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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

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The King and the Swallow

SUMMARY: Unexpected reunion with his childhood friend and the sworn protector of the royal family takes a dramatic turn when Nikolai inquires about her uncharacteristic, cold demeanour. Confessions are shared - the good ones and the bad ones alike.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 3.7k

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"[...] Swallows are believed to bring good luck and prosperity to the household. They are often associated with protecting the family as well. Similarly, the ROYAL SWALLOWS are sworn protectors of the reigning dynasty. As tradition entails, this faction is kept within one lineage, although the actual name is not included in any official documentation, becoming the object of wild speculations. According to the acquired knowledge about Royal Swallows, the next of kin is titled a Swallow only after answering The Call - an ancient, largely unknown, ritual of swearing-in believed to be conducted during the spring equinox when most grains are sowed as a symbol of new beginnings as well as the servitude intrinsic to the role. If there is more than one child in a generation, the oldest of them is assumed the leader and the regalia in the form of a gold pin with a swallow bird are passed on to them. In some regions of Ravka, touching the pin is believed to bring seven generations of good luck to the household. [...]" - excerpt from Factions and groupings in: About courts and gutters. The complete encyclopedia of the known world by Sankt Nikita

The weather leaves a lot to wish for. Grey clouds are covering the once-blue sky, cold wind tugs at clothing and leaves the skin covered in goosebumps even under a substantial amount of layers. The dense air smells of petrichor, although a thunderstorm is yet to come. Perhaps it’s the oncoming rain or the impending battles that make it difficult to breathe. Early spring is about as charming as muddy, rainy autumn. The sounds of soldiers bussing around the base are partially drowned out by rustling leaves, allowing the more naive to lie to themselves that there is, in fact, no war; it’s the wind blowing on their skin and not the grim reaper breathing down their necks.

Nikolai and Dominik grew tired if not frustrated with the restless turmoil inside the fort. Despite both of them being seasoned soldiers, they’re still learning how to lead the war. Constant chattering, yelling, echoing footsteps and loud clattering of army inventory smoked them out of the squalid building. Outside those grey walls, the world appears deceptively calm. If they stand with their backs facing the fort, maybe they can fool themselves into pretending their situation is a lot better than it really is - just for a minute or two, to not go completely mad.

But their relative peace is cut short when a bright screech pierces the cold wind. The blood-chilling sound belongs to a large bird of prey soaring low above their heads.

Nikolai knits his eyebrows. He begins his question but the implications of its answer make him fall silent halfway through: “Is that…?”

“Falcon,” Dominik finishes for him.

Surprisingly, the predator flies straight through an open window into one of the rooms in the fort. A question remains: with the falcon on its perch, where is the falconer? Fortunately, the answer arrives rather quickly:

“It’s the Swallow!” one of the soldiers yells.

Sure enough, a menacing silhouette appears on the horizon: a dark, stocky horse galloping through acres of fields with a cloaked rider on its back. Their robes in colours black, gold and ginger dance on the wind, pulled and tugged by the momentum. Surrounded by floating textiles, the rider appears more like a phantom rather than a person.

The approaching hoofbeat carries subliminal whispers of unsaid words, the echo of days long past and people who haunt others despite still being alive. The horse is slowing down its haste when the impatient rider jumps off the mount’s back. One of the soldiers manages to catch the whipping reins and pull the frenzied horse back towards the stables.

Auburn hair glistens in the dispersed sunlight as she takes the hood off her head. A few stray strands float in the wind. She hasn’t changed much - the freckles pepper her face just as he remembered and the scar splitting her lower lip still makes her look more menacing than she really is. The only difference, as far as he can tell, is that she’s a lot more beautiful than the woman he painted in his imagination during lonely nights. Her green eyes are a shade darker than the emerald he wears on his finger but to his heartache, they are equally cold as the gem.

The first person that made young Nikolai Lantsov realize that maybe girls aren’t, after all, ‘eww’.

“Lann!” his lips call out to her before his mind realizes.

But she only bows curtly. “Another time, your grace.”

The woman marches past him and into the fort. Soldiers flock to her, shoving documents into her hands and reporting on the progress of whatever duties she has given them. Watching her back, Nikolai realizes it’s the very first time in his life he’s seeing the infamous, illusive Harbinger - a claymore sword hidden in a scabbard hanging from her lower back. For a moment he wonders whether it really has decapitated as many terrorists and conspirators as people say. But this pondering is unimportant for now as Nikolai is still coming to terms with the fact that the one person he’s been dreaming of seeing again just brushed him off.

“Did she just ‘another time’ me?” he asks Dominik. “The king?”

His friend only gives him a playful grin. “Maybe she’s still upset about all the thistle you used to put in her hair.”

“She forced my hand!” he answers with a whine hiding in his voice. “It was the only way she’d talk to me instead of Cillian. Where is he anyway?”

Dominik clenches his jaw. Nervous, he scratches his neck before answering. “To be honest, I don’t think he’s with us anymore.”

Nikolai leans in, his voice low as disbelief drips from his words. “Cillian has died?”

“Hard to say what happened but she does wear the pin. Lann showed up two days ago, shortly before you arrived, and just said he’s ‘gone’. Actually, I was going to ask you about that.”

“I haven’t seen either of them since their father was killed. I had no idea she was here.”

“Well, that only complicates things.” Dominik takes off his cap, brushes his fingers through his hair and puts the hat back on. “I know Swallows don’t die in linen bed sheets but still, something horrible must have happened. It’s like something broke inside her. Maybe she’ll talk to you.”

Dominik gives Nikolai an awkward smile before patting his shoulder and leaving the king alone in the courtyard of the fort. The cold wind tugs at his clothes and Nikolai shivers. When did spring get so cold?

Lann is interrupting Dominik and Nikolai’s conversation for the second time today. They’re crowded over maps scattered on the table when she pushes the door open. They creek before the handle hits the wall with a thud and the wooden wing bounces back to close. Her rhythmic, heavy steps resound in the small room, the acoustic turning them into booming hoofbeat.

Aside from the impolite entrance, she announces her arrival only by loudly clicking her heels together. There’s no courtesy towards either of them, just a flood of laconic information:

“Kirigan’s following is growing with each day. His Grisha are fanatics, they’ll do anything he tells them to. From what I’ve gathered, they’re going to hit the First Encampment next but I’m guessing it’s something personal rather than political. Strategically, it’s a useless move. I have also received news from the northern front. They’re holding back Fjerdans but the snow shouldn’t thaw until later next month, leaving them in the cold for approximately another six weeks.”

Her cold, matter-of-fact tone makes Nikolai shiver again. Yes, people tend to become more serious as they grow up and take over important responsibilities but they never turn soulless. It’s as though the person in front of him is but a corpse brought back to life by inexplicably odious magic - rid of humanity, personality and vigour. Still, dismissing the dull ache growing inside his chest, Nikolai does his best to focus on the problem at hand. “Is there anything we can send them?” he asks in the calmest way he can muster.

“I’ve already ordered for proper preparations to be made, your grace.” She gently bows her head while speaking the title. “The shipment will leave tonight.”

Nikolai’s stomach churns. She never called him that. In fact, he can clearly remember Lann promising him that she will never address him properly. An image flashes before his eyes - June, a field behind a barn, a frown that misplaces freckles, thistle in hair, high voice speaking with a lisp: ‘You’re just Kolya’.

“If there are no further questions, I ought to leave to tend to my duties.” Lann’s voice is low and firm, completely different from the childish sound in Nikolai’s memories. Somehow, he’d rather listen to the girl with the lisp again.

The woman nods curtly before leaving the room, loudly shutting the door behind herself. Rushed footsteps resound through the hall, steadily disappearing into the ambient noise befitting a military base. Soon, her presence belongs to memories if not ghosts, considering the imposing way in which she continues to haunt Nikolai.

“I told you, Nikolai.” Dominik must have noticed his pained expression. “Something happened to Cillian and it broke her. She’s a completely different person now.”

The king looks down at the maps but then he shakes his head slightly - there’s simply no way he will just return to planning attacks and defences while Lann is but a shell of the woman he used to know; a phantom he knows by name but not the heart. And Cillian… losing one of the Swallows is a huge blow to Ravka’s assets. More than once in the history of this country did the presence of Royal Swallows make the difference between status quo and ruin. If one of them is ‘gone’, whatever that can mean, and the other has forsaken their humanity, they might as well give up already and let Kirigan take all that he’s going to intercept anyway.

Nikolai clenches his fist and sighs. If not for his own sake, he needs to do this for Ravka - at least that’s what he keeps telling himself. Truthfully, he’s more concerned with Lann’s well-being than his curiosity or worry. “Excuse me,” he murmurs half-comprehensively to Dominik before running out of the room in search of the Swallow.

Lann lets out an exasperated sigh as she hears someone knocking on the door to her bedroom. She rubs her face, pondering whether she should just pretend to be elsewhere. Wondering who might just interrupt her short-lived and rare moment of peace, Nikolai’s face flashes before her eyes. A blade of guilt pierces her chest but she doesn’t seem surprised. Truly, the moment of truth has to come at some point and, despite her own fears, the sooner the better.

“Come in,” she calls out, silently praying that it’s not the king of Ravka that comes with a visit.

The thing about prayers is that they’re not immune to various interpretations by the gods that listen. And some of them, inspired by their own grandeur, decide that they know better than the misers walking the mortal vale. Or, maybe, there are gods that simply revel in doing the opposite of what they’re asked.

The door creaks quietly as someone walks in. Lann looks over her shoulder, for a moment distracted from washing her shirt. Her chest tightens upon recognizing his face, even more so when she sees his pained expression as though her mere presence is breaking his heart. If only he knew… She clenches her jaw and returns to feverishly brushing a dark stain from her clothes.

“Can I be of assistance?” she asks curtly.

Nikolai isn’t quite sure what he expected walking in. Maybe part of him wished that once Lann is sheltered from the awestruck gaze of First Army soldiers, she’ll magically revert to the person he remembered - the relentless girl he knew nearly a decade ago. Alas, she’s nowhere to be found.

He watches her back as she’s aggressively washing a cotton shirt. Nikolai realizes that Dominik was telling the truth - she is, in fact, wearing the symbolic gold pin in her hair. It’s holding up the low bun, a coil of auburn hair that probably looked a lot more neat a few hours ago, in the morning. Not having expected guests, she’s standing over the basin wearing only a bra, revealing countless scars littering her back. Nikolai takes a deep breath, trying to ground himself. Deep lines of red, pink and white scattered across her skin look equally painful and imposing. His mind slips into wondering how much pain she had to endure during those past ten years but his imagination is, despite everything, limited. Nikolai’s gaze slips off her back, partially flustered by the unexpected show of skin and the implications of having as many scars as she does. His eyes are drawn to the long, heavy-looking sword propped up on three wooden y-shaped sticks. Harbinger, one of the finest pieces of armoury that has left the royal forge. The sharpened and waxed iron glistens in the dim light of the small fire burning inside the crude hearth. The angle at which the light dances off the edge of the blade allows Nikolai to easily read the inscription along the fuller: Virtue guide your hand. Judging by the deep scars and the fact she’s still alive, Lann must keep true to those words.

That thought brings his attention back to her and her only. The strange cold tension that presses down on his chest is something he’d never associate with her. Nikolai begins to wonder whether he’s the one removed from reality - perhaps his longing has painted her holy and not just human.

“Can we talk, Lann?” he breaks the silence. “Not Swallow to the king, just us.”

The sound of the brush hitting the ceramic basin startles him. She grips the sides of the bowl and hangs her head. Nikolai is about to apologize for interrupting and leave, clearly having annoyed her with his unforeseen presence, when he hears the voice he’s been missing for so long:

“I killed him, Kolya.”

The whisper is barely audible, making Nikolai doubt his own senses for a moment. Maybe he wants to speak with her so desperately, his mind is conjuring the conversation so he doesn’t abandon his sanity just yet.

“I killed…” she speaks again but chokes on a sob. “I killed Cillian. I had to, he-”

Lann turns around to look at him and Nikolai feels as though he’s seeing for the first time - really seeing her, not the cold exterior she greeted him with earlier. Her eyes are bloodshot and surrounded by a greyish-purple halo as though she hasn’t slept in weeks. She takes in a ragged breath but it’s not enough to calm her down - her lips quiver and tears stream down her face. There’s no telling how long she’s been holding this in.

“He was conspiring against the crown.”

Another memory causes turmoil inside Nikolai’s mind: August, the morning after a thunderstorm, skinny boy with ginger curls, a mischievous smile, a mean-looking bullfrog: ‘I bet my dessert you won’t touch it.’

Nikolai furrows his eyebrows. Either unable or unwilling to accept this course of events, he shakes his head. “What are you talking about?”

“He was aiding General Kirigan. The idea to put the poison on Genya’s skin? The location of the Spinning Wheel?” She falls silent but leaves her mouth slightly agape as though she’s fighting herself to say something more. “Our father’s death?” she adds barely audibly.

“By the Saints…” he mutters under his breath. “How can you be sure?”

“Someone mistook Rudy,” the bird sitting on a perch in the corner of the room screeches at the mention of his name, “for Cillian’s falcon and I got his mail. I didn’t check the name on the envelope and just opened it, read through it and…” Lann hangs her voice for a moment. Nikolai doesn’t rush her. “I broke into his office when he wasn’t around, read through whatever documents he didn’t get to burn yet. It was all there: Kirigan’s empty promises, locations, dates, names, formulas. A whole coup d’etat across the hall from me and I never suspected a thing.”

Nikolai looks at her with obvious confusion. “It’s not your fault, Lann-”

“It is!” she yells. Tears are streaming down her face, performing a slight danse macabre on her shaking chin. Strangely enough, her grimace shows disgust rather than sadness. “I gave Cillian the poison that killed the king. I never once questioned why he would need Belladonna or aqua regia, only asked ‘How much?’. And the Spinning Wheel? He told me to make an inventory of the defenses and I only asked him when he’d like to have it done. All of this,” she frantically gestures around, “is because of me.”

“He was your brother,” Nikolai drones the word. Maybe he and Vasily didn’t always see eye to eye but he’d never even considered the possibility of his half-brother being a schemer. “Of course, you didn’t suspect him of treason. Saints, even I find it hard to believe.”

Lann steps towards him. An accusatory finger pointing towards herself. “But I should have. This is the only duty I have in this life. I bent the knee before the king and promised to keep him and his family safe. I failed at that. The only thing I was supposed to do, I-”

“Hey, stop this,” Nikolai interrupts her in a firm but gentle tone. His hands shot up to cradle her face out of some deeply ingrained instinct because he realizes his actions only when he feels her skin underneath his fingers. Berating himself for not asking her first, Nikolai is about to pull away but discards that silly idea when Lann leans into his palms. “Cillian’s wrongdoings have nothing to do with you. He may have betrayed the king but you remained loyal. You have kept your given word, no matter how difficult it was. I don’t know if I would have been equally brave.”

Her body shakes as she’s trying to calm down her breathing. It works maybe for a few seconds before another flood of salty tears rushes down her red, swollen cheeks. Lann would look tragically beautiful like one of the paintings hanging in the halls of Little Palace, if Nikolai could see past the haunting misery inside her eyes.

“If I did the right thing, why does it hurt so much?”

Nikolai feels his own throat clenching. This overwhelming powerlessness sets his fingertips ablaze, his own body begging him to do something, anything, to ease the devouring frustration burning his lungs and ribs.

“Because you still love him, despite everything.” A sad, humourless smile appears on his face. “You’ve always been a little too good.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment and he doesn’t try coaxing anything out of her. Judging by her vacant stare, Lann wouldn’t notice a fly if it sat on the tip of her nose. Nikolai feels his stomach churning when his thoughts begin suggesting to him that she really does appear like a corpse brought back to life - soulless, lacking the vigour that all things animated require to remain alive.

Suddenly, Lann wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face in his chest. “What am I going to do without him, Kolya?” she cries into his shirt. Nikolai has a tight grip around her shoulders, clearly unwilling to let her go anytime soon. In all of his selfishness, he refuses to admit that this close embrace is more to curb his longing heart rather than bring her comfort. “This loneliness, it’s… If I have to bear it for a day more, I think I will die. It’s like there’s this hole, an abyss shaped like Cillian inside my chest and no one else will ever fit in there.”

“I know I can’t replace Cillian,” he begins slowly, thoughtfully, as he brushes his fingers through her hair, “I don’t even want to, but I’ll gladly be the resin that keeps you whole. If you let me, that is.”

To Nikolai’s dismay, Lann leans away from him but only enough to look at his face. His arm is still secured around her waist, keeping her body close to his. Maybe one day he’ll tell her how often he has dreamed of this very moment, imagining how her frame would fit him and how lovely her hands would feel against him.

“My grief is my problem,” she states firmly, although her trembling voice rids her of all seriousness. “You’ve got more important things to do. You’re king, you have a country to rule and a war to wage.”

Nikolai offers her a gentle smile, half-hoping to ease the tension that unchangeably makes him feel like the walls are closing in on them. “And what kind of miserable king am I going to be without my trusty Swallow?”

Lann knits her eyebrows in a sense of disbelief - did he not listen to her confession? Her repeated admission is explicit: “I killed my own brother after aiding him in a coup. I should be in the gallows.”

“Then it’s a good thing that I’m the king.” Patiently, Nikolai wipes tears off her face with his thumbs. “I need you, Lann. What words do I have to say to convince you that I truly want you by my side?”

Lann shakes her head. A breathy sigh of defeat leaves her mouth. She’ll forever remain oblivious to the heartache this little gesture of yielding is causing Nikolai. With closed eyes, she pleads: “Just tell me you forgive me.”

“I hold no grudge against you.”

“Please, Kolya.”

He studies her tired face for a moment. For the first time, Nikolai realizes that kinghood is akin to godhood - the judgment of people whose only sin is trying their best. “I forgive you. For everything that you’ve done and didn’t manage to do, I forgive you. I hope you can forgive me too.”

Before Lann can ask about his enigmatic words, Nikolai is pouring his desperation and longing into a long overdue kiss. Without hesitation, she returns the affection but this bliss doesn’t last long as guilt begins to creep up her spine again. Fighting her own desire, Lann turns her face away from Nikolai who opts for pecking her temple and cheeks, hardly capable of taming his yearning.

“This can’t be.” Lann’s whisper makes him halt his frenzied affection. She puts her hand against his chest but doesn’t push him away. “I’m a fratricide.”

“And I’m a bastard,” he answers casually as if those shameful titles carry no importance inside their microcosm. “We fit each other well, if I may say so.” Tenderly, Nikolai wraps his fingers around her wrist, keeping her hand against his chest. The longer his eyes study Lann’s face, the more his expression softens, soon becoming a painting of uninhibited adoration.

“Loving me is a disgrace to you.”

“Then I hope to never know virtue.”

She closes the distance between them, forcefully kissing him but Nikolai doesn’t seem to mind bumping noses or clashing teeth - all of that is laughable and unimportant compared to the warm softness of her lips against his. It’s everything he’s been imagining and so much more at the same time. Lann tastes like fresh berries and sour lemonade on a summer afternoon, making Nikolai wish he could relish this flavour for the rest of his life.

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai imagines #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone

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evolutionsvoid · 4 years

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When the rage of the Chancellor has subsided, and the skies have cleared of his fury, the time will come for the next plague. The land and its people will still reel from the devastation and destruction, and the bearer may feel guilt for the suffering they have caused. Such doubt, however, will do no good here. This was done to stop a great evil, to bring injustice to an end. Such change does not come peacefully, sacrifice is always needed. Even if one were to doubt, there is nothing they can do. The plagues have been unleashed in full, and this horrible cataclysm cannot be stopped. The next Emissary is on their way, and no amount of guilt or pleading will keep them away. All one can do is accept their choice and wait, for soon the Preacher of Locusts shall appear. The arrival of the Preacher will come without warning, as she barges into reality without a pause. No matter what preparations they make, the bearer will not be ready for her appearance, as she tends to show at the most inopportune times. It can happen during important meetings, sacred gatherings or even during the hours of slumber, it doesn't matter to her. When she feels the time is right, she will burst through the unseen walls and ambush the bearer. The moment she arrives, she will talk...and talk....and talk. Pouring from her mandibles will be a seemingly endless sermon, one that any mortal will struggle to understand. Psalms from forgotten tomes, prayers in unknown tongues and messages whose purposes baffle a sane mind. All of this will be spoken with utmost importance at a rapid and ceaseless pace. It matters not where she appears, she will always immediately launch into a sermon, even when the bearer is amongst company. Those who have not partaken in this bargain cannot see or hear her, but they will notice the bearer's reactions and confusion to some unseen force. Though noisy and nearly incomprehensible, it is important to listen to her sermon and join in when she demands action. Humiliating it may be to randomly yell an "amen" in a crowded room, it is far worse to ignore her speech. She demands an attentive and participative audience, even if one cannot fathom her concepts. It is best to excuse oneself to a lonely place, so that they may not be distracted by friends and family. It doesn't matter where you run to, she will bounce along in pursuit without missing a note. Listen to her sermon, no matter how many hours it may drone on. Those who "truly understand the word that has been given" shall be granted her relic. Those who ignore her or nod off during her message will be devoured by her kin, which she will happily do in front of an unknowing audience. Outsiders will not see the voracious swarm of locusts, but instead watch as a being is shredded into nothingness by invisible jaws. Those that can last her endless talking will receive the Scroll of Swarms, an ancient parchment that bears the language of twitching legs and droning wings. At first glance, the text will be incomprehensible, written in a tongue that no vertebrate possesses. With the rolls grasped firmly in hand and eyes locked upon the writhing ink, the bearer will begin to read these unknown passages aloud, but not by their own volition. Their mouth will somehow cry out this strange language, one that their mind doesn't even understand. The sermon scrawled upon the parchment will begin to pour from their throat, streaming into the air and echoing through the sky. This ancient message will reach the ears of her kin, and they shall surge forth to listen. Locusts of impossible size and number will swarm to the bearer, eager to hear these long forgotten words. This audience shall pour from every corner, and they will join in this alien hymn. From their wings buzzes their song, and from their slavering mandibles comes their prayer. Their worship will be the devouring of every plant they can find, down to the very last grain. Acres of crops will vanish in seconds, as the masses swallow it in a reverent frenzy. When the harvest is depleted, they shall turn upon the storehouses and cupboards, surging into homes to feed on every scrap. No food shall escape their hunger, and as long as the sermon is spoken, they will never be satiated. Those who bear this scroll must fear it power, as it will not stop when the crops have been depleted and the pantries emptied. If the sermon continues long after the last piece is eaten, the swarm will then seek blood. The beasts of the land and the creatures of the field will be turned upon, the razor jaws shearing through flesh. Once they have been reduced to gnawed bones, the populace will then be next. The swarm will no know mercy or hesitancy, they shall devour everything that moves. If the words continue to pour forth, they will consume cities. The people will vanish into these hungering swirling clouds, leaving behind only bones and shredded clothing. They will feed down to the very last soul, which includes the bearer. If they surrender themselves to the sermon until the very end, the locusts shall turn upon them and feast. When their barbed limbs sink into the bearer's throat and their hungering mandibles tear out their tongue, the mass shall come to an end. The sermon is finished, the words have been spoken and the audience shall take their leave. What will be left is a dead land, devoid of all life, and not a single locust shall be found. To avoid this fate, the bearer must be prepared to tear themselves away from the scroll. The language desires a host, and the words will latch on in desperation for a voice. As long as they hold this infernal parchment and gaze upon its knowledge, they will be its mouthpiece. Throw it away before the hunger grows too crazed, cast it into flame if need be. Find a way to break free from its grip, lest the enraptured audience strip the land bare. When the sermon is brought to a sudden halt, the scroll shall fade and the swarms will disperse. The plague is done and its misery has been cast. Famine is sure to follow, but that is not the fate of those cursed by these plagues. The end draws nigh, and darkness is soon to fall.... -------------------------------------------------- Another one down, though I had to take some time between postings because work is just wrecking me. Thankfully got the energy to get this one out! I imagine some folk out there might like this one, cuz I hear people talking about liking legs that go all the way up or something...

#locust #bug #insect #monster #creature #ten plagues #ten plagues of egypt #art #drawing #bugs #insects

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adorkemis · 5 years

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My farm has some unusual occurrences...

With Halloween coming up I thought I'd post some stories that happened here at my little co-op farm. Its a small farm I bought with my best friend and her husband that we run and take in unwanted animals, that is when we aren't working our day jobs, charity-volunteer, or Search and Rescue cases.

So in the spirit of the season I'll start with the unusual events leading up to our first Halloween. On the night of the Autumn Equinox we built a bonfire and poured ourselves a few drinks- some family recipe Appalachian home brew.

Now, I take bonfires very seriously and had been preparing for weeks, carefully selecting the best branches and tinder, even going so far as to collect and dry out large bundles of late summer flowers and herbs to add to the top of the fire. In my family, we have a long standing tradition of welcoming in each new season with a bonfire and an important component of those seasonal bonfires are the flowers and herbs. So for weeks I had been going out to cut the necessary plants and dry them in the barn.

Now they were blazing brightly with the cut grass, weeds, and branches from our months of hard work setting up and renovating our new home and the surrounding acers.

I don't normally dance, but when I do, it is not pretty I am very, very intoxicated. So I flail happily around my fire, taking turns dancing with my friends under the bright stars and just enjoying myself free from big cities and a nice break from all our hard work.

As the night progressed the fire finally began to die down and after a few drinks I felt myself beginning to tire.

Ty, the husband of my friends asked me question that I wasn't quite able hear over the music. I thought he asked if I wanted more to drink, so I said yes. Being deaf in one ear I often mishear people.

A few moments later, I hear Ty holler out "Move!" as a large pile of debris we had stripped from the house was hurled onto the dieing flames. Krystal (my friend and wife of the pair) and I jumped back just in time to avoid the cloud of ash and embers. As I stagger backwards trying to comprehend what I had just witnessed when he again yells out for us to move just in time for me to watch him throw a bucket onto the smoldering embers. In the next instant the embers have erupted into bright yellow flames roaring skyward. The blast of heat sends all three of us onto our asses and I watch in shock as my bonfire turns into a flaming trash heap.

Black smoke rolls off the inferno, choking my lungs and making my eyes water. I crawl away when I hear Ty laughing drunkenly as the collection of boards, plaster, vinyl and trash blacken and burn. "Whoooo!" He lets out hill billy hollar. "Look at it burn!"

Krystal is now screaming at him for nearly killing us all and I just and watch quietly (and inebriated) as all my weeks of planning go up in smoke.

For you see, when my ancestors started the first Farm centuries ago, at the birth of our bonfire traditions, it was not a way to simply celebrate the changing of the seasons. No, it was a way to show respect to the things that we do not see, the beings that dwell within the woods just outside our view. It was a way of making peace with the Good Nieghbors, or local spirits. The old stories say the tradition started with my earliest ancestors inviting the beings to celebrate with them, to thank them for their protection, and that the plants we used were a sign of respect toward that treaty. Of course as the generations go by that origin has become more of a legend, few of my extended family actually believes this ritual is anything more than a leftover from our pagan, superstitious roots. But me and my grandfather know the truth. We've seen the things that lurk at the edge of the forests, seen what they can do to livestock, livelihoods, or of course people.

So imagine, if you will, you are invited to a party. A party filled with wonderful cakes, treats, and beautiful decorations. Now imagine someone literally dumps a pile of garbage on top of it.

That essentially is what has happened.

So I sit there, unsure how to tell my arguing friends what has just happened, and finally decide to just go to bed.

The next morning I wake up in the predawn hours, hungover from our libations, I look out my window see the fire pit is still smoldering. The black smoke is now grey and I can see old wires birnt black and twisted with pits of melted plastic sticking to the stones I dug up and carried from the creek.

I sigh, put on a pair of pants and go to rhe kitchen to make the moring coffee.

As the smell of the black brew wafts through the house, my cohabints emerge from their room looking as good as I feel.

My throat feels tight and scratchy so I simply raise my mug to them in greeting and am met with simular responses.

"Sorry Ty tried the burn the house down," Krystal offers when she has her coffee prepared.

"Hey, I said move!" Ty tries to protest his actions were justified.

I sign to Krystal, who translates for Ty, that its all good. Even though it may not be.

Back at my family's old Farm we hold to our traditions very seriously, like an old woman to her purse. I don't expect my friends to understand the importance of these traditions just yet, and believe me, I know how it sounds to explain these.

But instead I finish my coffee and try to tell them I'm off to start the morning chores, but my vioce comes out in a raspy gravel, so again I sign to Krystal.

Morning chores are typically the bane of my existence, but as I have the day off from my day job so it's not as bad, and it gives me time to think. I obviously can't just write an apology letter or throw another bonfire, the next time to hold one won't be until Halloween- and thats just for fun, normally. No instead I'll just have to my Buck Moon ritual will be enough to protect us from any malevolent spirits we may have offended.

I will note the Buck Moon ritual is NOT one of family's ancient traditions (well, on the Farm its called the Hay Moon and we did use to do something for that) but one I deviced myself as a way protecting myself when away from the Farm and the protection of the Hay Moon rites.

Nothing exactly happened that day, though none of the chickens had laid any eggs (which wasn't too far out the norm) however as the weeks progressed I noticed a few things that hinted something might be wrong.

The milk turned sour, the bread molded, and the grass began to die while the weeds began to overtake the pasture and garden. The grain barrels (thick plastic and metal that were advertised as critter proof) in the barn were chewed through and no matter what type of traps or bait I used the elusive culprits were still at large.

The chickens continued to not lay eggs and we soon went from an overwhelming plethora of tradable goods to a tiny stock barely able to feed ourselves. Not to mention that my voice had still yet to return making my job at the animal hospital very difficult to perform properly. My manager had to pull me aside and ask when I would be seeing a doctor about. If I could have laughed I would have but instead I was sent home early.

When the third week started of me being continuously mute and down to my last 6 eggs I new something had to be done. But the final motivation was when one of the horses, Cowboy, got sick. Immediately I called one of my vets and began to put my plan into action.

Thankfully the horse that was sick wasn't my horse, Prince. My family use to breed and sell horses for generations and Prince was one of the last horses born there. Prince is also very important to the Buck Moon ritual. As an avid hunter I normally follow all the hunting laws to a T, however for the Buck Moon I can only hunt in the middle of the night on horseback. Prince is the only horse we have trained for hunting so he's my only hope.

The day of the hunt I set everything up. My saddlebags, bow and arrows, along with a few less than normal trinkets. And in the express interest of keeping this long story short, I'm just going to skip ahead to the part where Prince and I return just before dawn with yearling buck being dragged behind us. Maybe I'll get a chance to explain more about it. How finding the deer took all night and the other beasts we saw in those woods, Gas Mask Gary, and how when we finally made it back with an hour to complete the ritual I was covered in blood and exhausted but still I got it done.

Work was not fun that day but luckily my sore throat was better and I had fresh eggs for breakfast. Along with some venison steaks.

I believed that the ritual had worked and soon our fall vegetables would be ready to harvest and everything wouldnbe back to normal.

To my relief, it was. Our vegetables and eggs were taken to market and our horse, Cowboy, was better almost overnight. I could finally talk again and had almost forgotten everything until October 30, the night before Halloween.

Like I said earlier we are renovating the house and one of the last rooms is the Krystal and Ty's bathroom- the master bath. We had ripped out the old vinyl and redoing some of the plumbing which left a small hole in the floor. We had all pretty much gotten ready for bed and Ty and I were outside with our last cigarettes for the day when we heard Krystal scream from the bathroom. We tossed our cigs and both ran toward the bathroom, Ty rapping on the door. "Babe, you alright?" He called thrpugh the door. Inside we could hear quiet the cacophony of noise, like bull in a China shop type deal. When Krystal started yelling again Ty and I burst through the door.

Krystal was armed with broom like a lance 8n one hand and towel like a whip in the other. And emerging out the whole in the floor was a black eyed, foam spitting raccoon. Its little claws dug into the vinyl leaving deep grooves and a horrific coughing, gagging noice emitted from its throat.

"Its rabid!" She yelled and jabbed the broom at it.

I've seen a rabid raccoon before, and so has Krystal, we've both worked those kinds of cases but this raccoon was different. Yes they will try to run up and attack, but it looked different. Like its skin wasn't on right and the sounds it made weren't what I had heard from raccoons- rabid or not.

Finally the little beast pulled itself free from the whole and ran, on its hind legs toward. All three of screamed but Krystal armed with her trusty broom hit it with everything she had and smashed its head into the cabinet.

For a moment the raccoon wobbled a few steps before it fell over, the mishape of its body more pronounced but even more damning was the blood running out its eyes and nose. Thick, black, tar like blood oozed from its head and the smell of rot and shit filled the bathroom.

Ty and Krystal nearly gagged as the smell hit us.

"What the fuck is that?" I head Ty ask as he pulled his shirt over his noes.

"It tried to kill me!" Krstal yelled. "I was trying take a shit and it climped up with its little paws!" She made a hand motion mimicking the raccoon reaching threw the whole. "We patching that whole tonight."

"Why does it smell so bad" Ty asked. "I ain't touching it."

I was oy half listening (well, less so than I normally can) and took the broom from Krystal to poke the thing.

As soon as the bristles touched the body the raccoon jumped back up, making even more gagging noises. I slammed the broom immediately on top of it, screaming again.

I grabbed a glass sitting on the counter and threw it onto the writhing beast. As soon as the water splashed onto its patchy fur a hissing could bebheard and steam rose from its now thrashing body.

"Holy fuck!" They screamed while I simply responded "Thats where I put the Holy water!"

The demonic raccoon was screaming and convulsing on the floor infront of us as the water burned it.

Krystal turned to me. "Why was there holy water in my bathroom?!"

I shrugged. "Divine intervention? But now we know its a raccoon corpse possessed by a demon."

Krystal threw her hands up. "Oh that is wonderful! Demon coon in the house!"

I looked back at Ty. "Can you help me grab my things?"

He just nodded, somewhat dumbfounded. I guess this was his first possessed raccoon.

It only took a few minutes to gather the stuff I would use. However there was one last thing I needed.

"So, I can't really banish it without its name and raccoons don't have vocal cords so I need to put it something that can talk." I looked Krystal in the eyes with a pleading look.

She shook her head. "Oh hell no. We are not doing that. Can't we use my in-laws?"

"Hey!" Ty was not amused. "Why can't we use your family?"

"We're not using anyones family!" I was tired and the circle I had made for the demon wasn't going to hold forever. "Krys, please."

In defeat she sighed and left the room for few minutes. While she was gone I prepped Ty on what was about to occur. I handed him a blessed knife I had and told him "If it leaves the circle, no matter the vessel, stab it hard enough to pin it to the floor." He looked at the long blade and just nodded.

Krystal camd back in with her son's Tickle Me Elmo doll. That thing gave us all the creeps but now it would be put to some good use.

I made second circle with very specific symbols, not dissimilar to the first one that held the Satanic flailing beast and drew a kind of infinity like symbol touching each circle. Krystal placed the Elmo doll in the new circle and I began the ritual.

If you have only seen exorcisms in movies or tv you will think there has to a Bible, screaming, and lots of flailing along with green pea soup.

It's possible all of those things could happen if you are dealing with humans, especially eccentric ones. A raccoon corpse on the other hand, not so much. The only difficult part I have is not knowing the demons name and the time crunch I have on the circles. Once the water dries, I probably won't be able to hold it back. And yes, like I told Krystal I can banish it but it could just pop up right back. And then we could be in a loop trying to constantly send him back and forth back and forth. Instead, I can trap him in a body that doesn't have claws or teeth or rabies. Which is what I did.

The words don't matter so long as you believe them, so long as you give them power. Now that doesn't mean I can just say whatever I want. I have a long monologue I use that took me years to perfect. It's written in few languages most ancient Hebrew and Hellenistic Greek with a bit of Gaelic thrown in for that extra punch. These are the languages that are strongest to me.

Except I have to read them slowly, if I mess up a single syllable I have to start all over. And I have a mild speech impediment. And worse sometimes.

Carefully I pronounce each syllable, its still a race against time and if mispronounce anything I will have to start over.

The smell of rot and shit is getting worse and the demon-raccoon starts convulsing madly. The black blood is still flowing from its head but as it slamns it head and claws at its body the black tar leaves smoldering smudges in the bare floor.

I'm nearing the mid point of the ritual and motion to my roommates to leave the room. Krystal tries to get my attention, to tell me no she is staying there but I pour all my focus into the words I'm spewing. If anything goes wrong, and the demon doesn't go into the proper vessel it could easy posses my friends. And while a simple wooden door won't keep a demon from possessing a host, if there is only one visible option they typically take it.

I hear the soft click of the door behind me. I raise my voice and the raccoon is now actively ripping fur and flesh off itself. The most ear peircing scream emits from its maw of broken teeth, I can see black blood gurgling in the back of ots throat. My stomach almost feels sick but I push on.

I hold up my left hand and draw a second knife along my open palm. I didn't want my roommates to see the self mutilation that is part of this exorcism. I hold my bloody hand above the irate demon. I let the blood drip a new circle around the demon.

The smell of apple blossums, cedarwood, and salt water mixes with the demonic stench from the raccoon. Its enough to be overwhelming and for a brief moment I almost stumble over the final phrase but it comes out well articulated.

The sound of bones snapping fill the room as I watvh the raccoon literally brake in half, part of its spinal column protruding from the stomach. Black blood spew from its mouth, filling the circle.

In the neighboring circle I hear the little voice box of the doll come to life. "Elmo loves you!"

Stupid fucking demons.

I scoop up the now animate doll and hand it to Krystal. "I had one rule!" I yell as I stumble to my room. "No goddamn demons!"

The next day, Halloween, was like any other day. I went to work, did my chores, rode my horse. The new addition of locking Helmo wasn't too offsetting. He still gets out of his case and walks around, rather poorly, but so far he can't do much. Aside annoy us with his flailing and constant prerecorded chatter. "Hehehe. That tickles!"

"No shit, Helmo!"

"Fuck off, Helmo!"

Sometimes, when he is too much, we put him in shoebox. Other times we might even take a stab at him. He doesn't like that.

But the arrival of our wayward demon isn't what upset me. No, what upset the most was what happened Halloween night and the next morning.

As we sat around the bonfire Halloween night in our costumes with our drinks and smokes I glanced up. Through the flames, at the edge of the woods I could see a tall, lean figure in a hoody. The flames reflected off the lenses of the gasmask that covered his face and I felt a cold shutter run down my spine. Gas Mask Gary is the biggest enigma in the town, but his presence always means something strange and possibly dangerous is going to happen.

The next morning when I rose up to care the animals before getting ready for work, I saw something unusual in the extinguished firepit. In the predawn light I walked over closer to inspect it.

A door made of hard carved wood with a plain handle lay unmarked as if raising out the soot and ashes.

Fuck. A Door to Nowhere.

#Halloween #devils night #story #series #reddit #caliete #nosleep

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anistarrose · 5 years

Text

Some Sunny Day - Chapter 10: Happy to Know (Gravity Falls - Same Coin Theory)

Summary: It’ll all out in the open now.

Warnings: Suicidal ideation (no one dies)

Previous / Next

The Beginning (see here for AO3 link)

Just a quick foreword for this chapter and the next one: now that the main cast members are all realizing the truth, they’re going to be expressing some opinions on the situation (interpretations of the theory) that are not necessarily my own, and may not reflect the overall direction this fic is taking. The truth is out, but there’s still a lot that needs to be worked through, so if this chapter feels like a downer, don’t worry — this fic is tagged Hurt/Comfort for a reason that will (eventually) become apparent.

(The Same Coin Theory is by @dubsdeedubs and @renmorris!)

Stanley’s mindscape was changing.

Ford somehow remained blind to it until he tried to stand up, only to fall back down to his hands and knees as the floorboards shuddered and swayed beneath his feet. All around him, walls buckled and planks were torn out of place, rearranging themselves to craft new hallways, new connections between memories.

Hissing geysers erupted from cracks in the floor, the scalding-hot plumes weaving deftly around him as their steam escaped through the holes in the roof. Some of the clouds took longer to drift out of sight, and as they hung lazily in the air, Ford could make out images in them — a rift, a shooting star. A fire, a fist. A statue.

The steam even seemed to seep out of the walls and floor themselves, sapping the darkness from the wood as it grew lighter and lighter, brighter and brighter until it burned Ford’s eyes just to look at. The grain patterns in the planks shifted and flickered like waves of fire, taking on a blue hue as they leapt out of the wood and into the air, chasing away the last wisps of darkness to render Stan’s mind in all white and light gray, accented by the yellow gleam of the knots in the walls as they all shifted to fixate their gaze on Ford, unblinking.

He covered his eyes, but the images stayed seared in his memory.

***

Stanley laughed — a long, hearty laugh that would have brought tears to his eyes and a sore sensation to his gut, had he not been immaterial and invulnerable, free from the oppressive laws of physics as the undisputed master of the mindscape.

Oh, it had been so long — so long since he’d last looked beyond where his cataract-ridden human eyes could see, since he’d last snapped his fingers and rewritten the rules of the universe however he deemed fit, so long since he’d last consciously thought about how ancient and how powerful he was, how much he was truly capable of when he set his mind to it…

He didn’t know whether to call it ten months or sixty-two years, but it had been so long, too long.

So long since he’d last cheated someone out of some precious time in possession of their own body, so long since he’d razed a dimension from the inside out and danced as it went up in flames, so long since he’d —

So long since he’d tortured his former pawn (his future brother) to give up the equation confining his reign of terror to a single town, so long since he’d left it up to chance which child (which nibling) he’d kill in cold blood, to convince Ford that he meant what he said about hurting those kids —

Fuck, fuck, fuck —

More and more memories kept rushing back, some already remembered from a different perspective, but many worse than anything a still-amnesiac-Stanley would have ever dreamed of. Dimensions burnt to the ground, deals struck and puppets claimed, eyes dripping blood and cutlery jabbed into arms —

He had always known on some level, he realized.

(No, not realized. Admitted.)

He had known since the blue flames first flickered up around his fingers that morning, and he had known since he first found the prisms in Ford’s house and been struck by a wave of déjà vu, as long-slumbering memories grew restless in their sleep. He had known since he’d swung back and forth on a rusty swingset on a beach, staring at the six-fingered hands gripping the chains of the other swing, and addressed their owner by a nickname from a prophecy written centuries ago, in a cave two thousand miles away. He’d known ever since the blue fire of the burning mindscape had faded away, and he’d opened two eyes in a hospital in New Jersey, mind blank but not truly empty.

He just couldn’t admit it to himself and stay sane. He didn’t dare risk reawakening the demon that lurked in his memories, bound in place by the flimsy chain that was his newly acquired conscience — but it hadn’t just been about self-preservation, or even the preservation of the rest of the world, had it? He hadn’t been able find the courage to admit it to his family, either, to tell them who he was — and then, even worse, to explain how he’d known and lied about it for so long, for as long as he’d known them. How he’d lied until he couldn’t remember what was a lie and what wasn’t.

And he didn’t know how to tell them that all the lying been futile, in the end, because denial could erase memories but not actions. Not who, not what he was. His very identity as the others saw it — as even he had been foolish enough to see it, for sixty-two years — was nothing more than just another con. Just another fake name.

All belief of being Stanley Pines abandoned, Bill Cipher raised a hand to cover his mouth and screamed.

***

The one remaining column of steam in the room exploded just as Ford pulled himself to his feet, and winds tore across the room, howling in agony but miraculously not knocking him down. On unsteady feet, a figure with disheveled hair but an impeccable suit and tie walked falteringly forwards, away from the site of detonation — and despite himself, Ford stepped towards him.

“Stanley? Are you —”

Stan’s head jerked up, and he stared at Ford like a deer in the headlights. “No! No, don’t come any closer, I —”

His feet lifted off the floor, and waves of pixels and static rippled up his body as he gritted his teeth, form flickering back and forth between human and —

And something Ford couldn’t quite make out, human and —

Human and —

A sickly yellow triangle materialized out of the static, single eye unblinking as thin black limbs dangled limply towards the ground.

“Well,” he said, in the quietest voice Ford had ever heard emanate from Bill Cipher, “you probably see why you shouldn’t come near me.”

Ford’s stomach churned like it had been thrown into perpetual free fall, and his eyes unfocused.

“What did you do to him?!” he howled. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BROTHER?!”

“Nothing,” Bill said, hands curling into tiny black fists as his appearance flickered and morphed into Stan once again. “I got some bad news, Sixer.”

“Stop pretending to be him!” Ford snarled. “I know you’re really Cipher, so stop — stop making a mockery of him like that! Stop pretending!”

“I have stopped.” The being that took on Stan’s appearance looked genuinely upset, shaking his head slowly and refusing to make eye contact for more than a fraction of a second. “I was — I was pretending for a really long time, but —”

“You’re not making any sense, St—” Ford barely caught himself, and corrected frantically. “No, I mean — fuck. What do you fucking want from me, Bill, that —”

Stan took a shaky breath — the type that often comes when tears are starting to dampen one’s eyes, and they’re trying not to let them creep into their voice. “I really had you convinced, didn’t I?”

He closed his two eyes, after another burst of static, Bill opened his one. “Sixer, I… I was always Stan.”

“What?! No, of all the bullshit — is this some reincarnation angle you’re going for? Because you clearly died long after Stan was —”

“Time doesn’t work like that, Ford! You went rooting through my memories, you saw me invoke the Axolotl — that big frilly know-it-all exists way outside of any backwards and forwards or cause and effect, you must have figured that out by now! I invoked it back when I was burning in my own damn mindscape, when I didn’t actually want to die, and you know what it thought? It thought I was worth saving — oh, and not just saving, but worth shoving me back into your lives like I hadn’t ruined them enough yet!”

“Don’t talk like that about him! Don’t talk like you are him! I won’t fall for your tricks, Cipher, I —”

“I don’t want it to be true either!” Bill wailed, and a fiery blue tear fell from his eye, continuing to roll down his cheek as he turned back into Stan. “You have no idea, I — I want more than anything to to go back to just a couple days ago, to being able to pretend everything is normal and only thinking about spending the summer with you all! But — but it’s not — I can’t pretend anymore! I’m too dangerous to all of you!”

His hoarse voice broke every few words, so full of anguish and so unmistakably Stan. So far beyond anything Bill would ever have the capability to fake.

“There’s — there’s got to be memories getting mixed up in here somehow,” Ford whispered, and though he tried to sound comforting it ended up sounding more like a desperate prayer. “We’ll get this all sorted out, Stanley, don’t worry —”

“You can’t sort out what was never mixed up in the first place!” Bill yelled. “Why won’t you just listen to me, Ford? What about — what if I show you something you remember too?”

The Shack shuddered, planks groaning as they moved to make way for a new door that was dragged out from the hallway by an unseen force. Blue flames ignited around the knob as it twisted open on its own, letting the door swing open to reveal —

Earlier this June, about two weeks ago. Ford shuffled cards as Dipper and Mabel pulled chairs up to a table, and Stan carried in a bowl of fresh popcorn.

“Alright, what are we doin’ for teams?” he asked, setting down the bowl. “Ford and I are obviously unstoppable together, so it’s only fair if we both team up with one of you kiddos…”

“Yeah, ‘cause you both count cards…” Dipper muttered under his breath.

Stan ignored him and folded his hands together, making a point with his index fingers as he gestured between Mabel and Dipper. “Eenie meenie miney… you.”

Dipper flinched as Stan landed on him, staring at his pointed fingers with horror for a moment before taking a few hurried steps backward. “I, uh…”

Stan frowned. “Something wrong?”

“Oh, no,” Mabel murmured. “It’s a Bill thing, isn’t it, Dipper?”

Dipper started to shake his head, but then sighed and pulled down his hat. “Yeah. He… he said that to me a couple times, and now I just…”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Stan said. “Tell me right away if I ever use a bad phrase like that again, okay?”

Dipper nodded, and Ford put a hand on his shoulder. To Stan, he whispered: “I think I remember hearing Bill use that phrase once, but… aside from that, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it from anyone but you. Did he — did he steal your catchphrase?”

Stan shrugged. “I dunno, but I hope he didn’t steal anything else. Dipper — or any of you, actually — are there any other words you guys want me to avoid?”

The other three Pines shook their heads, and Stan smiled, passing the bowl of popcorn in Dipper’s direction. “Well then, let’s play some euchre before the popcorn gets cold. I got fancy with this batch and made it on the stove, ya know.”

The door to the memory slammed shut, and Ford bit his lip. His hands were trembling at his sides, fingers curled so tightly that they ached like hell, and he couldn’t bear to look down at them in fear he might find them bleeding.

“Coincidence,” he choked out. “It has to be.”

“What will make you believe it, Sixer?” Stan asked. “Fuck, even that nickname should clue you in! Did you ever think it was weird that the two of us both called you Sixer, and just the two of us?”

“Bill must have stolen it from you. Like he stole —”

“That nickname came from the zodiac and you know it! I know you know it, so why can’t you just — just — just look at yourself, Stanford!”

The air shimmered between them, forming a surface so pristine and perfectly reflective that Ford almost thought he was still looking at his twin, view unobstructed — but Stan had been silhouetted in blue flames just a moment ago, while Ford’s reflection was awash with darkness. Clouds circled him slowly, not a single spark of lightning seen in the air between them, and they blurred together with his trenchcoat as it flowed in the gentle wind, disintegrating into tiny gray droplets at the hem. Dark paths traced from the corners of his eyes down his cheeks, running off his chin and down his neck towards his sweater, where they bled into the wool and stained it black.

And the hands, unmistakably six-fingered and undeniably his own, were dripping dark liquid too — not the blood he thought he’d felt, but relentless cascades of black, feeding rivers that hissed and steamed as they ran across the floor’s glowing planks.

“Don’t you see? You’re drawing all the darkness left in my mind towards you because you’re the one in the deepest denial now — but trust me, Ford, it’s not gonna last forever. Something’s gonna snap you out of it sooner or later, so it — it might as well be now. Just accept that I’m not who you thought I was.”

“Fuck,” Ford whispered. “Stanley, you — you’re — you really —”

Stan rose above the mirror, still cloaked in flames as his body convulsed into the form of Bill once more.

“You said no one is allowed to say Stanley is worthless, but guess what? ‘Stanley’ isn’t real. He was just another lie, invented by an amnesiac dream demon who almost managed to convince even himself that he deserved to have a family.”

His voice broke again, but he looked at Ford in the eye as he continued:

“Face it, Sixer — you never had a twin.”

“No!” The dark clouds and blue fire both blew back from Ford as he yelled, voice echoing in his own ears like a grenade going off. “Reincarnation is one thing, but — but there are some things that I’ll never — that can’t —”

He lunged at (Stan? Bill? His brother? He didn’t know) but his hands and then arms passed harmlessly through the triangle, flickering and fading to white — and then Bill’s body turned transparent too, seeming to almost catch him off guard.

“Oh,” he whispered, and transformed back to a faint, quickly fading outline of Stan. “Guess it’s time. See you on the other side, Sixer.”

And then Ford couldn’t see anything anymore, but he could hear a high, echoing voice call out once again as if from far away:

Remember, a deal’s a deal.

***

“Alright, that should be it for the barrier,” Fiddleford announced as he stood up from his kneeling position and watched a glowing blue dome briefly flicker into existence around the sleeping Pines. “Remind me not to leave these mercury vials here on the floor after this has all blown over.”

“How will we know if it works?” Melody asked.

“Great question! I have no idea, an’ hopefully we’ll never hafta find out.”

“Real reassuring,” Wendy muttered under her breath. “Hey, how long do you think it’ll be before —”

Ford leapt bolt upright and tossed the pillow he’d been clutching halfway across the room. “Bill, what do you —”

He locked eyes with Fiddleford. “Fidds? Oh no, Stanley, where’s Stanley —”

He whirled around and saw Soos and the kids beginning to stir, but only Stan opened his eyes — regular and brown, no sign of possession to be found.

“Shoot me, Ford,” he whispered.

Ford froze. “No!! Why would you think I would ever do that?!”

Slowly, as if still feeling the effects of the sedative, Stan pulled himself out of his chair. “Because you promised?”

“When did I ever promise I would shoot you?”

Stan shook his head and sighed, nervously glancing at the kids and Soos and taking a few quick steps away from them while they opened their eyes and rubbed their ears. “Look, Ford, I know it’s been… a long day, but you’ve gotta remember. You promised you’d kill me if Bill took control, and I’m feeling — I’m feeling pretty in-control of myself right now, so —”

“What?” Soos jumped to his feet and grabbed ahold of Stan’s arm. “Mr. Pines, what are you saying? You can’t — you can’t leave us, you’re —”

Stan tore himself out of Soos’s grip and rushed to Ford’s side. “Just get it over with! Please!”

He ran both hands over his skull, yanking on fistfuls of his own hair. “You have to, before I end up hurting someone! Please, I — I — I fuckin’ killed you enough times in Weirdmageddon, I deserve this! Don’t you want to get revenge on me?! Don’t you want to protect your family?!”

“You what?! Grunkle Stan, what do you mean?!” Mabel grabbed ahold Ford’s trenchcoat, voice rising as she clasped handfuls of the brown fabric in trembling, balled-up fists. “What does he mean?!”

“Don’t say that, Stanley,” Ford breathed. “For the kids’ sake, I can’t —”

Stan’s gaze drifted towards a spot the floor a few feet away, fixating on a pale blue chunk of moonstone. He’d noticed the barrier, Ford realized a second too late.

“Fine,” Stan whispered as he stepped backwards. “Then I guess I’ll just have to… take care of it myself.”

“No! Don’t go! Don’t you dare leave us like —”

Ford lunged after him, but Stan backed out of the barrier too quickly, and Ford’s hand passed right through Stan’s shoulder as he disintegrated like smoke in a gust of wind. A single tear fell from where Stan’s face had just been, striking the floor without a sound.

“Grunkle Ford, what happened?” Dipper’s voice cracked. “We found Bill’s memories, and then he — Bill glitched out, and it felt like the whole mindscape was gonna get torn apart —”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Ford said. “I — I don’t know what to believe.”

“Stan’s not — that wasn’t Bill just now, was it?”

“I don’t know.”

Dipper went silent, leaving the quiet sobs from behind him as the loudest sound remaining in the room.

“He’s really gone,” Soos wept. “After everything, he’s just — he’s just gone —”

Ford took a few steps backward and slowly laid an arm over Soos’s broad shoulders, eyes still fixed on the damp spot where Stan’s tear had struck the floor.

“He’s still out there somewhere,” he insisted, “he has to be. I would know if he wasn’t. I’m sure I would.”

He wasn’t sure. That — that entity, with Stan’s eyes and Bill’s memories, almost certainly had the power to destroy its own self in an instant, and Ford had no reason to believe that it hadn’t just done so. (It might not even matter, if Stan wasn’t even in there anymore. Or if he’d never been in there in the first place —)

But baseless hope had pulled through for Ford countless times before, and once again, it was all he had to go on now.

“Stanley is still out there,” he repeated, “and we need to find him.”

***

End notes:

I chose Ford’s POV for this chapter because it made certain scenes a lot more horrifying/impactful, especially the part with the mirror, but I realized while editing that the result is a bit of a trade-off in which Stan’s motivations become a little less clear, so I’d like to clarify: the reason Stan doesn’t immediately leave the new unicorn hair barrier is because he doesn’t trust himself to end his own life, and in fact doesn’t really trust anyone besides Ford to do so. It’s only when Ford shows he’s clearly not willing to cooperate that Stan leaves, realizing that taking it into his own hands is the best option he has left. (Also, as much as he’s convinced he has to die… it’s still terrifying to him, and he doesn’t want to leave the world all alone. It’s not his main motivation for his actions at the end, but it definitely plays a role.)

Anyways, feedback/reblogs are appreciated as always! Next update should stick to the every other Monday schedule that I’ve been attempting!

#gravity falls #same coin theory #stanley pines #bill cipher #stanford pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #soos ramirez #fic: some sunny day #rosalia writes fic

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skylanders-after-the-end · 5 years

Text

Queen Midas

The Golden Queen has spent hours and hours wandering through an endless desert. After months of travelling and avoiding getting caught, the villainess thought that she had finally reached her home. However, she soon came to the realization that it was just a random desert without a single palace in sight.

“Curse this no name desert! I should have never gotten onto that ship that brought me here.” The queen mumbled to herself as she continued to stomp through the yellow sand.

The sun was burning, unbearable for any regular creature. Luckily, goldlings were not as sensitive to the heat and could easily withstand such high temperatures and the lack of hydration.

“There is absolutely nothing useful in this desert!” The woman once again talked to herself and began to regret her choice of abandoning the Doom Raiders and going her own path.

Golden Queen squinted her eyes when saw something shimmer in the distance. Filled with new hope, she quickly ran over to the object. With greed in her eyes she reached a sphere made out of pure gold which was sticking out of the sand. She leaned down and was about to grab the valuable treasure, but it was stuck. At first, she thought it must be too heavy, but even after using her powers without any success the desperate queen knew that something was off. Then she suddenly had an idea. Golden Queen took a couple of steps back and focused on the golden ball. She raised her hands slowly and the entire ground started to shake. It was like an earthquake, the grains of sand were thrown up into the air and spiraled like a cloud of dust. The goldling smiled as the object started to move upwards, revealing that it was part of an entire palace buried underneath the sand. After a few more moments of the queen moving the entire building up, it stood in its full glory again.

“Finally, something I can work with!” The queen smiled sinisterly as she ascended onto the steps leading to the entrance of the palace. This could be the beginning of her new reign.

The Golden Queen’s reign over her home, the Golden Desert, has lasted for many years. She was the youngest member of the royal goldling family who ruled over the land for as long as anyone can remember. The king and queen were just and wise rulers, treating their subjects with respect and generosity. Gold was their most prized possession, but the rulers were not greedy since it was common in their land. Instead, they distributed their gift to the rest of the world. Legends even say that they were the source for all gold in Skylands. But their daughter, at the time named Golden Princess, was not as benevolent as her parents. Even though they wanted to raise her to be a good-hearted person, her greed always got the best of her, until there was nothing left that they could do.

The royal guards in front of the Golden Princess’ room stood there patiently, but neither of them could hide their fear. The goldling spawn was stomping through her room as if she was trying to break through the very floor. It was her 16th birthday and the princess was outraged by the gift her parents have given her.

“A book!?” She yelled for the fourth time in less than a minute. “What in Skylands am I supposed to do with a book!?”

The bratty teenager threw the piece of literature against the wall before it dropped down to the ground, falling open on a certain page. After scoffing some more about the ridiculous gift, the Golden Princess wanted to pick the book back up and throw it into the nearest pit. However, as soon as she laid eyes on the open page, the princess became interested. It was a book about her family’s ancestors and the page documented the reign of the mysterious King Midas, who was assumed to be the first goldling. She held the book in her hands and read through the many words and sentences. The princess reached a part which said that the ancient king possessed never before seen powers that could turn anything he touched to pure gold. The girl’s red jewel eyes sparkled in an eager light.

Golden Princess slammed the door to her room open, causing the guards outside to jump up in surprise. She made her way through the dark halls of the Golden Palace until she reached the outside, strolling to one of many small brick walls surrounding the building where she would be at peace. One more time, the princess read through the paragraph about the former king turning objects and even living beings into gold, before putting the book aside and focusing on the structure in front of her. She closed her eyes and stretched her hand out, thinking of nothing but gold. The girl attempted to activate her powers by shaking her hand, but without any success. She opened her eyes just to see the wall still in its plain dusty state, without any hint of gold. The goldling punched the air with frustration before her entire skin started to glow in the sunlight. Finally, a beam of golden energy bolted out of her hands and hit the wall. It instantly turned into solid gold and the princess interrupted her tantrum to smile with pure joy after seeing the result. The Golden Princess grabbed the book and hurried back to the palace, she wanted to prove to her parents that she is the only one truly worthy of the throne.

It didn’t take the Golden Princess long to reach the throne room where her mother and father, the current rulers of the Golden Desert, have spent most of their day. With the book tightly in her greedy hand, the princess walked up to them and caught everyone’s attention.

“Mother, father, I want the throne!” The Golden Princess said without any hesitation and full confidence in herself.

The parents looked at each other blankly before looking back at their daughter and laughing. “Sweetie, we’ve talked about this.” The humored father responded. “You are to wait in line to take seat on the throne. You are the youngest of your siblings, so you will be the last to inherit it.”

“That doesn’t matter!” The princess stomped her foot so heavily that an echo travelled through the entire area. “I am the most deserving of the throne, and I will prove it to you!”

The goldling looked over to one of the guards, who returned a rather frightened look. She held her hand up and closed her eyes to focus. In a few short moments, the princess shot a golden ray straight at the guard which turned him into a golden statue. She smiled upon that transformation.

The king and queen were shocked. They just witnessed their daughter wielding powers which haven’t been seen since King Midas. “Who taught you that?” The mother asked completely bewildered.

“He did!” The Golden Princess opened the page in the book about the first king Midas and presented it to her parents. “I am the chosen descendant to possess his powers!”

The rulers were at a lack for words and could only look at each other baffled. “We gave you the book to learn about your ancestors, not to revive his legacy!” The king said in a stern voice.

“But he was the first king and I have his powers!” The princess immediately argued against her father. “I should be-”

“Enough!” The king silenced his stubborn child and stood up from the throne. “Go to your room! We need to have a talk about this in private.”

The Golden Princess inhaled furiously and twirled around to run back into her room. Meanwhile the other guards observed their frozen companion and tried to reverse the mysterious transformation.

The king stepped into his daughter’s room and sat onto the large bed, which was covered with all kinds of jewels and other valuable accessories.

“Goldy.” The king addressed his daughter with her nickname that only the parents knew of. “I am glad you took the time to read through the book we gave you, but there is something you must know about King Midas.”

The princess was in her bed rolling her eyes at her father’s words. She just wanted the conversation to be done with so she could continue to argue about her heritage of the throne.

“King Midas was a very… ruthless king.” The worried king began and remembered the dark tales his own parents told him about their ancestor. “He was gifted with the power to turn anything he touched to gold, but he decided to abuse them. He started to turn the food and water into gold whenever he was in a bad mood, and it got to the point where he turned his subjects into statues as well.” The father was very concerned and scared about his daughter repeating that mistake. “I don’t want you to go down that path as well. I know that you’re frustrated you won’t get the chance to be queen because you’re the youngest, but being a princess also grants you a lot of power and-”

“Who said I will never be queen?” The Golden Princess finally spoke up and looked her father in the eyes.

The king sighed and wanted his spawn to understand that she can’t have everything. “Goldy, it’s highly unlikely that you will outlive your youngest brother before you get onto the throne-”

“I don’t care about that!” The princess raised her voice and a glowing light emitted from her body. “I have those powers for a reason. They were lost for centuries, but I discovered them again, that’s why I should be queen next!”

“Goldy, enough of this nonsense!” The king lost his soft attitude and felt it was time to use other measures to put the princess in her place. “You will follow the rules just like everyone else and wait on your time, with or without powers!”

“I will not!” The young goldling yelled and glowed even brighter. “I will become the next ruler!”

“You will not!” The father countered. He raised himself from the bed and had enough of his daughter’s tantrum. “You are to stay in your room until I tell you otherwise, understood?”

“No!” The princess clenched her teeth and denied her father even further. “If I won’t be the next queen… then I will be the queen right now!”

She stretched out both of her arms and shot a powerful golden ray at the king, turning him into a statue immediately. Instead of panicking or feeling remorse, the sinister goldling smiled and stepped out of her room to finally take what she believes is rightfully hers.

The young princess arrived at the throne room where her mother was patiently waiting on the king to return.

“Where’s your father?” The queen asked slightly concerned after seeing her daughter’s satisfied gleam in her eyes.

“He won’t be coming back.” The Golden Princess answered, leaving her mother without words.

“What have you done?” The queen rose from her chair and approached the princess. “Tell me!”

The Golden Princess grabbed her mother’s wrist as soon as she got close enough and slowly started to turn her into gold. “The same thing I will do to you.” She started to glow, and before the queen could react, she ended up as a golden statue as well. The merciless teenager then looked up and saw the crown on top of her mother’s head. She reached up to grab it and put it on her own head, symbolizing that she was the new queen.

The Golden Princess went on and froze the guards, allowing her to walk up the stairs to the throne and sit on it. The princess smiled as she was now the highest ranked member of the family, and no one could take that away from her. The subjects of the kingdom were summoned to the throne room to witness the chilling sight of the frozen queen and guards and the greedy princess sitting on top of the king’s throne.

“Where is the king?” One of the citizens asked.

“He’s gone.” Golden Princess answered while one of the remaining guards carried the king’s golden body into the throne room, leaving everyone in utter shock.

“You are speaking to your new superior, peasants!” The Golden Princess didn’t hesitate to make her position clear and already set the tone for her reign. “You may address me as the Golden Queen.”

The following years have been the darkest the kingdom has known since King Midas’ reign of terror. The Golden Queen was ruthless and couldn’t care less for her subjects. She denied them any privileges that her parents allowed them before and only cared about the gold they brought her. Everyday, all of the citizens would have to pay the queen with all of the gold they could find in the desert, otherwise they would end up as one of her golden statues that she proudly set up around her palace. Her older siblings were banished from the desert and never seen again, leaving the Golden Queen as the last sole ruler of the kingdom. Her reign has reached the point where her subjects starved to death and their lifeless bodies could be found in the hot sand of the Golden Desert. However, the queen knew that she couldn’t do everything on her own, so she used ancient magic to revive the citizens as undead soldiers, leaving them no choice but to serve her.

The Golden Queen’s reign went on for many decades, centuries even. With undead soldiers guarding the entire desert and keeping intruders from getting too close to the palace. It wasn’t until one day, the former pharaoh and ruler of the Golden Desert, Grave Clobber, returned from the dead just to find his kingdom in the clutches of the goldling queen. He and his brothers ruled long before the line of goldlings, but due to their dysfunctional relationship they ruined each other and left the kingdom without any ruler, allowing Midas to take over all those years ago.

Grave Clobber arrived at the Golden Palace, where he was able to get past all the guards, mostly by beating them to dust. When he reached the throne room, the Golden Queen was outraged to see a stranger who dared to face her.

“What is the meaning of this!?” The queen stood up and started to glow in her rage. “I will not tolerate any intruders! Guards!”

The few remaining soldiers who were meant to protect their queen hurried to the throne room, but they were all intimated by the mummy’s presence. “What are you doing in my palace?” He finally asked the goldling.

“Excuse me?” Golden Queen spit the words out to express her outrage. “I am the Golden Queen, ruler of the Golden Desert. I don’t know, nor do I care who you are, but you will obey me!”

“I am Grave Clobber, pharaoh and ruler of the Golden Desert.” The hefty being didn’t even think about giving up his kingdom just because his brothers buried him alive and he couldn’t escape for hundreds of years. “And you will give me my kingdom back.”

The Golden Queen laughed. A hollow, wicked laugh that echoed through the entire building. “You must have taken a wrong turn looking for your tomb.” The queen teased the emotionless mummy. “Bad Juju! Take care of this!”

Upon those words, the spirit emerged from the sand which was present throughout the entire palace. With a staff in her skeletal hand and a swift movement, she teleported herself right next to the queen. “How may I be of service, your highness?”

“Use your magic on this imbecile so that he follows my orders without hesitation.” Golden Queen didn’t want to waste any more of her time and turned around while her servant fulfilled her demand.

“Gladly, my queen.” Bad Juju was about to cast a spell on the mummy that would turn him into one of Golden Queen’s slaves.

“Wait!” Grave Clobber interrupted the process and caused the Golden Queen to stop from walking away. He realized that he stood no chance against the queen and her minions, so he bargained. “I can make you an offer.”

The goldling slightly turned her head so that she could see the mummy from the corner of her eye. “I’m listening.”

“I know the desert. I know all of its secrets and hidden treasures. If you let me rule by your side, we could expand our kingdom and conquer all of Skylands!” While he would prefer to rule the Golden Desert on his own again, he was willing to share it with Golden Queen rather than being one of her mindless servants.

“Why would I want to share what belongs to me?” The queen turned around again to look Grave Clobber into his hollow yellow eyes. “Then you would take all of my gold! I did not collect gold for all those years just so someone could take it away from me!” The queen stomped her foot with such force that a small crack appeared underneath her. The insatiable greed for the mineral was all that was on the goldling’s mind. She didn’t care about the benefits of another experienced ruler, all she wanted was gold.

“Gold?” Grave Clobber was confused about the queen’s absurd obsession. “Gold will have no use to you when your kingdom falls apart and gets taken over.”

“Nonsense!” The goldling yelled furiously, stomping once more and spreading the crack. “Gold is the most powerful weapon anyone can have!” While gold has always been of great value in the kingdom, the queen’s parents were never as greedy as their daughter and always tried to keep her from becoming like this. “We all live because of gold. You need gold to eat, you need gold to sleep, you even need gold for love!” A toxic mindset that was natural to the goldling was that you could buy anyone’s love with enough gold. The fact that her parents used the gold found in the desert to help others and thus gain respect and a certain position in society gave her the impression that it was the ultimate form of power. “There is nothing I desire more than gold! It is the purest of all minerals and the most wanted product in all of Skylands!” The goldling smiled with greed as she looked around herself and saw all the gold surrounding her. She wanted to have as much of it as possible, even going as far as to create a golden river running through the throne room underneath her. “I don’t need the power of ruling over the Skylands! I already have the greatest power! Gold is power!”

With her final sentence the Golden Queen raised her foot once again, just to let it sink to the ground with such power that the floor underneath her gave in. Before Bad Juju or the queen could react, she fell through the stone floor and landed in the river of liquid gold. Bad Juju gazed through the hole with shock. She could see a few air bubbles rise to the surface until they disappeared. There was no sign of the queen.

Grave Clobber felt no sympathy and instead of looking for the queen, he approached the throne.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bad Juju held her staff tightly and hovered in front of the chair.

“I’m taking back what’s mine.” Grave Clobber wasn’t in the mood to argue and simply pushed the spirit aside. Before he could take seat on the throne however, Bad Juju cast her spell on the mummy, causing him to stop and turn around.

“You will not do anything as long as the queen doesn’t tell you to.” Those were the words the mummy would live by from that moment onward. Just another one of Golden Queen’s loyal subjects.

Even though Golden Queen possessed the rare golden powers, the goldling wasn’t able to free herself from the shimmering substance she fell into and turned into a golden statue herself. Her servants didn’t know how to help her, so they decided to create a pedestal on top of her throne and put her onto it, serving as nothing more than a glorified decoration. Many years after that, due to a mysterious event, the queen was set free and more powerful than ever before. She searched for more villainous creatures that would help her conquer the Skylands to reclaim all the gold that has been stolen from her home. They were later known as the Doom Raiders.

Now the Golden Queen has finally found another place she could claim for herself. After the temple emerged from the sand and she entered it, the goldling recognized it right away. It was one of the royal family’s former domains. Under King Midas’ reign the people of the desert lived here and followed his every order. Legends have it that it used to be one of the mighty Arkeyan’s temples. The Golden Queen was delighted and soon found the throne in the heart of the building. It was even more glorious and intimidating than the one at home. She knew that if she wanted to rule the Skylands and claim all the gold for herself, she would have to build an army. She sat down on the throne, as that was the place where she came up with the best ideas. She then noticed something shimmering in one of the corners of the hall. It looked mechanical, almost robotic. Her jewel eyes opened wide when she realized exactly what that was. The legends were true after all. The queen started to laugh. It echoed throughout the entire palace and got louder with each passing moment. The wicked sound could be heard beyond the thick walls and far into the deserted land. The villainess finally found a way to win.

#skylanders #skylanders after the end #after the end #ate #original story #fanfiction #golden queen

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heavenskiriot · 6 years

Text

Memories of Africa

I actually started writing this at a poolside table in Botswana, but did not end up finishing this while I was on the continent. I finished this once I was home and decided to save it for when I was feeling nostalgic. So here it is: a collection of memories and moments in Africa.

Morocco

Ethiopia

Namibia

Desert stretching on for miles, bathed in warm, golden light | the fine sand runs through my fingers, not a single grain can be held | Gemsbok eye us suspiciously | the mornings cold yet still | the sun rises in the distance and silhouettes a hot air balloon | climbing high sand dunes | the ethereal salt pans contain ancient trees and ancient mysteries | the night sky speckled with thousands of stars, counting meteors, distant galaxies, the southern cross above.

Botswana

A pack of wild dogs seek shade from the hot sun, the pups take this opportunity to chase and play | elephants gather for an evening drink at sunset | a giraffe lazily chews leaves from an acacia tree while keeping an eye on us | a mother hippo protecting her young | the low growl from a lion in the dead of night | an elephant runs across the road | the delta stretches far and wide from beneath our bush plane | a morning visitor, a proud lion, traipses through camp | steaming rooibos tea and rusks each morning | rushing out into the bush before sunrise | children yelling and waving as we speed past | a herd of elephants charge into the water, lush green grass awaits them | the wake dances in the setting sunlight as the day ends and the journey continues elsewhere.

Zambia

South Africa

Sunsets over quiet beaches, save a couple taking a stroll and dogs playing in the waves | driving along the coast, waves crashing below and the mountains looming high | Atlantic storms that allow for a quiet, restful day in bed with movies to be watched | boat rides with waves crashing, people laughing, and seals resting along the dock | colorful chalets | kids cartwheeling down the beach and diving into the cold water | small penguins with big personalities enjoying life and a swim even if the wave will always bring them back to shore | the furthest south you’ve ever been when you began this year the furthest north you’ve ever been and it makes you feel so small in this big world.

Tanzania

Zebras at sunrise, the light golden upon their backs | hyenas laughing outside my tent | dancing with the Maasai | ‘vintage’ South African wine | our long dinner table, full of food and full of laughter | lion cubs cry for their mother, then bravely jump down the tiny rock ledge that blocked their way | mambo, jambo, asante sana | rare animals that your guide is sure we won’t see, and then there they are | leopards playfully chase each other through an acacia tree | bike rides through villages while being chased by local children | riding underneath towering banana trees | fried plantains and banana beer | the vastness of the Serengeti | witnessing your fellow travelers seeing all of this for the very first time.

Mozambique

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noita-taika · 7 years

Text

Notes on “Tales of Finnish History – The Pagan Times“

Tales of Finnish History – The Pagan Times, Chapter V - by Julius Krohn, 1877

ISBN 978-952-5774-02-3

Notes by Hukkatar / @noita-taika

Disclaimer: The original text is in Finnish and written in an old font. I have done my best to translate accurately what I have deemed to be the most important information. Please do not hesitate to send me asks!

1. The general nature of the religion

Ancestors believed everything has a spirit. Not only did they speak to animals as if they were people, but also things such as e.g. iron.

At the birth of iron, it had been tainted by snake’s poison, corrupting its true purpose.

To addition to all of the spirits, there were countless haltija that took care of nature. Every stone, tree, river, and animal, including humans, had a haltija that took care, guided and protected

Hukkatar’s note: In modern Finnish, haltija means “owner of something”, while haltia is used when talking about elves and sprites. However, when these two words are spoken out loud they sound exactly the same. I believe that these words most likely didn’t have any difference for the ancient Finns – an elf of the tree is a haltija.

If someone wished to call for something or protect themselves from something, they would turn to the haltija of that thing with prayers and offerings.

Not all haltija are equally powerful. Some were tied to specific trees or species of trees, while others had under their control the entire element. E.g. Pihlajatar is the haltija of rowan, while Tapio is the haltija of the forest.

The more powerful haltija were also called gods.

Ukko, the god of the sky, was considered the High God. However, while he did have a large influence and was often prayed to, most of the gods were independently powerful in their own elements.

2. Ukko, the Sky God

Ukko, being the first revered god, was often simply called ‘Jumala’, meaning god, which is nowadays the word for the Christian God.

The origin of the word ‘jumala’ comes from the word ‘jumu’, or thunder, and the suffix –la indicates a location. Therefore, ‘jumala’ means home of the thunder - the sky.

Hukkatar’s note: Other such similar words are: Tapiola, Ahtola, Pohjola, Tuonela

When other gods began to appear, the name Ukko was given to the Sky God. It is an honorary name that showed people saw him as the High God.

Other names: Sky Father

Pitkänen, for ‘pitkänen’ (lit. long one) also means lightning, his weapon

Pauanne, for ‘pauke’ (lit. loud noise) means thunder, his voice

Ukko means ‘old man’. He was described to wear blue socks, colorful boots, and a fiery shirt. The rainbow was his hunting bow, from where he shot his steel arrows. His sword, Lightning, had a fiery blade that gleams and was pulled from a fiery sheath. But the most terrible was his voice, which even enemies didn’t wish upon each other

Ukko lived on the ninth heaven, upon the clouds, himself on the center of the sky. The road there went amongst the stars.

As the Sky God, Ukko took care and governed all the events that happened in the sky. Therefore he affected peoples’ lives outside; hunting, fishing, farming

Protected and took care of human and cattle. He was also a master at medicines and people prayed for him to drop some of his miracles with the rain. Wounds and pestilences were seen as evil spirits, and thus Ukko was prayed to defeat them with his sword and arrows. He also punished murderers, thieves and other evil.

Naturally he was also a god of war with his fiery weapons. He had a different name when in his war aspect, Turisas (also Tursas, Turis, Taara, Tyrjä), never used in other occasions

3. The Creation of the World

Despite Ukko being seen as quite mighty and powerful, the Finns didn’t believe this world to be only his creation. The only part which Ukko did was to separate the elements: with his hand he separated water from air, from water he separated the earth. However, everything was left unshaped and unorganized.

In the air, where it was very lonely, the youngest of the Air Maidens, Ilmatar, descended into the sea and became pregnant. A bluebill bird noticed Ilmatar’s knee poking out of the sea, and laid its eggs there. While incubating these eggs, Ilmatar moved her knee and the eggs broke into bits and pieces. From these pieces the world was formed.

At this point, the rest of the work was given to the sons of Kaleva (Kalevanpojat).

Hukkatar’s note: Referencing to Mythologia Fennica, Kaleva was a giant and a father of 12 sons; most of the names are forgotten. Kalevanpojat were also giants who worked miracles on the land

Väinämöinen, who was born from Ilmatar, and was the oldest and the wisest of all the sons, arranged the waters and lands into a more orderly fashion.

Pellervoinen decorated the land with all sorts of plants; pines, spruces, birches.

Ilmarinen, the great smith, raised above the heavens. He forged the Skylid (Taivaankansi).

The nature of creation of living beings varies and they didn’t all appear at once. Different poems tell the creation of these beings

4. The Haltija of the Sky

Maidens of the Sky (Ilman Immet)

Daughters of Nature (Luonnottaret) also lived in the heavens, usually weaving and spinning.

Utu-tyttö or Terhenetär weaved fog

Uteretar made the steam in the sauna have healing properties

Päivätär, who weaved the silver of the sun; sun goddes

Kuutar, who weaved the gold of the moon; moon goddess

Otavatar, haltija of Ursa Major

Tähdetär, star goddess

Also male deities were present

Päivä-poika, god of day. People prayed him to return the next day. During winter they asked him to start the next cycle of the year.

Kuu-poika, god of night. All important things should begin when the moon is waxing to ensure good luck.

Poika Pohjantähti, god of North Star

Three homes in the heavens; Päivölä (home of day/sun), Kuutola (home of moon), and Tähtelä (home of stars)

Tuuli, wind god (* of varying moods and loyalties

*)Tuuli is today a feminine name

Tuuletar, wind goddess, daughter of Tuuli

Etelätär/ Suvetar. Goddess of summer winds and cattle.

Puhuri/Hyytämöinen, God of cold and north

Pakkanen, son of Puhuri. God of north wind.

5. The Haltija of the Sea

The highest haltija of the sea are Ahti (also Ahto, Ahta) and his wife Vellamo. Ahti is described to be an old, honorable man, with seaweed as his beard and sea foam as his clothes. Vellamo on the other hand beautiful, dressed in a reed dress. She is usually more even-mooded and helpful to humans than her husband

Live in Ahtola, in the bottom of the ocean, but also visit waters inland.

Have a large amount of children and servants, mainly female

Vellamo’s maidens

Aallotar, goddess of waves

Kuohu-neiti, goddess of rapids

Melatar, goddess of paddles

Pikku-mies (lit. little-man); first appears as a tiny little man, barely up to the belly of the woman. However, he suddenly grows up tall enough for his head to reach the clouds. Cut the massive oak tree that prevented the sun and moon from shining for Väinämöinen; also known as Tursas, Iku-Turso.

Asked for help when fishing or traveling on water

Everything that goes underwater becomes Ahti’s. Drowned people become his servants. Many treasures which Ahti uses to test humans from time to time. The pieces of the broken Sampo fell into the sea.

6. The Haltija of the Forests

The ancient Finns thought the godly beings of the forests to be the most benevolent and helpful. As hunting and gathering were the main sources for food and materials at the time, this is only natural. Although Ukko is mighty with his thunder and lightning, the people loved more the haltija of the forests who gave them food to their bellies.

This changed when agriculture became more important. Ukko’s power and position rose considerably.

Tapio is the highest forest haltija with his wife Mielikki. Tapio is described to be a very tall old man with lichen as his beard; a hat made out of sprigs, and a jacket of moss. Due to his tall hat, he is also sometimes called Hippa.

Hukkatar’s note: Hippa is still one of the most popular games in Finland. The game itself is similar to tag, where you yell “hippa!” when you catch someone. “Hippasilla” also means to hide in a playful manner from something.

Tapio is described to be very precise with his kingdom and in all his doings.

Mielikki, sometimes called Mimerkki or Simanter, is the gentle forest hostess. She is described to be clean and dressed in a blue cloak and red socks. By nature she is gentler than her husband, an skillful in many ways. She carries the golden keys to Tapiola

Nyyrikki, son of Tapio, takecarer of squirrels

Hillervo or Tellervo, daughter of Mielikki, takecarer of otters

Tuulikki, daughter of Mielikki, goddess of grain

Metsän tytöt (Forest’s girls) or Sinipiiat (blue maidens) – Mielikki’s servants

Every tree species has its own haltija

Hongatar, Tuometar, Katajatar, Pihlajatar, Lemmes

Some animals have been nursed or brought to life by Mielikki or by one of her many children

Käreitär was the mother of foxes

Live in Tapiola, in the wildest of the Wilds. Also called Metsola, Lumilinna (snow castle), or Sarvilinna (Horned castle)

Three castles stand side-by-side; one of wood, one of bone, one of stone

Mielikki serves there mead (sima)

7. The Haltija of the Earth Mother

There was little agriculture in ancient Finland, and what prayers were needed for the crops usually went to Ukko as he controlled the weather. However, the people still believed that the Earth itself also had a haltija, often called Maaemo (earth mother), Eukko or Akka (old lady). She is said to be Ukko’s wife. Together they watch the world, one from the heavens, and one from below the earth.

There are a few mentions of other haltija of agriculture; Pellervo or Pellervoinen, one of Kaleva’s sons, sometimes called Pellon Pekka; the Finnish harvest festival Kekri was most likely held in honor of the god himself, but if Kekri was a separate entity or another name for Ukko is not certain.

8. Tuonela or Manala; the Underworld

All dead went to a place below the earth, far away from the living, across nine and a half oceans. What marked the border of Tuonela was Tuonen joki (Tuoni’s River), a river of black, angry water. It encircles Tuonela and was never mentioned without fear. Vows made by the river were the most sacred, most binding ones.

Tuonen tyttö (Tuoni’s daughter) ferries the dead across the river. Her face is dark and in her heart she is evil like the other denizens of Tuonela.

Everything is in Tuonela the same way as in the world of living, but by nature more evil and deadly. The soil is full of adders and the beer given to Tuoni’s guests is full of frogs and worms.The only source of light is a cold moon.

The ruler of Tuonela is Tuoni, other names are Threefingers, Mana and Manalainen. His wife is Tuonetar or Manatar, an ugly hag who weaves iron string. From this string Tuoni makes iron nets that his son, Tuonen Poika, uses across Tuoni’s river catching the undead that try to flee. Hence the saying: “Many go to Tuonela, but few return.”

Tuoni himself didn’t kill. Usually he sends Kalma to take care of it, or one of the deadly diseases. Loviatar, also Louhi, created diseases. She is the worst of Tuoni’s daughters, the most evil of Manattaret (female haltijas of Manala). She gave birth to nine diseases; sting, colic, gout, rachitis, eschar, cancer, abscess and plague. Her ninth son was the witch.

Hukkatar’s note: In some occasions Louhi is considered to be the wise of Tuoni or even the true ruler of Tuonela.

Another Tuoni’s daughters Kivutar or Kiputytyttö (pain daughter), took care of Kipuvuori (Painmountain) or Kipumäki (Painhill), which stood in a delta of the Tuoni river. It was possible to ask for her aid to take illnesses or pain, punish it, and force it to return to the mountain.

The dead work as servants to the haltijas but otherwise continued life as they had when living. Evil people Tuoni punished by giving them burning stony beds with adders as covers

Dead spirits were greatly respected and feared, but if pleased could give invaluable help and advice.

9. Hiisi and Lempo

A different kind of evil from Tuoni, Hiisi was maliciousness himself. He was called also Lempo or Paholainen. Hiisi and his people lived under the mountains, in a place called Hiitola. Other names are Piru and Perkele, words that come from the Samí thunder god Perun and Perkunas

Hukkatar’s note: Paholainen and Piru are today used to name the Christian Devil.

Hiisi’s favorite past time was to cause havoc and chaos. He created Syöjätär, an evil she-demon who then gave birth to animals like snakes and frogs, and caused their nature be corrupted. Hiisi also created wasps to sabotage Ilmarinen’s work and thus corrupted iron.

However, the ancient Finns rarely saw haltija as only evil or good. Ukko could sometimes seek revenge, or Ahti drown someone to get his treasures. Hiisi could be asked to punish robbers or ask for his moose to quickly ride the pain away.

10. Sukkamieli

Sukkamieli (lit. sock mind) or Lempi was the Finnish goddess of love. She had the power to alter the minds of others, for good or bad. Young women had various rituals to make prayers and offerings to her and ask for love.

11. Celebrations

At the end of November, the ancestors were ready for the winter and held a celebration for the upcoming year, called Vuodenalkajaiset. This was also time when the dead were allowed to come check on the living, which is why it’s also called Henkien päiviksi. The sauna was heated up as if someone was going to use it, and good food was brought to the ancestor spirits to enjoy upon. If pleased, they would give many blessings to the living for the year to come. The host himself would welcome the invisible guests and a day later wish them farewell. The dead also enjoyed silence, and people went to great lengths to avoid causing noise during these liminal days.

Kekri was most likely the same celebration

Another main celebration was Vakkue or Ukon Vakat in May, when the seeds were sown into the earth. A vakka was filled with sacrifices and then taken to a sacred mountain for Ukko. This was to ensure a good summer weather so that the crops would grow and hunt plentiful. Helajuhlat were also celebrated around this time. Girls and boys would dance around a bonfire, called helavalkeat. To young girls women wished luck with marriage, and to women girls wished luck with children.

Hukkatar’s notes: These two celebrations, Kerki and Hela, are in nature very similar to Samhain and Beltane. Vappu is Mayday, a somewhat modern thing but I believe it happens at the same time as Hela and/or Vakka did – it simply was too cold to sow the seeds before May. The image below is my take on the Finnish Wheel of Year with personal touches. The year begins from Kekri (Samhain). Take it for whatever worth; I only have historical evidence of Kekri and Hela/Vakka/Vappu.

12. Sacrifices and Sacred Places

Usually sacrifices were given as ways for the haltijat to have a taste of what the people have to offer, or to please by giving the best. Animals were usually offered to the forest haltija, while silver to the water haltija. To Ukko people gave only the best, such as sheep, oxes, or goats.

Sacred places were high mountains, clear springs, raging rivers, certain trees or rocks, entire areas. The name “Pyhä” in front of a place name tells of a sacred location. E.g. Pyhäjärvi.

To the haltijat of the house, offerings were usually placed in corners or in places where they could take them without being seen. Most households also had a specific tree (usually a spruce) where they took their offerings.

13. Seers

Often the master of the house was also the priest of the house. He took care of any dealings with the haltija as he was a haltija of the household in a manner, too. But for bigger workings a seer was called. Although priests, they were also doctors and diviners.

Like the Samí in the North, it is thought very possible that the seers used drums in their workings. However, when Christianity came the seers changed their tools into less suspicious ones.

The seers also used songspells while dancing and thus entering a trance state. They could, for example, sing about the creation of a disease and then ask why it is bothering this person. By knowing the creation of things, it was believed the seers could control it to some degree.

When the seer fainted or otherwise entered an altered state of mind, it was believed he had entered to world of haltija, where he could access divine knowledge that had been beyond his limits before.

Hukkatar’s note: So the word ‘to be in trance’ would be ‘olla haltijoissaan’

While his body lay as if dead, it was said his spirit moved as a bird, or a fish, or whatever shape necessary for him to take. Sometimes he had to go to the Upperworld, where Ukko and his folks lived, or visit Tapiola, or Ahtola, or even Manala. The journeys to Tuonela were the most dangerous ones.

Because seers usually knew better prayers and poems to the haltija, they were usually also the ones to ask, beg, threaten, pray or otherwise alter whatever was going on. Since everything has a haltija, it was possible to affect them.

Seers were both women and men, but more commonly men. Usually the songspells and the skills were passed on from father to son, mother to daughter. The songs were public property and were sung by everyone, just with varying degrees of knowledge and skills. Sometimes they took pupils in which case it was important for the pupil to get a new name.

Skillful seers were of course held in high respect. Wisdom and the skill of spells was considered more valuable than courage. Some powerful seers have become haltija, for example Väinämöinen and Ilmarinen ascended to godhood after the events in Kalevala.

Let me know if there’s anything you wish to ask!

#suomenusko #finnish paganism #paganism #finnish mythology

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legobiwan · 3 years

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I am so happy the little exposure I have to Twitter is confined to baseball highlights and the occasional reddit shitpost link. I can't imagine willingly searching out that platform for content, yikes.

#hello there #i basically only log into reddit and tumblr these days #maybe facebook like once every two weeks #and fuck linkedin paradong around like it's some kind of professional website #ancient grains yells at a cloud #get off my digital lawn hahahahahaa #no but srsly just seeing second hand reports of twitter fandom drama gives.me hives #yikes

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imjustthemechanic · 7 years

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The Stone Knight

Part 1/? - Two Statues Part 2/? - A Curious Interview Part 3/? - John Doe Part 4/? - Escape Attempt Part 5/? - Making the News Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - More Impossible Part 8/? - The Shield Thieves Part 9/? - Reality Sinks In Part 10/? - Preparing a Quest Part 11/? - The Marvelous History of Sir Stephen Part 12/? - Uninvited Guests Part 13/? - So That’s What It Does Part 14/? - The What and the Where Part 15/? - Gearing Up Part 16/? - Just Passing Through Part 17/? - Dinner with Druids Part 18/? - Kracness Henge Part 19/? - A Task Interrupted Part 20/? - The Red Death Part 21/? - Aphelion Part 22/? - The Stone Giants Part 23/? - Nat the Giant Killer

I don’t think I need to elaborate on the chapter title.

As the alarm rang, people came running out of buildings all around, some of them carrying firefighting equipment, to react to the emergency – then stopped and looked around in puzzlement when they couldn’t see anything on fire. There were no golems visible, either, and for what felt like several minutes, though it was probably only a few seconds, people just milled around, confused and asking each other hushed questions.

Then there was a tremendous groan and crash, and one of the big holding tanks at the east end of the complex collapsed. From where Natasha was standing it was only possible to see that it had fallen, not why or whether there’d been anything in it, and she was able to hope for a split second that it had been empty. Unfortunately, it had not, and the thousands of gallons of refined oil spilling out of it didn’t take long to find a spark. It went up with a woosh, pouring black smoke into the air.

A moment later, the party responsible appeared. There were three golems, and the collapsed tank had coated them all in burning oil, meaning they weren’t just inhuman lumbering figures three times the size of a man – they were also on fire in the late evening dark as they stumped up the road between the buildings looking for humans to crush. No wonder most of the employees simply turned and fled, running indoors to hide or down to the docks in the hopes of escape.

Natasha did not move. Her training had taught her that the moments when she most wanted to panic were the times she most needed to stay calm and think. How did you fight something like this? The stones had stood on that headland for millennia, all but indestructible. Sir Stephen seemed to have some theoretical knowledge of magic, but if he’d known how to counter this surely he wouldn’t have been trying to defend himself with a sword and shield. Or would he? Maybe he just hadn’t had the time or materials to break the spell. It didn’t matter anyway, because he was lying half-conscious in the infirmary. His healing might be quick but it took place over hours, not minutes. Sir Stephen could not help.

“Natalie!” Rushman, still cowering in the back of the jeep, reached out the window to tug on her jacket. “We have to run! Natalie!”

“Let go of me!” she snapped, jerking away. Nat had no time for this man or his cowardice right now. She had to save not only his life but that of every other person on this island, if she could only figure out how. Maybe the refinery would have some explosives… maybe somewhere on the island there was some leftover ordinance from the abandoned military base…

Then she had an inspiration – and its source, oddly enough, was not training or weaponry. It was archaeology.

The prehistoric people of the Orkneys had merely found slabs of stone broken along their natural grain and set them upright, but there were other stone circles in the British Isles whose creators had gone to a little more trouble. Stonehenge, for example, was made not of shards but of tidy blocks, which had to be quarried. Before they’d had steel tools to cut through the rock, the ancient Britons had used heat. They would build a fire against a piece of stone to heat it up, and then splash cold water on it, forcing it to contract and split. The golems were already on fire. She needed water.

Sharon had gone to take shelter in the infirmary building. She was yelling and gesturing for Rushman and Natasha to join her. Rushman was still in the jeep, as if it could somehow protect him. Nat climbed into the driver’s seat.

“I think there’s a boat waiting,” Rushman said, putting his seat belt on. “Everybody’s gone down that way. I think there’s a boat.”

“Shut up,” said Natasha, starting the engine. Anywhere else on earth, she would be able to get water from a fire hose, but they wouldn’t have those here because water was no good for putting out the kind of fires an oil refinery worried about. She would have to look elsewhere. She made a sharp u-turn, and drove towards the golems.

“The other way! The other way!” said Rushman, hanging on to the back of the seat in front of him as if for dear life.

Nat ignored him. She headed for the nearest golem and stopped about twenty feet shy of it. It stepped towards her, and she drove off again, slowly enough this time that it could follow her. Sir Stephen had said these were like machines, only following their programming. In this case they seemed to be programmed to go after the nearest humans. Hopefully they weren’t smart enough to realize that the human wanted to be followed.

A second golem joined in the chase. On the edge of the facility there was another woosh as another tank collapsed and the oil it spilled met the burning residue of the first. With flaming golems plodding along behind her, she turned onto the ring road, and from there she spotted what she needed – a big onion-shaped tank with the Roxxon logo painted on it, held up on a high tower and lit from below by two floodlights. She accelerated towards it.

“Get out,” she told Rushman.

“What?” he asked.

“Get out of the car,” she clarified.

“We’re still moving!” he protested. “I’ll get hurt!”

“Either jump out and get hurt or stay in and get killed, it’s up to you!” said Nat.

He took a deep breath, opened the door, and more fell than jumped, landing in a heap and rolling away to land in the roadside ditch. Nat revved the jeep up as fast as she could, then kicked the door open and somersaulted out while the jeep kept going.

She didn’t dare look back. She just grabbed Rushman and forced him ahead of her up a metal ladder that led to an overhead inspection platform. They had climbed only a few rungs before the jeep impacted with the base of the water tower.

The structure creaked, then toppled over. The tank at the top ruptured under the stress, and gallons upon gallons of cold water poured came pouring out. There were three golems in the immediate area, and none of them made any effort to avoid it – indeed, their attention was focused either on Nat and Rushman or on other humans, and they didn’t appear to be aware of it at all. The water splashed over them, vaporizing in clouds of white steam that mixed with the black smoke of the burning oil – and with a series of rather musical ping sounds, the stone shattered. Flakes and fragments crumbled to the ground, some still glowing dull red from the heat of the fire, followed by larger slabs. They rolled and bounced to a stop, and while some of them seemed to twitch a couple of times it was apparently an illusion. The stones lay still, all animation extinguished with the flames.

Natasha had been worried that the water would carry a skin of burning oil, but it seemed that the ground in this area sloped in the wrong direction for that. She began to climb down, then realized Rushman hadn’t moved.

“Come down,” she told him. “There’s still more of those things.”

He whimpered, but didn’t move.

“Fine, just stay there. They can reach you,” Nat told him. She didn’t care – he hadn’t lifted a finger to save her from the Red Death’s henchmen, why should she save him from the golems?

That scared him into motion and he began to climb down, although he was shaking so badly that he nearly slipped and fell on top of her. Nat set off across the muddy, boulder-strewn ground as if she fully intended to leave him behind, and he jogged, panting, after her. There were three golems down, but more were already arriving at the complex.

People had stopped running away now, though. Natasha’s stunt had gotten attention, and the refinery employees had realized the monsters were vulnerable to heat and cold. Blowtorches and buckets of burning kitchen grease came out to set them on fire, and dry ice fire extinguishers to put them out again. The coup de gras was administered when the boat anchored at the refinery docks, a ferry to take workers to and from the island, pulled out its own firefighting apparatus: a hose that pumped water directly out of the icy North Sea.

Within ten or fifteen minutes, it was all over. Half of the refinery complex was a smoking wreck, and parts of the eastern end were still on fire, but the golems had been destroyed and people were fighting the flames and evacuating the buildings in a far more orderly fashion.

The single ferry at the docks couldn’t take everybody away, so priority was given to the ill, the injured, and those who had families in the south end village that they wanted to take with them. With all this going on, nobody seemed too interested in the group of fugitives who’d been brought in with the golems behind them. With Rushman stumbling along behind her, Natasha headed back to the infirmary to find the others.

It was a very busy place. Workers who’d already been too ill or injured to move were being put on stretchers to head down to the ferry, while those who’d been hurt or burned in the golem fight were getting first aid, with the promise of more thorough care on the boat. Seeing all the injuries made Natasha remember Sir Stephen’s words – you cannot mean to lead the beasts to more men and women! – but she shrugged off her guilt as best she could by telling herself that it wouldn’t have mattered. The golems had been programmed to kill people. If her companions had escaped the island, or if they’d been killed, the golems would have simply moved on to the next available target and that was the refinery.

Right?

She eventually found Sharon, Sam, and Sir Stephen in a little curtained-off area. Sir Stephen was lying on a cot and Sharon was holding his hand, while Sam finished splinting his bruised and lacerated legs. There was an awful lot of blood on the sheets, and Sir Stephen’s eyes were closed now, as if he were unconscious or sleeping. That immediately worried Nat. Sir Stephen’s stories had suggested he remained awake no matter how much pain he was in. Could it be the golem had actually finished him.

Sam gave her a reassuring smile. “I told them not to mess with him,” he said. “He’s getting better already – I just had them give him some morphine so he won’t suffer quite so much.”

Nat nodded, relieved.

“All right everybody!” called a voice outside in the hall. “Captain Ibrahim says we’ve got room for a few more! There’ll be another boat coming for the rest of you in a few hours. For now it’s just the sick, the injured, and children!”

The curtain opened, and a nurse looked in. “Are you sure you don’t want to send this guy back to the mainland?” she asked, eyeing Sir Stephen uncertainly.

“No,” said Sam firmly. “He can’t be moved just yet. I’m his doctor, I’ll look after him.”

Nat looked at Rushman, who had sat down in a chair in the corner and was now just staring at infinity, as if he still couldn’t quite take in everything that had happened that day. She went and put a hand on his shoulder. “Take this guy,” she told the nurse. “He’s not well.” She didn’t know about the man in the jeep from earlier, but Rushman was definitely in shock, light-headed and possibly dissociating.

The nurse nodded and extended a hand to Rushman as Nat helped him up. “Come with me, Sir,” she said gently. “What’s your name?”

“Huh?” he asked.

“Your name,” the nurse prompted again. She put an arm around his shoulders to escort him out.

“Oh. Allen. Allen Rushman,” he said. “I wasn’t supposed to… that is… I don’t know what happened. I just came up here to see my daughter. I’m missing my car club meeting.”

“It’s going to be fine,” the nurse assured him. “I’m sure your daughter will be delighted to see you.”

Little did she know, Natasha thought.

With Rushman gone, and Sam needed to look after Sir Stephen, that just left Natasha and Sharon to take care of one last important task. They needed to go back to the henge to retrieve the rest of their things – and to look for anything the Red Death’s men might have left behind.

“Now that the map’s proved useless we have no idea what they might do next,” said Nat. “I doubt they’re going to give up, so we need to figure it out.”

“Does it have to be tonight?” asked Sharon, but she stood up and stretched all the same. “I should be used to this,” she said. “When you’re trying to solve a case you don’t get breaks. Even when you’re sleeping, you’re still thinking about it. I’ve come up with ideas in my dreams, and had to make myself wake up so I could write them down.”

“Sam,” Nat agreed. “It doesn’t sound very different from spying, actually. Maybe I should have been a detective instead of an archaeologist.”

They found a couple of utility flashlights in a closet, and headed for the infirmary entrance. “Why archaeology, of all things?” Sharon asked.

“Because when I was a kid I liked Indiana Jones movies,” Natasha replied, smiling.

Sharon smiled back. “Is it everything you hoped for?” she asked.

“It’s getting there,” said Nat.

#natasha romanov #black widow #steve rogers #captain america #sam wilson #falcon #sharon carter #agent 13 #fanfic

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dfroza · 4 years

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Today’s reading in the ancient book of Psalms

for monday, may 18 of 2020 with Psalm 18 accompanied by Psalm 61 for the 61st day of Spring and Psalm 139 for day 139 of the year

[Psalm 18]

A David Song, Which He Sang to God After Being Saved from All His Enemies and from Saul

I love you, God—

you make me strong.

God is bedrock under my feet,

the castle in which I live,

my rescuing knight.

My God—the high crag

where I run for dear life,

hiding behind the boulders,

safe in the granite hideout.

I sing to God, the Praise-Lofty,

and find myself safe and saved.

The hangman’s noose was tight at my throat;

devil waters rushed over me.

Hell’s ropes cinched me tight;

death traps barred every exit.

A hostile world! I call to God,

I cry to God to help me.

From his palace he hears my call;

my cry brings me right into his presence—

a private audience!

Earth wobbles and lurches;

huge mountains shake like leaves,

Quake like aspen leaves

because of his rage.

His nostrils flare, bellowing smoke;

his mouth spits fire.

Tongues of fire dart in and out;

he lowers the sky.

He steps down;

under his feet an abyss opens up.

He’s riding a winged creature,

swift on wind-wings.

Now he’s wrapped himself

in a trenchcoat of black-cloud darkness.

But his cloud-brightness bursts through,

spraying hailstones and fireballs.

Then God thundered out of heaven;

the High God gave a great shout,

spraying hailstones and fireballs.

God shoots his arrows—pandemonium!

He hurls his lightnings—a rout!

The secret sources of ocean are exposed,

the hidden depths of earth lie uncovered

The moment you roar in protest,

let loose your hurricane anger.

But me he caught—reached all the way

from sky to sea; he pulled me out

Of that ocean of hate, that enemy chaos,

the void in which I was drowning.

They hit me when I was down,

but God stuck by me.

He stood me up on a wide-open field;

I stood there saved—surprised to be loved!

God made my life complete

when I placed all the pieces before him.

When I got my act together,

he gave me a fresh start.

Now I’m alert to God’s ways;

I don’t take God for granted.

Every day I review the ways he works;

I try not to miss a trick.

I feel put back together,

and I’m watching my step.

God rewrote the text of my life

when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes.

The good people taste your goodness,

The whole people taste your health,

The true people taste your truth,

The bad ones can’t figure you out.

You take the side of the down-and-out,

But the stuck-up you take down a peg.

Suddenly, God, you floodlight my life;

I’m blazing with glory, God’s glory!

I smash the bands of marauders,

I vault the highest fences.

What a God! His road

stretches straight and smooth.

Every God-direction is road-tested.

Everyone who runs toward him

Makes it.

Is there any god like God?

Are we not at bedrock?

Is not this the God who armed me,

then aimed me in the right direction?

Now I run like a deer;

I’m king of the mountain.

He shows me how to fight;

I can bend a bronze bow!

You protect me with salvation-armor;

you hold me up with a firm hand,

caress me with your gentle ways.

You cleared the ground under me

so my footing was firm.

When I chased my enemies I caught them;

I didn’t let go till they were dead men.

I nailed them; they were down for good;

then I walked all over them.

You armed me well for this fight,

you smashed the upstarts.

You made my enemies turn tail,

and I wiped out the haters.

They cried “uncle”

but Uncle didn’t come;

They yelled for God

and got no for an answer.

I ground them to dust; they gusted in the wind.

I threw them out, like garbage in the gutter.

You rescued me from a squabbling people;

you made me a leader of nations.

People I’d never heard of served me;

the moment they got wind of me they listened.

The foreign devils gave up; they came

on their bellies, crawling from their hideouts.

Live, God! Blessings from my Rock,

my free and freeing God, towering!

This God set things right for me

and shut up the people who talked back.

He rescued me from enemy anger,

he pulled me from the grip of upstarts,

He saved me from the bullies.

That’s why I’m thanking you, God,

all over the world.

That’s why I’m singing songs

that rhyme your name.

God’s king takes the trophy;

God’s chosen is beloved.

I mean David and all his children—

always.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 18 (The Message)

[Psalm 61]

A David Psalm

God, listen to me shout,

bend an ear to my prayer.

When I’m far from anywhere,

down to my last gasp,

I call out, “Guide me

up High Rock Mountain!”

You’ve always given me breathing room,

a place to get away from it all,

A lifetime pass to your safe-house,

an open invitation as your guest.

You’ve always taken me seriously, God,

made me welcome among those who know and love you.

Let the days of the king add up

to years and years of good rule.

Set his throne in the full light of God;

post Steady Love and Good Faith as lookouts,

And I’ll be the poet who sings your glory—

and live what I sing every day.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 61 (The Message)

[Psalm 139]

For the worship leader. A song of David.

O Eternal One, You have explored my heart and know exactly who I am;

You even know the small details like when I take a seat and when I stand up again.

Even when I am far away, You know what I’m thinking.

You observe my wanderings and my sleeping, my waking and my dreaming,

and You know everything I do in more detail than even I know.

You know what I’m going to say long before I say it.

It is true, Eternal One, that You know everything and everyone.

You have surrounded me on every side, behind me and before me,

and You have placed Your hand gently on my shoulder.

It is the most amazing feeling to know how deeply You know me, inside and out;

the realization of it is so great that I cannot comprehend it.

Can I go anywhere apart from Your Spirit?

Is there anywhere I can go to escape Your watchful presence?

If I go up into heaven, You are there.

If I make my bed in the realm of the dead, You are there.

If I ride on the wings of morning,

if I make my home in the most isolated part of the ocean,

Even then You will be there to guide me;

Your right hand will embrace me, for You are always there.

Even if I am afraid and think to myself, “There is no doubt that the darkness will swallow me,

the light around me will soon be turned to night,”

You can see in the dark, for it is not dark to Your eyes.

For You the night is just as bright as the day.

Darkness and light are the same to Your eyes.

For You shaped me, inside and out.

You knitted me together in my mother’s womb long before I took my first breath.

I will offer You my grateful heart, for I am Your unique creation, filled with wonder and awe.

You have approached even the smallest details with excellence;

Your works are wonderful;

I carry this knowledge deep within my soul.

You see all things; nothing about me was hidden from You

As I took shape in secret,

carefully crafted in the heart of the earth before I was born from its womb.

You see all things;

You saw me growing, changing in my mother’s womb;

Every detail of my life was already written in Your book;

You established the length of my life before I ever tasted the sweetness of it.

Your thoughts and plans are treasures to me, O God! I cherish each and every one of them!

How grand in scope! How many in number!

If I could count each one of them, they would be more than all the grains of sand on earth. Their number is inconceivable!

Even when I wake up, I am still near to You.

I wish You would destroy all the wicked, O God.

So keep away from me, those who are thirsty for blood!

For they say such horrible things about You,

and those who are against You abuse Your good name.

Is it not true that I hate all who hate You, Eternal One?

Is it not true that I despise all who come against You?

Deep hatred boils within me toward them;

I am Your friend, and they are my enemies.

Explore me, O God, and know the real me. Dig deeply and discover who I am.

Put me to the test and watch how I handle the strain.

Examine me to see if there is an evil bone in me,

and guide me down Your path forever.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 139 (The Voice)

along with that lines mirrored in The Passion Translation:

You are so intimately aware of me, Lord.

You read my heart like an open book

and you know all the words I’m about to speak

before I even start a sentence!

You know every step I will take before my journey even begins.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 139:3-4 (The Passion Translation)

and concluded by this line:

“I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

The Book of Psalms, Poem 139:14 (New King James Version)

and this line inspired the title of chapter A (fear&wonder) in the book of my thought-life, in the silent music of instrumental poetry...

(A full circle of silence & sound)

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ruffsficstuffplace · 8 years

Text

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 56)

As Weiss purified water and made new solutions with them, captured the resulting gases from various chemical reactions, liquified mineral and soil samples, and carefully distilled a new batch of moonshine with gunpowder for plenty of extra kick, she had flashes back to her chemistry classes in Arcturus Academy.

Because of her reluctance to use all but the most basic and unobtrusive of mods like vaccines, she was lumped in with all the other students who had the same philosophy as her, couldn't afford them, or had the misfortune to be afflicted with Egan's Syndrome or other conditions that prevented the use of them, or seriously impaired their effects.

A lot of her classmates who flunked out or got lower grades than they wanted accused her of secretly modding, bribing the proctors and security to sneak in cybernetic or genetic enhancements so she could pass her classes with ease, while avoiding what was essentially real-world work with all the other “transhuman” students.

“Has it ever occurred to you that someone might just naturally be better at some things than others?” Weiss shot back after they had made threats about “busting” her—ones that ultimately had no teeth.

It was always just natural and easy for her, having strong hunches about what proportions her experiments needed for the right results, balancing chemical formulas, even the actions of pouring, stirring, and mixing seemed second nature. About the only times it had failed her was during the Job Gauntlet and her first attempts at processing her produce, but those were the faults of her being a stranger in a strange, strange world, and all the magic unknowingly leaking from her fingers.

Now, it turned out she was almost literally born for it, as a water aligned weaver.

“The claim that your elemental alignment completely decides your personality and skills have long been debunked, however, and there are many records of water weavers who have made terrible alchemists,” Penny explained as they waited for her mediums to cool off, or build up to usable amounts. “No one individual consists almost entirely of one element, and numerous factors affect them beside such as environment, genetics, and how they were raised, to name some.

“However, the correlations between certain personality types and alignment are incredibly strong; stereotypes are based on some grain of truth, after all.”

“What's the one for Water?” Weiss asked.

“Intelligent and adaptable, capable of being both soothing rain or a destructive typhoon as is needed, but also considered the most emotional, either volatile and unpredictable like stormy seas, or antisocial and reserved like ice.”

“Sounds like me, and every other female from my mother's side.”

Penny nodded. “Elemental alignment is hereditary, yes, as with Ruby and all the Keepers being Earth.”

“What's theirs?”

“Amiable and with great integrity and adherence to their values, if either stubborn and irrationally resistant to change like a mountain, or too easily molded such as that of clay.”

“And Fire?”

“Passionate and energetic, but oftentimes overwhelming and even dangerous. Prone to fits of anger and other strong emotions, to the point of burning everything and everyone around them, sometimes even snuffing themselves out like a pyre running out of fuel.”

“Oh yeah, that's grandpa Nick, 100%. And what's for Air?”

“Regal and confident, but sometimes too detached from the world around them—be they aloof and snobbish because of their often very high standards and unrealistic expectations, or moving through the world like a passing breeze, never staying still nor committing to anything for any reasonable period of time.”

“So my father, Blake when we first met, and Abner, with how he's a master escape artist and all.”

Penny nodded. “Ilaya and her descendants' influence have helped make him more 'grounded,' though that can also be attributed to his governor overriding his natural tendency towards flight and distraction, if not the creativity and the unusual, novel ideas that comes from 'having your head in the clouds' most of the time.”

“That is a lot of puns and similes right there,” Weiss said as she began to shut off her equipment, took finished batches off for bottling.

“Whereas Nivian reserves wordplay for literature and creative comparisons, Actaeon uses them for the actual terms,” Penny said as she helped her with the rest.

With the help a special device for funneling her creations into special vials, Weiss had a sizable row of multi-coloured mediums, a decent mix of potency for each element. She loaded the weakest from all four into her gauntlet, her smile growing ever larger as she shot out a dust cloud, set it alight with a fire ball, put it out with a spray of water, before she whisked it out the window with a gust of wind before the smell stayed.

“Shall we go test this out with Myrtenaster at the training grounds?” Penny asked, smiling.

“Let's!” Weiss said as she began to gather them all up in a bag. “Bring the others, too, I feel like showing off...~”

–

Weiss faced the fountain from last night, its ancient stone damp, moldy, and lousy with plants and fungus that grown over the years of disuse.

In one hand was Myrtenaster, and on the other, her gauntlet, the water vials glowing a faint, icy blue. She wore a Water Weaver's coat just delivered from the Terrace, its hood thrown over her head and her usual ponytail tied into a bun for safety. On her face was the specially carved mask that came with it, for protection magic and utility such as an overlay over her vision of how much of each medium she had left, and what Myrtenaster was currently attuned to. The belt Blake had made was around her waist, loaded with spare vials, a few canisters of mana-water, and an anti-magic grenade in case things went horribly awry.

She could feel her power surging all through her body as it was amplified by her runeblade and gauntlet, and sustained and controlled by her armour. It felt wonderful—not a powerful, electrifying jolt like the first time she had touched Myrtenaster, but a constant thrum that made her feel like she could do anything.

The others sat behind a magic barrier, Penny putting her hands on the generator for extra safety. All was silent as Weiss took a long, deep breath, and slowly let it go. Then, she put her hand on Myrtenaster's trigger.

“FIRE~!” Ruby yelled.

Weiss thrust her sword forward, a jet of orange flames pouring out of the tip. The fountain was completely ablaze in an instant, the mold, the fungus, and the plants turning to ash.

“Air!” Qrow cried.

Weiss spun her runeblade in the air, a gust spiraling out from her sword, feeding the flames and taking the smoke and ash deeper into the swamp.

<Earth!> Blake shouted.

Weiss sandblasted the fountain, holding her blade steady with both hands as she suffocated the flames and gave the stone a good polishing.

“WOOF!” Zwei barked.

Weiss slowly raised Myrtenaster, a miniature rain cloud forming above the fountain. She gently tapped the air in front of her, the cloud burst, a deluge of water coming down, and washing away the leftover sand.

The grooves, the reliefs of Fae weavers and the elements, and the basins all sparkled and shined like new.

Weiss turned to the others, pulled off her mask and hood, and bowed.

They all cheered and clapped, Penny putting her hands off the barrier as they came over to hug her and pat her on the back.

“That was awesome, Weiss!” Ruby cried.

“Supur cool!” Blake added, smiling.

“Gotta admit, princess, you've got a real knack for alchemy and elemental weaving,” Qrow said. “Maybe you could even start making bombs and ammo for the rest of us, help us out with our own jobs.

“Just make sure they don't explode until after we pull the pins…”

“It can also help them take on higher risk-reward targets and duties at the Watcher's Roost,” Penny said. “Though there is always an abundance of especially dangerous creatures in the wild, the Council rarely funds the necessary equipment, labour, and munitions until they become an imminent threat to the residents.

“The bounties alone will also go a long way into helping pay off our loan and getting your Eluna plushie back much sooner, not to mention improving security in the Valley—something the Council always appreciates.”

“Oooh! Ooh!” Ruby started bouncing in place. “Does this mean I can finally use my scythe's farslinger attachment more?”

“Your what now?” Weiss asked.

“It's the sniper rifle version of a spellslinger,” Qrow explained. “Also takes mediums instead of bullets, but they have to be super potent so they'll actually go that far.”

“You have an attachment for the Keeper's scythe, that also turns into a magical sniper rifle?”

“Mhmm!” Ruby said. “Have to put the blade in the ground when I fire, or else I go flying—and sometimes I do it on purpose because it's so much fun!”

“That sounds incredibly dangerous, and just outright insane.” Weiss said.

Beat.

“What do I have to do make ammo for it?”

“First, you'll have to take out more money from our loan for licensing fees and equipment,” Penny said. “Assuming you pass and your resulting products are even a fraction as powerful as your magic is, it will easily pay for itself within six months to a year.

Weiss laughed. “Never thought I'd end up in munitions manufacturing! But then again, I never really thought I'd end up in… anything like this!”

Qrow smirked. “Eh, to be fair, it's kinda hard to imagine getting abducted by supposedly mythical creatures, living in their society, and them helping you find out you have magical powers.”

Weiss was actually thinking of close friends, a loving home, and a place where she could just be herself, rather than the heiress of the Schnee Power Company.

But, they didn't need to know that.

“We should go celebrate!” Ruby said. “For Weiss finding about her powers, and for her life seriously picking up since she first got here!”

“It might also be good to celebrate while you still can,” Qrow added. “With the Eve coming in just a few days and all the general weirdness yesterday, you can be damned sure you're going to be spending a lot of your time in the Terrace from now.”

“I suggest triple chocolate cake shakes at Fae-orina's!” Penny offered. “It'll be beneficial for both the energy she's expended just now, and for her emotional well-being.”

“Won' say 'No' to that!” Blake said, licking her lips.

Zwei barked happily, picked Weiss up and put her onto his back. He held his heads up high, the others smiled and laughed as they came up to his sides, like they were all in a parade and Weiss was the star attraction.

Weiss had to laugh and shake her head at the ridiculousness of it all, before she grinned, thrust Myrtenaster in the air, and cried,

“Onwards!”

They went off to the Guild, both to readjust their loan and find out just what Weiss needed to do to get licenses for producing large amounts of ammo, high-explosives, and alcohol, and just to go shopping for materials to add some much-needed personalization to Weiss' clothes.

“If I'm going to wear them until they fall apart, I want to actually mourn their loss,” Weiss said.

But first, they were going to buy materials for their Eve of the Ether costumes.

Blake was going as a character from one of her favourite novels, “Ninjas of Love.”

With the help of a jumpsuit and life-like prosthetic hands her creators had given her, Penny was going as an actual mouse mechanic, a character from an Old World holo.

Inspired by Weiss' new mask and weaver's robes, Blake modified her original idea of an “Elven Princess” from more Old World literature, and instead made her costume like the infamous “Keeper's Bride,” one of the rare figures in the legends who survived an encounter with her by becoming her servant/lover.

After the Keeper had massacred the rest of her party, she was relentlessly hunted down and psychologically tortured for a whole week, never given rest nor peace until she went insane, and became an inhuman monster who helped her track down and slaughter her victims as a twisted, gruesome idea of date night.

And after Weiss explained to her how the humans knew and remembered her, Ruby laughed, and laughed hard, so much that they had to move to the side of the street to keep from blocking the rest of the days' shoppers.

“That's what you humans think happened?” she said she wiped tears from her eyes. “That was my great-great-great...” she continued for a while “… grandmother Myala's mate Samaria, and believe me, the relationship was totally consensual and not based on murdering people, and she didn't need to drive her insane first for her to fall in love with her!

“Sammy was always kind of crazy before she came to the Valley.”

“What really happened, then?” Weiss asked.

“She really was the last survivor of the Mystery Busters, and she was there to find proof that The Keeper of the Grove did exist, but the only things chasing her were more animals—Myala and her party were trying to lead her out of the Valley the whole week she was in there, but all whenever they did to scare her off or offer her a way home backfired, and Sammy just kept going deeper and deeper into the Valley every single time.

“Eventually, she managed to attract the attention of a Soul Eater, and even if she was one hell of a badass to survive that long all on her own, she was still human, and Soul Eaters are Soul Eaters. Myala killed before it could kill her, and she was so impressed by the fight she told her,

“'Marry me or kill me. I'll be happy either way.'”

“She did not,” Weiss said. She turned to Penny. “Did she?”

Penny nodded. “One of her party members had a chronicle.”

Weiss turned back to Ruby. “Well what happened to her after that?”

“Well obviously, Myala didn't kill her, though she did say she at least wanted to date her for a while before she decided on whether or not she wanted to marry her. Sammy went on to work for the Watchers, they did eventually get hitched, and then they had kids who married and had their own kids, and eventually we end up here, with me!”

<Samaria was one of the most legendary Watchers who ever lived, too,> Blake said. <Even before she got modded, she had all the senior watchers worrying and making plans to go to the training grounds more often.>

After Penny translated the words Weiss didn't understand and clarified what Blake meant, she asked, “You Fae have gene mods, too?”

Ruby nodded. “We don't really use them as much here in the Fae territories for a lot of reasons, but we have them. Abner can get you some, though it won't be cheap! He doesn't need Shinies, but green goo doesn't grow from trees, either.

“Well, some of it doesn't grow from trees, anyway.”

“Before you ask, 'Green goo' is the slang term for the extremely versatile substance we use for all of our genetic modification,” Penny said.

Weiss nodded, and they resumed shopping.

“Have we gotten everything for our costumes?” Weiss asked. “I don't want us to go over-budget because of me.”

<Yep,> Blake said, holding up some of their bags.

“Our checklist is complete, yes,” Penny added.

“Why doesn't it seem like we didn't get anything for Ruby?” Weiss asked.

“Because I already have my costume, silly!” Ruby chirped.

“So what, or who are you going as?”

“What else?” she beamed. “Myself, as the Keeper of the Grove!”

Weiss scowled. “Are you serious? You realize you're still very much Avalon's Most Wanted after you 'killed me' on live holovision, right?”

“Well who's going to believe that the actual Keeper of the Grove came to Candela, and is just hanging out at the Eve of the Ether fair with her friends, and not killing and/or scaring people?” Ruby replied. It works all the time for Eluna at conventions and press events.”

Weiss raised a finger, before she slowly put it down. “You have a point...”

<Saves Shinies, too,> Blake said, holding up the bags of materials and accessories they'd already bought.

Weiss nodded. “But what if someone somehow realizes it is actually you?”

Ruby beamed. “That's when I use my human disguise!”

“What does it look like?”

“I'll show you later!” Ruby said. “It kinda ruins the point of a disguise when there's tons of people around seeing you put it on,” she said.

Weiss couldn't argue with that, and they resumed shopping.

#rwby #white rose #the keeper of the grove #fanfic

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psninjection · 4 years

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Lastly, Agave ripped the head off his neck and lifted it to the sky like a trophy, pouring crimson gushes of blood over herself. Dyonisus melted into a freeing orgasm, the hearts of the bacchantes burned along with his, the entire mountain shook while Thanathos of Dark Wings emerged from Earth and plucked Pentheus's soul from the flesh, wrapping it in its darkness. The son of Nyx didn't looked around him, the screams and blood didn't creased his icy expression: what was happening didn't concerned nor interested him. He seized the soul, encasing it in a smoky embrace, and sunk with it in the underground, while the maenads hurled Pentheus's arms and legs around, screaming and laughing. And in the middle of this collective bloodbath, Dyonisus lifted his face towards the sky and, panting from the pleasure and killing frenzy, spread his arms and offered his triumph to the Gods. He was sure that his family was watching him, talking about him, in good or bad impressed by his greatness: that divine, unique strenght, capable of spreading equal delight and pain, that none of them could no longer ignore. But Apollo, at the wheel of the Solar Chariot, kept contemplating the vastness in front of him with eyes overflowing with himself, and Dyonisus stared and stared and stared, consumed by the desire of receiving one of his gazes, any gaze, even of hate, displeasure, or contempt, if it was just for him. A grain of sincere attention. But the blond charioteer ignored him, and continued his race over the blue vaults of Uranus, that superior world that Dyonisus now didn't recognized, appearing to him so empty, cold and cruel in its silence. No divine silouetthe appeared in the clouds to attend to his triumph. No golden aura fell over the Olympus's peak to enlighten his body, a sign that somebody from above noticed and recognized his greatness. The Gods still kept him at arm's lenght, like they did with men, but until the very end Dyonisus hoped to hear the fiery and mighty voice of Zeus raise from the bacchantes's yells, to see his autoritative figure appear from the clouds, to receive his approval and to finally feel welcomed, finally accepted over the Holy Mountain. He would have just needed a single fleckle of light on his face — that light that he never once came close to, and that, since years, he imagined warmer and more beautiful than the sun — and he would have been happy. But his Father didn't appear and a deep darkness, born from the insane disappointment, rose from the young God like a suffocating mist, crushing the bright colors filling his mind. ... Why? His hands left the sky and hung over his face, the nails slowly descended over his eyelids and cheeks, scratching the flesh still wet from Pentheus's blood: aggressive and dangerous nails, shaking from the will to rip every ounce of tissue from the bone, every ounce of the identity that Zeus persisted in ignoring, even if he always did his best to honor and show him his true worth. A deranged smile tensed over his lips, as his digits streamed down his chin, a laughter akin to a growl vibrated between his clenched teeth and his eyes rose up to the sky again, filled with desperate and crazed tears. He laughed and cried and kept laughing, mentally repeating himself that he didn't needed his family, that he was and needed to be enough for himself since it was clear that the Olympians were never going to recognize him as one of them. Then, an harsher whipping of blood brought him back to the present, in the middle of the homicidal orgy, and the reminder of the massacre pressed that ancient pain in the dephts of his spirit, in the intimate and black chasm where unacceptable feelings were rotting like corpses, in the wait of being brought to light again. And once he swallowed and held close that intolerable suffering, everything around him seemed to grow lighter.

#sam.txt #translations.txt

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ecotone99 · 4 years

Text

[HR] My final voyage took me through Hell.

For years I have lived under the shadow of that fateful storm. I have been plagued with nightmares so relentlessly that not even medication can keep them silent. My days are no more pleasant as I constantly see in the shadows, what shouldn't exist. This will be my last time writing, my health is failing and I grow weak, I do not believe I shall last the night.

It all started as any normal voyage does. The sounds of men shouting commands, the creaking of ropes and timber, the smell of the sea, and the song of gulls. Our job was to deliver a shipment of sugar and grain to the New England colonies. Once the cargo was secured we gathered and prayed for a calm sea. We then boarded the Gifted Goose, unfurled the sails, and pulled out of the docks.

The first few days provided the calm seas and brightly lit nights. Our spirits were high as we rejoiced in the freedom of the open sea. We sang songs while we worked and feasted on fish we pulled from the water. Our Captain even mentioned a bonus for every man on our return to New York.

About two days before we were set to arrive in New England the wind completely stopped. We sat drifting in glass-smooth waters. The older sailors said prayers to ward off the bad omens and warned of potential storms. We passed the time by scrubbing and inspecting the ship. At one point we all turned our heads as we heard the sails snap taunt with a breeze but it lasted no more than a minute. That night I sat out on the deck, smoking my pipe and gazing out at the dark ocean. The night was so clear that the stars reflected beautifully on the calm water. The horizon blended so perfectly that I couldn't tell where the sky ended and the Earth began. It was a breathtaking moment of wonder for me. I was so captivated by the sight that I never heard the quartermaster walk up behind me. He told me to finish my pipe and catch some sleep.

I laid in my hammock still contemplating the beauty of it all. Around me, the other men snored or whispered various conversations. I slowly drifted off to sleep, willing myself to dream of a star filled night. My dreams were not pleasant though. My dreams were filled with blood-red seas and decapitated heads screaming in agony as they bobbed up and down with the waves. I awoke soaked in sweat and breathing hard, my heart pounding. Starlight illuminated the sleeping quarters. I heard a gurgling noise and looked to see a man holding his torn throat, staring at me with panicked eyes. I moved to help him but he expired as soon as I grabbed him. I quickly grabbed my knife and glanced around frantically, fearing his murderer would set upon me next. I heard shouting from the deck and the sounds of several men moving around with purpose. I could feel the ship rocking in the waves as I moved slowly towards the stairs, my knife held defensively. I climbed the stairs and stepped foot into a new Hell.

My eyes gazed upon the bodies of three men, hanging from the mainmast with ravaged bodies. I then saw the Captain, I yelled to him about the murdered man below deck. he responded by telling me that he was aware of a killer on the ship and that we had a massive storm that was about to descend upon us. Men moved quickly to lower the bodies and prepare for the storm. I jumped right in and assisted in lashing things down and securing the ropes. Off to the west, the star-filled sky ended in rolling darkness. Thunder rolled across the distance like the sound of cannons firing. The ship started rocking harder as the wind picked up. The order was given for all hands to be on deck and to watch out for the evil bastard who was killing us off. We were going to try and outrun the storm while trying to survive the sick bastard.

The sails strained with the force of the wind as we started moving abnormally fast with the wind. The storm chased after us with tremendous roars of thunder and flashes of lightning. At first, I thought we had a chance of outrunning the dangerous sea but that was short-lived. The wind suddenly changed direction and began blowing towards the storm. Men gasped in disbelief at the impossibility of it, the wind was sending us into the approaching storm. Wind and rain began to lash at us almost immediately, brilliant flashes of light tore at the sky and the ship shook with the powerful roars of the beast that was setting on us. I held onto a rope for dear life, doing my best to remain aware of the men around myself knowing that one of them was likely to kill me. The Gifted Goose bucked and swayed. The hull groaned and one of the smaller sails tore free and flew into the night. Men hurried to roll its opposite up in an attempt to balance the winds pull of the vessel. A flash of light allowed to briefly see the carves figurehead spearing into a large wave, the dark water crashing onto the deck and knocking a man overboard.

No one attempted to rescue the lost sailor, it was already too late for him. I held on for dear life as more waves crashed onto the deck. The assault came from all directions, a wave from starboard and another from port. I could no longer tell if we were even moving as the ship battled the sea. Lightning clawed at the clouds and I glimpsed the Captain screaming orders into the wind and holding the wheel with all of his strength. Blood ran from cuts on his arms and a body lay slumped against the railing, the Captain's sword stuck through his back. The Captain's eyes were wide in fear and his face was deathly pale. I heard a faint rumbling and turn to look ahead. Lightning exposed the massive wave towering above us. I screamed as it slammed into us and broke the ship. Lightning danced around us endlessly as the masts came together above me and we sank into the depths.

The first thing I felt was cold agony as the ship bobbed up and down in the absolute darkness. My face was pressed against something slick and hard. Slowly I began to regain awareness of my limbs bobbing in water, my mouth as full of saltwater. Spitting the water out I inhaled the fresh air and opened my eyes. I was on a rocky outcrop but I knew not where, I painfully climbed up the jagged beach, willing the numbness from my hands. I could see pieces of wood and cargo washed ashore. A light slowly rotated above me from a dark lighthouse. Lightning flashed from the retreating storm, the light shining through the building's windows. I stumbled as quickly as my shaky legs would allow me to move. As soon as I made it to the door I started pounding and yelling. I received no response from my attempt to wake the keeper. I found the door to be unlocked and took the liberty of allowing myself in.

To my utter horror, I found the keeper hanging from a rope in the lighthouse stairway. A puddle of piss was splattered on the floor below him and his face was etched with terror. I closed the lighthouse door and left him alone. I found a bedroom and helped myself to dry clothes and a coat. I grabbed a lantern and went out to look for other survivors, I found none. I returned to the house and started a fire in the wood burner. I basked in the warmth and made myself a quick meal out of some canned meat and bread I found in the kitchen. I searched for a backpack and oil for the lantern. As I searched for useful provisions I passed by the stairway door, it was open. Lightning flashed and I could see the noose with nobody hanging from it. A cold fear gripped my stomach and I started to cautiously make my way out of the house. I found him in the kitchen sitting at the table. His head laid at a wrong angle and my Captain's sword was stuck in his chest, a fresh puddle of piss sat steaming between his feet. I screamed and ran past the dead lighthouse keeper and into the night.

I continued to run along the path, I could see the lights of a village ahead on the other side of some woods. I could see the storm receding in the distance, maintaining its hellish lightning show. The evil light show aided me as I entered the dark wood. I thought I heard whispers among the creaking of tree limbs in the wind. I saw movement all around me as the timber flashed with the light. I didn't slow down as I continued through the trees, I was in full panic. Finally, I found myself delivered from the dark forest and looking at the edge of a village. The chapel stood strong and white on a hill above the town proper. What looked to be a tavern promised warmth and safety.

The tavern was empty. Lanterns burned away the darkness and cooling food sat out on several tables. I backed out slowly, fear threatening to take control once against as my heart faced. I cautiously made my way down the street and noticed that everyone seemed to be up at the church, certainly praying for the Lord's protection from the evil. I slowly followed the path up the hill and to the church.

Through the windows, I could see a large congregation sitting in the pews. A priest stood behind a podium waving his hands with urgency. I carefully entered the church, fresh thunder shook the windows as I crossed the threshold. The priest looked at me without slowing down his speech. I slowly moved further into the large room until I stood even with the last row of pews. The nearest villager to both my left and right turned in unison to look at me. My blood turned to ice in my veins when I saw that their eyes were cut out. They both smiled at me and I screamed hard enough I could taste blood on my lips. Hands grabbed my shoulders and pulled me backward. As I fell I saw every person in that room stand and make their way toward me. At some point, I blacked out.

I woke up to the gentle rocking of a train. I was laying in a bed in a private cabin. A strange pain spread across my chest as I moved to sit up. Undoing my shirt I found an awful and ancient-looking symbol carved into my flesh. At that point, I cried.

The train finally made its way back to New York and I finally made it home. I walked into the comfort of my small home and stopped dead in my tracks. My heart filled with dread as I stared at my Captain's sword stuck into my kitchen table, dripping with fresh blood.

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#Blogger #Story

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readbookywooks · 8 years

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“Metterfor,” said Granny calmly. “One of them.” “Did you think it would be easy?” asked Granny. “Did you think you'd walk into their gates waving your staff? Here I am, I want to be a wizard, thank you very much?” “He told me there's no women allowed in the University!” “He's wrong.” “No, I could tell he was telling the truth. You know, Granny, you can tell how -” “Foolish child. All you could tell was that he thought he was telling the truth. The world isn't always as people see it.” “I don't understand,” said Esk. “You'll learn,” said Granny. “Now tell me. This dream. They wouldn't let you into their university, right?” “Yes, and they laughed!” “And then you tried to burn down the doors?” Esk turned her head in Granny's lap and opened a suspicious eye. “How did you know?” Granny smiled, but as a lizard would smile. “I was miles away,” she said. “I was bending my mind towards you, and suddenly you seemed to be everywhere. You shone out like a beacon, so you did. As for the fire - look around.” In the halflight of dawn the plateau was a mass of baked clay. In front of Esk the cliff was glassy and must have flowed like tar under the onslaught; there were great gashes across it which had dripped molten rock and slag. When Esk listened she could hear the faint “pink, pink” of cooling rock. “Oh,” she said, “did I do that?” “So it would appear,” said Granny. “But I was asleep! I was only dreaming!” “It's the magic,” said Granny. “It's trying to find a way out. The witch magic and the wizard magic are, I don't know, sort of feeding off each other. I think.” Esk bit her lip. “What can I do?” she asked. “I dream of all sorts of things!” “Well, for a start we're going straight to the University,” decided Granny. “They must be used to apprentices not being able to control magic and having hot dreams, else the place would have burned down years ago.” She glanced towards the Rim, and then down at the broomstick beside her. We will pass over the running up and down, the tightening of the broomstick's bindings, the muttered curses against dwarves, the brief moments of hope as the magic flickered fitfully, the horrible black feelings as it died, the tightening of the bindings again, the running again, the sudden catching of the spell, the scrambling aboard, the yelling, the takeoff .... Esk clung to Granny with one hand and held her staff in the other as they, frankly, pottered along a few hundred feet above the ground. A few birds flew alongside them, interested in this new flying tree. “Bugger off!” screamed Granny, taking off her hat and flapping it. “We're not going very fast, Granny,” said Esk meekly. “We're going quite fast enough for me!” Esk looked around. Behind them the Rim was a blaze of gold, barred with cloud. “I think we ought to go lower, Granny,” she said urgently. “You said the broomstick won't fly in sunlight.” She glanced down at the landscape below them. It looked sharp and inhospitable. It also looked expectant. “I know what I'm doing, Miss,” snapped Granny, gripping the broomstick hard and trying to make herself as light as possible. It has already been revealed that light on the Discworld travels slowly, the result of its passage through the Disc's vast and ancient magical field. So dawn isn't the sudden affair that it is on other worlds. The new day doesn't erupt, it sort of sloshes gently across the sleeping landscape in the same way that the tide sneaks in across the beach, melting the sandcastles of the night. It tends to flow around mountains. If the trees are close together it comes out of woods cut to ribbons and sliced with shadows. An observer on some suitable high point, let's say for the sake of argument a wisp of cirro-stratus on the edge of space, would remark on how lovingly the light spreads across the land, how it leaps forward on the plains and slows down when it encounters high ground, how beautifully it .... Actually, there are some kinds of observers who, faced with all this beauty, will whine that you can't have heavy light and certainly wouldn't be able to see it, even if you could. To which one can only reply, so how come you're standing on a cloud? So much for cynicism. But down on the Disc itself the broomstick barrelled forward on the cusp of dawn, dropping ever backward in the shadow of night. “Granny!” Day burst upon them. Ahead of the broomstick the rocks seemed to flash into flame as the light washed over them. Granny felt the stick lurch and stared with horrified fascination at the little scudding shadow below them. It was getting closer. “What will happen when we hit the ground?” “That depends if I can find some soft rocks,” said Granny in a preoccupied voice. “The broomstick's going to crash! Can't we do anything?” “Well, I suppose we could get off.” “Granny,” said Esk, in the exasperated and remarkably adult voice children use to berate their wayward elders. “I don't think you quite understand. I don't want to hit the ground. It's never done anything to me.” Granny was trying to think of a suitable spell and regretting that headology didn't work on rocks, and had she detected the diamond edge to Esk's tone perhaps she wouldn't have said: “Tell the broomstick that, then.” And they would indeed have crashed. But she remembered in time to grab her hat and brace herself. The broomstick gave a shudder, tilted - and the landscape blurred. It was really quite a short trip but one that Granny knew she would always remember, generally around three o'clock in the morning after eating rich food. She would remember the rainbow colours that hummed in the rushing air, the horrible heavy feeling, the impression that something very big and heavy was sitting on the universe. She would remember Esk's laughter. She would remember, despite her best efforts, the way the ground sped below them, whole mountain ranges flashing past with nasty zipping noises. Most of all, she would remember catching up with the night. It appeared ahead of her, a ragged line of darkness running ahead of the remorseless morning. She stared in horrified fascination as the line became a blot, a stain, a whole continent of blackness that raced towards them. For an instant they were poised on the crest of the dawn as it broke in silent thunder on the land. No surfer ever rode such a wave, but the broomstick broke through the broil of light and shot smoothly through into the coolness beyond. Granny let herself breathe out. Darkness took some of the terror out of the flight. It also meant that if Esk lost interest the broomstick ought to be able to fly under its own rather rusty magic. “.” Granny said, and cleared her bone-dry throat for a second try. “Esk?” “This is fun, isn't it? I wonder how I make it happen?” “Yes, fun,” said Granny weakly. “But can I fly the stick, please? I don't want us to go over the Edge. Please?” “Is it true that there's a giant waterfall all around the edge of the world, and you can look down and see stars?” said Esk. “Yes. Can we slow down now?” “I'd like to see it.” “No! I mean, no, not now.” The broomstick slowed. The rainbow bubble around it vanished with an audible pop. Without a jolt, without so much as a shudder, Granny found herself flying at a respectable speed again. Granny had built a solid reputation on always knowing the answer to everything. Getting her to admit ignorance, even to herself, was an astonishing achievement. But the worm of curiosity was chewing at the apple of her mind. “How,” she said at last, “did you do that?” There was a thoughtful silence behind her. Then Esk said: “I don't know. I just needed it, and it was in my head. Like when you remember something you've forgotten.” “Yes, but how?” “I - I don't know. I just had a picture of how I wanted things to be, and, and I, sort of - went into the picture.” Granny stared into the night. She had never heard of magic like that, but it sounded awfully powerful and probably lethal. Went into the picture! Of course, all magic changed the world in some way, wizards thought there was no other use for it - they didn't truck with the idea of leaving the world as it was and changing the people -but this sounded more literal. It needed thinking about. On the ground. For the first time in her life Granny wondered whether there might be something important in all these books people were setting such store by these days, although she was opposed to books on strict moral grounds, since she had heard that many of them were written by dead people and therefore it stood to reason reading them would be as bad as necromancy. Among the many things in the infinitely varied universe with which Granny did not hold was talking to dead people, who by all accounts had enough troubles of their own. But not, she was inclined to feel, as many as her. She looked down bemusedly at the dark ground and wondered vaguely why the stars were below her. For a cardiac moment she wondered if they had indeed flown over the edge, and then she realised that the thousands of little pinpoints below her were too yellow, and flickered. Besides, whoever heard of stars arranged in such a neat pattern? “It's very pretty,” said Esk. “Is it a city?” Granny scanned the ground wildly. If it was a city, then it was too big. But now she had time to think about it, it certainly smelled like a lot of people. The air around them reeked of incense and grain and spices and beer, but mainly of the sort of smell that was caused by a high water table, thousands of people, and a robust approach to drainage. She mentally shook herself. The day was hard on their heels. She looked for an area where the torches were dim and widely spaced, reasoning that this would mean a poor district and poor people did not object to witches, and gently pointed the broom handle downwards. She managed to get within five feet of the ground before dawn arrived for the second time. The gates were indeed big and black and looked as if they were made out of solid darkness. Granny and Esk stood among the crowds that thronged the square outside the University and stared up at them. Finally Esk said: “I can't see how people get in.” “Magic, I expect,” said Granny sourly. “That's wizards for you. Anyone else would have bought a doorknocker.” She waved her broomstick in the direction of the tall doors. “You've got to say some hocuspocus word to get in, I shouldn't wonder,” she added. They had been in Ankh-Morpork for three days and Granny was beginning to enjoy herself, much to her surprise. She had found them lodgings in The Shades, an ancient part of the city whose inhabitants were largely nocturnal and never enquired about one another's business because curiosity not only killed the cat but threw it in the river with weights tied to its feet. The lodgings were on the top floor next to the well-guarded premises of a respectable dealer in stolen property because, as Granny had heard, good fences make good neighbors.

#EqualRites

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