If the man with the discharge spits on anyone who is clean, they must wash their clothes and bathe with water, and they will be unclean till evening.

The Value in Gematria is 1525, "let it be" the load, the lot, the burden, the levy, the imposition= do not bother with such a person.

"...Hebrew minds looks at activity, not appearance. And it's when these animals begin to move around that their characteristics show. Cows graze or lie down and chew the cud. Horses however can be seen racing along the hills, in tight packs or alone. Horses are swift, may turn abruptly, shear the meadows like... swallows in flight."

The Number for the verse from Job is 4755, םזןה‎, mezna, "be frugal, modest, austere."

To chew the cud is to retrain the mouth to speak like a young lady or a gentleman just like the Torah instructs. This has an impact on the subtle language in the mind and its hold over the rest of the body:

v. 7-8: My whole frame is but a shadow. Frames are mentioned in Bemidbar. A stage of life called a Merarite, a smelly boy, is when one must begin to frame the thoughts in the mind in light, not in the shadows.

36 The Merarites were appointed to take care of the frames of the tabernacle, its crossbars, posts, bases, all its equipment, and everything related to their use, 37 as well as the posts of the surrounding courtyard with their bases, tent pegs and ropes.

38 Moses and Aaron and his sons were to camp to the east of the tabernacle, toward the sunrise, in front of the tent of meeting. They were responsible for the care of the sanctuary on behalf of the Israelites. Anyone else who approached the sanctuary was to be put to death.

=

"The young, who are bitter strong, ignorant and smelly and stubborn, who are waking up, must be read and study the Parshiot and invoke the Foundation of the religion. Anyone who remains in darkness, who chooses not to be sentient is already dead."

The Number is 10018, קיח‎, "sputum." Back to spit again: Sputum removes the need to cause contempt:

"The verb ירק (yaraq II) means to spit. It occurs twice, in Numbers 12:14 and Deuteronomy 25:9, both as demonstrations of contempt, perhaps in the sense of to belittle (or in this case make thin). Some scholars contest that this verb is from a whole other root and place it among the green-words. It's also not unthinkable that showing contempt by means of spitting in someone's face went along with verbal abuse, wishing the recipient pale green eruptions on the skin.

The verb πτυω (ptuo) means to spit, to forcibly eject saliva through one's puckered lips (Mark 7:33, 8:23 and John 9:6 only). Despite its rarity in the Bible, this verb describes a surprisingly crucial exercise. Jesus used his spit to heal deaf and blind people, and after his arrest he is spat upon (see εμπτυω, emptuo, below).

As we discuss in our article on βδεω (bdeo), to fart, the mouth is where food is first introduced to the digestive system, and if this system isn't functioning properly, excessive flatulence may be the result. Since eating and learning (the intake of raw information to be chewed and then decompiled and sorted for useful elements to be incorporated into our mind, and not useful elements to be rejected and "forgotten") are highly similar processes, the anonymous dispensation of bad smelling flatulence is self-similar to the covert spreading of fear and unease.

As we point out in our article on the verb δακρυω (dakruo), to shed tears, spit is one of a few forms of bodily water (tears, urine, sweat, spit) that serve to rid the body of dirt, waste and excess heat."

v. 9: Nevertheless, the righteous will hold to their ways, and those with clean hands will grow stronger. The Number is חהדט, hadat, "through the religion, the voice of heaven."

[thenewdeadseascrolls]

Judges 16: 8-12. "The Peep Show."

As it turns out, Samson, "the Bringer of Light" cannot be conveyed through bondage by "fresh bowstrings" which are "praises of other men." The rule is always "the ace over the eagle." Journeys into Judaism and its holidays and sacraments must be organized by a professional who understands how to interlace the material in the Tanakh with itself.

So it was not enough for Samson to tell the upward swinging Delilah, "this is my secret." Samson could not be bound as he explained, he lied to her after a fashion and she is outraged. So she asks him how the Sun can be bound a second time.

One cannot just read about the Sefirot Tiferet, Malchut, Chesed, and Gevura, etc. one must organize one's behavior and demonstrate them. So Samson tells Delilah to graduate from bowstrings to actual ropes and bind him with these instead.

Ropes are temple furnishings. They are mentioned in Naso. Bowstrings are obviously not used in the sanctuary but ropes are required:

36 The Merarites were appointed to take care of the frames of the tabernacle, its crossbars, posts, bases, all its equipment, and everything related to their use, 37 as well as the posts of the surrounding courtyard with their bases, tent pegs and ropes.

38 Moses and Aaron and his sons were to camp to the east of the tabernacle, toward the sunrise, in front of the tent of meeting. They were responsible for the care of the sanctuary on behalf of the Israelites. Anyone else who approached the sanctuary was to be put to death. =

"The young, who are bitter strong, ignorant, smelly and stubborn, who are waking up, must be read and study the Parshiot and invoke the Foundation of the religion. Anyone who remains in darkness, who chooses not to be sentient is as the dead."

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 27: The Value in Gematria is 9829, טחבט‎‎‎, "mildew, moss, and Tibet, all the nature of the character in a box."

v. 28: The Values in Gematria is 9638, ט‎ו‎ג‎ח, "grief and sorrow."

= things have to change.

Ropes therefore are an essential aspect of the character that permits one to survive the realization one has behaviors and desires that are not holy.

Fresh bowstrings are boys and dudes that praise behaviors they perhaps to not completely understand. They are not capable of launching the arrow between the Torah and the Sefirot. The transition from a sleazebucket to one who knows Malchut is more appropriate begins with acceptance promiscuity is an obscenity. The attitude change is a rope, it is a lifeline to the box which contains the Tefillin scroll and the secrets of how to attain to Ha Shem.

So bearing in mind Delilah is hosting a candid camera bondage black party (very much back in style BTW) with her friends in the trench and wants to look like a success, she nags Samson again for his secrets:

8 Then the rulers of the Philistines brought her seven fresh bowstrings that had not been dried, and she tied him with them. 

9 With men hidden in the room, she called to him, “Samson, the Philistines are upon you!” But he snapped the bowstrings as easily as a piece of string snaps when it comes close to a flame. So the secret of his strength was not discovered.

10 Then Delilah said to Samson, “You have made a fool of me; you lied to me. Come now, tell me how you can be tied.”

11 He said, “If anyone ties me securely with new ropes that have never been used, I’ll become as weak as any other man.”

12 So Delilah took new ropes and tied him with them. Then, with men hidden in the room, she called to him, “Samson, the Philistines are upon you!” But he snapped the ropes off his arms as if they were threads.

The box mentioned above is the head which contains the brain. The room contains the owner of the brain. The men hidden within the owner are the aspects of his very best personal Jewish Self. These are named throughout the Torah and Tanakh, and these are explained well enough, but without integrity hidden they will remain.

One should note the ridiculousness of this scenario: A bondage dominatrix woman is showing the whole town how to molest a bubby from a nearby neighborhood, and it's turning into a shit show instead.

She clearly expects a bunch of boys to help her do it and that is just too nasty for words.

There are five verses which as we know form a Hand, or a series of Values in Gematria that explain how an ordidnary man becomes a Prince and qualifies to be Jewish Royalty. This one pertains to the way a Jewish man who is sure of himself survives public humilation at the hands of ruffians:

v. 8: Then the rulers of the Philistines brought her seven fresh bowstrings that had not been dried, and she tied him with them. The Value in Gematria is 6326, ו‎ג‎בו‎ ‎"back up and collect it."

v. 9: With men hidden in the room, she called to him, “Samson, the Philistines are upon you!” But he snapped the bowstrings as easily as a piece of string snaps when it comes close to a flame. So the secret of his strength was not discovered. The Value in Gematria is טדטג‎ , tadtag, "celebrate." Tadtag is "crown of love."

v. 10: Then Delilah said to Samson, “You have made a fool of me; you lied to me. Come now, tell me how you can be tied.”

Adam was a fool. [#126]. Adam was a fool for Eve because God had not yet made anyone quite like her. We are willing to be foolish for someone who strikes our fancy. The feeling might be justified it might not. Delilah obviously felt the same way about Samson she was depending on him for her salvation, and the work she was doing with the gay bondage peepshow was very important to her.

Samson's lie is actually Leah, [#34] a "leading virginal cow." Leaders have to lie to their followers because they lack the depth of experience to understand the role of a single step in the conclusion of the process.

We don't know why, for example when a piano teacher insists on the playing of scales all day long when we really want to pay our favorite tunes instead. So the teacher lies about the need for scales until the person is ready for repertoire, where interpretation, talent, not rote skill is of the essence.

The Value in Gematria is 6305, וגאֶפֶסה‎‎‎, "and get plastered."

Plaster is how one builds the castle, but #356, without being boastful.

v. 11: He said, “If anyone ties me securely with new ropes that have never been used, I’ll become as weak as any other man.”

Weakness = 916, "a bison." Samson is referred to as a bison by the Gematria because there is no way for a man to challenge a bison and bind it. Obviously Delilah and Straight Hell are having a hard time managing the process because Samson is not a weakness.

The Value in Gematria is 8058, חאֶפֶסהח‎‎, hafeshah,"the fool."

v. 12: So Delilah took new ropes and tied him with them. Then, with men hidden in the room, she called to him, “Samson, the Philistines are upon you!” But he snapped the ropes off his arms as if they were threads.

New ropes are 1230, "the father of plaster." Only someone who wore a Crown of Love was going to be able to fool Samson into cohabitating in the flesh with him. Delilah still hoped it was going to be her as did all of her really gay queer friends.

Temple ropes are made by twisting threads between the fingers of a Kohen Priest. If they are snapped on the arms, it means they were not well made and true love was not in the future of these people.

The Value in Gematria is 10057, יאֶפֶסהז‎ ‎yepeshaz, "equate this time to zero."

A true Jewish Prince will walk away when true love is being treated like a peep show. Samson and Delilah object to each other's response to this and we find out what happens in the next frame.

[dfroza]

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures

for the 26th of february 2025 with a paired chapter from each Testament (the First & the New Covenant) of the Bible

[The Letter of 2nd Corinthians, Chapter 8 • The Book of 1st Chronicles, Chapter 23]

along with Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms with Proverbs 26 and Psalm 26 coinciding with the day of the month, accompanied by Psalm 68 for the 68th day of Astronomical Winter, and Psalm 57 for day 57 of the year (with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 1st revolution this year)

A post by John Parsons:

Shadows and Substance...

Our Torah portion this week (Terumah) reveals that the Mishkan (or “Tabernacle”) was designed to provide an elaborate “parable” or “pattern” (i.e., tavnit: תַּבְנִית) that points to the salvation of our God (יְשׁוּעַת אֱלהֵינוּ). The Mishkan (as a whole) was intended to designate a central and sacred place (מִקְדָּשׁ) symbolizing the Divine Presence, with the tribes carefully arrayed on each side (east, west, north, and south, in cruciform), and the four families of the Levites arrayed on each side of the courtyard (Num. 2). The gate opened from the east, where the tribe of Judah was positioned (Gen. 49:10) and where the Kohanim (priests) had their camp just outside the court (Heb. 7:14).

As you entered the Mishkan itself, you would immediately behold the mizbe’ach (i.e., copper altar), which revealed the “korban principle,” namely, that the only way to draw near to God is by means of sacrificial blood offered for the sinner, as is stated in the Torah, “For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it for you on the altar to make atonement for your souls, for it is the blood that makes atonement by the life” (Lev. 17:11), and “without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins” (Heb. 9:22). In this connection note that it is God who gives us the blood for atonement, and indeed the central (and ongoing) sacrifice on the altar was the daily offering of a defect-free male lamb along with unleavened bread and wine called “korban tamid” (קָרְבַּן תָּמִיד).

The korban tamid commemorates the Lamb of God and the deeper meaning of the Passover, which the LORD called “my Offering, my Bread” (see Num. 28:1-8). Note further that the sacrifice of the lamb upon the altar was openly displayed in the courtyard, just as the cross of Messiah was a public display (John 19:16; Col. 2:14-15), though the atonement for sin was made only after the High Priest sprinkled sacrificial blood upon the covering of the Ark of the Covenant that held the testimony of the law during the Yom Kippur service. Unlike the public sacrifice of the lamb upon the altar, the Yom Kippur ritual pictures the “hidden offering” of the blood before the Throne of God in the holy of holies “made without hands,” that is, the greater priesthood of the Messiah who secures an eternal atonement (Heb. 10).

Therefore understand that the Mishkan (and later the Temple) was a provisional pattern designed by God to foretell the Substance and Reality to come, as it is written: “the Word became flesh and tabernacled with us” (John 1:14), and “when our Messiah appeared as the high priest of the good things that have come, He passed through the greater and more perfect Mishkan not made with hands (τῆς μείζονος καὶ τελειοτέρας σκηνῆς οὐ χειροποιήτου), that is, not of this creation, and entered once for all into the most holy place not by the blood of goats and calves but by his own blood, and so he himself secured eternal redemption for us” (Heb. 9:11-12).

Note that the High Priest was required to perform the Yom Kippur avodah (service) alone, while wearing humble attire, divested of his glory, and in complete solitude: “No one may be in the tent of meeting from the time he enters to make atonement in the Holy Place until he comes out” (Lev. 16:17). The Hebrew text literally says, “no adam (אָדָם) shall be in the tent,” which suggests that something more than the natural man is needed for divine intercession. And just as Moses alone approached God in the thick clouds at Sinai to receive the revelation of the Altar as mediator of the older covenant (Exod. 24:15), so Yeshua, the Mediator of the New Covenant, went through his severest agony on the cross as the darkness covered the earth (Luke 23:44; Matt. 27:45).

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

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Exodus 25:40 reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/exod25-40-jjp.mp3

Hebrew page:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/exod25-40-lesson.pdf

2.25.25 • Facebook

from Israel365

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research