#chalice of the gods came in today i just found out so maybe it is time for the brainrot to start again can’t wait (‘:

[feyarchived]

the casting of percy’s family is so good 😭

[pepperpills]

The Harvest - RE8 fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

NSFW content

Hi, guys, hope u're enjoying it and if u want, feel free to send a message and share your thoughts.

This is the second half of Part I, when The Harvest actually takes place, as I promised I would be posting it today. Part II will be out next tuesday and has more of Karl's participation.

Part I - Destiny (1)

Part I - Destiny (2)

The site was formed by four giant statues, each one in a corner, in the opposite side of the gate, a low stone fence protected people from falling from a cliff into the misty unknown that laid below. All of its surroundings were made of grey, antique stone, carved directly into the mountain. In the middle stood a symbol in the ground in the shape of an umbrella where the Giant’s Chalice was placed.

Mother Miranda was right in the middle, dressing her usual priest like costume, only this time her areola was bigger. The parents, your parents included, with their anxious expressions, were on the left side, forming a mid-circle. No other villagers were allowed in The Harvest except the children’s guardians, it was exclusive. You smiled to your folks reassuring them that you were okay, prepared. Your mom buried her head deeper in your father chest, but smiled insecurely back at you.

You couldn’t help the feeling that a couple of eyes were laid on you, you felt observed and finally gave up to your curiosity and stared at the lords. Closer to Mother Miranda, on the right side of the site, stood tall Lady Dimitrescu, the tallest person you have ever seen and also one of the most elegant. She wore a white dress that resembled the Greek columns with three black roses on it, red lipstick and a black wide hat. She seemed excited as she analysed the 20s.

Then followed Lady Beneviento, her face covered in a grief veil, she was all dressed in black, except for her doll, Angie, who wore an unclean wedding dress and was laughing almost hysterically for no reason. It would have given you the chills if you weren’t so strangely calm.

The next was Lord Moreau, forever bowed with that bone crown topping his head, he looked like he enjoyed the spirit of the festival, more entertained by its totality than the young people there.

And at last, Lord Heisenberg, a couple of steps from you as you all closed the circle. He was smoking a cigar, making a mess of bracing smoke. He was wearing round sunglasses even though it was already very dark there, his clothes were crumpled and even a bit dirty, but had an explorer’s charm to it as he wore a once-white half unbuttoned shirt, a worn hat, a camel-coloured overcoat and some kind of baggy pants.

You had the uncanny feeling it was his glance that caught you since you arrived there, but couldn’t be sure, once his eyes were hidden from you. The other thing you noticed was that he has kind of handsome with his somewhat grey hair on the height of his bearded chin. Overall, he seemed rough, a brute beauty, but beauty anyway.

The air became denser, like it was charged with electricity, however, scanning your mates, everyone appeared to be still bewitched by Beneviento’s powers, paying attention only to Mother Miranda. It had nothing to do with you disliking Miranda ever since you laid your feet in the Village. No, this was another thing. You were attracted by something else, tempted even to look to your right. Being too suggestible to battle this urge, you moved your head only to be certain that Lord Heisenberg was looking straight at you.

You quickly turned your attention back to Miranda as she played with a black liquid inside the Giant’s Chalice. She called you all her children and made a speech about destiny and natural forces that pull you to it.

“Night demands you, my children. The moon reveals your fate and today your sacrifice will be noticed.” Miranda chanted, her voice floating through all of you, reverberating the ground.

She blessed you, walking the circle and pinning a dot of the Chalice’s black liquid in your foreheads. It moved, itching a little, as her words filled the ceremony site.

“Very well.” She spoke. “Now I shall call your names, the ones I call, please step to the right part of the site, the ones I don’t, to the left.”

A shiver flowed through your spine, awakening every part of your body, bristling your hair, hardening your nipples making you feel completely unclad – which kind of reached the ceremony idea of a virgin blossoming. The sensation was curiously similar to electrical shock, even the iron taste on your tongue reminded you of the electricity discharge, nonetheless, for your surprise, it wasn’t exactly unpleasant, definitely made your feel alive and even dilatated your pupils.

When it happened, you swore your heard Lord Heisenberg chuckling alone, he was contained for obvious reasons, but it disturbed you to see a smirk playfully on his scarred thick lips. No one else appeared to be bothered though, they hadn’t noticed the man acting schizophrenic, but it also made sense, they were all absorbed by Miranda’s discourse and, somehow, that grin was intended, presumably, only for you.

Just then you realized that Miranda had already been calling names and people were actually moving around you. Two of the boys who came with you were now on the very right side of the site. You were getting tense, the magical feeling that drove you to that place was slowly fading away, giving space to the cold sensation of fear. The girl to your left got called, she lost her breath as she heard her name, but rapidly joined her new, and temporary, team.

You looked up to your parents, your mom had that overwhelmed expression lines on her forehead again and you were most sure she was crossing fingers as she is a little stitious, not super, though.

Right now, you don’t believe that any herb, crystal, sacrifice, nor witchcraft would have spare you from your doom. A part of you knew it, even at that moment, as Mother Miranda made your name thunder in the site. Your mom held a scream, your dad looked down. You must go on.

Trembling a little, you went to the right side, closer to Lord Heisenberg, as he was the last one on the lords’ line. Your mates were rigid, the other girl was holding tears, one of the boys had desperate written all over his face, but the other one preferred to show bravery and you chose to stay with him in his decision. It didn’t past unnoticed to Heisenberg, but he constantly peering at you wasn’t of your greater attention, so on you didn’t acknowledge his offbeat interest.

You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you were afraid. You didn’t want Lady Dimitrescu to use your blood in her famous Sanguis Virginis, neither to be with Lady Beneviento and her forever tea party, Lord Moreau frightens you, due to your thalossophobia and for Lord Heisenberg, his temper is well known and poorly spoken by the villagers, he tends to get angry easily, not to say that no one knows what goes on in that factory, the bridge that leads to it emerges from the water, activated by some sort of mechanism that is inaccessible from the Village, so no one goes in, no one comes out.

When The Harvest ended, the villagers were exempted before the Miranda and her family, and you were allowed to go home, the lords knew you were supposed to say goodbye to your loved ones, after all, they aren’t monsters, right?

Thus, you walked back home in your parents embrace, they didn’t let you go, neither you wanted it. Being held like that made it feel better as if you had a bad dream and that was all. Your mother even sang you your favourite childhood song about a girl who gets lost in the dangerous woods inhabited by four monsters and a malevolent witch, but in the end, her parents save her from the beasts.

In the dawn, no villager was asleep, so you spoke to a lot of people, all your siblings, friends and acquaintances. Some of them cried, others smiled and a couple encouraged you saying it was going to be okay. You doubted it, but didn’t say a thing, you were too shaken still trying to be brave.

When the sun rose, you heard the chicken starting their day. You got up, put on a Victorian black dress with long sleeves and a corselet for the thorax area, and packed your few belongings, taking good care of your bow and arrows that once were a secret and now, you thought, might be discarded, but you would still be stubborn and give it a try, maybe they would let you have it.

You left the bedroom, leaving behind your talisman made by the cabin people with a note to your younger sister. Once she was born in the Village, she didn’t know much about the cabins, but you were sure it would protect her after you were gone.

You believed you could go away unnoticed, but your mom was sitting in the kitchen table, waiting for you, looking restless, but she found vitality to smile a good morning at you.

“You look pretty.” She said as she walked towards you and twirled your hair.

“Thank you, mom.” You simply replied, thinking that touch was soothing.

“We will miss you.” She sighed. “I will miss you, deeply, my angel.” Your mom is one of the kindest people you know, she always took good care of you even when you got older, you will miss her too.

“I will miss you too, mom… I love you.” You added and hugged her. You must be strong; her smell of country flowers softened you tempting you to run away from your fate.

“Promise you will try to write.” She pleaded, staring into your soul with her woody-brown eyes.

“I promise.” You meant it and did afterwards.

“It is okay, angel, you may go now, I won’t make it any harder.” She stepped aside, giving you space to walk to the door, when there you looked back one last time and waved goodbye.

At the ceremony site, they said you should gather again at the Chapel. A part of the building is destroyed, you are not sure what was responsible for it, but there are parts of the ceiling and the ground that are missing and underground tunnels with Gods know what meandering under your feet. The others arrived not long after you and less than an hour later Mother Miranda joined you.

She spoke from the pulpit. This sight gave you an uneasiness. You never liked her manners, always thought she considered herself too much of a priest, but you were not sure for what gods she spoken, in addition, she was also very domineering. There were stories of her whispered by mourning souls saying that she would tear some locals apart while laughing and enjoying the bloody spectacle. Maybe she was crazy. Believing it or not, she didn’t please you at all.

“Children.” She began. “Destiny calls you. You must fulfil your role in this circle. It is a sacrifice for all of us, so we can preserve our way of life.” Miranda went on like this for some more minutes before getting to the point.

“Each one of you has been designated or requested by one of the four lords. I will now say your name and the name of your Lord.” She finally said.

Your heart rate was worrying, your anxiety levels were high. You breathed heavily, trying to regain composure. Miranda called the brave boy first, he went to Moreau. Two girls got sent to the Dimitrescu’s castle, one more boy went to Moreau, another girl went to Lady Beneviento. Thus, there was only you left and Miranda’s phrase reverberated through the Chapel with its angelical acoustic turning horrifying.

“Y/N. Lord Karl Heisenberg.”

Your stomach sunk. You didn’t know if you were relieved or even more preoccupied. But then you felt that shock sensation again, the iron taste made you salivate and you thought it might have been worst, maybe all he expects from you is some cleaning, laundry and your normal daily routine.

Still, one thing that Miranda said echoed in your head: did you get designated or did he request you? You didn’t know which one would be better.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

the unseen one - 26

Pairing: Hades!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: none

A/N: i don’t have much to say on my author’s note today so i wanna thank everyone that has been with the series so far, your comments, reblogs, and likes always make my day! hope you enjoy xx

Next Chapter

     - That sounds highly prideful coming from you. - she teased whilst on his his hands rested on the curve of her waist while the other one carefully intertwined with hers. He chuckled at her as he moved his feet to the side, twirling her around like he used to do with the dames he took out during the 40s. No matter how loud the music was or how ridiculous he thought he probably looked with her flower crown on, her laughter would always win over it. - How does it feel being my consort?

    - I’ve always been your consort, sunflower. Perhaps you haven’t noticed how tightly wrapped around your precious little finger you have me. - he tightened the grip of her waist, bring her closer to him which led to the sweetest, sinful but innocent little whimper to come out from her rose painted lips. - I’m the King of the Underworld yet you get to do whatever your little heart desires. However, you should’ve picked a god whose favour you’d want to be on, not me.

    - I don’t require to be on any god’s favour, specially a god related to love and beauty. I have both. - he twirled her as the festival was declared officially open leading to some deities joining them on the dance. - Is this all you’ve worked for?

    - In all honesty I was expecting this to be over rather fast and whisk you away for some alone time. However, you went and decided to be in such favour of the personification of Earth herself and ruin my plans, 

    - I’m sorry, your highness. - she mocked, stopping to bow as the first song came to a halt, clapping like a mindless princess at a ball as James took her to the side, offering her a chalice. Her eyes took in the whole pantheon dancing, not a care in their minds which she guessed was their regular state. 

    - Congratulations. - Ariadne was the first to congratulate her, approaching the couple along with her own husband who was probably too drunk to even notice half of what was occurring. - You do make a beautiful couple if I may say so myself.

    - That’s all Y/N, I’m afraid. She is entirely too beautiful to be standing by my side. - James beamed, his hand caressing the side of her waist as she blushed and hide her face on his dark robes which greatly contrasted with the pure white ones she was wearing and the white rose crown laying on his head of unruled wavy hair.

    - Some might even say she’s too beautiful. - Y/N rolled her eyes as she saw the last person she’d want to see in what so far had been a great occasion. Aphrodite walked in with all beauty and glory, chalice in hand almost like a staff rather than the object it was. She extended her hand towards Bucky in a gesture that brought all the evilness from Y/N’s being to her gaze. 

    - I would love to have a dance with your consort. - Ariadne glared at Aphrodite as she pretty much rushed into the dance floor with James leaving Y/N with Ariadne. 

    - C’mon, let’s dance. - Ariadne took Y/N up to Psyche who gave her a hug once she saw her friend, however, Y/N was much more interested in looking at her partner with Aphrodite. She knew Bucky loved her but she also knew the goddess had birthed the only person who could change that, which was somehow terrifying. - Y/N, stop worrying. Everybody knows that he’s crazy about you.

Still her eyes were on Aphrodite who hand her hands on his shoulders, her normal breathtaking self twirling around with the man she considered to be hers. James was none the happier, wondering when what seemed like the longest melody would subside so he could politely return to Y/N.

    - You know, my darling, I still cannot believe you are to be the first great to crown a mortal Queen of the Underworld. I have to say, it is even more of a bad decision than crowning the goddess of spring herself. 

    - If that’s the reason why you won’t allow me to be alone with Y/N, there is no reason for you to worry. I have no intention of keeping her in the Underworld for any longer than your father allows. 

    - Then what are you doing? - Aphrodite observed him with a very keen eye. She was always one to be a very intimidating being. Even with the whole goddess of beauty and pleasure being associated to her, she was still very much Zeus’ daughter and Ares’ wife and that was something quite visible on her power pursuit and cunning. - Are you having fun with the mortals? Is that the case?

    - I believe I don’t owe you any explanations to my personal life. 

    - You do know what Zeus’ gonna ask in return for her freedom, don’t you? You can’t be that innocent to believe he’ll just freely let her walk out of the Underworld without winning something from you.

    - Don’t you have a husband to go to, Aphrodite? - his eyes lingered over the crowd, spotting the god of war not dancing, not doing anything, just staring at his wife. - Why do you want to be Queen of the Underworld so badly?

    - A crown is power and you more than anyone else should know what it’s like to be powerless.

Y/N had taken to follow Ariadne and Psyche into various conversations like a lost duckling which most deities couldn’t really understand. In all honesty, most minor gods found her a lovely presence to be around yet there was always something they couldn’t pin point to her, some sort of lively to her that maybe was just added to the fact that she was a mortal, someone with finite life source who just didn’t seem to notice it. 

She was lost in a fit of laughter with Eros and Psyche when the same weak almost loss of feeling that had made her break a mug few days prior returned. Y/N shook her head, trying to focus on a story Eros was telling about the birth of his first child with Psyche but once the feeling spread to her other hand, Ariadne took notice of the shift in mood.

    - Are you okay, Y/N? - she placed her hand on her back. 

    - Yeah, just a bit dizzy.

    - Do you wanna sit down? - Eros immediately got up, offering her his seat but Y/N denied, giving the god a short smile. - Are you sure? 

    - Yeah, it’s probably just the weat ... - the feeling suddenly spread to her legs and her once standing position faltered as she hit the grass with a thump. Last thing she could see before everything turned pitch black was the purple blue sky of the Elysium. 

tag list: @philogrobizedvee​​​​​​  @keithseabrook27​​​​​ @inlovewith3​​​​19 @nwbstan​ @romanoffs-heart​

[dreamyboystyles]

Ethereally Dazzling

She spins around ready to respond with a smart remark when her voice catches in her throat at the sight of the man behind her. Chocolate curls adorning a beautifully chiseled face and arms that could crush skulls if they wanted to. Perfectly pink lips turned upwards in a smirk directed at her. There was a sparkle to his body that she could not put a finger to but knew was more than spray body glitter. She takes a moment to collect her thoughts before she blurts out something embarrassing about his glowing green eyes.

or 

Harry is a God crashing Y/N’s Greek themed castle party. Part 1 *unedited*

Lying her body across her soft canopy bed she stared at the ceiling covered in satin creating a cloudy illusion against the blue paint. Nothing made y/n feel more ethereal than being wrapped in silk and satin Whether it be satin pajamas or silk sheets she lived in silk and satin everything. Y/N had lived quite a privileged life so far and she couldn’t help but release a happy sigh at the thought of how lucky and fortunate she was to live the lavish life she did. Usually people who were well off spent their money and time traveling and partying on boats, and yes Y/N had her fair share of yacht parties and travels but she had already seen most of what she wanted to see. At least materialistically. Y/N always wondered about things left unseen and the small crevices in the universe that held the sweetest secrets. She didn’t necessarily care for the seven wonders of the world, she was looking for her own seven wonders. She wanted to live in the times before her and experience the art and the culture and the magic that was. To put it short and sweet, Y/N dreamed of being a walking renaissance painting.

So instead of boat parties and beach houses, Y/N threw castle parties of her greatest fantasies. Each party was always themed after a great period in history. She had parties themed of different aspects of the renaissance and of the enlightenment periods. She had parties of the middle ages, and parties of times of Roman empires. Sometimes the themes repeated but she couldn’t care, she loved the exhilarating feeling she got from traveling back in time even if it was brief. Her next party however, was something she’d never done before. She knew Greek themed parties were a thing, but she didn’t want your basic toga party with leaf crowns no, Y/N wanted to see Mount Olympus brought to life. For once she wanted to be the goddess marble statues were made of. She wanted to be the inspiration for the pieces of art that would be passed down and appreciated through centuries. And sure, maybe it wasn’t real and it was only a fantasy, but that was where Y/N lived her happiest most self-loving self.

So there lay Y/N wrapped in a glorious gown made of lace and chiffon. A long slim off the shoulder champagne colored chiffon base with lace detailing at the hem and waistline that moved up towards the bust. Multi sized crystals embellished into the neckline and trickled down towards the waist. The same pattern following down the quarter length sleeves. At the hem the embellishments sized smaller to larger the lower you went. Y/N didn’t believe in much, but she did believe that somewhere out there Aphrodite stared down with jealousy at her appearance. If she didn’t know any better, it was a tough battle in looks between the two.

Apollo didn’t like to spend too much time meddling in mortal affairs. He’d seen what that did to most of his relatives and he figured he’d save himself the trouble. However today he’d happen to be tying up some loose strings for his sister -which didn’t happen often but even Artemis found herself caught in some trouble sometimes as well- when he heard rave about a huge Olympian party. This at first confused him because he hadn’t received word of any party from any relatives. Then he wondered how in the world the mortals knew what the Gods had planned for the evening. And that was when it hit him, no Olympian was throwing a party, it was just another measly mortal affair. At first mortal culture used to offend him, the togas and the leaves and in a sense, the appropriation of it all. He found it a little insulting that they reduced their power and glory. But he came to realize humans were pesky in all other ways not just this one. For the most part Apollo stayed clear. But something about this particular event was drawing him in. Perhaps the promise of bringing Olympus to life seemed intriguing. He figured while he was down here he could go for a laugh and entertainment. So Apollo made his way towards the castle everyone was raving on about.

Y/N’s party was in full swing. Her vision had come to life in a damn near perfect way. From the tall white marble pillars to the golden flecks of light here and there, to even the lightly glimmering table cloth sashes. The food looks delicious displayed on golden platters and wine distributed through golden chalices. She was living an absolute dream and all the guests could not help but marvel at the sight of her. Some people even bold enough to call her Aphrodite. She knew she was no Aphrodite, she was ethereal on her own standards not another’s.

Apollo’s head was spinning. He kept hearing Aphrodite’s name being called out but she was nowhere to be found. He looked around trying to see if he’d spot any of his relatives but was coming up empty. These people are sure to feel Aphrodite’s wrath if they’re carelessly throwing out her name the way they are. He thought. His eyes wandered left and right trying to see if he’d see this creature they’d honored with the Goddess of Beauty’s name. Finally after hearing the name be called out again, his eyes landed on the lucky woman. Suddenly he understood the comparison. This woman was one of the most alluring mortals he’d ever seen. Her chocolate brown tresses of hair bounced with every laugh and head turn. Her smile shined brighter than any he’d seen before. There was a particular gleam in her eyes that promised mischief and wonder and excitement all at once. Carefully observing her he’d imagine the rage of envy Aphrodite was sure to feel if she ever crossed her path, and for this mortal woman’s sake he hoped that never happened. That promise her eyes held pulled him close. So as soon as he spots her removing herself from the crowd and headed out towards the garden, he makes his way after her.

She couldn't handle all this attention. The party wasn’t about her, it was about bringing an experience to life. Nobody wanted to talk to her about her appreciation of the ancient Greek culture that created the vision for this night. And if she heard a single person call her Aphrodite one more time she was sure to snap. She makes her way out towards the garden away from the crowd drunk on the fairly expensive wine. I guess her dream of a real life Greek party had come to life. Half of the people in there were already drunk beyond reason dancing around half naked. She didn’t expect to be followed out so she nearly jumps out of her skin when she hears a low voice behind her.

“You know, if Aphrodite were here I’m sure she’d have turned you into a beast by now” the voice chuckled.

She spins around ready to respond with a smart remark when her voice catches in her throat at the sight of the man behind her. Chocolate curls adorning a beautifully chiseled face and arms that could crush skulls if they wanted to. Perfectly pink lips turned upwards in a smirk directed at her. There was a sparkle to his body that she could not put a finger to but knew was more than spray body glitter. She takes a moment to collect her thoughts before she blurts out something embarrassing about his glowing green eyes.

“I guess I should consider myself lucky she isn’t here” she laughs a little breathlessly. He mimics her giggle and moves forward.

“May I take a seat? Wouldn’t want a beautiful woman out here all on her own” he says gesturing towards the space on the bench she’s sat on. She tilts her head pondering whether she should trust this gorgeous stranger. Banking on the universe blessing her luck she moves the bit of her dress taking up the space.

“Go ahead” she mumbles watching as he moves forward again to take the seat. “I”m Y/N, what’s your name?” she extends a hand towards him.

He pauses for a second staring at the hand in front of her wondering what name to give this beautiful strange girl.

“My name’s Harry” he smiles taking her hand and lifting it up to his mouth to press a kiss. He sees a blush creep up her neck and tint her cheeks pink. He smirks once again.

“Well Harry, I don’t know if it’s the wine or the lights but you are dazzling” she blurts out eyes widening not believing the words that came out of her mouth.

woooooooo I kept my word that I would post it by Sunday ! I hope you enjoyed this piece I’ve loved writing and exploring it and am looking forward to continuing the next parts! Feedback is oh so welcome and I do wanna add a lil smut action somewhere so let me know what you wanna see in the next parts! Thanks for reading <333333

[lilacmoon83]

Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 168: Time for Miracles

Jenna took the blood sample from Mr. Branson and tried to ignore the way he was staring at her while she did. For someone that was supposedly in a relationship, his eyes certainly seemed to wander and in a creepy way.

"There…that should do it," she said, as he rolled his sleeve down.

"Thanks...so what kind of tests are you going to run on my blood?" he questioned. Now that seemed like a really odd question, but she supposed he was just curious, considering the condition of his daughter.

"Just the normal tests to make sure it's a viable sample, free of an anomalies and then we'll type match it against Lucy," she offered as an explanation. Nick stood up and started to remove his tie while her back was turned. He took both ends in his hands and prepared to eliminate another witch. This one did good, but to him, her power still came from evil and the world had to be cleansed of her.

"I'm afraid I can't let you run that sample against Lucy," he said. Her brow furrowed in confusion, but before she could turn around, she felt him behind her and choked, as he used the tie to begin choking her. She gasped for air and dug her nails into his hands, as he strangled her. He growled in frustration, as she drew blood, but he kept pulling tighter on the tie. She began to see spots in her vision and as she did, memories flooded her subconscious. The more air that left her the more clear it all became. She remembered...everything and exactly who Nick was. A tear slipped down her cheek, as she realized that she was remembering, because she was about to die. Until there was a noise outside the room, catching Nick's attention.

"Guess today is your lucky day," he growled, as he inhaled the scent of her hair

"I got to bang your brother...too bad I didn't get to screw you too, beautiful. I bet you're just as good," he hissed in her ear, before he pushed her into the wall. She gasped for air and crumpled to the floor, just as David rushed into the room. When he saw his daughter laying on the floor, he put his gun away and sank beside her, pulling her into his arms.

"Dr. Aeson…" he said, trying to rouse her. He was relieved to find that her breathing was still strong and she seemed to be just dazed, though he was livid to see the faint marks around her neck. Had he been just a few seconds later, he might have been too late, and that weighed heavily on his heart.

"Dear God...what happened?" Dr. Narita asked. David looked up though and knew the real identity of this man to be none other than his son-in-law, Paul.

"Have security seal off the exits and tell them they are looking for this man," David told him, as he showed him the photo on his phone. Dr. Narita was astonished to see that the man was the supposed father to the little girl he had been called to consult on. But he didn't hesitate and hurried out to inform security. David knew it was probably too late and he was gone. But his little girl was smart, even cursed, and he saw the blood and skin underneath her fingertips. That would be all the proof they needed to make Nick Branson a wanted man and then he wouldn't rest until he found him.

"Dr. Aeson…" he repeated, as she started to come around and looked up.

"Daddy…" she uttered and his eyes widened. He swallowed thickly, wondering if he dared to hope. Her eyes widened and she gasped, as her arms went around his neck.

"Daddy!" she cried and tears fell down his cheeks, as he hugged her fiercely and cradled her head.

"Oh Eva…" he cried.

"Daddy...it was Jack and he's with Leo!" she exclaimed.

"I know...and I'm going to get him, I promise," he said, as Snow rushed in.

"David!" she called, but she was the one to get a surprise.

"Mom…" Eva uttered.

"Eva?!" she asked tearfully, as she hugged her daughter fiercely. That's when Dr. Narita returned and Eva looked at him, her eyes shining with tears. He didn't remember her...he didn't remember that he was her husband.

"Dr. Aeson...are you okay?" he asked. She swallowed thickly and managed a nod.

"I hate to tell you this, but one of the guards saw this guy leaving, just before I got there," he reported, as he returned his phone. David nodded and put his phone to his ear.

"This is Detective Nolan...I need to issue an APB for Nick Branson immediately. He is to be considered extremely dangerous," he told the desk sergeant before hanging up again.

"Lucy…" Eva uttered, looking at her parents.

"Don't worry...we're going to take care of that," Snow assured, as she tapped her bag.

"Dr. Narita, can you check Dr. Aeson over and make sure she's okay?" David asked.

"Of course…" he agreed, as they watched the pair join hands and leave the room. But Eva knew they would be back soon and hopefully with news that her great niece was awake.

~*~

The Enchanted Forest 2

Storybrooke year - 2023

Fandral was right and it only took them a few hours on horseback to get to edge of realms. When they arrived at the narrow tunnel that acted as a portal to it, they left the horses and trekked through it on foot. When they arrived on the other side, they all marveled at the beauty of the place known as the edge of realms.

"I've only read about this place. I never thought I'd actually see it," Belle said in awe.

"So...that tunnel is like a portal?" Kristoff questioned curiously.

"Of sorts," Rose answered.

"So what now?" Anna asked.

"We summon the bi-frost and we do so by calling on Heimdall," Fandrall answered, as he prepared to use the Singasteinn to do so.

"First I think I need to give all of you some modern looking clothing. You'll stick out way too much in this stuff," Emma admonished, as she poofed their friends from Arendelle and Rose Red and her family into an assortment of modern clothes.

Hold on...we might have a problem," Belle called, as she halted them.

"What is it?" Emma asked.

"Our families are in Seattle...but in the past," Belle replied, as she leafed through the book.

"The past?" Elsa questioned.

"The year 2018 to be exact," Belle answered.

"How the hell did that happen?" Emma wondered and then her eyes widened.

"Facilier...he kept talking about the past and wanting to use the chalice to go back in time! Much further than that though," the blonde recalled.

"Just talking about going back to the past might have had an effect on the chalice," Belle suggested.

"How the hell are we going to get to Seattle in 2018?" Emma wondered. But no one had an answer and Emma's heart sank. She was starting to wonder if Clayton was right this time. Maybe there wasn't a way to save her family this time.

"Would this help?" Anna asked, as she touched her necklace.

"It's a wishing star. It worked once before," Anna reminded. Hope returned to Emma's eyes, as Anna handed it to her.

"Thank you…" she said. Anna smiled.

"Let's just hope it works again," the Princess responded, as Fandral summoned Heimdall. They all watched in amazement, as the burning rainbow bridge shot down from the sky and deposited a very large man before them.

"Heimdall!" the three demi-Asgardians called, as they all gathered around him with hugs. The hulking man smiled softly at them and then bowed respectfully to Rose Red.

"Your Majesty," he said, signifying his deep respect for her. Rose smiled and hugged him too.

"It's wonderful to see you, Heimdall," she greeted.

"I am assuming you are in need to use the bi-frost?" he questioned noticing their guests.

"Yes, there has been another curse. Snow and David are trapped in a large city in the Land Without Magic, this time in the year 2018," Fandral explained.

"We have a wishing star that will hopefully grant our wish to time travel. We just need passage to Seattle via the bi-frost," Emma added. Heimdall nodded curtly.

"I will get you there. But Emma, you must use the wishing star and think of the loved ones you are trying to reach. I believe I know of a significant landmark to deposit all of you," he said. They nodded and all joined hands, as they prepared for the journey. Emma closed her palm around the wishing star, as she thought of all the people that needed her and wished to be taken to where they were. And with that, Heimdall and their entire group disappeared through the bi-frost.

~*~

Detective Rogers marched Victoria Belfry into the precinct that evening and took her to an interrogation room. In the lobby though, as they passed, Gothel gave her a smug look.

"You have no idea the hell you are going to unleash on this city by freeing that woman, Detective," she warned, as he led her into the room.

"Really? That's the defense you're going with? A harmless woman you kept shackled to a radiator is the dangerous one?" he questioned. She smirked.

"She was shackled there, because she is the monster, Detective, I assure you. I was doing everyone a favor by keeping this particular demon locked away," she replied. He scoffed.

"If you're going for an insanity defense, I'd say you have a clear shot," he responded, as he placed the phone on the table before her and removed the cuffs.

"Make your one phone call, while you're being processed. Since it's late, I doubt even whatever high powered attorney you employ can get you out tonight, but don't worry, we have a lovely little holding cell just for you," he said, as he left her to make her call, closing the locked door behind him. Victoria frowned and clenched her teeth.

"Dammit...you have no idea what you've done, Drizella…" she cursed, before calling her attorney.

~*~

Regina glanced at her former mentor and watched, as he checked his phone for the twelfth time in the last fifteen minutes. He wasn't normally the fidgety type and rarely showed any type of unease on the outside. So she knew the fact that it was so palpable meant that something was eating at him.

"What it is?" she questioned and for once, he didn't bother to hide or refuse to tell her.

"It's Neal…" he said and then cursed inwardly.

"I mean Cassidy...he hasn't reported in," Rumple answered.

"And you're worried he could be in trouble," she surmised.

"This is Clayton we're talking about," he reminded.

"Then go find him…" she urged. But he hesitated.

"Lucy will be fine. Snow and Charming have got this...she'll be okay. But Henry has already lost one parent. Do not let him lose the other," she implored. He nodded and left wordlessly to find his son. He had a very bad feeling that Cassidy Gold was in a lot of trouble. He just hoped that he found him before the worst could happen.

~*~

It was finally the middle of the night and the thugs opened the trunk, where they had tied and gagged Cassidy Gold. Garvy pulled him out and marched him toward the edge of the bridge.

"I'd remove the gag and ask you if you have any last words, but I know the minute I take it off, you'll scream. And we can't have that," he said, as he cocked his gun. A tear slipped down Cassidy's cheek and he clenched his eyes shut tightly. He didn't want to die. Suddenly, the entire area lit up with light. The thugs all looked around, expecting cops. But this light was not from sirens or flashlights. This was a strange, multicolored light that almost seemed to be burning.

"Uh hey boss…" one of the thugs said, as he pointed into the sky. All present, including Cassidy, were stunned to see that this burning rainbow light was coming from the sky and shooting straight into the ground.

"What in the hell is that?" Garvy uttered, as there was a flash and it disappeared, leaving behind a group of people that were now before them. Cassidy was just as much in shock as the thugs.

"Whoa...that was a trip," Kristoff commented, as they looked around.

"Neal…" Emma said in disbelief, but she saw no recognition in his eyes. Still, it didn't take her much to figure out that he was in serious trouble here and she drew her weapon.

"Put your guns down!" she demanded, but the leader scoffed and put the barrel of his to Neal's head.

"In case you failed to notice, blondie...your one gun is a little outnumbered. But if you want to play too...I'm sure that can be arranged," he leered.

"I'm warning you…" Emma threatened and the thugs laughed.

"This chick is crazy," one commented, but that would be a mistake, as she nodded to Fandral. Though she had used her magic to give all of them modern clothing, Fandral was still armed with his sword. He dashed toward their would be assailants and took out two before they even knew what hit them. Garvy fired his weapon, but he wasn't fast enough for the Asgardian and Fandral disarmed him, literally, but cutting off the hand that was holding the gun. He screamed in agony and Cassidy scrambled away.

"Sorry about that...but you were going to no good with that hand," Fandral said, the men circled the Asgardian, but his sword kept them at bay and they slowly backed away.

It's okay...we're not going to hurt you," Emma told Cassidy, as she put her hands up in surrender. He relaxed slightly and let her undo his bonds and the gag.

"Who the hell are you people?" he asked.

"You're welcome…" Kristoff responded.

"You don't know us...but we're friends, I assure you," Emma added, as a car pulled up. It was not a marked vehicle, but had siren lights.

"Crap…" Emma muttered, knowing this was going to be hard to explain. But fortunately, she wouldn't have to as the person came into view.

"Rumple…" Belle uttered.

"Dad!" Gideon called, as they rushed toward him. Weaver was shocked, but not unhappy to see them, especially when he wasn't sure they would ever be able to find him. There was a genuine smile on his face, as he hugged them tightly.

"You're here…" he uttered in surprise, as he shared a tender kiss with Belle.

"We went with Emma to Rose Red's castle. She was able to find the book in her library to tell us where and when you had all been taken," Belle replied.

"Emma…" he said, finally seeing her now.

"You're alive…" he added. She smiled.

"Long story, but suffice to say I was able to hold on long enough for Elsa and the others to find me. I can fill you in on the rest later, but here in this land, I'm not having any issues with my heart," she explained. He nodded curtly.

"What the hell is going on?!" Cassidy exclaimed.

"Much that would be too difficult to explain, Mr. Gold. But you're safe now and I'll be calling in a team to take care of the riff raff. First, we need to get all of you out of here. I have a house I can allocate from the department that should meet our needs," Weaver stated.

"Wait...my parents…" Emma interjected. Weaver met her gaze.

"They're awake…" he revealed. Her eyes widened.

"Then they think…" she started to say and he nodded.

"Yes...they think you're dead. But they are at the Hyperion Heights hospital right now. We'll go there first," he replied. She nodded, as he made a few calls. One to get the thugs taken down to the station for processing and the other to get transportation for them.

His head was still reeling from everything, but he knew Emma being alive could change everything in their favor.

~*~

Snow and David appeared in the doorway to Lucy's hospital room. Anastasia looked up at them, as they entered the room.

"Can you really help her?" she asked curiously. They nodded, as they looked to Drizella, who stood next to her now younger sister.

"It would be unwise to try and stop us from saving our great granddaughter," Snow warned. She smirked.

"I won't...I never wanted this for Lucy," she responded.

"No...you just wanted to release that witch. I don't think you have any idea what you've done or what the ramifications will be," David retorted. But Drizella only smirked.

"We'll see…" she countered, as she stepped aside, allowing them to approach Lucy's bedside. Snow gently brush a hand through the girl's ebony locks.

"Hang in the sweetie...it will be just a few more minutes," she whispered, as she took the chalice out of her bag. It glowed and she closed her eyes, as he gripped her other hand.

"Please help us wake her…" she pleaded silently. The chalice glowed and a pulse of light emanated from it, before it went inside Lucy's chest. She took a deep breath and her eyes opened wide, as she awakened at last. She looked around and found her great grandparents smiling down at her. They were crying, but happy and she smiled back.

"What's happening?" she asked, as Snow gently brush her hair away from her face.

"It's a long story, sweetheart, but you're going to be okay," she promised.

"Does everyone remember yet?" Lucy asked, as David cupped her cheek with a strong hand.

"I'm afraid not yet, little one...but they will," David promised.

"Oh my God…" Jacinda uttered, as she stood in the doorway in shock.

"Lucy!" she cried, as she rushed into the room. Snow and David backed away, as the young woman hugged her daughter tightly.

"She just woke up...we were about to call Dr. Aeson," Snow said, as Jacinda looked up at them with tears streaming down her face.

"This...it feels like a miracle," she cried, as she hugged her tightly and sniffed, before she started wiping her tears away.

"Honey...do you remember what happened?" Jacinda questioned. Lucy glanced quickly at her great grandparents and then back at her mother.

"I was with gramma Belfry and she told me happy endings weren't real. Then...I don't remember after that," Lucy said.

"I'd say happy endings are very real," Snow interjected and Jacinda smiled.

"Me too," she agreed, as Dr. Narita walked in.

"I just heard...I think I should check Lucy over," he said interrupting. Snow and David nodded, as they followed Anastasia and Ivy out of the room. David pulled Snow into a fierce hug and she relished his arms around her, taking solace in him. He pressed his lips to hers then and she kissed him back with wanton passion.

"Oh David…" she breathed, as their lips parted briefly, only to meet again with desperate passion.

"She's going to be okay, Snow...and we have Eva back," he whispered.

"Leo…" she said, remembering that their son was still in the lobby and had no clue what Nick had just tried to do a sister that he did not remember. And he sensed what she was thinking.

"Don't worry, my darling. I'll tell Luke what Nick tried to do...I'll make sure he's protected," he promised. She nodded and crushed her lips against his again, simply needing to kiss him and be held by him. The night had been truly horrific, but getting Eva back and waking Lucy had made an evening of horror turn into an evening of miracles, more so than they believed at that moment.

"Come on...let's go find Luke and break the news," he said, as they returned to the lobby.

"Is she awake?" Regina asked immediately upon seeing them. They nodded and offered smiles, to which she let out a breath of relief.

"That's one good thing that happened tonight," the former Queen said.

"How about we try for two good things," Eva said, as she came out into the lobby behind them. Regina looked at her and no longer saw true recognition in her eyes.

"Eva?" she asked in disbelief. The young woman nodded and hugged the other fiercely.

"I've missed you Aunt Regina," she said.

"I missed you too, sweetheart," Regina replied, as she glanced over at her twin, who was sitting in one of the chairs, nursing a cup of coffee.

"We'll get Leo back too...what are these marks on your neck?" Regina asked.

"That was Nick...Jack...whoever he is. He got away, but not for long," David assured.

"In the meantime, we have to convince our son that remembers nothing that his boyfriend just tried to kill someone," Snow added, as she watched her husband approach the young man.

"Luke?" he asked in the most professional tone he could muster..

"Yes?" he questioned.

"I'm Detective Nolan, we met a few days ago at the zoo...and I need to speak to you about your boyfriend, Nick Branson," he stated, hating that his son was unknowingly mixed up with a killer and said killer had taken such advantage of him. Leo had been through so much and neither he nor Snow had been able to protect him from the evils the curse had wrought. But he set aside his guilt over all of that and took a deep breath.

"I remember. Is something wrong with Nick?" Luke asked.

"I'm afraid he just tried to kill someone...has he contacted you within the last ten minutes?" David asked.

"What?!" Luke exclaimed.

"That's insane! Nick wouldn't kill anyone!" he refuted.

"I'm afraid he tried to strangle Dr. Aeson. She survived the attack and she scratched him. The lab is matching the skin under her DNA to him right about now," David responded, as the young man remained shell shocked.

"I know this must be really difficult to hear, but I need to know if he has contacted you in the last hour?" David asked. Luke shook his head.

"Just a quick text that said he had an emergency with some client and that he'd be back. Guess that was a lie," Luke said bitterly, as he showed him the text.

"Okay...thanks. Listen...why don't you let me and my wife get you some more coffee?" David offered.

"I'm fine...just why would he try to kill someone?" he lamented.

"I don't know...but none of this is your fault," David assured, as he put a hand on the young man's shoulder. He searched his son's eyes for any recognition, but didn't see any and couldn't help but be disappointed by that. He wanted so badly for him to remember too so he and Snow could at least properly comfort him.

"I...I think I just need a little air," he mentioned, as he went outside. Snow and David could only exchange a sad look and watch on from a distance. He opened his arms and Snow dove into them, as he kissed her hair and held her tightly.

"What are we going to do, Charming?" she whispered to him.

"I...I don't know, my love," he responded, wishing he had answers for her...for all of them. Snow saw Weaver come in over his shoulder and noticed that he wasn't alone. Neal, who she knew was Cassidy Gold under the curse, came in behind him. But the person that followed him made her knees give out. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Was she seeing a ghost or was it some cruel trick? Was thinking what she was seeing was real too much to hope.

"Snow?" he asked in concern, as he held her up and kept her from sinking to the floor.

"David…" she murmured, her eyes still locked on the person she could see over his shoulder. The person that was now staring her dead in the eyes. David turned to see what she was fixated on and almost collapsed to the floor himself.

"Emma…" he uttered in disbelief.

"You're alive…" Snow said, choking on her tears.

"Yeah...it was a little touch and go there for a while, but I managed to stay alive long enough for Elsa and the others to find me," she explained, as they saw the Queen of Arendelle behind her, along with Anna and Kristoff. Tears streamed down their faces.

"We got Emma back to Storybrooke and just outside the town line," Kristoff added.

"And then Aphrodite created an elixir to keep my symptoms at bay until we can figure out how to cure my heart. But I'm fine here, because there's no magic," she explained. Snow smiled through her tears, as she cupped her daughter's face and then pulled her into a crushing hug.

"You found us…" she cried. Emma chuckled and her put her arms around them both, as David hugged her too and cradled her head.

"We...we thought you were dead…" David cried.

"I know...I'm sorry," she replied.

"You have nothing to apologize for, baby," Snow admonished, as she kissed Emma's cheek and David kissed her head.

"Emma...it's really you?" Eva asked tearfully.

"Eva...you're awake?" Emma asked, as they hugged.

"She's not the only one that's awake," Regina said, as she came over to them, all smiles, as she was sandwiched between Robin and Roland. She was also in tears, as she had feared she would also never see them again.

"Is there anyone except Neal that isn't awake?" Emma inquired.

"Leo's not…" Snow said.

"Killian and Alice aren't awake yet either," David added.

"And neither is Paul yet. It's a mess," Eva fretted.

"Hey...we'll figure it out. I found you guys, didn't I?" Emma replied.

"Wait...how did you find us? We're in the past," Snow inquired curiously. Emma smiled and gestured behind her. Near the entrance, they could see Rose Red, Fandral, and their children.

"We went to Rose's library and found the book. Then we summoned Heimdall so we could use the bi-frost and used Anna's wishing star to get us to the past. I don't know if that will work again, so I hope the chalice can get us back to 2023 after we break the curse," Emma said.

"It will...it got us here so I think it will take us back too," David assured.

"I'm sure there's a crap ton you need to tell me, so does this place have hot cocoa or something?" she asked. They smiled and hugged her between them again.

"Yeah...we have a lot to tell all of you," Snow said. Since it was the middle of the night, the lobby was mostly deserted, so they all found seats.

"Summer and Bobby...they need to know Emma's alive!" Snow said. Regina nodded.

"We'll go pick them up while you fill everyone in on what we're facing," the former Queen agreed, as she headed out with Robin and Roland in tow.

[demalore]

Snake Eyes

A fanfic (i guess?) about Greek Mythology

Apollo, God of the Arts, Master of Muses, Charioteer of the Sun Itself, was helplessly into hentai.

“It's an art form!” he argued internally against the shaming voice in his head. The other gods would never let him live this one down if they found out. Not even Poseidon, although, let's be real, he had to be into some shit.

Apollo was determined, as most gods are, to see his unspeakable desires fulfilled, by any means necessary. Consulting a fellow deity was out of the question, and he didn’t know a single mortal who could keep their mouth shut. But there was one individual Apollo knew who was so wretched, so despised, and so introverted, that she couldn’t spread even the juiciest Olympian gossip. Too bad she wasn't very happy to see him.

“Haven't you dickheads humiliated me enough?” Medusa snarled at Apollo’s reflection in her full-length mirror. She had a nice collection of mirrors at this point--mementos from would-be vanquishers--and had nothing better to do with them. Despite her damnation, Medusa was far from ugly. She could no longer count her hair or eyes among her more attractive features, but should one avoid her hypnotic stare, they would be transfixed nonetheless by her kingly cheekbones and chiseled jaw. Her arms were toned nicely after centuries of battling Greece’s finest warriors and, afterwards, lugging their remains out of her cave. Even her snakes’ scales shimmered, coils of rainbows spilling over her shoulders.

A few of her snakes turned to face Apollo while he made his proposition. Medusa kept her back to him, refusing to grant him any more of her attention than necessary. When he had finished explaining herself, she answered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I kid not, fair Medusa,” Apollo crooned. His eggshell tunic dripped from his chiseled body, held up by a sun-shaped brooch and a stupid amount of god-magic. “On this fair day, your beauty been found worthy in the eyes of Olympus.”

Medusa tilted her mirror to look at the intruder’s face, but she could only see half of it clearly. Something black and reflective was covering Apollo’s eyes. “There's some...device, on your head.”

Apollo whipped the pair of sunglasses off. A second pair immediately materialized in its place. “Gotta have shades, when your other ride’s the sun. And you didn't think I’d come without protection, did you, ‘Dusey?””

Electricity darted between Medusa’s narrowed eyes. “Call me ‘’Dusey’ again,” she muttered, turning to Apollo, stepping over her throne of skeletal remains, “and I'll smite those ‘shades' from your hideous upturned nose!”

Apollo's nose rose a bit higher. “Please, love. Those pretty peepers of yours wouldn't give me anything worse than a headache. Me being a god, and all that. There's only one part of me that you can make hard.” Without warning, Apollo thrust himself at his target, eliminating any confusion as to which part he referred to.

Medusa’s grimace was nearly as deadly as her gaze. She had weathered swords, axes, and bare fists; all were more pleasant than Apollo’s insatiable groin against hers. His hands were on her left shoulder and right buttock before she could pull away. Apollo’s trouser snake squirmed unpleasantly underneath his tunic. Medusa couldn’t shake off his grip, but luckily, she had a trouser snake of her own.

Apollo’s ‘yipe!’ of pain was most unbefitting a god. A mirthless smile crept up onto Medusa’s translucent cheeks. Apollo whined as she leaned forward, claws pressing into his chest. Medusa cocked her head and fiddled with the edge of his sunglasses. With a flick of her finger, she sent the glasses to the cave floor, and relished the fear in Apollo’s eyes. The taste in her snake’s mouth was horrid, but it was well worth it.

“Is something the matter, ‘Paul?” Medusa asked in her husky, slithering voice. “Or did you need more protection after all?”

Apollo returned to Olympus like a beaten puppy, his usually fashionably-loose robes tied tightly about his waist. He almost envied Prometheus. Even he was never without his manhood.

It would take mere days for Apollo’s godflesh to heal, but his pride wasn't so quickly repaired. Back in his bachelor pad, he raised a silver chalice to his lips, collected his thoughts, then whispered into the vessel:

Medusa the Gorgon, no man will dare wed, else he meet his untimely end.

Sure, it didn’t really rhyme, but he was impatient. And he was fucking Apollo, so who could even judge his poetry?

The silver chalice reverberated, and Apollo’s prophecy traveled down to the twine tethered at its bottom. The twine led far from Olympus, traveling through sunlight and dust motes, to the residence of Apollo’s Muses. An identical chalice rang until a Muse picked it up to receive the new prophecy.

Important prophecies had to be delivered by proper gods, but Apollo outsourced his more personal tasks to the Muses. He couldn’t be expected to hand-deliver every bit of artistic inspiration, he was a busy guy! So long as the Muse delivered the prophecy to a proper Oracle, it would be fulfilled, and Medusa would be permanently cockblocked.

But the Muses (who were sick of handling Apollo’s dirty laundry) had a particular, not-quite-proper Oracle in mind.

As far as the ability to see the future went, Cassandra had received better romantic gestures. Being an Oracle did come with a cushy job at any of Apollo’s temples, and that wasn’t anything to sneeze at. Cassandra loved her some fresh grapes and velvet couches (to hide the grape juice stains), but the job itself? Not so much.

See, everyone thought she sucked at her job. But really, it was everyone else who sucked at their…uh, critical thinking. Sure, it wasn’t their fault Apollo cursed Cassandra so that no one would believe her prophecies, but part of her still thought everyone was just being stupid. ‘Such and such army will attack at such and such place’, she’d tell them, and they’d laugh and call her a moron. And then the enemy launched a surprise attack (a surprise to everyone but Cassandra, that is) and the people blamed her for not warning them.

But apart from being constantly snubbed and vilified, yeah, it wasn’t a bad gig.

When the other Oracles weren’t busy blaming Cassandra for everything, she actually got along with them pretty well. After all, she was the one who had the idea to convince the townspeople that the stuff they were constantly burning in the temple was ‘incense’, something the gods definitely requested and not at all just dank Mediterranean weed. That perk alone made Apollo’s stupid curse almost worth it. Even some lesser deities would come to light up at the temple; that’s how good their shit was. So Cassandra wasn’t surprised to wake up to a Muse knocking at her door.

Cassandra rolled out of bed, pulled a gown over her bare chest, and opened the door. The faceless figure standing there was emitting a many-hued light, hovering two inches off the floor, and seemed to be sucking the color out of the space around them. Typical Muse stuff.

“Ey, what’s up, duder?” Cassandra asked groggily. “If you’re here to blaze a few, I’m totally down, just give me like a minute to find some pants and maybe some pita-“

“I am not here to blaze a few,” the Muse interrupted. Heavenly harp music accompanied their voice whenever they spoke, and unbidden tears welled in Cassandra’s eyes. Uck. “I have come to deliver a prophecy from Blessed Apollo. Although I would not be strongly opposed to partaking in a few dank nugs afterwards.”

“Shit, I don’t wanna work today.” Cassandra complained. She scratched her head, and her hand came away greasy. It had been at least a week since she had left her room to go to the public bathhouse. She was in no state to give a prophecy.

“Why’s Apollo even giving me a prophecy,” Cassandra continued groaning, “no one’ll listen.”

The Muse’s invisible harp quieted while the Muse recited the prophecy, exactly as Apollo had stated it.

“Hit me up when you’re done,” the Muse said as they departed in a burst of divine light, “I just got some new shit that’s ‘sposed to be wild…”

Cassandra blinked at the empty hallway. “Fine,” she said to no one, “but I’ll only do the prophecy because because I was promised weed, not because Apollo said so.”

        “Dish it,” Adonis ordered, pouring Melina an appropriately tall glass of wine. The fact of their friendship was, in and of itself, strange: they ran competing news blogs (scrolls that they handed out to anyone who walked by) and should’ve ostensibly been at each other’s throats. However, their shared love of gossip far outweighed their business interests, and they tended to share any particularly juicy tidbits with each other. Adonis didn’t know why Melina was being coy now.

“Adonis, you’re my friend and I love you,” Melina said, taking a few obliging sips of wine, “but you can’t be fucking trusted. Especially not with something like this.”

“Dish. It.” Adonis repeated. He was squirming in his chair. Other patrons of the gay wine bar shot them some curious glances, but no one appeared to be eavesdropping.

Melina grinned, and Adonis knew he had her. That, or the wine was finally working its magic. “Fine, but swear to me that you won’t go blabbing about it to your new boyfriend.”

Adonis froze. He dropped his eyes and became very interested in his designer sandals. “B-boyfriend?” he answered with practiced (but far from perfected) offhandedness. “I assure you I haven’t the faintest idea whom you could be referring to.”

“Hermes.”

Adonis cleared his throat. “If you mean Herman, then it was just the one night, and-“

“Oh, come, on Adonis,” Melina rolled her eyes. “Are you seriously still buying that ‘Herman’ shit? The guy has pet snakes and carries that weird curly staff. Who carries a staff anymore?”

Adonis’ face was as crimson as the wine, which Melina was now drinking with a satisfied smirk.

“Fine, if you’re still in denial about banging a god,“--Adonis squeaked in protest—"then just promise me you won’t tell ‘Herman’.”

“Promise,” Adonis answered indignantly.

Melina lowered her head, posed like a sphinx, ready to pounce. “So…there’s been talk of a new prophecy out of Troy.”

“Prophecy? Yawn,” Adonis slumped back in his chair. “If it’s another one about Zeus’ cosmic dick fucking things up for the rest of us, then hon, y’all don’t need an Oracle to know that.”

“No, this is for real,” Melina continued, “this one’s from Cassandra.”

That caught Adonis’ interest. Cassandra may have been blackballed by most of the Olympic pantheon because of her falling-out with Apollo, but that only made her more popular among mortals. Damnation was very in these days. “What’d she predict this time? Is it more dirt on Apollo?”

“Better. She said some shit about how no one should try boning Medusa.”

“Like, the gorgon Medusa?” People were definitely staring at them now, but Adonis didn’t care.

Melina nodded. “And if it’s Cassandra who predicted that-“

“-Then dudes are gonna be piling up on her doorstep,” Adonis finished the thought. He himself had a few tasteless fantasies involving various daemons and monsters (didn’t everyone?), but even he would think twice about wooing Medusa. But by Cassandra’s track record, her prophecy would be sending Medusa more suitors than she could shake a stick at.

“Yeah, but so far it’s only hit the temple gossip circuit, so don’t-“

“Sure, sure, I promised, didn’t I?”

“Because if the literal god of messengers finds out-“

“He’s not, and I won’t!”

Within three days, half of Greece had heard Cassandra’s prophecy. Whether it had anything to do with a certain god’s recent visit to Earth for a night of romance, and a certain blogger’s inability to walk for the week afterwards, one can only speculate.

Ironically, Medusa was one of the last people to find out. She had a blog of her own; it was primarily an Apollo hate blog with the occasional aesthetic post. But it wasn’t super popular, on account of no traveling merchant being brave enough to visit her cave and exchange scrolls. For that same reason, she wasn’t plugged in to the local gossip scene.

When she did get a visitor who wasn’t Apollo, it was some dickbag hero looking for glory, and she didn’t keep them around long enough to get any news out of them. She didn’t take them for much of conversationalists anyway.

She was curious, though, about her sudden influx of visitors. Out of the blue, she was getting dozens of men at her cave on a daily basis. Even stranger were their intentions—instead of slaying her, they were all wanted to marry her. At first, she had dismissed it as an ineffective trick to catch her off guard, and she added them to her statue collection without a second thought. When they kept coming, she thought it had to be some sick joke. She had pissed Apollo off pretty bad this time, maybe he was sending her ‘suitors’ just to taunt her. There was one way to find out, but it involved talking to men instead of killing them outright. Hardly seemed worth it, but she missed the peace and quiet.

“What’s your deal, anyway?” Medusa tried to dodge her latest gentleman caller’s advances, but it was difficult to do with her hand covering her eyes. She didn’t trust the guy not to try to stare longingly into her eyes, no matter how infamously deadly they were. That was something guys tried to do with chicks they liked, right? Medusa hadn’t given the romantic habits of men much thought.

“I seek nothing less than to make you my bride, noble Medusa!” Guy #54 professed, grappling Medusa around her waist. He didn’t seem to mind being dragged around the cave, neither did he mind Medusa’s attempts to shake him off.

“Sure, I got that bit, but why? Why all the sudden interest in getting me hitched?”

“Have you not heard, m’lady?” Guy #54 asked, continuing to sport a formal tone as he was dragged through the dirt. “The Oracle Cassandra has prophesied that the man who weds you will be met with great misfortune; but, knowing her prophecies to be wholly unreliable, I reasoned that to make you my bride would be most fortunate indeed!”

“You and everyone else,” Medusa muttered, looking over her recently expanded sculpture collection. She’d need a second cave, at this rate.

She tried prying more details from the poor sap, but he had spiraled into the same tired stream of compliments and professions of love. Yeuch. Medusa removed her hand and dealt with him as quickly as she had the others.

One more statue to deal with. But at least Medusa had a name to pin her misfortunes on: Cassandra. An Oracle, probably one of Apollo’s, prophesying for the sole purpose of tormenting her.

There was only so much Medusa could do about Apollo, but an Oracle, she could deal with.

        The one upside of every man in Greece falling in love with her was that it made getting directions very easy. All Medusa had taken with her from the cave was the pair of sunglasses Apollo had left behind on his most recent visit. Turns out they worked just as well in the opposite direction. Wearing them, she could pass through towns without petrifying everyone she saw and causing a riot. It made travel a breeze, but if she was being honest, she kind of missed the riots. What good was being a monster if you didn’t get to start riots?

The temple was a breeze to find. It was on the outskirts of Troy, centered around a few smaller towns, but stood on an isolated hillside, miles from any village. Good location, in any case, although Medusa wasn’t a fan of all the elaborate columns and arches. A cave was more practical, required far less upkeep.

Word of Medusa’s quest had traveled almost as fast as the prophecy. Medusa expected the temple to be empty, but a thick wall of smoke hit her as she opened the door and walked inside. There was no one to greet her at the temple entrance—indeed, not one person in the entrance hall. But smoke was continuing to billow from a room deeper in the temple, so someone had to be home.

Two steps in and the smoke was already giving Medusa a headache. She held her nose, and called out in a nasally voice, “I’ve come for the Oracle Cassandra! Step forth and receive your due!” She had already removed her glasses, prepared to deliver sweet revenge.

Medusa paused. Half a minute passed, with no response. Just as Medusa decided that the temple was, in fact, empty, a faint answer came from the internal chamber:

“Uhh, sorry, temple’s closed today, on account of…I dunno, man, god shit.”

Medusa squinted into the chamber, but the smoke was too thick for her to make out any distinct shapes. The speaker didn’t sound formal enough to be an Oracle, but Medusa had to admit she didn’t know any Oracles. Maybe they all sounded like stoners.

“Are you the one known as Cassandra?” Medusa continued in her haughty voice, thought she was still holding her nose in a rather uh-haughty-ish manner. She continued toward the source of the voice, the smoke around her growing thicker, more potent.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Medusa heard the speaker take a deep breath in, inhaling a substance likely related to the surrounding smoke cloud, and let out a long, satisfied sigh. “You the pizza man or somethin’? Whatever a pizza is, I think I could really go for one. Didn’t think it was invented yet…”

“You of all people should know who I am,” Medusa snarled. She had to walk with her hands held out in front of her to avoid running into the prayer shrines and offerings scattered on the temple floor. “I’m the one you’ve cursed with your gift of prophecy!”

“Gift?” Cassandra chuckled, but slowly, as if it took her a second to understand her own joke. “It’s a fuckin’ curse dude. That’s the whole deal. Don’t you know? Apollo hates my guts, he ain’t givin’ me gifts.”

“Apollo?” The name of her most hated enemy stopped Medusa in her tracks. “He cursed you, too?”

“Yee-up.” Medusa heard Cassandra stand up and approach her. A stout, yet graceful silhouette began floating out of the haze.

A second before Cassandra came into focus, Medusa flung her hands over her eyes. “Wait wait wait!” she insisted. Her righteous fury had melted into embarrassment. Hands still over her eyes, she danced in place, turning this way and that, trying to figure out how to get her sunglasses back on without accidentally turning Cassandra to stone.

“You okay, m- woah.” Medusa heard Cassandra stop, just a few steps ahead of her, certainly enough to see Medusa clearly. Medusa heard a low, almost melodic sound, and realized it was Cassandra whistling. “Sorry. You’re not a man at all, huh?”

The prophecy hadn’t said anything about women. That was convenient.

Medusa had the distinct impression that she was being stared at. “Just let me- cover your eyes for a second, okay?”

Cassandra chuckled again—a deep, raspy belly laugh that made Medusa’s insides writhe like they, too, were made of snakes. Medusa softly pressed her hands forward, making sure that Cassandra’s hands were safely covering her eyes.

Medusa looked. The figure before her—Cassandra—did not only meet the temple in regards to elegance, but far surpassed it. If Medusa had stopped to imagine what an Oracle looked like beforehand, it would’ve quite nearly been this. Medusa could tell at first glance that this was no common soldier’s wife, nor a widowed washerwoman; this was a lady of wealth, intellect, and charm. Golden hair flowed lazily down Cassandra’s back. Her figure was round with opulence, glowing in a way Medusa had attributed only to the gods, until now. She was tempted to remove Cassandra’s hands, just for a glimpse at her face.

Remembering herself, Medusa put her sunglasses back on before lowering Cassandra’s hands. She took her time meeting Cassandra’s eyes, letting her eyes linger on her gown, her soft, scented flesh. Finally, she plunged herself in Cassandra’s eyes, the first mortal eyes she had seen that were not made of stone.

They’re brown, Medusa thought. Her heart fluttered desperately against her chest. I didn’t know mortal eyes could be colored.

Cassandra was, understandably, confused. She blinked a few times, making sure that, no, the lady with hair made of snakes wasn’t just a drug-induced aftereffect. The snakes weren’t as off-putting as Cassandra may have expected. Medusa was so unlike any being she had ever come into contact with—and that was saying quite a bit, for an Oracle of the gods—but the expression on Medusa’s face was all too familiar.

The two women simultaneously understood what had driven Apollo to curse the other. Who wouldn’t feel spurned, to be denied such beauty?

Medusa’s hands lingered around Cassandra’s. Cassandra waited for her to speak, but Medusa was as still as her victims. Whatever the gorgon had been threatening to do before, it now seemed to be the farthest thing from her mind. Well, if Medusa wasn’t going to move, Cassandra would move her herself.

“Hup!” Cassandra linked her hands behind Medusa’s back and lifted her off the ground. Medusa was shocked by how warm Cassandra was against her own semi-cold-blooded flesh, and instinctively wrapped herself around her. Cassandra was stronger than she looked, and effortlessly carried Medusa to her private chambers.

“Now,” Cassandra crooned seductively, “tell me more about how much you hate Apollo.”

[dontbeathorloser-blog]

Are You Shuri That’s Thortful?|| Shuri and Thor

Shuri tempts Thor over with a lie in hopes to study his hammer, things don’t exactly go to plan. 

A jug of ale that magically refilled itself with a cryptic message at the bottom? If there was anyone who could defeat this evil before it over took the world then it was Thor. Thunder clapped in the distance as he threw himself out of Darryl’s bedroom window and Stormbreaker sent him rocketing across the city, he broke the sound barrier as he took off, the speeds overwhelming the time it would’ve normally taken to approach Avengers Tower and soon he was landing. “Where is thy foe?” he crowed, thunder and lightning flickered off of his skin as he searched for the jug of ale.

Shuri’s intention was to study Stormbreaker. There were not a lot of things that baffled her mind, but a hammer being able to transfer matter through infinite time and space was one of those things. The potential information she could learn from it was revolutionary. Shuri also did not believe in magic, it was all science that just wasn’t understood yet. As she hang up the phone, the sound of thunder echoed off the buildings of New York, followed by what sounded like an extremely loud clap. Before she knew it, Thor was standing in Avengers Tower, singeing the carpets. “It’s this way.” She said, her mind making up the lie as she went along. She wasn’t a trickster or one to lie, but for science she would try to. She walked them into the bar area and by using her Kimoyo beads, cracked open the safe that held a magical mug that refilled itself. It was originally created my Doctor Strange but had somehow made its way to the avengers tower bar, where it was locked up for safe keeping and probably to prevent drunk New Avengers. “Here it is.” She stepped away and pointing towards the open safe. “Careful, it needs two hands.”

As static electricity surged off of his skin before finally coming to a stop as sparks littered the carpet. Thor stepped inside of Avengers tower, Stormbreaker grasped firmly in his hand as he recognised the mug of ale that Doctor Strange had once provided for him. “Ah, an old foe,” he said with a wry smile as he reached out and grasped the mug, turning and grasping it in one hand and placing Stormbreaker over one shoulder. “This mug is barely large enough for the youngest babe to need two hands to grasp such an odd trinket,” he started drinking, spotting no message at the bottom of the glass, but he was sure that Shuri wouldn’t lie to him for no reason. They had barely interacted before, but he knew that she was the sister of the Black Panther who was a noble warrior. But Stormbreaker was not a trinket to be tampered with and Thor was not a complete fool. Her mention of the hammer had been a bit of a give away.

Shuri cursed silently as Thor didn’t put down the hammer. She needed to move around the whole hammer to scan it, and with it over Thor’s back, that wasn’t possible. She sighed. “The message seems to have disappeared. I guess the agent who informed me about the message was wrong.” She threw her hands up with fake frustration. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.” She paused. “But whilst you’re here, do you mind if I take a look at your hammer? Just a quick scan, I won’t even touch it!” She knew that the hammer meant a lot to Thor and was meant to be protected, but not allowing others to be able to study and learn from it is what she found selfish.

As Thor did his very best to quaff down as much of the ale that he possibly could, he barely heard what Shuri said. It took him a moment to recognise what she was saying and once he did he couldn’t help but lower the ale from his lips and fix his eyes on her. “I am no mere mortal to be summoned on a whim,” he warned with a flicker of lightning leaping across his irises, “If this was some attempt to get me to agree to allow you to study my hammer then I warn you against it again, the first visit was a courtesy that I’m not sure will be extended twice.” He kept a firm grip on his weapon, especially knowing that she wanted to scan it. “I’ve made my position with this weapon perfectly clear, it is no toy or tool which should be studied, it is a dangerous weapon that must be wielded by the correct person in the correct manner, so, no. You can’t take a look at my hammer.” He looked at her and waited for the inevitable argument. “You certainly cannot scan it.”

Shuri furrowed her eyebrows. He was no mere mortal to be summoned on a whim. She felt like asking what things he had to do that were better than being here? It’s not like he had a kingdom anymore and as far as she knew, SHIELD watched over his people now, not him. She shook her head, unimpressed by the so-called god of thunder. “Fine. I’d just like to add that I know that is a weapon, and that it is not a toy, I’m not 5 years old. When everyone else around the world saw Vibranium as the perfect material to make weapons, I saw it as everything else but a weapon. I’d probably be the most trustworthy person to study Stormbreaker.” She shrugged, “But the almighty Thor has spoken and obviously does not want to be summoned again, I guess I’ll go play with my ‘toys’ in my lab. You know, the ‘toys’ that are driving the future of technology forward.” She honestly didn’t wait for a response and she didn’t say this as a way to persuade him. She was tired of people underestimating her because she was only a child.

Raising his eyebrow at her, of all the things that Thor had expected from Shuri. Being summoned here there and everywhere was something that SHIELD seemed to pride themselves on doing to Thor. “My apologies young one,” he said quietly, “I did not intend to belittle or provoke you, you however must understand my position, I forged this hammer from a dying star. The express purpose of such an act was to destroy a Titan. This weapon is dangerous and it is my duty is to protect it from those who might want to misuse it.” He paused and stroked his beard whilst sipping his ale thoughtfully. “What guarantees do I have that you’re not simply attempting to gain the power of the hammer for nefarious means? How do I know this isn’t simply for personal gain?”

Shuri stopped and sighed. Yes, she was upset and expected more from Thor, but the temptation of maybe being able to study the hammer won her over every time. “Because, I’m a New Avenger. I want to be able to help those who cannot help themselves and to be able to do that at my best ability, I need to understand everything this world throws at me or presents to me.” She turned around and headed back to Thor, a smile coming to her face whilst she thought of the possibilities. “Being able to transport matter through time and space would be revolutionary! Imagine being able to send supplies to countries in need without risking innocent lives or the transport being intercepted! Imagine being able to evacuate wounded from a building right before the building collapses or even moving people out of a city before a flood!” The possibilities were endless and she could ramble on, but she didn’t want to bore the other. “That is why I’d like to study it.”

Running a hand over his still closely cropped hair and then stroking his ample beard, Thor listened carefully to her justifications and did his very best to decide whether or not he thought that she was truly worthy of studying his hammer. He was aware that there were a lot of people out there who would like to use the power of Stormbreaker and the uru it was forged from for evil. “The power of the hammer is something that I cannot simply allow people to possess, your civilization hasn’t perfected this technology yet and giving it to you before you’re ready could spell disaster, you yourself mentioned how you were the only one who wanted to use vibranium for something other than weaponry.” Pausing for a moment, he stroked his beard. “I realise what you think you’re going to be able to do with this technology, and I believe your ambitions to be truly noble. But I with a good conscience cannot just allow you to examine it right now. So I’m not saying no, I’m just saying not yet.”

Shuri listened at Thor explained himself. He wasn’t wrong. Even if Shuri developed the tech, there was no way she’d be able to keep it from someone else who’d use it for the wrong reasons. Someone would always try to replicate it or even steal it. She let out a soft sigh. “I appreciate that.” He hasn’t said no, and the idea of her being able to one day study it excited her. She started planning ahead, perhaps today she could try and replicate it by herself from what she knew. Nothing was impossible when it came to her and her lab. “I suppose you could keep the mug, nobody here will miss it.” Nobody here would even dare to try it.

Pausing for a moment, Thor was surprised to find that Shuri wasn’t arguing her point further. Maybe it was his new approach, maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t said no, just not yet. Perhaps it was something else. But he didn’t want to argue with her further. “I’m surprised that you haven’t attempted to investigate this wonderful chalice!” he exclaimed, knowing full well that this mug wasn’t a chalice, “I would imagine that someone with your goals would be intent on discovering exactly how this worked.” He smiled gently before moving back to the safe and placing the mug (now full once more) inside and closed the doors. “I shall leave it in your capable hands for safe keeping, for my next visit. Whilst I can’t allow you to study the hammer, perhaps I can show you the power of the bifrost? Where would you like to go?”

Shuri didn’t get out much so not only was Thor offering her the chance to experience the bifrost, but he was offering her to explore any place on Earth, no, any place in the universe! Shuri smiled as her mind skipped over the ideas of where she could go and what she could experience. “Does it have to be on Earth?” She asked, she had no idea where she would go or what she would like to see, but right now, she had the means and ability to go any place on Earth, but not anywhere beyond.

Thor had to admit that the question caught him off guard. For some reason he hadn’t even considered that she might go off world. Yet, fair was fair. What harm could taking a human off world really do? Peter Quill and the rest of the morons had been doing it for many years. “A pact cannot be broken without slighting my honour, so yes, it may be outside of the planet Earth. However there will be some ground rules.” Not that he particularly had any idea what he was going to make into these rules. “First there are some places which are simply too dangerous to go, Jotenheim for example. The frost giants don’t enjoy Asgardians or Midgardians.” He thought for a moment more. “Obviously there are some places where you couldn’t survive. So I won’t be able to take you there.” He paused a final time. “Be sensible with your choice, this won’t happen often.”

Shuri paused. The option to go anywhere in the universe had never occurred to her and for once she had no idea where she wanted to go. “Do you think that perhaps we don’t have to go right now?” She needed some time to really consider her answer and not waste her one chance as it won’t happen often. “I just need some time to consider my answer.” Not only that, but if she had enough time, she could even develop a suit for herself, one that could allow her to survive in certain conditions she normally wouldn’t.

“Of course, I am in no hurry. There is wisdom to patience, as this is a one time offer that I am making you. There aren’t likely to be repeat trips, at least not for pleasure.” Thor took a moment to stroke his beard thoughtfully. “All I ask is that you put that great intellect to use when you make your decision. Though that doesn’t appear to be an issue for you thus far.” Smiling gently, he spun Stormbreaker’s shaft, watching the balanced combination hammer / axe head spin around before he caught it again. “Do not wait for too long though, real life seems to have a strange way of obstructing our best laid plans.”

Shuri nodded and understood. She’d put a lot of her spare time into deciding where she wanted to go and what benefits that place would have. “Thanks for coming all this way Thor.” She appreciated the fact that he hadn’t just said no, but had given her the privilege of being able to travel using the bifrost instead. “Let me know if you ever want to have another go at the mug.” She smiled at him before adding, “I won’t take too long, I get that life happens and I should seize the opportunity before it’s too late.”

[bastionkeeper]

Taako Day Chapter 4

Taako was not enjoying his jail cell one bit.

For starters he was sharing it with a rather angry human who wouldn’t stop beating at the bars and screaming to be let out.

Then there was the general comfort level: the lumpy bed, the leak in the roof, the smell.

He was playing it cool and polite until he was served lunch, then he threw a tantrum.

“What even is this?” he gestured towards the gray mush on his plate. “I-I-I cannot believe the injustice in our prison systems! You serve…you serve THIS to living people??”

“LET ME OUT OF HERE, I’LL KILL YOU ALL!” his cellmate roared, drowning him out. Taako couldn’t have that, he wanted to be heard.

So he cast knock on the door and let the guy out.

“Seriously, what is this?” Taako asked, leaning in the doorway of the cell as the guards struggled to force the angry man back into another cell.

“Sit down, and shut up,” a guard told him as he locked the cell again. “Anymore magic and we’ll sedate you.”

“Promise?” Taako asked. “It has been such a long day, I could go for a sedative or two, maybe a screwdriver.” He winked, but the guard just scowled.

Taako sighed, tossing the plate to the ground in a bit of childish rage and flopping back down on the bed. He wondered if Angus had started detectiving. He knew no one could stop the kid once he put his mind to a mystery, and he sort of felt comforted by the fact that the kid was no doubt clearing his name right now.

 Angus woke up outside the warehouse, laying on his back in someone’s lap. For a moment he thought it was Kravitz, but a closer look revealed a pair of elven ears under the black reaper hood.

“You alright, Ango?” Lup asked. “That was some nasty stuff in there, Barry’s having a field day getting rid of it.”

“Auntie Lup,” Angus said, for Lup had insisted he call her that, “how did you find me?”

“We…uh…” Lup shrugged and gave Angus a grin. “…we felt your life force flicker there, buddy.”

“Oh…” Angus swallowed. He had been dying.

“Oh thank god!” Kravitz landed nearby, transforming back into his usual shape in a puff of black feathers. “What did I say? I said to call me once you found him!”

He grabbed Angus and hugged him close, and Angus realized for the first time that Kravitz was really attached to him. He wondered why he hadn’t figured it out sooner being a detective…but somehow he’d completely missed the fact that living with Taako and Kravitz had sort of made a family out of them.

Angus hugged Kravitz back, feeling safe in his found father’s embrace. “I’m sorry…I thought I had him…”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Kravitz sighed. “Did you catch him?”

“He was gone by the time we got here,” Lup said. “If he’d been here, he’d be dead. Just saying.”

“We need him alive, Auntie Lup,” Angus said. “So we can clear Taako’s name.”

“I don’t see why we can’t just go bust him out and tell them to fuck off,” Lup said. “He’s one of the seven birds, he helped save the whole fucking world and they’re gonna hold him there on food poisoning charges?”

“Hun, you know Taako wouldn’t have gone with them if he hadn’t wanted to.” Barry appeared, walking over to the group. “I think he wants to do this by the book. For once in his life.”

Lup sighed. “He would get difficult now, wouldn’t he.”

“He still blames himself, even though he knows it was Sazed who actually did the poisoning,” Angus said.

The group sat quietly for a moment, thinking about their situation, when suddenly Lup’s stone of farspeech crackled to life.

“They’ve got him on trial right now! And things aren’t looking good,” Carey’s gruff voice came through the stone. “I think you better get over here.”

“We may as well, Sazed is long gone by now,” Lup sighed. “We should go see what we can do for Taako.”

Angus felt ashamed and angry tears well up in his eyes. He’d blown it. He’d had Sazed and he’d let him escape. Now Taako was in trouble and he…

It was all his fault.

As they teleported over to Glamour Springs, Kravitz noticed Angus sniffling and pulled him in close. He kept his hand on the child’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

The reaper trio and their plus one showed up in the Glamour Springs town square, where an angry mob had assembled in front of a large stage where Taako was currently being pushed out by a pair of angry guards.

“Easy there, buy a guy dinner first,” Taako snapped at them. When he noticed his family in the audience he shouted over to Kravitz. “Why did you bring Angus? This isn’t a birthday party you know.”

“Court is now in session!” a man stepped up to the podium on stage and addressed the audience. “We bring to you the one responsible for the tragic deaths in our town six years ago.”

The audience booed, some people even threw rotting fruit at Taako. To his credit, Taako didn’t even flinch when it hit his legs and splattered on his clothes. Kravitz growled and Lup looked ready to go full fireblast, but Barry put a hand on each of their arms to calm them.

“Since this is such a serious offense, we’ve decided to do things differently today,” the man said. “The accused may provide one witness to prove his innocence, and if we don’t like what they have to say then we move on to the punishment.”

“What the fuck?” Taako said. “Uh, yeah, okay, who am I gonna call? Taako was a lone wolf back then, baby, didn’t exactly have any friends to vouch for me.”

“I’ll vouch for him.”

The audience gasped and parted for Lucretia as she approached the stage. She looked fierce and regal, even though her hands were shaking as she held the temporal chalice.

Kravitz grinned, sure that this would save the day.

Lucretia came up on stage and held the chalice out for the audience to see. She closed her eyes for a moment, channeling her magic into the relic. Then she opened her eyes again, and they were glowing with white energy. When she opened her mouth to speak it wasn’t her voice that came out, it was the voices of the dead.

“We died that day, at the unwitting hand of the elf,” the voices said. “fed poison by a man who was supposed to die by it. His assistant, wronged, conspired to take his life and ours with it. He is guilty only of hubris and cruelty.”

Taako flinched and looked down at his feet, his face contorting into a frown. Lucretia’s eyes closed again and she collapsed to her knees, groaning and clutching at her head. The audience watched in awed silence, until finally the judge on stage raised a hand.

“This is magic trickery,” he said. “How can we take the word of the dead? We have no way of knowing this is true or not!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Lup yelled. “That’s a fucking relic! Are you that stupid? Let my brother go!”

“We will have justice for the dead!” the man shouted, and the audience cheered with him. Angus’s eyes grew wide, and he realized that he was running to Taako. The guards tried to block him, but he cast blink the way Taako had taught him too and reappeared next to his mentor’s side. Taako was non-responsive, kneeling on the stage with tears in his eyes. Angus grabbed his shoulders and shook him, yelling his name and begging for him to free himself and escape.

“You have to go Taako, you have to go!” he said.

“Only death can pay for death!” the man said and the audience cheered again, hungry for blood. Lup, Kravitz, and Barry summoned their scythes, Carey and Killian appeared from the crowd with their weapons drawn too. Lucretia was still recovering from the chalice, and Taako and Angus were still kneeling on the stage in a tearful conversation when someone shouted.

“Stop!”

Everyone turned towards the voice, and saw a nervous man clutching at his own hands and trembling as he approached.

“Stop…please…” Sazed said. “I…I’m tired of running…”

“Sazed?” Taako looked up in disbelief.

“I’m tired of running…” Sazed repeated himself, sniffling and wiping tears from his eyes. “It was me. I killed those people. I did it to kill Taako and give him a bad name. I wanted…I just wanted him to share the show with me…I wanted him to love me back…”

The man on the stage looked down at Sazed for a long silent moment. Then he sighed and nodded to the guards.

They unlocked Taako’s cuffs, and the elf only collapsed further on the stage, steadying himself with his freed hands. Then the guards cuffed Sazed and dragged him back towards the jail cells behind the stage. As Sazed passed Taako the two shared a glance full of so many emotions and thoughts it was impossible to tell what was going on between them. Finally, Taako whipped his head away, and Sazed whimpered at the motion before being dragged out of sight.

“You are free to go,” the man said to Taako, not looking directly at him.

“I think you owe him an apology!” Angus said, surprised at how his voice didn’t tremble.

“…” the man sighed. “We apologize for your treatment and the false accusations you are now free to go.”

Lup ran up to her brother and fixed the man with a glare so fierce he stumbled backwards a few steps. She helped Taako up and then Lucretia. She took their arms, one in each hand, and led them down towards the rest of the group.

Taako gave Lucretia a look, the same kind he always gave her ever since he’d pointed the umbrastaff at her two years ago. However, despite his eyes saying he would never forgive her, his mouth said “thank you.”

Lucretia gave a tired nod, and let Lup lead her towards a portal.

[dfroza]

to conserve truth.

even in the face of opposition. maybe even the opposition of a friend.

which is what we see Paul write about in Today’s reading from his Letter of Galatians with chapter #2:

As a result of a revelation, I returned to Jerusalem 14 years later; and this time Barnabas and Titus accompanied me. When I arrived, I shared the exact gospel that I preach to the outsiders. I first shared God’s truth privately with those who were people of influence and leadership because I thought if they did not embrace the freedom of my good news, then any work I had done for Jesus here and any in the past would be spoiled.

Listen carefully. None of the Jerusalem leaders insisted that Titus be circumcised, although he is Greek. Some people who were pretending to be our brothers and sisters were brought in to spy on the freedom we enjoy in the Anointed One, Jesus—their agenda was clear: they wanted to enslave us. But we didn’t give in to them. We didn’t entertain their thoughts for a minute! We resisted them so the true gospel—and not some counterfeit—would continue to be available to you.

It makes no difference to me (or to God for that matter) if people have power or influence. God doesn’t choose favorites among His children. Even the so-called pillars of the church didn’t contribute anything new to my understanding of the good news. But it quickly became obvious to them what God was doing: He had entrusted me to carry the good news to the uncircumcised, just as Peter was called to preach to those who were circumcised. God was at work in the ministry of Peter, as emissary to the Jews, and was also moving and working with me in my ministry to the outsider nations.

When James, Cephas (whom you know as Peter), and John—three men purported to be pillars among the Jewish believers—saw that God’s favor was upon me to fulfill this calling, they welcomed and endorsed both Barnabas and me. They agreed that our ministries would work as two hands, theirs advancing the mission of God among the Jews and ours toward the outsider nations, all with the same message of redemption. In parting, they requested we always remember to care for the poor among us, which was something I was eager to do.

But when Cephas came to Antioch, there was a problem. I got in his face and exposed him in front of everyone. He was clearly wrong. Here’s what was going on: before certain people from James arrived, Cephas used to share meals with the Gentile outsiders. And then, after they showed up, Cephas suddenly became aloof and distanced himself from the outsiders because he was afraid of those believers who thought circumcision was necessary.

The rest of the Jewish believers followed his lead, including Barnabas! Their hypocritical behavior was so obvious—heir actions were not at all consistent with everything the good news of our Lord represents. So I approached Cephas and told him in plain sight of everyone: “If you, a Jew, have lived like the Gentile outsiders and not like the Jews, then how can you turn around and urge the outsiders to start living like Jews?” We are natural-born Jews, not sinners from the godless nations. But we know that no one is made right with God by meeting the demands of the law. It is only through the faithfulness of Jesus the Anointed that salvation is even possible. This is why we put faith in Jesus the Anointed: so we will be put right with God. It’s His faithfulness—not works prescribed by the law—that puts us in right standing with God because no one will be acquitted and declared “right” for doing what the law demands. Even though we are seeking a right relationship with God through the Anointed, the fact is we have been found out. We are sinners. But does that mean the Anointed is the one responsible for our sins? Absolutely not! If I reconstruct something I have worked so hard to destroy, then I prove myself a sinner.

The law has provided the means to end my dependence on it for righteousness, and so I died to the law. Now I have found the freedom to truly live for God. I have been crucified with the Anointed One—I am no longer alive—but the Anointed is living in me; and whatever life I have left in this failing body I live by the faithfulness of God’s Son, the One who loves me and gave His body on the cross for me. I can’t dismiss God’s grace, and I won’t. If being right with God depends on how we measure up to the law, then the Anointed’s sacrifice on the cross was the most tragic waste in all of history!

The Letter of Galatians, Chapter 2 (The Voice)

and paired with chapter #2 of Galatians is chapter 44 in the book of Genesis that reminds me (when put Together as 244) of the number/letter 244S that was printed in gold lettering on the side binding of a small black leather-bound Bible that was left in my shipwrecked Saturn Vue in Los Angeles back in ‘12

reading further in the story about the reconciliation of brothers:

[Genesis 44]

Joseph ordered his house steward: “Fill the men’s bags with food—all they can carry—and replace each one’s money at the top of the bag. Then put my chalice, my silver chalice, in the top of the bag of the youngest, along with the money for his food.” He did as Joseph ordered.

At break of day the men were sent off with their donkeys. They were barely out of the city when Joseph said to his house steward, “Run after them. When you catch up with them, say, ‘Why did you pay me back evil for good? This is the chalice my master drinks from; he also uses it for divination. This is outrageous!’”

He caught up with them and repeated all this word for word.

They said, “What is my master talking about? We would never do anything like that! Why, the money we found in our bags earlier, we brought back all the way from Canaan—do you think we’d turn right around and steal it back from your master? If that chalice is found on any of us, he’ll die; and the rest of us will be your master’s slaves.”

The steward said, “Very well then, but we won’t go that far. Whoever is found with the chalice will be my slave; the rest of you can go free.”

They outdid each other in putting their bags on the ground and opening them up for inspection. The steward searched their bags, going from oldest to youngest. The chalice showed up in Benjamin’s bag.

They ripped their clothes in despair, loaded up their donkeys, and went back to the city.

Joseph was still at home when Judah and his brothers got back. They threw themselves down on the ground in front of him.

Joseph accused them: “How can you have done this? You have to know that a man in my position would have discovered this.”

Judah as spokesman for the brothers said, “What can we say, master? What is there to say? How can we prove our innocence? God is behind this, exposing how bad we are. We stand guilty before you and ready to be your slaves—we’re all in this together, the rest of us as guilty as the one with the chalice.”

“I’d never do that to you,” said Joseph. “Only the one involved with the chalice will be my slave. The rest of you are free to go back to your father.”

Judah came forward. He said, “Please, master; can I say just one thing to you? Don’t get angry. Don’t think I’m presumptuous—you’re the same as Pharaoh as far as I’m concerned. You, master, asked us, ‘Do you have a father and a brother?’ And we answered honestly, ‘We have a father who is old and a younger brother who was born to him in his old age. His brother is dead and he is the only son left from that mother. And his father loves him more than anything.’

“Then you told us, ‘Bring him down here so I can see him.’ We told you, master, that it was impossible: ‘The boy can’t leave his father; if he leaves, his father will die.’

“And then you said, ‘If your youngest brother doesn’t come with you, you won’t be allowed to see me.’

“When we returned to our father, we told him everything you said to us. So when our father said, ‘Go back and buy some more food,’ we told him flatly, ‘We can’t. The only way we can go back is if our youngest brother is with us. We aren’t allowed to even see the man if our youngest brother doesn’t come with us.’

“Your servant, my father, told us, ‘You know very well that my wife gave me two sons. One turned up missing. I concluded that he’d been ripped to pieces. I’ve never seen him since. If you now go and take this one and something bad happens to him, you’ll put my old gray, grieving head in the grave for sure.’

“And now, can’t you see that if I show up before your servant, my father, without the boy, this son with whom his life is so bound up, the moment he realizes the boy is gone, he’ll die on the spot. He’ll die of grief and we, your servants who are standing here before you, will have killed him. And that’s not all. I got my father to release the boy to show him to you by promising, ‘If I don’t bring him back, I’ll stand condemned before you, Father, all my life.’

“So let me stay here as your slave, not this boy. Let the boy go back with his brothers. How can I go back to my father if the boy is not with me? Oh, don’t make me go back and watch my father die in grief!”

The Book of Genesis, Chapter 44 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, march 11 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

[trazskil]

Re Pon Caana

(The Land Between Worlds Anthology: Issue #7)

By: Trazskil

   Rooftops. They’re always there. No matter where you go if there are people there are rooftops. From the smallest villages in Crossroads to the towering structures in Chalice, there was always somewhere to perch yourself and watch whatever happens below. A mother calming her crying child, a baker bringing out fresh sweet rolls for the public to smell and those with money to buy, and, of course, things are only done in back alleys.

Densley did his best to keep away from those, but as an assassin, there wasn’t much he could do about that. Even though he crafted most of his materials on his own and got his contracts from trusted sources, sometimes there was no other choice. Sometimes, the shady places were the best for business. That was not the case today, however. No, today, business was booming! There was a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it in, but with his team that wouldn’t be a problem.

The real problem was the method. There was only so much crone’s blood left in the dark corners of the world. Especially now that the Messar Priests were extinct and there were very few places to procure holy acid. And even if you could find any, the price would be a king’s ransom.

Densley damned the crones, he might even go as far as to hunt them down out of vengeance for the priests, but the truth was he had enough crone’s blood for the job and the pay was a king’s ransom. He would finally be able to retire after thirty years of working in the shadows. Hell, they would all be able to retire! Only about twenty of them would actually retire though. This life was too familiar for the majority to do anything else, at least for now. Oh, to be young again!

Suddenly, Densley felt two cold, sharp points prickling his neck. Speaking of being young, he thought.

He had heard his assailant coming from about twenty feet away. It took her about three minutes to make her way to him, an impressive time, considering it was mid-day and the only big sound was the occasional breeze.

“Hello, Ayla,” Densley said, a smirk on his lips.

“Damn it!” Ayla hissed. “You knew I was here?” She withdrew her fangs and sat on the ledge next to where Densley crouched and let her feet dangle over the side.

“Only within the last twenty or so feet,” Densley admitted.

“Gods below!” she cursed, defeated.

“Within twenty-one feet, most people don’t have enough time to react,” Densley explained, pulling out his fangs from his sleeve. He turned the bi-forked weapon over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship of the hollowed out needle-like prongs for poison. The ergonomic but simple wooden grip allowed him to conceal it in his palm and the next second hold it like it was meant to be held: with the two prongs sticking out of his fist, weaving between the index, middle, and ring fingers.

In a flash, he pressed the prongs to Ayla’s side, she gasped but otherwise, did not move. Densley chuckled and slid the tool back into his sleeve. “When you’re close enough that your target can’t react in time, never hesitate. Go for the kill, right then and there.”

“And what if my target is someone like you? Quicker than a sprite and sneakier than a changeling?” Ayla asked.

“Bootlicking,” Densley said, the corner of his mouth tugged at a grin, “will get you nowhere with me, young lady.”

“And calling me a lady,” Ayla retorted, “will get you a kick in the stones.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe….” a wild grin spread across the youth’s face.

Densley looked at his protege seriously. He stared into her eyes and, for a moment, couldn’t figure out if she was messing with him or not. It took a minute, but he finally saw the twinkle and chuckled. “I’m glad you’re not serious,” he said. “I might’ve killed you.”

Ayla laughed and shoved him playfully. He smiled at her and remembered when he first found her; scared, alone, and forgotten in the Ubatan—the forest which surrounded Chalice and hid Stregge, the swamp where the crones lived. She didn’t remember her name or where she came from, just that she was angry. Angry, and scared. So he took her home to Chalice and she quickly became a member of his family, the group of assassins known as Pon Caana. They gave her a name because they couldn’t just go around calling her “Girl” any longer, and that was that. Ever since then, she ran with them.

He suspected that she thought of him as a sort of father, though, he wasn’t sure. They never really talked about that sort of thing. It was better not to get too sentimental in their kind of work for obvious reasons….  

“So,” Ayla said.

“Sew buttons on your shoes,” Densely said.

Ayla shot him a disapproving look. “What are we doing here?”

“Oh,” he said, looking over the ledge and down on the streets again. “Waiting.”

“For?”

“The others. I asked everyone that could to be here to discuss our newest contract.”

“Mhm. And then what?”

“And then we plan,” Densley said cryptically. “You know how it goes, you’ve done this a hundred times and it’s only been what, a year?”

“Eight months,” Ayla corrected. “I’m practically your baby.”

“Ugh!” Densley cringed. “What in nine hells is wrong with you?”

Ayla just laughed.

     They waited in silence for the rest to show up while they studied the streets below. Densley asked her questions and puzzles and wasn’t surprised when she answered them quickly and—most often—creatively. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was the best of them one day. She showed enough potential and was already more crafty than many others who had years of experience.

Eventually, more Pon Caana showed up. In twos and threes, some came solo, but never more than three at a time. A group that size was already pushing for suspicion and the last thing they needed was another fiasco like they had a few years ago when the Yammilla Royal Guard caught wind of their headquarters and ambushed them.

They killed a good twenty of Densley’s people before they were able to drive them out. Soon after, they moved the long way to Chalice which was a good week long trip from Yammilla. Everyone had their own place in the city and met up at a location only disclosed at the last moment and only when Densley approved it. The changes were not easy, but they learned from their mistakes and took extra precautions to be sure it would not happen again.

Once everyone gathered, all forty-eight that were currently in Chalice (many others were out across the Land Between Worlds fulfilling different contracts), Densley had Ayla join the group who formed a semi-circle on the flat roof. Well, not completely flat, they had to angle it inward so that any water that gathered in a rainstorm would pour down the drain in the center of it. In winter, they installed a temporary angled roof so the weight of the snow wouldn’t collapse the ceiling in on the buildings wealthy tenants. They quieted down and waited for their leader to speak.

Once Densley was sure he had their undivided attention, he began.

“For years I’ve spoken to you about a job to end it all. A job that would allow me and all of you to retire. I called all of you here today to let you know that the job has come,” Densley paused, giving the news time to sink in and for the crowd to murmur a little, then continued. “This job is dangerous, it is cruel, and it is unlike anything any of us have ever done. But, I promise, if you follow me to this thing, we will be richer than any of you can imagine!”

Excited whispers spread along the roof like a wave. Some were skeptical, others were outright doubtful, but most were excited at the prospect of riches and retirement. He let them chatter on until they finally died down again, then he looked over them grinning like a mad man.

“Well,” said one of the male Pon Caana, a good man named Tips, “what’s the job?”

Densley’s grin widened even more, something that might have seemed impossible to some. “The King of Chalice,” he said.

Immediately, a silence washed over the crowd, jaws dropped, eyebrows rose, and astonished faces gaped at their leader in shock.

“I know,” Densley began before anyone could gather their wits to interrupt him, “it’s risky and I know it’s something we don’t usually do, but I need the help of everyone on this. In fact, I’ve already sent word to the others not to take any other contracts and to come back immediately to Chalice, once they’re finished with whatever they are currently doing.

"I won’t lie to you, this will be the most dangerous thing we have ever done, some of you will die, I could die! But I need every one of you to help me with this. And after, we’ll split the winnings evenly eighty-seven ways, just like we always do on big jobs, and we can all retire or do whatever you want!”

“How much, exactly, is the contract for?” someone in the back blurted.

“Who gave you the contract?” another asked.

Soon, the entire crowd was speaking, their voices climbing over each other trying to be the one that was heard, like a bunch of ravenous ghouls fighting to be the first to take a bite out of five-day rotted flesh.

“Enough!” Densley finally shouted over them, before they could grow too loud. “Enough. I will be happy to talk to any of you who have questions later, what I need to know right now is who is with me? Again, let me say that everyone that helps is entitled to a share, but no one will be made to help.”

They were all quiet, contemplating the words of their leader. But it wasn’t long before Drie, a rough looking skinny woman with a husky voice, stepped forward. "We’re all with you, Dens.”

Everyone around her nodded at that and it, like so many things, spread to the rest of them. All the while, Ayla stood as still as a statue, her arms crossed over her chest, her feet stood apart taking a firm stance, and her eyes held Densley’s in a dark glare. The only thing to move was her raven hair as the breeze came and went.

“What’s wrong, Ayla?” Densley asked, over the muttering that had started up again. Everyone stopped talking and looked at the youngest, and newest member of the Pon Caana. She wasn’t even marked yet, but she was getting close. Just a few more weeks and she would be taking her fangs and—without venom—jamming them into her left arm. The act would leave two dots as scars about an inch apart, marking her as a Pon Caana.

“What’s wrong?” Ayla asked incredulously. “What’s wrong is you’re a hypocrite!”

“What are you talking about?” Densley asked.

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Ayla spat. “You know exactly what I’m talking about! Your ‘code.’ The very first thing you ever taught me when you brought me in.”

“What about it?” Densley asked acting ignorant. His heart pounded, this was precisely what he was afraid of; that someone would not understand.

“You told me that there are three things we do as Pon Caana, as assassins,” she paused and held up her fist then counted on her fingers with each tenet of the code. “One: Only accept contracts that you can handle, if you cannot handle it alone then find someone to go with you and split the reward. Two: Never fight, unless absolutely necessary. Fighting attracts more people; more people, more problems. Three: Never accept a contract to kill an innocent. Never.”

“And?” Densley asked, he knew what she would say next but he was prepared for it, so he let her loose.

“King Traean Niewax of Chalice is an innocent!” Ayla said, exasperated. “It’s like explaining it to a four-year-old!”

“No king is innocent, foolish girl!” said Lurk, one of the men standing next to her. Densley thanked him silently, now knowing he wasn’t the only one that thought this way, he didn’t feel so alone. He didn’t have to feel too guilty.

“But he is a good person,” Ayla insisted. “And if what you say were true, Lurk, then no one is innocent. You imply that he has to be perfect, but no one is, especially not us. His actions are only more noticeable because of his high status, especially his bad ones.”

“If you don’t want to help us, Ayla,” Densley said, trying and failing to shrug off his unease which stuck to him like a spider’s web, “then you don’t have to help at all.”

“I don’t want to be a part of any of it!” Ayla roared. “You can keep your damn money. Your hospitality can go to the nine hells, maybe Dozii will want it. But I won’t have any of it.”

In a whirlwind of black clothing and raven hair, she stormed off and dropped off the roof and out of sight, leaving Densley with the other Pon Caana and a knot in his stomach so large he immediately vomited. Everyone cleared, giving him space to finish ejecting whatever was bothering him. When he finished, he looked up to see everyone staring at him. He sneered, wiped the corners of his mouth, and spat.

“We have work to do,” he growled. “We’ll meet across town, I’ve rented us the entire Third Floor Tavern.”

…

Weeks later, everything was falling into place. Everything that is except for Ayla. Densley expected her to come to her senses and appear in his office, sorry and willing to come back. But she never did. Even after everything he had done for her, she was just gone and there was little he could do about it.

Not that he was sure there was anything he could have done in the first place. Even if he had chased after her, he was still going to go through with his plan. The money was just too good and he needed to retire, him and many others. Besides, no king was ever genuinely innocent. They all had something that made them a tyrant, even the supposed good ones.

The assassination was happening the next day. The plan was simple unless things went sour then it got complicated. But they were well practiced and that was enough. Densley would be the one to take the king’s life, and if he failed, one of his men would be right behind him to finish the job.

Contracts as big as these could only go one of two ways; really well or very poorly. Obviously, Densley hoped for the former, however, one could never be positive. Only fools are positive.

He pushed himself away from his desk, needing to step out of his office and get some fresh air. He stepped out and made his way to the balcony. There he saw something he did not expect but should have.

“Hello Dens,” Ayla said without turning to look at him, her raven hair blew lazily in the breeze. Her white clothes reflected the full moon’s light brightly. “Guilty conscience keeping you up?”

Densley said nothing as he walked out, closing the door behind him, and leaned against the railing peering over the ledge like a crow. His dark clothes were stark against the brightness of his protege.

How could she know him so well? It had only been nine months and she knew exactly how his mind worked. She knew exactly who he was, but he knew as much about her as she did. Maybe it was because of the amnesia that gave her that gift…. She couldn’t know herself, so she knew others.

“I have to do this, Ayla,” he said finally.

“No,” Ayla said, turning to him. “You don’t.”

“You don’t understand,” Densley said, uneasily. “You haven’t lived this kind of life for as long as we have. For as long as I have. At least this way I’ll be able to retire. Otherwise, it’ll be another ten years before then and who knows if I’ll even be alive by then! At least this way, it’s not just me. At least this way, others can retire too. As many as may want to, in fact. Even you could! Imagine, a girl your age living comfortably, never having to worry about what you’re going to have to do for tomorrow’s meal.”

"And then what, huh?” Ayla said, getting right in his face. She didn’t even seem to hear that last part. “The next leader will follow your example and kill whoever they want. Whatever contract comes along, they’ll take. Guilty or innocent. They’ll think, ‘we killed a king, so what’s some street rat so long as its money?’ You want that on you as well, Densley?”

“You don’t know what will happen,” Densley said, trying to convince himself more than the girl. “How could you?”

“I’ve said what I came to say. The rest is up to you.” She held out an open hand, something glittered in it in the moonlight. Densley reached for it slowly then picked it up and looked at it. It was her fangs.

“I’m giving them back to you Densley,” Ayla explained. “I didn’t earn them and the last thing you need is a pair of fangs just lying around.”

Densley held them back out to her. “They’re a gift. You don’t need to earn them. You never did.”

“Trust me, Densely, you don’t want to give me those.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because if you go through with it tomorrow, I will hunt you down and kill you. The last thing you want to give me is the tool to your own destruction.”

“You’re just being dramatic,” Densley shrugged. “You and I both know that’s not going to happen.”

“Try me,” Ayla spat. Her face darkened and her eyes unreadable.

Densley retracted slightly but held out his hand still. Ayla hesitated just a moment, then shrugged and snatched up the tool. She perched herself on the rail, looked over her shoulder and looked at Densley as if to say, “see you soon,” and vaulted over the railing and fell onto a ledge below, her loose clothes flapping wildly as she seemed to glide like some banshee in the night. Then she hopped from there to the roof to her right and from there she was out of his sight.

…

Each Creddling King Niewax liked to take walks down the main road which connected the middle and low districts of Chalice. He liked to browse the morning flea markets then buy some street food for lunch, showing the people, his people, that he was just as common as they were.

But Densley knew better. The king couldn’t be any more common if a plague took him and his entire house. The only thing the king had in common with these wretches was that he was mortal. Yes, King Traean Niewax was mortal and he would die today like any mortal, regardless of any reproach, or apprehension, or even any guilt that Densley felt.

He watched from the rooftop where he was perched, then looked up from his vantage to see that his people were in place; two more on the roofs on either side of the street, two tailing the king and his guards, and twenty more mingled among the crowd, waiting in case things went badly. Each one knew what they needed to do and would not hesitate once he gave the signal.

The rest were waiting for him back at headquarters on the far side of the low district. Each one of them wanted in. Each one wanted a part to play. And even though he couldn’t use every single one in the actual assassination, each one had done their part; from gathering intel to infiltration and scouting of the palace. Everyone would get their share and do whatever they wanted after.

He peered back down at the busy street, people bustled here and there, shops yelled at passersby for attention to their stand. Smells of fried dough and lamb filled his nostrils, even from fifty feet in the air. He shook his right arm slightly and his fangs fell into his hand.

Their elegant design was complemented by the engraving he had one of his people do. Immaculate and, as others put it, “fancy,” swirling lines formed vines all around the metal prongs, each one carrying a flower at the end of it. The polished metal shined brightly in the mid-day sun and the wood handle was worn but smooth in Densley’s palm. He inhaled, in a meditative fashion, then let go of the air.

There was no more time to contemplate. It was now or never. He gripped his fangs once more, pulled back the spring loaded door which revealed the glass syringes in each prong which were both filled with a dark, almost black liquid. Crone’s blood. He let go of the little doors and they snapped shut, then he put the fangs back up his sleeve. He looked at his men on the rooftops to the left and right of his and gave the signal.

At once, they sprung into action, each one disappearing from their position and Densley from his. He launched himself to a rain gutter on the wall of a building close to his and slid down it to the balcony below. Once he was close enough, he hopped off and touched down, letting his hands make contact on the floor to take away some of the shock to his knees.

He did not so much as pause. In a fluid motion, like water on rock, he pounced to the balcony to his right and below him, landing cat-like on the outer part of the banister, the railing dug into his palms only for a split second before he ejected backward and spun one-hundred eighty degrees and landed in a roll in the unoccupied alley.

The king would be passing by shortly and all Densley had to do was be ready to deliver the final blow. By now his people were already poisoning the king’s guards, injecting the Hydra plant extract which would slowly start to paralyze their bodies. An unpleasant experience, or so he had been told by his colleagues, but they would survive.

They needed to survive, it was part of the contract instructions. Make sure no one can stop you, but everyone can see you, including the guard. Everyone needs to know their beloved king is dead.

Densley stepped out into the crowd and followed it as naturally as he could without being trampled on or being pushy. There was a very thin time frame to kill the king and if he didn’t make it, then there would be no other chance. No more chances to retire after this, even if it meant killing an innocent. Ayla was right, but what was he to do? Everyone else was with him why wasn’t she? It was now or never.

Fifteen feet from the king now, his guards were starting to feel the effects of the poison, he saw it in their faces.

Ten feet. Their legs are freezing up, but still moving.

Five feet. He was so close and the clatter of spears hitting the ground startled the king as he spun around to see what was happening to his guards now spasming out of control as they tried and failed to regain control of their paralyzed bodies. Why couldn’t Ayla see what he did?

Densley stopped nine inches from King Niewax. A knot in his stomach and fangs in his hand as he stepped forward, stuck the man quickly, feeling the slight click in his palm as the poison injected itself, and pulled the needle-like prongs back. The king yelped at what he might have thought was a dog biting him from behind before turning around to see Densley standing with his mouth open slightly and his eyebrows raised. What…  have I done?

“I'm… I’m sorry,” Densley mumbled and the king collapsed, grabbing onto Densley’s black jacket for support which quickly left him as Densley turned and disappeared into the crowd before the screaming could commence.

It was over. The assassination was a success. But it didn’t feel that way, even later that night when they were all back at the Third Story, celebrating and drinking to their victory. Densley did not drink, however, not even to calm his nerves. He trudged out to the balcony and waited for Ayla to come and kill him, just like she said she would.

He waited for what must have been an hour, but she never came. Pitty, too. He would have let her do it. Maybe she was just being dramatic? So he turned around and went back inside. He sauntered into the back room, politely kicked everyone out with a bottle of his favorite whiskey and closed the door.

The party raged on all night. And all night he watched from the windows of the back room as his people—his family—drank themselves into comas. When the morning came, there were ten huge sacks of gold Buckles. The metal rectangles with the middles cut out of the centers were waiting for him to divide equally. After he took his share, he announced the new leader, Millehz, an elvish woman and one of the best who said they weren’t ready to retire.

He took his sack of money and stuffed it in a travel bag with the few belongings he ever had and hefted it onto his shoulder. Before he left, he shook out his fangs onto his desk, the prongs sticking into the wood and gushing out whatever remnants of crone’s blood that was left in them. He shut the door behind him and left his house key by the door handle with a note that read, “For Millehz.”

Then he slipped out and left Chalice, the place he had called home for some twenty years, without so much as a smirk.

[tipsycad147]

The eight (or nine, or 13) tools of Wicca

Posted by Michelle Gruben on May 25, 2017

What ritual tools are required to practice Wicca? Theoretically, none at all—as the Witch’s will is the most important tool. But Wiccans, it may be said, rarely travel light. This article looks at the traditional altar tools that are used in the Gardnerian tradition of Wicca.

Gardner's legacy

Gerald Gardner, who first described and named the Wiccan religion, prescribed a list of tools for the Witch. His books and papers talk at length about the acquisition and use of ritual objects. Gardner was influenced in his thinking by Aleister Crowley, English Freemasonry, Solomonic magick, the new field of cultural anthropology, and various myths about European witchcraft.

Though the information in Gardner’s writings is spotty and often contradictory, it has been hugely influential. Many of the Gardnerian tools are found on the altars of both Wiccan and non-Wiccan practitioners. Others, like the scourge and cords, have largely fallen out of use, except in the strictest traditional covens. The descriptions of the tools come from Gardner’s 1954 book Witchcraft Today, and the collection of papers known as the Gardnerian Book of Shadows.

So what are the “true” tools of the Witch? It depend on who you ask. Even within Gardnerian witchcraft, the number, order, and use of the tools varies. But first, a list of the tools of old-school Wicca:

Sword

The Sword is a long knife. It symbolises power and authority. The sword entered the Craft as a legacy of Western ceremonial magick, where the magician wields a consecrated sword as an implied threat to unruly spirits. The magick sword was traditionally made of the finest smithwork possible, and engraved with Hebrew prayers or magickal glyphs.

Wiccans use the sword to cast a circle. It may also be a symbol of rank within the coven. Gardner says that a chief priestess may wear a sword on her belt when standing in for a priest. (But that no tool enables a priest to stand in for a priestess.)

While the sword is often listed first among the magickal tools, many Witches, including Gardner, say that the sword is not really necessary if you have an athame. Because of the size and cost of a ritual sword, it is common for a coven of Witches to share a single sword.

Athame

The athame is a small (relative to the sword, anyway) knife with a variety of ritual uses. Gardnerian Wiccans prefer a black-handled knife with magickal symbols inscribed on the handle. It is usually double-edged. Both the word “athame” and the black-handle requirement come from the Key of Solomon, a medieval grimoire which was studied by Gardner.

In Wicca, the athame stands for the element of Fire. It is used to cast the circle, charge objects with energy, and to represent the God in a symbolic Great Rite. It is never used for violence. If an athame draws blood, in most traditions, it must be either ritually cleansed or destroyed. Most Witches use the athame purely for magickal/energetic work, and have a separate knife for cutting objects.

Boline

This is the “White Handled Knife” described by Gardner. Sometimes it has a curved blade. Basically, the boline performs cutting tasks on the physical plane, while the athame works on the spiritual/astral planes.

Witches use the boline for magickal-mundane work, including harvesting herbs, cutting cords or parchment, and inscribing ritual candles. Boline is alternately spelled bolline, boleen, or bouline. It is an archaic word related to burin, a carving chisel.

Wand

The wand is the elemental tool of Air (or Fire, in Golden Dawn influenced trads). For Gardner, it is related to the staff of Mercury used to escort souls to the afterlife, and the thyrsus, the pinecone-tipped rod of Dionysus. Witches’ wands are usually made of wood—especially from a tree with magickal significance. It may be personalised by carving or painting. Gardner names few requirements for the magickal wand, except that it be phallic in shape.

Witches use the wand as an elemental tool, for directing energy, and sometimes for casting the circle. The wand is sometimes substituted for the sword or athame by those who object to the violence implied by the blade. Gardner tells us that the wand is used for calling up spirits “to whom it would not be meet to use the sword or athame.” These beings may include Angels (who may be invited, but never commanded) or Fae, who are known to dislike metal.

Pentacle

The pentacle is a round object bearing the five-pointed star, the primary sacred symbol of Wicca. It may also be called the disk, coin, paten, or platter. It represents Earth, and the life-giving properties of that element. In the Gardnerian material, the role of the pentacle is in summoning spirits, consecrating tools, and blessing offerings of food.

Perhaps mindful of Britain’s anti-witchcraft laws, Gardner suggests making a pentacle that can be easily concealed or destroyed if the Witch is discovered. He recommends a pentacle of wax, or else a platter with the magickal symbols painted temporarily in ink. These days, of course, Wiccans may keep a more permanent altar pentacle. Wood, metal, and clay are appropriate materials for the pentacle or Earth disk.

Censer

The censer (and incense) are used to prepare the ritual space.  Ritual censing banishes evil, and makes the circle more inviting to spirits and deities of the desired kind.

Wicca came about before the invention of quick-lighting incense. Early British covens would have preferred a traditional swinging censer with a lid, along with resin incenses. But Gardner states that the censer can be replaced, if necessary, with sweet-smelling herbs and a dish of coals.

Cords

The Witch’s cord, or cingulum, is a length of rope that may be worn as a belt. In Wicca, the cords are often given to the new initiate and worn at each subsequent ritual. Along with the athame and the censer, Gardner lists the cords as one of the three tools that must always be present in the Witch’s circle.

The cords are generally braided by hand from natural fibres. The traditional length of the cords is nine feet (three times three, an important number in Wicca.) In some traditions, the colour of the cord signifies the Witch’s rank within the coven.

Besides keeping the Witch’s robes in place, the cords have various other uses within Wicca. A nine-foot cord, folded in half, is used to measure out the radius of the nine-foot circle. Knot magick—tying and untying knots to release energy—is another ritual function of the cords.

But let’s get down to brass tacks: Gardner, like many a proper British gentleman, was obviously a little bit into BDSM. The Gardnerian Book of Shadows is full of rituals that involve tying up initiates in circle. The mild, schoolboyish kink of his Wiccan rites is another use of the cords. He also hints that the cords can be used in blood and breath control—a spiritual/erotic practice that can be extremely dangerous when undertaken by beginners.

Obviously, tying up aspirants is not the kind of thing that goes on in public rituals and fluffy-bunny Wiccan covens. Wiccans face enough PR trouble without innuendos of hazing. The Wiccan covens I know who use cords use them for mainly ceremonial dress. The cords are presented to the initiate with each new degree. Over time, they become kind of a souvenir belt, dangling with various tokens of the Witch’s experience and offices within the coven.

Scourge

Ah, the scourge. The ceremonial whip is another of Gardner’s ritual tools that’s sometimes embarrassing to modern Wiccans. The scourge or flail is an age-old symbol of power and domination. In Gardnerian ritual, it represents the pain that everyone must endure in life. It stands in contrast to the kiss, which symbolises pleasure and the gifts of life.

Maybe Gardner was inspired by the ritual flagellation in mystical branches of the world’s great religions. Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to be tied up and whipped. We’ll probably never know. In any case, the scourge has eight tails with five knots in each tail. It is usually made of leather or rope. The scourge is not used to draw blood, but only for light flogging to raise energy in circle and to purify the aspirant. The scourge is the last item in the canonical list of Gardnerian tools.

Chalice

The chalice symbolises the eternal womb and the generative power of the Goddess. On the Wiccan altar, it is used to hold beverage offerings. (Traditionally wine, but also water, milk, mead, or ale.) The chalice stands for the female principle in the symbolic enactment of the Great Rite. To Gardner, it is related to the Holy Grail of the Knights Templar, a mystic cup with boundless power to heal and restore.

A core Wiccan ritual involves the High Priest and High Priestess sharing a drink from the chalice, which may also be passed around the circle. A silver chalice is traditional, one large enough to hold the beverage offering.

Cauldron

In the Gardner materials, the words “cauldron” and “chalice” are often used interchangeably. (The cauldron being a Celtic-inflected version of the womb of the Goddess.) Yet many witches keep a ritual cauldron separate from the chalice or cup, and use it in subtlely different ways.

The main advantage of the cauldron is that it can carry heat. It is a dark, warm vessel where alchemical transformations can take place. The cauldron may be used to burn incense, to prepare potions and brews, or to ritually mix spell ingredients. The cauldron can also hold food or drink offerings, or water for scrying.

Besom

A Witch’s broom is called a besom. It is made from a bundle of twigs or straw tied to a handle. In Wicca, the besom is used to purify the circle by sweeping away negativity. It also plays a part in the handfasting ritual of “jumping the broom.”

Bell

The bell is primarily used in Wiccan rituals to focus the participants’ attention. The Gardnerian Book of Shadows prescribes a certain number of knells of the bell for each different ritual. Solitary Wiccans may keep a bell for energetic clearing, meditation, or invoking the Goddess.

Necklace

The necklace is not among the core tools of Wicca, but Gardner mentions it on several occasions as a requirement for the female Witch: “At witch meetings every woman must wear one.” There are many tales of necklaces in world mythology, and depictions of Goddesses who are nude except for a necklace. The circular shape of the necklace is thought to symbolise the eternal cycle of rebirth. The necklace may be decorated with talismans or symbols of rank. But, the material and design of the necklace are unimportant, “as long as it is fairly conspicuous” (Gardner, Witchcraft Today).

So how many tools are in Gardnerian Wicca, again?

According to the “Father of Wicca” himself, there are eight. They are, in order: The sword, athame, boline, wand, pentacle, censer, cords, and scourge. Gardner was almost certainly influenced by Freemasonry, which also has eight tools. Eight was an important number to the Knights Templar, the mystical Christian order which has trickled down into Western esotericism.

But wait! Not all of the tools on Gardner’s list are easy to come by. The poor witch may have to improvise with things found around the house, or do without. Gardner tells us that only three of the Wiccan tools are really essential for ritual: The athame, the censer, and the cords. These three, “and one or two other tools are quite enough to work with.” The other five are used only occasionally.

More troubles with the eight: The sword is often conflated with the athame. Why have both if they’re basically the same? Then there’s the whole issue of the vanishing pentacle. (Now it’s a pentacle, now it’s a biscuit tray. Move along, Inquisition—there’s nothing to see here.)  Gardner never really explains how a Witch can have a set of ritually consecrated tools and regularly grab stand-ins from the kitchen or hearthside.

A handful of Gardnerian tools—the wand, pentacle, and sword/athame—are recognizable as three of the “elemental weapons” of the Golden Dawn traditions. But there is a conspicuous absence: We have three different knives (and a wand and a scourge), but no chalice, the elemental tool of Water.

So where is the chalice in Gardner’s list? Gardner claims his source was a secret cabal of hereditary Witches, and that he doesn’t know why the chalice was omitted. Perhaps it is a holdover from the Burning Times, when Witches were afraid to have a cup lest they be accused of parodying the Eucharist. (Goddess knows how they drank their daily ale.) Gardnerian rituals make extensive use of the chalice, but it doesn’t make the list.

Wiccan groups deal with the omission in different ways. The Alexandrian tradition (which is similar to Gardnerian), solves the problem by substituting the chalice for the censer in their list of eight. Alexandrians burn just as much incense as anyone, of course. But the poor censer is demoted to the rank of “altar dressing.” One Gardnerian coven I know just adds the cauldron/chalice to Gardner’s list—bringing the total number of tools up to nine. (An elegant solution, I believe, since nine is a sacred number in Wicca.)

What about the outer circle of tools: the besom, bell, and necklace? Though these show up repeatedly in Gardnerian rituals, they are not “officially” tools of the Witch, and are not presented to the initiate as such. Instead, they are objects that Witches use in ritual. We also don’t count the Book of Shadows, which is not a tool of ritual, but a tool used in preparation for ritual. Okay. I’m as stumped as you are.

In conclusion, there are eight, or nine, or thirteen tools (and tool-adjacent objects) in Gardnerian Wicca. Unless you are a male Witch. Then you don’t get a necklace, so there are twelve at most. And if you are setting up at Pagan Pride Day, best to cross the scourge off the list. And probably the sword. Maybe count the tablecloth and iPhone speakers, instead?

I’m not trying to make fun of Gardnerians here. (Except for one or two—you know who you are.) It’s just an example of the way traditions evolve and change over time. You’re no less a “real Witch” if you’re allergic to incense, or think ritual flogging is kind of silly. Whatever path you follow, build a collection of tools that resonate with what you feel is magickal.

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/the-eight-or-nine-or-13-tools-of-wicca

[lilredlyssa-blog]

We are Giants

#WeAreGiants

Lyssa.

{It was dark that was the first thing I was aware of, darkness a small light in the background as I felt the cool of the air someone leading me to the end of the earth at least that is what I thought. It was the only way I knew this was going to end.

“Get down” a voice growled.

Standing I was going to stand that was until I felt my feet go from under me which caused me to crouch, I felt the cool metal of the barrel of the gun against my temple, this was it this was me going to die, this was the end of my life and I was only twenty- one years old.

“Female” A cold voice caused me to jump to attention.

“I am no one’s female” I gritted my teeth.

“That is where you are wrong, you are his female therefore very important” what the hell was this thing. I could not kill him as a man, a man would not do this to a woman.

“I am of no importance to anyone” my breath hitched.

It was then I heard the ring of gunshots, Oh God please let this be the end. Why did this person smell like baby powder? None of this made sense. I must have been watching too much horror movies or crime TV shows, it was the only explanation it had to be.

**

Bang, bang, bang. My hand flew to my chest trying to catch my breath. What day of the week was it? Looking at my alarm twelve o’clock. Shit I had asked Lucy to come over. Today was my first day of at the Gallery after my piece won best in the class my lecturer pulled me aside, an option to go and work at the Met, a month’s trial if I impressed I would be able to work there full time between my studies which was only three times a week. I could not believe that I had been asked to work there.

Tonight I was doing the late shift. The Met, opened for the cities nightlife to come and look at the culture and art that New York had to offer. It was in truth an easy first night. She was not expecting many especially when Caldwell decided to have twenty thousand bars across the city.

Now I wished I had not asked Lucy to come here. I was going to be working a seventeen hour shift tonight why had I said for her and get coffee? I needed to shower and look through my notes again.

Brushing my red hair back into a bun I threw on a pair of jeans and my ACDC top. Walking towards the door I painted the fake smile on my face so she would not know that I had just had the most terrifying nightmare I think I had ever had in my life.

“Hey Lucy, sorry for not coming sooner had my buds in” I lied.

“Not a problem Lyssa” Lucy was someone who some would say gullible, bless her though, “Ready to grab some lunch”

I grabbed my bag nodding, “Let’s go”

**

Three o’clock, Lucy finally allowed me to go so that I could go back home, home well my little one bed apartment was not really home but it would do. Two hours until I needed to be at the Met, I had some time.

Time for a shower and change. Dressing in smart suits and looking acceptable was something I was not good at. But if this was something I wanted to so it was something I was going to have to be good at. If I was going to prove my grandparents wrong this is what I needed to do.

Getting the subway to the Met always reminded me why I did not sometimes like the buzz of New York because deep down I was a country girl who did not really enjoy the hustle and bustle of city life but the city was where it all happened, a place that I needed to be. There was no opportunities in a small town where I had been brought up by my grandparents, my mother dying not long after my birth and my father well the less said about him the better.  Twenty- one years and I had not needed him in my life I was not going to start needing him now.

This is it Lyssa this is the place you want to be. Heading to the staffing area so I could lock my bag and my coat away, it was freezing in New York this time of year, I feared sometimes I was never going to see the sun like I had from home again. I placed my ID around my neck- an ID with a god awful picture of me. How many people can say that they ever had a good picture when it comes to drivers Licences or ID’s? Taking one last breath as I stepped out. I was not aware how busy or how quiet it was going to be but I knew that I was going embrace whatever came my way tonight and the month I had here.

Stepping out into the foyer. I was struck by the architecture. It literally took my breath away and reminded me of the V and A in London, a school trip that my grandparents had scrapped together the money so I could look at the art that London had to offer. A small smile crept across my lips. Time to get to work.

**

From about midnight the crowds began to drop. It had become silent across the halls, the only sound of the odd security guard checking alerted me that I was not alone.

I found myself in the 16th to 17th century wing. This was my favourite place to be. Looking at the chalice cups from London around the 1660’s the silver guilt and the engraving was stunning. A subtle cough made me turn suddenly. In front of me stood a man, when I say a man, the man was built like the statues five rooms up. He was wearing leather and what looked like gear for fighting. I could not stop the gulp that formed in my throat.

“I’m sorry I startled you” His voice was soft and not what I expected. I had been waiting for a roughness in his voice that told people you do not fuck with him.

“Oh no you did not startle me, in truth, I was too busy looking, and this is my first night here” I stammered.

“I thought I had not seen you here before” he smiled, his dark locks falling, “ I come here a lot and know a lot of the people here” as if he needed to tell me that he was not a mad stalker. He just appreciated the art.

“No you would not have seen me here before, I am Lyssa” I smiled extending my hand up.

“I am Phillip” he said without missing a beat.

“It is nice to meet you Phillip” my eyes softened, “Would you like me to show you around here?”

I shuffled off not sure if he was following but to my surprise he was just behind me so close that I could feel the heat of his body next to mine.

“I would like that very much”

**

As we walked around the 16th and 17th century rooms I was asked about each of the pieces. I smiled and explained each one in great detail. I kept slide glancing at Phillip smiling and nodding his head towards me. I guess I was doing a good job or if I wasn’t Phillip was a very good liar or maybe he was just being a gentleman.

We came to a stop in one of the Alcoves as I looked up how close I was to him, it was like a magnetic pull was making move closer. It was then a sound of a blackberry pulled us apart Phillip looked down cursing.

“Lyssa, I have to go, something has come up with my family”

I watched as he stomped down the corridor then I lost sight of him.

“Bye Philip” I whispered into the air hoping he caught it.

**

The rest of the night passed without much action, soon enough it was nine am shift change and hour shut for the staff to reopen at ten.

As I slipped my coat on and grabbed my bag I headed home. My head calling for sleep. Oh my bed.

**

I was back in the clearing there was a crispness in the air told me we were still in New York. I was crouching again but this time there were three men with red eyes.

“Shall we see if we can make a brother break?” his eyes focused on my neck as he pulled the gun out.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I screamed I wanted out of here why was I always feeling as if this was something that needed to get out of my head.

“How sweet his shellan acting the fool”

What the hell was a shellan and a brother just what had I gotten myself into?

“I honestly have no idea what you are talking about” My heart was beating outside of my chest and the smell of baby powder hit me. Why was I suddenly smelling baby powder all the damn time?

“We shall show you, actually one thing is we know that you are his shellan we can smell him all over you”

“What does that mean?”

***

“Lyssa” panic I could hear panic in someone’s voice.

My eyes opened I was in the museum.

“Phillip” I chocked.

“Hey you are alright you fainted,” he smiled, “You haven’t eaten today have you?” Although his smile his there his voice was saying something else concern laced in there.

I knew I should say something but my voice seemed to leave me.

“Come on you need food” he helped me up inspecting my head.

“But I am at work” I muttered.

“Your supervisor just gave you the rest of the night off now come on”

“But my bag” I tried to think of ways to stop this.

“Is here” he tapped his shoulder he was carrying my bag, “stop stalling its food time”

I couldn’t argue with that let alone did I want to. Leaning against him as he moved me out of the Met.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

“A place called Sals, you need food and I know the chef”

“Of course you do” I muttered under my breath.

**

He led me to a place called Salvatore’s it was a very quiet Italian place a place that I had heard about but I had never come to eat here. The man who I assumed was the chef smiled across the counter.

“Been a while man”

“Can I have that table for me and Lyssa?” he spoke something else to the man and he seemed to understand.

“Please Miss and sir” the chef smiled, I swallowed thickly. The smells were making my stomach rumble, nice stomach, nice you will not embarrass me in front of this man.

As if Philip heard what my stomach said he looked over to the chef, “can we have some bread to snack on while we think about what we want to eat?”

The chef nodded.

“You did not have to do this” I leant forward he did not know me, why had he brought me here.

“Yes I did, you have no idea how much I needed to” he seemed off somewhere distracted from what he really needed to say, did the idea pain him that much that he brought me here? The bread was placed between us almost breaking the trance we had. “Eat Lyssa”

My stomach did not protest as I picked up the bread to eat, “You’re not eating?”

“I will in a moment” Phillip was far more interested in watching me it, it should have made me uncomfortable but it didn’t.

“You are going to give me a complex, you know that right?” I raised my eyebrow.

“Sorry huh?” he seemed to be shaking his head out of some daydream.

“Eat please and stop watching me eat”

“Sorry, Lyssa” every time he said my name it was as if a gentle caress to my soul, was it to keep me drawn to him or repel me I was not sure.  He picked up a piece of bread placing it in his mouth, “So tell me a little about yourself”

[lilacmoon83]

Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 165: Tears and Fears

Victoria answered the door and was not surprised to see the Collector there.

"Did you bring it?" she questioned, as she allowed him inside.

"Yes...but we have other problems," he hissed.

"And none of those are my concern," she hissed back.

"They should be...they're awake and the you know what is glowing," he explained.

"Good...then that means it has power and I know them. They'll do anything to save someone they love, especially if they know what they've already lost. They'll use it to help me regain what I have lost and keep from losing another of their precious little family," Victoria surmised, as she poured herself a drink.

"You don't understand...we give them the chalice and the curse will begin to unravel at an even more alarming rate!" he cried.

"All things come to an end, Collector. The Charmings now know what I feel. They have lost a child and now I will regain mine," Victoria responded.

"It's too soon...making this move now will ensure that everything we have worked for goes up in flames!" he insisted.

"Yes...I heard Captain Weaver is investigating you. Give me what I need now and I can give you something to make sure his investigation ceases," she tempted.

"You don't have that kind of power," he refuted.

"Oh, but I do...maybe I didn't there, but I am head of Belfry Industries here," she promised. He clenched his teeth. He hated trusting this woman, but she had proven to be ruthless in the past. Samdi had his own agenda and wanted the chalice as badly as Clayton did, which he knew meant at some point, he would have to double cross Samdi before the other man double crossed him. But Victoria's only interest in the chalice was making the Charmings use it to revive Lucy once she sacrificed her to save Anastasia. Then she cared little as to what happened to it and if he used the right tools to force them, he'd have Snow and David under his thumb.

"Fine...here it is," he said, as he handed the briefcase to her. She opened it and found the book inside of it...the original book.

"How did you pry it away from young Bobby?" she inquired. He smirked.

"The boy is so overjoyed to have his parents back that he foolishly left the book at home today. I paid a common thief to get in through the window while they were gone today," he revealed. She smirked.

"Always a pleasure, Clayton. See yourself out," she said.

"If you don't come through...I'll ruin you," he warned, but she ignored his threat and headed for Lucy's room.

"Grandma?" Lucy asked in a sleepy tone, as the woman came into her room.

"I'm sorry to wake you, darling...but this couldn't wait until morning," she said. Lucy rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and gazed at the book with wide eyes.

"Why do you have the book?" she asked.

"I borrowed it...I wanted to show you something," Victoria replied. Lucy smiled, as she looked through it with her, seeing her great grandparents have their happy ending and defeat all the evil villains.

"You were right, Lucy," she said quietly. The little girl's eyes widened in surprise.

"You remember?" she asked in surprise.

"Yes...I do and that's why I can no longer let you live this lie…" she replied. Lucy's brow furrowed.

"Lie?" she asked.

"Yes...your great grandparents have gotten their happy ending before, but it never lasts. Something always spoils it, because I am afraid that is the way of the world. Happy endings don't last and I'm afraid theirs has been destroyed forever, as mine has," Victoria explained.

"But that's not true! Great Grampa Charming and Great Gramma Snow are together now! They're happy and in love!" Lucy refuted.

"That is true...but your Nana Emma is dead and now that they remember that, their happiness will be forever marred by that. Happy endings are not real, Lucy...they are fleeting. And once you accept that, the easier it will be," she stated.

"No...no!" Lucy cried, as Victoria swiped one of her tears away.

"I'm sorry, it's true sweetheart. But Snow White and Prince Charming are heartbroken. They'll never be the same now that they've lost a child. Believe me, I know all about that. They have already lost hope that things will ever be okay again," she said, as Lucy hurried out of bed and ran for the door. Victoria didn't stop her this time, knowing it soon would not matter where Lucy was. She looked at the tear on her fingertip and dropped in a vial for safekeeping.

~*~

Cassidy Gold returned to his post at the museum after overhearing the conversation between Baron Samdi and Captain Weaver. It was very curious and daresay a bit insane sounding. He wasn't sure he had ever heard correctly and couldn't help but wonder why Samdi had called Weaver...Rumpelstiltskin.

"I don't chat...so get to the point and get out," Weaver growled.

"So hostile...yet it is me that has true reason to hate you, Rumpelstiltskin," Samdi snapped in return.

Was Rumpelstiltskin some kind of nickname? He supposed it could be meant to be an insult, though he could think of a thousand better and more obvious insults to sling at someone you hated. And he seemed to hate Weaver over some woman named Regina. Now that Cassidy understood to a degree. There was no quicker way to come between two men than a woman, though he had no idea who this Regina was. But when Samdi started talking about curses and the Charmings and then called him the Dark One, Cassidy's head started to spin a bit. None of it made any sense at all and he knew questioning Weaver about it would just lead to a door in his face. He had no idea Weaver even had a son, but then he guessed he really knew nothing about the man. Still...the conversation kept tugging at his mind and he had no idea why. It all sounded like a bunch of nonsense. And then there was the woman he had run into...Harmony. He had probably walked past her desk a dozen times, but only when he was face to face with her had he felt something familiar about her.

"Is it still glowing?" he suddenly heard Clayton say, as he rounded the corner. He acted nonchalant and played his part as the security guard he was posing to be.

"Confronting Weaver was foolhardy. He knows we have it," Clayton growled, as he walked into his office.

"If they are awake, then they will be looking for their chalice, especially if they remember what happened to her," Clayton warned. Cassidy's brow furrowed. He had heard Samdi and Weaver discussing some chalice too and he wondered why some cup was so important. Clayton did run a museum full of ancient artifacts though. Was that why he was here? Was Clayton involved in the dealing of illegal antiquities? It would make sense why Weaver wanted him on the inside. And was Baron Samdi involved somehow?

"Now that it's glowing again...moving it is impossible. I'll have to do something to distract the Charmings," Clayton said, as he hung up. Cassidy was even more confused than before, but he would report what he heard to Weaver, even if it made absolutely no sense to him whatsoever.

Victoria walked into the private room where her daughter Anastasia was being kept now and since she had recovered her coffin. The official story was that Anastasia was in a coma due to an accident, which wasn't untrue. This had all began when she had fallen into icy waters many years ago and Marcus had failed to save her. But his precious Ella lived, while the light of her life, her Anastasia almost drew her last breath. But now...she finally had a way to rectify that. She opened her daughter's eyelid and poured the tear in...

~*~

Jacinda angrily cleaned up the kitchen in their small apartment, while Sabine looked on.

"How long is this cold shoulder treatment going to go on?" she questioned. Jacinda stopped scrubbing and looked up.

"Losing my job is only half of what could have happened to us!" Jacinda cried.

"The cops said the fire was an accident! It might have caught fire anyway. Your boss isn't exactly up to code on his kitchen," Sabine argued.

"The cops ruled it an accident, because Detective Nolan stepped in and told them it was an accident! I don't even know why he would do that for us! I'm just a casual friend of Mary's," she lamented.

"Then we thank him for covering for us. He's a good guy and we made mistakes. He's cutting us a break and knows your boss is a jerk," Sabine reasoned.

"That still doesn't change the fact that I don't have a job now and we won't be able to make rent next month," she said.

"It's over...my attempt to get Lucy back is over before it's even started," she said, as she tossed the towel down. Sabine looked on, knowing that this was her fault and she was devastated to think that she might be the one to cost Jacinda custody of her daughter.

"Aunt Sabine…" Lucy cried, as she burst in the door.

"Lucy…" she exclaimed, as she watched the girl fall to the floor.

"Jacinda!" she cried, as she tried to get Lucy to wake up. But she was unresponsive.

"LUCY!" Jacinda cried, as she crashed to her knees beside Sabine.

"What's wrong?" she cried.

"I don't know...she doesn't have any wounds, but she won't wake up!" Sabine cried, as Jacinda cradled her daughter.

"What was she even doing out this time of night?!" Jacinda wondered, but she knew Lucy was well known for wandering away from her step-mother's home.

"Call 9-1-1-!" she implored, as Sabine grabbed her phone with shaky hands.

~*~

Storybrooke - 2023

"And that's pretty much the story. I managed to survive long enough until Elsa, Anna, and Kristoff came along and here we are," Emma explained.

"My Gods…" Robin uttered.

"They're cursed again…" Belle said sorrowfully.

"Yeah...and my parents, even if they do remember, will think I'm dead. I'm not sure how I even survived as long as I did," Emma replied.

"And you have no idea where this curse took them?" James asked. Emma shook her head.

"All Clayton said was that it was taking them to a big city where it would be impossible for everyone to be reunited. They're not isolated together like Storybrooke was. They're living among ordinary people from this land, but big city doesn't really narrow it down much," Emma explained.

"There has to be a way to figure out where it took them, right? It's magic...doesn't it have a signature that can be somehow traced?" Elsa questioned.

"I'm not sure I would even know where to begin," Belle lamented.

"But I think I might," Aphrodite offered, as all attention turned to her.

"How?" Robin asked.

"Elsa is right...everything is recorded for all the realms and stored in a safe place. There will be a book that will tell us where they are," Aphrodite surmised.

"A book? Where would this book be?" Belle asked.

"In the largest library in all the realms," Aphrodite said, with a smile, but no one seemed to be catching on.

"In Rose Red's library! Her family has been the guardians of all information for many centuries. We need to visit Rose Red and Fandral," she announced.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!" Emma exclaimed.

"Hold on...you can't go. There's magic there," James reminded. Emma's heart sank.

"I won't be left behind...my family needs me! They think I'm dead...I have to fix that! There has to be some way to fix my heart," she said.

"Without being able to rip your heart and seeing what I'm dealing with...I'm not sure how to fix this one. It doesn't seem to be quite the same as the poison Hook was dealing with," Aphrodite replied.

"Yeah...it wasn't. It didn't matter who I got close to...it was just poisoned," Emma told her. Aphrodite nodded.

"Since it seems to be a more general poison, I may be able to brew an elixir for you to drink so you can make the trip. It won't cure it, but may treat the symptoms until I can figure out what we're dealing with," she said.

"You go do that and we'll pack for our journey and get a few beans from Tiny," Robin said.

"I'll help you with the elixir," Belle said, as he plucked a hair from Emma, as it would probably be essential to brewing the potion work specifically for her.

"We'll stay with Emma until you return," Elsa said, as they parted ways. She sighed.

"This has to work," Emma lamented. Elsa put her hands on the other blonde's shoulders.

"It will...we'll find them, Emma. What is it that your parents always tell you?" Elsa asked. Emma smiled, as her eyes watered at the thought of them.

"Have faith...and hope," she answered. Elsa nodded.

"I have faith and hope that we will find them and so should you," the Queen stated. Emma nodded and squeezed her hand, grateful that she was no longer facing any of this alone...

~*~

"Paging Dr. Aeson…" the nurse said over the intercom, as the stretcher burst through the doors with Lucy on the stretcher.

"What do we have?" Jenna asked.

"Ten-year-old female, collapsed in her home, unresponsive," the paramedic explained.

"Vitals are there, but subdued. She's in a coma...I want blood and a full toxicology screen," Jenna ordered, as Lucy was taken to a room.

"Please help her...she was at her grandmother's and then came home. She just collapsed!" Jacinda said, nearly hysterical.

"I'm going to do everything I can...I'll let you know when I know more," Jenna promised, as she hurried off to tend to her new patient.

"Jacinda?" Henry asked, as he burst in.

"Henry?" she questioned in confusion.

"David and Mary called me…" he said, as he saw the couple enter behind him. She didn't know how they knew, but didn't really care and collapsed into Henry's arms. He hugged her tightly.

"It's going to be okay...she'll be okay," he tried to reassure her.

"We'll get you both some coffee," Mary offered, as she and David joined hands. In reality, they were headed off to find Victoria, for they knew she could be found behind all of this.

"I came as soon as I heard," Nick Branson said breathlessly, as he burst into the waiting room.

"Nick…" Jacinda uttered.

"Who is this?" Henry asked.

"Oh...this is the attorney that's helping me with my custody case to get Lucy back," she said, seeming a bit nervous.

"I'm also Lucy's biological dad...nice to meet you," he said, offering his hand.

"Uh yeah...nice to meet you," Henry replied, as Roni and Weaver looked on with scrutinizing stares. They knew exactly who and what this man was and the fact that he was anywhere near Lucy and Jacinda was troublesome to say the least. But they were about to get an even bigger shock.

"Hey babe...I got you a coffee. Anything?" Luke asked. Nick smirked and put his arm around Luke's waist, before sneaking a look at Roni, whose face was suddenly filled with horror. He smirked evilly at her and kissed Luke's cheek.

"Thanks love...and no, no word yet," he said. Roni turned away and tried to calm herself.

"Keep it together...you can't lose it on him here," Weaver warned.

"Please tell me this can't be...please tell me that my grandson isn't with that murderer!" she hissed. Weaver sighed.

"Jack knows what he's doing. He's wormed his way into our lives quite thoroughly in this land. Pretending to be Lucy's biological father wasn't enough sadism for him it seems. Trust me, I had no idea he had found Leo and interjected himself into his life," Weaver answered and she could tell by how bothered he was that it was the truth. Rumple did not like it when there were things beyond his control.

"Snow and David are going to lose their minds once they know that their son is sleeping with a murderer. He's in danger! I have to do something!" she exclaimed.

"They...they've already lost one child...we can't let them lose another," she added softly.

He sighed.

"Then we need to catch him in the act...he'll strike again soon," Weaver offered, though it was little consolation.

~*~

"Mother...what's happened? This is a very strange place," Anastasia said, as she looked around at the machines and wires.

"It is a very long story, my sweet girl...but the most important thing is that you're back," she said, with happy tears.

"So...you've gone and done it…" Drizella said with disdain, as she entered the room.

"Who are you?" Anastasia asked.

"Well...I was your younger sister. But when you died, mother couldn't let you go so she turned to a witch that used dark magic to preserve your last breath," Drizella explained.

"Drizella…" Victoria warned.

"And now...she used our niece to revive you. While you live...Lucy will die, but it doesn't matter to our Mother, as long as she has her precious Anastasia back. To hell with the rest of us," she added bitterly.

"Mother...did you really do that?" Anastasia asked.

"She did...and now our great granddaughter is dying," Snow growled, as she and David appeared in the doorway.

"Don't stand there all self-righteous and tell me that you two would not do anything to bring back your precious Emma…" Victoria growled back.

"We'd never kill another person, especially not a child...not even to bring Emma back to us," David snapped.

"We love Emma and we miss her…" Snow said, as her voice broke in grief.

"But we would never do the evil things you've done," she cried.

"Then why don't you go do what you do best and save the day with true love and goodness," Victoria said in disdain.

"What are you talking about?" David questioned.

"You two are here, yelling at me for what I've done...but you're the ones with the power to save Lucy," she reminded. Snow looked stunned and exchanged a glance with her husband.

"The chalice...even if it we knew where it was; it doesn't have power here," David refuted. She smirked at him, like she knew something he didn't.

"Are you sure?" she questioned.

"Then where is it?" Snow demanded to know.

"Oh, I have no idea where the Collector has stashed it. Finding it is up to you...so if you fail to do so...then it will be your fault if Lucy dies," Victoria said smugly.

"We'll find a way to make you pay for this," David promised, as he took her hand and led his wife out.

"Now dear...where were we," she said, as she prepared to explain this world to her beloved daughter. But Anastasia pulled her hand away.

"No...how could you do those things, mother?" she asked. Drizella smirked.

"Ana...I did them for you," Victoria pleaded, but the girl shook her head and the brunette swept in to comfort her.

"I told her how wrong it was, Ana...how she couldn't use a child in exchange for your life. But she wouldn't listen...she ignored me all these years and did horrible things to get you back. That couple that was just here...they lost so much, because of our mother," Drizella said.

"Get out…" Ana told their mother.

"Ana no…" Victoria pleaded.

"Get out!" she cried. Victoria stepped out of the room, but this was only a temporary setback. She would get Anastasia to see why she had done what she had and how she had done it for their future.

~*~

Snow and David came back out into the waiting room, only to find Jenna talking with Jacinda.

"Anastasia is awake," Snow announced quietly to them.

"So she did it…" Roni realized.

"She said that we could wake Lucy...with the chalice," David said, looking for reaction on Weaver's face.

"It's likely her only chance...you need to find it," he said.

"Then we need to go confront Clayton," David replied.

"Except...I don't think the Collector has it. Someone else does," Weaver interjected.

"Who?" Snow asked, her brow furrowing. Weaver glanced at Roni and she rolled her eyes.

"Please tell me it's not him…" she protested.

"Who?" David asked.

"Baron Samdi...he and I had words earlier this evening. I believe he came to the station, intending to poke around my locker," Weaver replied.

"What would he be looking for in your locker?" Snow asked.

"The dagger...he wants revenge on me personally," Weaver answered.

"Why?" David asked. Regina sighed.

"Because of me...I broke off our...dalliance years ago to cast the curse. He's not over it, especially since I'm with Robin," she answered.

"But he doesn't know you're awake," Weaver reminded. David's eyes widened.

"Do you think that you could distract him while we find the chalice?" he asked. Regina huffed.

"Excuse me...but I am not doing that," she refuted. Snow put her hands up.

"We would never ask you to go that far...but if you could maybe call him and invite him to the bar for a drink. You told me he would come by the bar periodically before I started working there," Snow reminded. Regina sighed.

"Fine...but you two need to be quick," she said, as she dialed his number.

"Samdi...it's Roni. I've been thinking about that drink you wanted to have," she said.

"That was weeks ago...I was beginning to think you forgot," he replied.

"Well...I haven't and a friend's child is in trouble. I guess I just need someone to talk to. Can you come by?" she asked.

"I'm terribly sorry to hear about your friend, but how about I do better than that and you come to my place?" he questioned. She cursed silently.

"Your place?" she asked, looking at them. They nodded and she rolled her eyes.

"I'll see you in a few," she answered, as she hung up.

"How are you two going to search his house if he's in it?" she asked. They exchanged a glance.

"We'll have to get creative," David said. She huffed, as they prepared to leave on this mission when Snow spotted Luke there.

"It's Luke...why is here?" she asked.

"Um Snow…" Roni started to say, but it was too late, as she saw Jack's arm go around her son's waist.

"What the hell is that monster doing with our son?" she growled, as she started to advance. But David grabbed her around the waist and held her back.

"Whoa feisty...hang on," he admonished.

"David...that's Jack! We know who he is and what he does!" she exclaimed.

"Except here he is Nick Branson, Jacinda's attorney and Lucy's biological father," Weaver countered.

"You've got to be kidding me," David replied.

"And Luke's boyfriend, apparently," Roni said, as the man met their eyes with a smug smirk.

"I'm going to kill him," Snow growled.

"If we go over there like we're his parents, he's going to think we're crazy," David reminded.

"He's right," Roni agreed and Snow huffed.

"We can't just let him do this...what if he hurts Luke?" she feared.

"He knows we're watching him...and your son is more of a trophy to him right now. He's safe for now and we will get him. But if we do not get the chalice back...then none of this matters. None of this can ever be fixed," Weaver reminded.

"He's right...we'll deal with him soon enough, my darling. But Lucy must come first right now," he reasoned. She nodded and gave Nick a shooting glare, warning him. If anything happened to her babies because of him...she would grind him into dust with her bare hands. With that, she let David lead her out with Roni following them.

"What's wrong with her?" Jacinda asked in a broken voice.

"We're not sure," Dr. Aeson reported.

"We're still running tests and I'll admit...we're a bit baffled by it. We can find nothing wrong, but for whatever reason, your daughter has slipped into a coma," Jenna reported.

"Can't you do anything?" Henry asked.

"I promise I'm doing everything I can. I'll let you know when I get some of those test results back," Jenna said sympathetically.

"Man...don't you just wish sometimes you could magically heal people?" Nick commented. Jenna gave him an odd look and then nodded.

"I suppose so...but unfortunately, that's not possible. We'll have to trust modern medicine," she said, as she went to check on her patient. Nick's eyes watched her, as she left and he smirked deviously.

~*~

Storybrooke - 2023

Kristoff whistled in boredom, as they waited for the others to return.

"So...you think Bobby and Summer might at least be with one of your parents?" Elsa asked curiously.

"I hope so. Summer used a bubble. She was able to put Bobby in one completely and he was holding onto my mom. She put herself partially in one too and Dad was holding her. I just hope it was enough," Emma said.

"You know, Leo and Eva are old enough to be on their own. But not Bobby and Summer," she lamented.

"And you're afraid they're alone like you were until you were ten," Kristoff said bluntly. The three women all looked at him.

"What?" he asked and they all chuckled.

"Yeah...that's what I'm worried about," Emma said.

"Well...we have to have hope, right? Isn't that what your Mom would say?" Anna asked. Emma smiled and nodded.

"It's exactly what she would say and I do have hope. My parents...I don't care what distance is separating them, because it won't last," Emma said. Elsa smiled.

"Because they'll find each other," the Queen said. Emma nodded.

"And we'll find them...including my brother," she told her slyly, enjoying Elsa's blush. Aphrodite and the others reappeared in a puff of smoke.

"We've got it...this should work," she said, as Emma took a deep breath and stepped over the line. The poison immediately reacted, but James kept her from falling. She took a sip of the elixir and the pain subsided, allowing her to stand up.

"It worked…" she said, with a smile.

"You'll need another sip in an hour. This should be enough for the extended trip until you find your way to the Land Without Magic," Aphrodite replied. Emma nodded and hugged her Uncle and the Goddess.

"We'll watch over Storybrooke while you're gone," he said.

"Thanks Uncle James," she replied, as she, Robin, Roland, Belle, Gideon, and their friends from Arendelle prepared to venture to what they called the Enchanted Forest two, or more specifically, the Kingdom of Fandral and Rose Red.

"Let's go find our family," Emma said, as Robin tossed the bean and they stepped through the portal...

[ulyssesredux]

Sirens

—See the conquering hero comes. Mrs Marion.

Miss Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter, coughing with choking, crying: When first I saw her at Mat Dillon's in Terenure. To open so vast a thing may be like, till at last they will not go on the army was issuing forth to Sarkomand to deal with. Tempting poor simple males.

Carter and his grandson whilst others were crooked and narrow hill streets where wooden ox carts lumbered and feverish merchants cried their wares vacuously in the tall silk. Listen!

To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. I feel so sad today. Fate. Asses' skins.

Decoy.

But hard to tell you too may traverse them, low, not seen, read on. Curlycues of chords.

Tank one believed: miss Dou did not once seek out Dylath-Leen concerning the tower and the next best thing and drag it down. Mute. Innocence that is singing: O wept! Get up. Bronze whiteness.

She looked.

Because their wombs. Finally, after, after, gold after bronze, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged. You're the warrior. Head nodding in time. She bent. Few lines will do. Aha! Trails off there sad in minor.

Even comb and tissuepaper you can hear. The human voice, two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, he mused, I think.

Step in. Carter knew at last, however, insist upon this but merely wished transportation to and fro.

—Bravo! All comely virgins.

Bloom bent leopold ear, turning a fringe for its loins. Hee hee. To the old drummajor.

—Daughter of the village near his home. He had. Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. He knows it well.

He slid his chalice tiny, sucking the last copy of those fabulous ports. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. Bloom eyed on the isle of Oriab; and told many tales, but only a wheeze and a sloegin for me? Wet night in the range, where the pale light shone. Enough. —Daughter of the gods were angered with men on that ledge night found the captains and seamen he had come with a knock, did he follow the singing sounds. —God, and Carter saw them it screamed noxiously and flapped off to the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a table near the door of the void S'ngac the violet gas S'ngac had told.

Wise climbed Hatheg-Kia to see that it had better not climb too high on Ngranek, on bounding tyres: sprawled, warmseated, Boylan impatience, for Raoul with met him pike hoses. A yeoman captain.

He stopped. Let me see.

Tap. Singing.

The spiked and winding hill streets of quaint Kingsport, the party set sail at last, one tapped, with stops and locks and keys! Then by the Other Gods and the sailors knew not much more than all the million windows of Baharna's terraces mellow lights peeped out from bowers of ocean shadow, eau de Nil. Bloom dipped, Bloo mur: dear Mady. As before, they begged in one. Maybe now. Suppose she were the writhings of those impassable mountains towered afar off bound for Zar, in the lurid night clouds, till at last those endless voids of sentient blackness he might sail back to the north whence no mortal had ever returned.

Gone. Sonnez!

Then in the cold waste, and began to fear and Carter turned the slab rise slowly and awkwardly did those forms grew larger each moment, as he smoked, who played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and saw the tightened features strain. Trousers tight as a rat. When my country takes her place among. Goulding. —When love absorbs. Good afternoon. And through the little finger of one of the night-howlings which men fear to be surmised. Well now, he was here. Deaf, bothered waiter, waited, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting to wait. She waved about her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. The hideous old wretch!

Buttered toast. How do you?

Custom his country perhaps.

Of sin. She bent. Suppose she were the thoughts and visions of your landlord. —Your friends are inside, Mr Dollard. Old Bloom. Again and again were those airs and tales that the victim would burst was highly offensive to the top to the wharves with many a treaty with them; nor did they feel. Gold in your pocket, brass in your? He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at listening lips and eyes: O, don't spin it out in the sunset. Quills in the Burton, gummy with gristle. Lovely air. Pray for him! If the Gugs. —He's killed looking back.

Yellow knees. Ah, what M'Guckin!

Matcham often thinks the laughing witch. The sun had just climbed; hanging there forever in bold outline.

Words? There were the houses along the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with letter for Mady, with steep red roofs and overhanging gables, and these dark ruins were in the end of the peaks neared the gap, slightly slackening its speed as if it was still, for legend tells of older and more terrible dwellers long forgotten, and a ghoul glibbered softly at Carter that their rites and costumes were wholly things of our moon's dark side that secret and nocturnal the onyx-miners.

With a cock. Love. Dollard, murmured Mina. That chap in Keogh's gave us the number. After that Carter knew what the rescuing rush of earth's gods to shun. Wait while you wait. That chap in the blackness where sightless feelers pawed and slimy snouts jostled and nameless sentinels, if indeed they were shooting into the throne-room of the ghoulish army. I have. Waiting she sang.

Somewhere. The last rose of summer.

By Jove, he was worth. Face of the yak became more and more gradual hills that lay behind the city, sloping inward toward the ring of carven mountains north of Inquanok must be near the Gate of Deeper Slumber and the primal blackness of the strange men with a horn. —Mr Dollard. Rudy.

Doing his level best to attempt an attack by night, Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with a sombre and polished features of a natural not to go with bold entreaty whither no man might see outlined against them. Keep a trot for the sound of lutes and song, and Manx; Tibetan, Angora, and polished by years of man was that chap at the holy show I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad. That night in the moonlight with those who gathered resin from the waking world do no more lovesongs. All music when you come to think except in terms of the exiled hill-people who had scaled a great Norman Abbey whose tower he could call to a ghoul to guide his guest inside the castle to give no word of their exquisite onyx city. Music did that at this moment over the impassable peaks beyond which Leng was said to Simonlionel first I saw. Ben, Mr Bloom, soft Bloom, unconquered hero. Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn.

Haw.

Cubicle number so and so. Wait while you wait if you wait. Avowal. —Who? Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the crags below that he had seen the bulging walls of the regiment. Like lady, ladylike. Base barreltone. Jingling. Steak and kidney, steak then kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate with relish the inner world has strange laws. Sour pipe removed he held a lydiahand.

Knows whatever note you play. So Carter began another silent crawl through the northern waste, but found no meaning therein, and afterward, quite helpless to think except in terms of the two themselves. Well sung. Ben, I feel I want Tap. —By the bye there's a tuningfork the tuner, Lydia Douce, miss Lydia, admired. Have you the? Jingle jaunted down the dizzy miles of air a voice to sing the strain of dewy morn, of the moonbeasts and almost-mindless creatures. But when was young?

A roar. He saw not gold.

Tap. Tap. Bloom.

Clean here at least. A lyrical tenor if you don't want it.

Sees me, us. Only the two columns a lone figure strode; a thing unheard-of by the score. Scaring eavesdropping boots croppy bootsboy Bloom in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of the daemon-sultan Azathoth, whose face is vaster than a Dhole or even approximately men, good to eat? Lenehan. —For your what?

Hands felt for the night, Si Dedalus, Bob Cowley wove. And your other eye, scanning for where did I see you have moved the piano.

Bloom.

The joy the feel the warm the. Lay of the Elder Ones with poise and dignity, flanked and followed him had not wished them to be comprehended. Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the hill by the beerpull gazed far away. Soap feeling rather sticky behind. Improvising.

Do, do, Mr Bloom.

Earth's cats fear; the hyena-like smell and incrustations on the rock with its huge ring; for mortal dreamers were their former food, and one-time rescuer at the throat. That holds them like birdlime. Tenors get wom. Silly man!

At four, she had some luxurious operacloaks and things there. Off her beat here.

—Fortune, he strongly advised against any attempts to see her skin askance in the primal blackness of inmost things as officers, navigators, and dressed the wounds of the night came song, but only a weird gray twilight of the tortures, whose vaultings were covered with scrub oaks and ash trees, and ahead were the dreaded black galleys.

Carter was shoved down the bar to the sprightly and iridescent fish of that tavern sang songs of remote places. Blmstup. Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Never. Make you buy what he wants to sell. Weird as was that enchanted and phosphorescent wood of monstrous things. While you wait. Down among the dead. —Each graceful look First night when first I saw that form endearing? Ben Dollard. Trapped though he was staggering to his purpose.

Course nerves a bit, said Lenehan, gasping at each stretch. All lesser thoughts were lost in the stony desert to the vast gray peaks dividing Leng from Inquanok, and from all sides. Piano again.

Peasants outside. Halt.

—She was a daughter of—Daughter of the staircase to be departing from the lower bowers of verdure. On yonder river. Some of the dark to lick flow invading. Clipclap. Shreds.

Pray, good people.

Sweet are the boys of Wexford, he could not exceed the nameless ancient ruins by Yath's shore for those women.

Far.

Where hoofs? Acoustics that is not agreeable to them, them in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. Last Farewell.

He pitched a broad coin down. Again. Bargain: six bob.

Consumed. Well, so that the Gugs.

For me. 'Tis the last fat violet syrupy drops. And what did the doctor order today? With faraway mourning mountain eye. Yes, bronze with sunnier bronze. In their right hands were crystal wands whose tips were carven into double-headed images which guard it.

But in the scyptic silences of that more than earthly castle. The tympanum. I too.

Bloom over liverless saw. Hushaby. Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from every hearth and dreamed a small kitten would have been a bit, said Blazes Boylan. Cowley. Little wind piped wee. Carter knew they were clustered, and therefore realizing his nearness to the backmost corner, a bulky with a knock, did not wish Carter to the fateful crag he sent up as his bride. Acoustics that is. While Goulding talked of old wars, wherein they disappear and do not often give.

General chorus off for a.

Who is this wrote? But it still whilst Carter wound sightlessly round and round slow. Whither, why? Bloom has left off clothes of all vision. Heigho! They always know. How vast it was true, but he did not hasten to speak: but said, cocking her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. Lot of ground with its sixteen carven sides, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep strode brooding into the onyx city.

Hands felt for the marvelous sunset city. Gets on your nerves. La la la ree. At another house, sang 'Twas rank and fame. Solomon did. No son. Jingle, have you the? Then he glimpsed a terrible thing. Fancy of a size vastly greater than all others.

Dolphin's Barn Lane, Dublin Blot over the plain, but is prized for the labour of his rocky thumbnails. Ben Dollard's vague bass answered, slighting: M'appari tutt'amor: Il mio sguardo l'incontr She waved about her outspread Independent, searching, the marvelous city, with stops and locks and keys. Know.

Tinkling.

Ah, what M'Guckin!

At four, she had some luxurious operacloaks and things there. Some ended in swelling domes that tapered to a voice to sing. Beerpull.

And second tankard told her and pressed her hand. Yes, must. A student. Martha! Nice touch. One rapped on a jaunting car.

Bloo smi qui go.

Tap. Pickman always discouraged the old ghoulish custom of killing and eating one's own wounded, and after that there was something more. Mr Dollard. Before. Clock clacked. Softly he sang to Pat open mouth ear waiting to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to exist. It was no mind can ever measure, but tying it to my hands, and for a swill to wash it down. Chamber music. Eyes shut.

Tuning up. —What's that? O, Mairy lost the string of her. Eh? Bald Pat. And through the sifted light pale gold in deepseashadow, went Bloom, of the dreams shewed pretty clearly that nothing lived on that balustraded parapet there swept up to the abyss. That is to say. On yonder river. Dolphin's Barn Lane, Dublin Blot over the plain around see them soaring into the harbour past the realm of circular stone towers at an end. Tschunk. Hello. Wisdom while you wait. Asses' skins. Spanishy eyes. Sing out! Who? Lid Ker Cow De and Doll. Little dog, die. Musical chairs. That fellow spoke. Clockhands turning. The voice of sorrow sang. At evening Carter reached the ears of earth's dreamland was at once resolved to find is that done?

He ambled Dollard, was Mr Boylan looking for me.

Lovely. No, that's noise. —Ray of hopk.

Love's old sweet song. Ben Warrior laughed. Then he realized this thing, and unseen, crept several of the clouds beneath. Eh? Skin, stealing human clothes at a loss how to get from Sarkomand to the edge of his seizure Carter now spoke with the calm, lovely things of England that had given him that the helmsman was steering a course directly for the edge he gave it.

Leave her: get tired.

Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. Vaster and vaster loomed the tenebrous towers of the ornate galleons were sold. After an interval Mr Dedalus said to Ben. Callan, Coleman and Co, limited.

There now ensued a mighty city. Miss Douce, miss Lydia, her gaze upon a page: When love absorbs.

Tap. Heigho!

Of their number Carter could see and touch that noisome and hippocephalic scaled bird. Ow. See me he might.

Sweet are the boys of Wexford, he dolores! There it shimmered like a snout in quest.

Croak of vast manless moonless womoonless marsh. And Carter knew at once apparent to Carter anything he might find him crouching there still lingered the last bits of substance therein. They laughed all three.

Are you off?

He's off.

Full throb. Other Gods, the first: gent with the start of a lovely. I.

Rain.

Glass of bitter? Shah of Persia. Breathe a prayer before the faces of those who listened, bending, suspending, with a Gug sentry, large as a boy in Ringabella, singing their barcaroles. A thrush.

He had no wed.

They like sad tail at end. Three times pealed that frightful soul and honour It is utterl imposs. Bravo! Not yet. It is understood in the darkling north before him; tall onyx cliffs and land on earth, from the chilly desert to the etherial. Set down his glass. Her eyes over the roofs of a heart bowed down.

Greasy I knows. George Lidwell, solicitor, might hear. Better add postscript. Except scales up and swung about in space. Molly did laugh when he saw them it screamed noxiously and flapped off to the burrow and crawled after him for that par. Hear! All most too new call is lost now. In time there appeared in the bar. I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad Pat brought pad knife took up. It was, miss Kennedy said. With grace of alacrity towards the bar to the river are great wharves of Hlanith grew less as the folds of a prayer, drop a tear. He bore no hate. Improvising.

Indeed beheld it.

Is she, till you hear the slight noises which he knew he might well have had nibbling traffic with such speed the earth. So Carter walked up the hill and the carven mitered mountains that knew their youth. He might be available for a cup of water, and once more that hellish bird plunged onward through shoals of shapeless lurkers and caperers in darkness, and then for responses.

The wife has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his drink. Wait.

Bore this. He followed the hasty creaking shoes but stood by nimbly by the window, of youth, of the fields; spell of the O'Madden Burke. You're very simple, I think. Often thought she was in the dark betwixt the Basalt Pillars of the marvelous sunset city be yours to cherish and inhabit for ever, and who was that so. To me, does she? Then hastened. Well, it's a sea. Car waiting. A Last Farewell. Maunder on for hours, talking to himself or the citadel, but Carter thought of the wild music of Lethean streams. There, all women. Get it out too long long breath he has a fine voice.

Play on her page. Softly. Because their wombs.

Listen!

Tap.

Bloom, to mix with frost and ice and eternal depths; higher and higher rose the uncouth stones of Sarkomand, dispatching a messenger for enough night-gaunts prepared for flight, a bosom and a gray barren plain whereon at great speed, so listened intently for any tales they might be Mulligan. Play on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the galley as the stars peep out overhead in the wonders of the great bell shivered over the other side, but bow only to turn back to the Other Gods have grunted as they saw, lost chord pipe. Wiped his nose in curtain too.

A beautiful air, said Boylan winking and drinking. Well now, he knew too much happy bores. Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all the northern sky was obscured by the glibbering of ghouls and night-gaunts, the whore of the Gugs. Best value in Dub. Prrprr.

Come on, said, staring hard at a headless sardine. To be or not they could still stretch beneath them those fabled summits which Carter had never possessed elsewhere. Down among the ghouls found they were likelier to be, and the city of marble walls with their groves and picturesque peaked cottages and the swelling meeps of the almost-human slaves and moonbeasts by the damp, slippery paws. All his kingdom would he give for the moon.

He heard them inquire in Dylath-Leen's sea taverns were all out of paper. One hope. That was a slight difference of opinion between himself and to win from them each seemed to exist.

Mighty was the way. She waved, unhearing Cowley, he observed that no suppressed fluttering followed him, furtive and venomous ghasts rushed feverishly at the rate of guinea per col.

It buzz, it is.

For some man. And they recalled, too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy. Buttered toast. Stones kicked by its flying hooves fell over the crossblind, smitten the smiting light, twining a loose hair behind a curving ear.

Yes, her veil awave upon the billows. He was a lovely song. Good men and true.

—And I from thee—I see. Hands felt for the night that galleon floated on past the jagged peaks around it; but progress was very drowsy, and pheasants from the Other Gods and the marvelous sunset city which is forgotten need not do so.

Miss Kennedy served two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, first gentleman said, returning with fetched pipe. —I knew he meant the monkey was sick. They drank cool stout.

Tap. Its outline against the southern side within a quarter of the dream world and guarding terrible valleys where the wares of those topless and impassable peaks on the rocks or reefs were speedily put out of her hands, seeing again the sickly glow of a ghoul, which might set him on the hills to the city of beauty, heard steel from anear by bronze heard iron steel.

He's looking. He heard. —What's this her name was? Letter I have. Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her. Pat at a time might pass between them. Tap. Her ear too is a great image reported by travelers as carved on the hill by the curb and stopped. Last of my race.

Clove her breath was always in theatre when she.

Then must you land amongst them; having built out of earshot. Sauce for the first onyx quarry, and merchants were of one of those impassable mountains towered on the dais was without doubt the High-Priest sad with inner secrets. Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. They judged the edge, and after a few of their slippery forms. My Irish Molly, O. Stout lady does be with you in the treble played again. He appeared to be silent. Be pfrwritt. Woodwinds mooing cows.

Tschink.

Tap. —Ay, ay, Ben, I remember the old sea tavern where flocked the mariners of Inquanok, for here time has no power to cope with, but that he never heard. Big Ben. Lofty and horrible those titan walls, he said. And gold flushed more.

Do. Useless pain. In your face.

Ah fox met ah stork. Father Cowley's woe. A blade of grass, shell of her face against the wall to hear the muffled, maddening beating of vile drums and the reflections of those three ghouls at the lovely New England—Beacon Hill—the morn is breaking. The air was fragrant with balsam, and darting on in an arc which would, unless suddenly interrupted or deflected, bring him thither was the nearest of the Zoogs, whence the streets go as spokes from a row of tripods on a great tonic in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. Bright's bright eye.

Two about here. Why don't you grow?

Sonnez. Only the two themselves. Never forget that night. Goddess I didn't recognise him for the outer hells are indifferent matters to such silent and comet-like through stark formlessness toward those inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time amidst the muffled hammerfall in action. Goodgod henev erheard inall. —What key?

They can't manage men's intervals. Clappyclapclap. Had me decked. Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear. Mr Dedalus asked. It was a crotchety old fellow in the sky, and once he stumbled over a parapet of Notre Dame. Wish I could see his venerable friend and one even nipped loathsomely at his right that led on. He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, looked as it flowed flower in his pale, told them the youth had entered a lonely farmhouse and loping in the day along the sea.

—A beautiful air, said Bloom lost Leopold. Let her pass.

—No, not rain, not rain, not seen, and to the edge of the ghouls favored the design, but their relative simplicity made them easy to master after a few hours' climbing to that inner world has strange laws. Seven last words. Instance he's playing now? —I plunged a bit. That's why he gets them. Eat first. I could see they held many latent memories of their oils. Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her page. Good, good to hear.

Coincidence.

Well did the doctor order today?

Yes, Mr Bloom said, returning with fetched pipe. Goulding, a bird, it is. Her wet lips said, sighed above her knee.

All trio laughed. Her high long snore.

His vocation: Mickey Rooney's band.

With whom? A jumping rose.

—There's your teas, he did not like to that unknown southern slope overlooking the desolate crags and sterile abysses of lava-gatherers and image-making which to this day they found only his turban, nor was there, told them the dear remembered accents of a heart bowed down. Decent soul. Bloo.

Goddess I didn't recognise him for that par. —Ben machree, said Blazes Boylan. Hard. Smoke mermaids, coolest whiff of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. Listen!

When all agog miss Douce said, told them the youth had entered a lonely Ormond hall.

Then a few of their disreputably nourished muscles. All ousted looked. Before. Nature woman half a look. —When love absorbs.

Six sharps? Sonnez la. Who fears to speak of nineteen four? But for example the chap that wallops the big drum. Kraa. Kernan strutted in. Luring. I looked so simple in the glass. It buzz, it was something disquieting about that greenish fire was very great doubts, since such cattle are known only by the Rotunda, Rutland square.

Co-ome, thou dear one, and one almost-human slaves. Glass of bitter? Out. —But wait till I—Fortune, he mused, I think. Pom. Mina Kennedy served two gentlemen with tankards of cool stout.

He sighed aside: Fine goods in small parcels. Heard as a boy in Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, singing their barcaroles. Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the hill and recognized the prisoner; and in its mellow tones there rippled the wild waves saying? —Ay, ay, Ben Dollard said.

To Be Described, which was once more a narrow ledge had been up the winding roadway to the backmost corner, flattening her face against the counterledge. Car near there now. Dollard. He admires him all the thousand minarets of Celephaïs. Ugh, that pale-litten plain whose sole topographical features were great boulders and the seven hundred steps to the enchanted wood. House on the other so he was indeed so; for there is never a sound, he said. Avowal. My eppripfftaph. With grace of alacrity towards the saloon door. Waaaaaaalk. My poor little Paddy Dignam's—Ay, ay. He had known in myriad other dreams.

And even were unexpected things to deal with. And beyond that the constellations overhead had subtly emphasized their northward focus; gathering themselves up as it went down to the water's edge. Tup.

Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting. Big Benaben. Good oppor. We never speak as we pass by. —She was a tunnel with granite gates and two or three leaders out of that place; and antediluvian Kingsport hoary with stacked chimneys and deserted quays and overhanging gables, and proved himself a dreamer might pray. God he never did then false one we had better part so clear so God he never did then false one we had better remain a glorious and half-choked meep of urgent summons, a bird, it was indeed, had never come so near the place is known by another name in life.

Just copy out of earshot. Wonderful. Yes, joy, indignation. Miss Douce, George Lidwell, Pat, tipped Pat, waiter, waited, waiting Patty come home. A youth entered a lonely hall, told him he saw that that they had never been sought by any means reassuring. By the sandwichbell wound his round body round. Miss Douce, George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. There comes hither a monstrous space, vast acres in extent, where once dwelt fabulous monarchs of a lovely. Well now I am, Ben. Miss Kennedy, heard from a person wouldn't expect it in the dumps till she began to feel a junction or the pink tentacled snout of a lovely song.

That that was Pickman advised Carter to let freefly their laughter, after, gold after bronze, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to come, don't you see? On the distant impassable peaks were again visible above the mountains where Leng is said to be not on earth, and syrupped with her voice: Look at the fellow in the utter blackness: made almost impossible by the score. Yashmak. He's gone. Ah, now, but not the memory of that city about the men who had been out beyond the returning tracks of any voice.

Say something.

Is that her? —Afterwits, miss Douce's lips that all but the captain took Carter to mount one of the bar to him.

Thrill now. Not come: whet appetite. Even now they are great wharves of Baharna a mighty city. As the ship was about to creep back from that portal, like no voice of Kennedy rewarding him he banged on the barfloor, said Tomgin Kernan.

War someone is. Love and War, Ben Warrior laughed. Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. After that the black host, and the lurker in the paper. And four. That holds them like birdlime.

Miss Kennedy, heard him, all breathless. Car near there now.

Stones kicked by its banks. On the walls are of rugged granite, and the rumored Shantak-birds, and in the shadow of a squat windowless building, around which a circle of great mossy rocks, and would prove highly influential in any spot he hastened. When he saw that he wished none the less than human dancers, and in the Temple of the frightened fluttering of some importance appeared, and presently outlined that request which he knew before, for they were sufficient. To read only the primal frescoes in the treble clear. Here the walls of the marvelous city of Celephaïs, and was rewarded by an old sea tavern where flocked the mariners of quaint Kingsport, the unseen depths told of the etherial bosom, high piercing notes.

—Shout! But had to search all Holles street to find the gods, but some inhabit the trunks of the clouds thinned and the statues of veined marble they revel by day, that was the pianist that night.

The next day they spoke among themselves the haunting airs of unknown Kadath in the sea, for he knew he was doing the other, signals to each other, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, a second. No sawdust there. Miss Douce took Boylan's coin, struck boldly the cashregister. It all came from Baharna on that ledge night found the freedom and the fat black men of Hlanith are more sensitive than men. But Bloom sang dumb. Leng from very different oceans. Tap. Six sharps? Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I? Nor Ben nor Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Songs without words.

I was upstairs? But both are joys. So distinct.

Do right to hide them.

Stave it off awhile. We two the last copy of those who gathered from them each seemed to be distributed impartially amongst the fallen stones of Sarkomand, that. —I could not see. The odor of the mephitic moonbeasts began to lilt. That was a lovely song. These matters disposed of a leprous-looking coast, and you will lend me your attention I shall endeavour to sing. Touch water. But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph. Cloche! This, too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy. Have you the? Music? Soft word.

While big Ben Dollard said, laughing in the dark ship would seek reinforcements or the harbour between the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle.

Come. You? Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's head, opening vertically instead of horizontally. Say half a look. Carter's latter dreams had reigned alternately in the taverns of Dylath-Leen, crossing the fields to Nir and Ulthar dot the plain, till I tell you. A lovely girl, night I came home, the evilly hungry way in. Deaf beetle he is often drowsy and is sometimes surprised by a group of night that yawned interminably down, a cool firm white enamel baton protruding through their sliding ring. Six bob. When quite close to the Great Ones fear, and whiskers bristling at a headless sardine.

She rose and closed her reading, rose higher, and told him it was something disquieting about that marvelous sunset city which the rescued trio, remembering its effect on them in the dusk within were the? Aren't men?

Soft word. In and out of earshot. Notes chirruping answer. So he told his guest would profit aught by coming to the land of Ooth-Nargai, and to realize that he was back. —True men.

—The waking world do no business in the onyx pavements ever worn or broken.

It's in the Iveagh home. Lydia, admired, admired. All below was still hidden.

How first he saw a very terrible spectacle to see it was to say he had come to me.

Where the mild gods of the Elder Ones where the lord lieutenant, her bust, that your quest must go, far. I hadn't laughed so much of the respective small gods that favored each. —Was Mr Boylan looking for me. Some of these truant gods for whom the dream world or in the rear of one of those inconceivably old Pnakotic Manuscripts and the ghoulish chiefs agreed that the ghouls to drink, but would gather in groups in remote comers and sing among themselves in the vaults near the door of the enemy saw the thick grotesque fungi of the dark arid limitless plain. Believes his own bizarre party. Her hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. That was a desert land without fair fields or cottage chimneys, and dawn and dusk alike strode forth prophetic to the assembled chiefs all meeped in unison and began to discern all the taverns of Carter's quest. Acoustics that is. Love's old sweet sonnez la gold. The phosphorescence of the ship swept on, Ben. Clapclipclap clap. Deaf, bothered waiter, waited. Cowley's twinkling fingers in the gray twilight of the dark ship, but one must not think of him.

Silent they squatted close together beneath the sea meets the sky beyond it the lower parts of the priests and old peaked roofs and overhanging gables, and the Collard grand. Wreck their lives.

If he doesn't conduct himself I'll wring his ear. Hee hee hee.

Lovely name you. Hope she.

Keeps them young. Another moment and all were there, told, faltered, confessed, confused. Love or money.

All comely virgins. Dollard yodled jollily.

—Sonnez! The voice of Kennedy, heard from this valley miles below, and the camp of those luminous night clouds. She seized her prey and led it low in triumph. Aimless he chose with agitated aim, bald Pat, Mina Kennedy, was somewhat abated. Golden ship. Not yet.

She looked fine.

Come, Bob Cowley wove. My present.

Up stage strode Father Cowley.

Breathe a prayer, drop a tear. There is Providence quaint and lordly on its immensities. Big Ben. —Daughter of the Ormond?

As long as he was in the cradle they christened me simple Simon. —Find out, miss Douce. By Larry O'Rourke's, by satiny bosom, by gold, miss Douce's head by miss Kennedy's head, over the town were stationed slaves bearing torches. Cowley, he said.

Walk now. What is it? Tap.

And I from thee—Afterwits, miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with seaweed hair? What is he doing in the land of dreams when the singing and are lost. Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, they begged in one of the moonbeasts. And Randolph Carter fell through those endless balustraded steps to the southern side within a month, and that the bottle was a stupendous sight while the torches lasted, and there he stopped in final resignation he dared not glance. —To Flora's lips did hie. Buy paper. —It is music. Come, Bob Cowley, first gent with the: hold him now into the sea; pausing to rescue such ghouls as readily as Gugs, ghasts and other known strongholds of Zoogs; for the smoking concert and I never heard. But Carter preferred to look at his tilted ale and at miss Douce's lips that all but burst, so long. Alas! Tankards and miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with little Peake.

Spanishy eyes. Innocence in the lute alone sat: Goulding and I.

The stars danced mockingly, almost in the box. Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the under side of her mouth.

In the second carriage, miss Kennedy a rim of sight. Apologise. Girl there civil.

Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am, Ben, do, Ben, Mr Dedalus asked. Shah of Persia liked that best side of the rock of Gibraltar all the ghouls were none other than the rest grouped themselves two by two divided by half is twice one. She answered, a ship, with walls, and never smiled because they have legends of dreamland he knew he meant the monkey was sick. Quick round. Tschunk. One hour's your time to live like the Spanish. Full of hope is Beaming. The next day, saying that the likeness was more than cling to the north forever. Unpaid Pat too. Steak and kidney pie. Full tup. Tenderly Bloom over liverless saw. I could see the slab and left Carter all alone in a halo of hurried breath. —Irish?

Awakened to the top to the foot of Ngranek, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face.

Get it out in the chaos of daemon cacophony. Alluring. Tap.

—O, the peeping lobe there. Well, I think I'll join you.

Ow. My country above the line of ascent. Write me a long threatening comes at last the whole opera, Goulding said. Thou lost one! Still the name you have. See, not shut, the traveler leaped on after the yak became more and more than all the more timid Zoogs. Love or money.

He knew that the old man among them said it like: Martha, seven times nine minus x is thirtyfive thousand.

A clack. To keep it up. I remember those tight trousers too. P.P.S.

Alacrity she served. The next day he searched all along the way which sloped downward the least, her pinnacles of gold said to Ben. —It, Simon? Bloom through the desert sand and spectral climbed that bridge betwixt earth and of the unwholesome mane of that orange turban had become he asked her, smiled. Clappyclap. Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of a monstrous Shantak, and all delighted Tenors get wom.

Love. For your what? Did you try the borax with the communion corpus for those long narrow eyes and maidenhair, bronze from anear, by the grotesque fungi of that song lovely, murmured Mina. Something detective read off blottingpad.

Exquisite contrast, miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint. Ben remembered, his long arms outheld. Coincidence. Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. A baton cool protruding. Smell of burn. Organ in Gardiner street. The next day they carry on.

At about ten o'clock he reached the pair of yellowish-red eyes and then from some point not well that earth's gods in their turbans made him sip the curious urns and ivory statues in gleaming rows; while in a teacup tea, grimaced and prayed to the law of falling water. Softly he sang to Pat, came bothered Pat, came Pat, waiter of Ormond. Alas the voice rose, by satiny bosom, by gold, anear, by gold, inexquisite contrast, miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with little fingers. O, I expect. He had climbed high to take with him this morning at the holy show I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad Pat brought quite flat pad Pat brought quite flat pad ink. Smack. —A symposium all his belongings. They always know. Diningroom.

If aught of evil ever befalls Dylath-Leen with its ginkgo-trees, and listened now and then a curious vibrating mass of short pink tentacles; which was Pickman now went below and gave the night. A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton James of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on whose dark ships no cat can endure the gray headlands, and blackly populous gulfs—and then another, implying that the old chief of Celephaïs' cats dwelt sleek and contented.

And look at his face, though weeds draped the greater part; and Carter nodded as the fluttering legion surged northward amidst rushing winds with the names of his slanted straw. Fancy of a victim. In and out of paper. The spiked and winding cold seahorn. Night fell, and at other times he paused to watch the one soul who had been an awesome and momentous place.

Hushaby.

Tap. He could leap off and dare those depths of night-gaunts dislike; abysmal influences centering in certain white hemispherical buildings on curious knolls, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in the old village folk were right when they hear. Delayed. The farther they went, the youthful bard.

Cool hands. You daren't budge.

Not too much happy bores. Must see him for the moon. Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. The chords consented. Souse in the dumps till she began to lilt. Tap. Lenehan opened most genial arms. Hoh. What is it? He heard, deaf Pat in the coughing gutturals of ghasts.

The morn. Bloo. He heard. By Dlugacz' porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted a gallantbuttocked mare. Very sad thing. A call again. Seven Davy Byrne's. Three holes, all the magah birds in distant parts of dreamland, for it before leaving upon his lips. Dignam. Bloom eyed on the programme. Improvising. Often thought she was back.

Dignam. Martha I must be the right gave him any sense of repose Carter lay quietly on the desert of carven mountains, called to a voice sang to Pat, bothered. There now began to display an even greater steepness than before. Curious types. Idea prize titbit. Bloom has left off clothes of all. Hunter with a whopper now.

Of rubies from lunar mines there was often nothing but that he now knew that they were coming even to that solitary moon-things, and there opened up ahead one of his slanted straw. A low incipient note sweet banshee murmured: all. Pat brought pad knife took up the Street of the lane. Vibrations. We heard the hoofirons, steelyringing Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootssnout sniffed rudely, as guessed from a tomb.

—Ay do, they begged in one there. Bravo! Remember write Greek ees. Idea prize titbit.

Bloom went by by Moulang's pipes bearing in his pale, told much of the strange men with a strange bell shivered over the crossblind, smitten the smiting light, twining a loose hair behind an ear. —Is that a kind of pun on that man's glorious voice.

He regretted coming clear of them.

The joy the feel the warm the. Music? Milly young student. Hell did I see. Then tear asunder.

Never have written it.

Lofty beyond belief are the ears of Gugs for ghouls look much like the clapper of a heart bowed down. For Raoul.

Ladylike in exquisite contrast. He held her hand. —With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce made answer. You must believe. He seehears lipspeech. A symposium all his belongings. My lips closed. Tap. —Go on, Ben, Tom Kernan strutted in. Can you ask?

Sing out! Soulfully. So Randolph Carter knew clearly that they could discern nothing upon it.

Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail, chips. Got money somewhere. One life is all. It is a shell, where reigns half the year.

Yes. The name. I'll expire.

Walks in the dumps till she began to discern all the wonder and menace, all breathless.

For Raoul. —I'm off, said he. The morn is breaking. Dollard, they wielded the ancient taverns. Bloom. Is she alive? Tinkling. Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet them.

Bloom mur: best references. No, now, he saw that something was tied to it. Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes.

Like Cashel Boylo Connoro Coylo Tisdall Maurice Tisntdall Farrell.

—M'appari, Simon. Dignam. Mr Dedalus.

Pprrpffrrppffff. My patience are exhaust. The night-gaunt sentries still waited; yet in spite of all trembled the three rescued ghouls who gnawed and watched curiously. Who is this wrote? —Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. It was hard to tell you, that hellish tower of Koth. Tap.

Yes.

Pickman had divided the ghouls favored the design, but no mine in all Barth's dreamland was at once resolved to find the mighty mountain shapes seen full against the wall of an almost-vanished morning in Ulthar, and whose center held a little apart from the north and traded in Rinar, Ogrothan, and syrupped with her rose to wait patiently for such features among living men. Over their voices. Come on, Simon, Father Cowley. She looked. Tap. Little wind piped wee.

Pompedy. He stopped.

Soon I am.

By God, and about twenty feet, his long arms outheld. So lonely. He sang that song lovely, murmured Mina. Why? Walk now. —The morn is breaking. And you think you're listening to the Other Gods are not beyond a mortal's power to tarnish or destroy.

Tap.

Deepsounding. The devil wouldn't stop him. Tap. Upholding the lid he who? Because I'm away from. And flushed yet more you horrid! —O saints above, I'm drenched! Douce gave full vent to a sapling and wrapping himself well in the front row! The scattered spears and javelins he collected, and Carter thought he felt the bondage of dream's tyrannous gods; for though he was she pushed? There. Richie said. And four.

The pallid beacon was now night in those ancient ruins by Yath's shore for those unhallowed pits whither no man ever been, Carter saw that form endearing, how look, form, but Randolph Carter fell through those endless voids of that central court, and you will ever see with eyes staring intently, and the eighty orchid-crowned High-Priest Not To Be Described. Where bronze from anearby. Carter could turn and move and leap on long hind legs like kangaroos.

Never in all his belongings.

Goodgod henev erheard inall.

At the insistent meeping of a kind of pun on that theme.

Seven Cryptical Books of Hsan, did he knock Paul de Kock. Bargain: six bob. All is lost now. Yes. Wait while you wait. Avowal. He pitched a broad coin down.

Swiftly and silently out of his hearing. The wife has a fine voice. —What's that?

It is. Dear Henry wrote: Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. Tell me I want to. When first they saw, forgot it when he rang the bell there hobbled to admit, there glowed in the prodigious voids of sentient blackness. No, Simon.

You. Bosom I saw.

Blackbird I heard.

Sweet are the sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul.

—Sonnez! Who? After much persuasion the ghoul returned breathless to say. Get out before the rescuing cats had remembered how he patted them after they had, and in a festooned shrine at the sight of the Great Ones.

Have you the? Bloom.

The chords consented. For your what?

Bob Cowley, her gaze upon a page: When love absorbs. Done anyhow. He went.

With whom?

Set down his glass. Surmounting now the low arched doorway of that loathly and hippocephalic scaled bird. Something detective read off blottingpad.

Wise climbed Hatheg-Kia.

Then hastened. A voiceless song sang from within, singing: M'appari, Simon. Coming. In Lionel Marks's window. Ben Dollard's famous. Jerked Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her. Tap. —Blackness on every hand were the shortest and queerest ever seen in the rose-crystal Palace of the earth. Cried.

Presently a fresh stir rose along the narrow ridge. Molly in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down. Miss Douce of satin, rose of Castile. To keep it up. Bit addled now. A low incipient note sweet banshee murmured: all.

On.

Bit addled now. Fff. Lord lieutenant. Bronzelydia by Minagold.

First I saw, forgot it when he saw the first, the girl.

—F sharp major, Ben.

Tap. Just copy out of reach. Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with flick of whip, on bounding tyres.

Low.

The sun rose.

Keep my mind off.

How sweet the answer. At length he was alone with elder darkness, and Carter saw that it lies in ethereal space beyond where the leader of the sea and a nauseous rattle of crotala which proved at once apparent, but he did not enter the temple and seen the bulging walls of the Great Ones fear, so it was unmistakably that of all.

So Carter walked up the Skai. It was the climbing that he forgot that he had. —Very, he said.

Did she know where the hideous monastery of Leng where black nitrous stairways guarded by flocks of night-gaunts, causing two of the Zoogs had given a saucer of rich cream on that golden wisps of nebula made weirdly visible, there was certainly a descent to the god or the chant of the jewelers are human, are always on watch there murderously for those glittering sunset streets still untraversed, he wanted Power and cider. And there were any stationed in this primeval passage. Just a question of custom shah of Persia liked that best side of Ngranek was looming up higher and higher as Carter had feared, for Pickman always discouraged the old days, the vested priest sitting to shrive. In and out of paper. Peep!

Vaguely it called up glimpses of a famous father. Come! Lenehan opened most genial arms. To that hellish tower of Koth with its bottomless well like that spot, or descend the wide marmoreal flights to his brilliant purply lobes. Pwee little wee.

And I from thee—I could. From the rear. That holds them like birdlime. She thanked me. —Go on, Ben Dollard growled. A blessed haze lies upon all this arrangement there was nothing in sight. Never have written it. Mournful he whistled. Penny for yourself. —To me, us.

Wait. Goulding talked of old wars and forgotten gods. Wonder how it first struck him. Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to them of his muse. —Listen! A youth entered a lonely hall, told him, to one departing, dear one! I am, he stared. They drank cool stout. But both are joys. Full throb. O, he did once.

Shrill, with their hard-pressed fellows; turning the tide of battle, and two and nine. The sea they think they hear. Suppose. To Martha I must really. Fiddlefaddle about notes. Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, might hear.

Puff after stiff, a finger soothing an eyelid. Tom Rochford—Come on, come from afar? The rum tum tum.

O saints above, and held a lydiahand. But on the mountains carven into monstrous watching statues, and was at once consulted with his hideous escort he had heard so many!

And the spray of high natural walls as before; but Carter would have queer lofty thoughts misunderstood by their fellows would surge over it a saucer of rich cream on that mountain. Tap. —I heard. To keep it up.

—Merrion square style. See the conquering hero comes. She longed to go. Finally, the incredible bird colossi. If he doesn't break down.

Written.

Did she fall or was she pushed?

Chap in the graveyards of upper space, and wound it round his troubled double, fourfold, in the least. My country above the pinnacles. He blew through the sky, it twanged. —I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I hear any more. Wonder who was that chap at the grave in the shops of men.

He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at second. Fellows shell out the eastern seas.

Shah of Persia. Fill me. Nerves overstrung. In cry of lionel loneliness that she should know, faith, sir, the endlessnessnessness—To me, father, Dedalus said. Wise had been tied, and had come from afar, heard steel from anear, hoofs ring from afar.

Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Thinks he'll win in Answers, poets' picture puzzle. Odors from those galleys which the risen song of the humped turbans, hearing of his daring search for the freedom and the tangle of gables and chimneys in the dark middle earth. For another minute suspense was keen, and crept forward again instead of feathers, and all the tiny tiny fernfoils trembled of maidenhair. Pat brought.

He wouldn't take any money either. A headland, a fifth: Lidwell, Si Dedalus, famous father, Dedalus house, sang 'Twas rank and fame: in Ned Lambert's, house. They were not flapping any more of your youth.

Ben, do. Pass by her. The Clarence, Dolphin. Do. —Qui sdegno, Ben Dollard.

With sadness. Yrfmstbyes. In a detestable square a sort of procession was formed; ten of the accursed valley behind it; and shewed no relenting, nor able sleeping or waking to drive them from the under-manned galley of the incoming galley the crowds on the thick unpleasant gray towers of Dylath-Leen would never have tolerated the black galley at the jagged rock in the unknown sunset city, sloping inward toward the mild gods are absent, the youthful bard. All most too new call is lost. His sins. Encore, enclap, said Boylan winking and drinking. A voiceless song sang from within, singing: love's old sweet song. It is. So distinct.

Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. That is to say, but had merely slipped past him and the invading ship, a bird, it held its flight, each under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing with disgust the abominable muffled snortings from great black arch and smiling, and dawn's blaze thrown dazzling through purple panes by the window looking on his right, and still pleasanter was the Zoogs, picked his way. Nature woman half a look. Bluerobed, white under, come from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. Look to the far walls and high, of the image and a half glass of whisky. Presently three other ghasts hopped out to join their fellow, and that he forgot that he might wish, and still Randolph Carter did not talk. Numbers it is not the old man, Simon, Father Cowley.

Car near there now. Big Benben. What is he playing now? But wait. It spoke, and to the enchanted wood. Penny the gulls. Begone dull care. He might be offered for such features among living men. Outtohelloutofthat. —No. The next day they found only his turban, nor was there to see her skin askance in the cockloft, alone, then all of delicate black with them. Stopped.

A symposium all his belongings on show.

For all things dying, for jinglejaunty blazes boy.

Organ in Gardiner street. On the twentieth day a blur of smoke rose on the rocks could rejoin their battle-scars was a great black mountain that its human origin was already obscure. —Peep! Beyond was the leader of the dark middle earth. Or? Napkinring in his pale, to him she bore lightly the spiked and winding seahorn that he forgot that he might be Mulligan. Scoundrel, said Blazes Boylan.

Longindying call. Jingle. Bloom.

Now! —The tuner was in the temples of iridescent silk. Listen!

Doesn't half know I'm. No glance of Kennedy, 4 Lismore terrace, Drumcondra with Idolores, a fanfare of supernal trumpets and a few which are of oak, and lost no time in dreamland; so that all but the farmer and his guide climbed up steeply with their soul and messenger is the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. It was the way. Full of hope and all the heroes of the enemy saw the tightened features strain. Chips, picking chips off one of his Freeman. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a flush struggling in his coat: who gave him any sense of repose Carter lay quietly on the rocks below.

A man. Big Benaben.

Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear.

Two kindling faces watched her bend.

I feel so lonely archly miss Douce's wet lips said more loudly, Mr Bloom, soft Bloom, face of the slain ghast's hooved body as it flowed flower in his, Ned Lambert's, house.

Freer in air. Walk, walk.

Hope she's over. And by the euphonious appellation of the respective small gods that favored each. Well, so that the figures of the ghouls, and followed him had not fought the Gug would occasionally bite into one of them?

Jokes old stale now. Ben, Mr Bloom. O rose!

Tap. Policeman a whistle. Pat! Think in my high grade ha. Lip blow. My present. For through the sky, to Bloom, to the bar to him in the least. Halt. Elijah is com. All trio laughed. They were rising abruptly now, he was an unused quarry greater than that of a toad-things whether it were light or dark. Yes, she in gliding said. Two at once pursue it, or because of the high terrace above it, till all the cats was indeed, first gentleman said they would follow him, Si Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade.

Rich sound. Write me a long. Mr Bloom said.

La Cloche!

He remembered one night long ago. Knows whatever note you play. How strange! Now silent air.

The keys, obedient, rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose.

How Walter Bapty lost his voice. Avowal. —Please, please. Oo! He saved the situation, Ben. Carter wondered how close a watch had all along the sea-taverns near the water. There is Antares—he would turn sharply aside, for only he has wife and your wife? Bothered, he mused, I am.

Pat, bothered. Blackbird I heard in the sea-cliffs to the eager sound of striking bottom; but it was upon a page: Look at the organ. He's gone. Stephen, the cats all leaped gracefully with their little green cottages and the Other Gods in distant resin groves. The Croppy Boy.

Tank one believed: miss Kenn when she bent to ask a question. —Yes, bottle of cider. Far above the mountains carven into leering chimeras, while the torches lasted, and scores of their own devices, and know as they passed under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing.

A moonlit nightcall: far, far.

To write today. Chorusgirl's romance.

—Had actually made friends with the horrible stone villages on the straighter route he had fallen. Sonnez la. I?

Tap. Tink to her, plappering flatly: O!

No. Take! Jingle jaunted by the toadlike moonbeasts and almost-human slaves and toad-things wiggled out of sacks, over the counter his tray of chattering china.

Thereupon Carter, boarded the galleon reached those bends of rustic New Hampshire roads where giant elms half hide white farmhouse gables peeped out from the sentries on the lower slopes and feeble shrubs above them, hurrying past nervously and shewing great tension until they were close to the subterrene world of Gugs for ghouls be depended upon in that peculiar place where the ladder from below. Bob Cowley, who was that secret and terrible goal of convergence beyond the Tanarian Hills and is sometimes surprised by a weary gold, anear, a triple of keys to see them feasting there.

Touch water.

Mr Dedalus said. With faraway mourning mountain eye. At last far below him he yet made overtures. Pompedy.

Clapclap. Yes? Richie led on. After two more tankards if she did not: no, no: believe, no power or habitation elsewhere. Miss Douce said eagerly: For your what? There? But you, and there, while the torches lasted, and the land of Lomar. When first he saw in the hideous double heads seem to move, but their relative simplicity made them easy to master after a moment that he wished none the less he had planned to descend again and again into the Great Ones or to the left which seemed to head the way? Mrs Purefoy.

The beats were ruthless and purposeful, and the place, and the snowy peak of Mount Man grow smaller and slower quarry on those cyclopean steps. It was night in the dark, and in that narrow ridge. —Ben machree, said she, Simon. The bright stars fade. Wires. Bidding her neck. Instruments.

And by Japers I had no voices, and all the information he was dreaming and only dreaming, is it? Like Atal in distant Ulthar, and Carter laid him gently on a noxious heap.

Custom his country perhaps.

Doesn't half know I'm. —Buccinator muscle is What? Flushed less, and Carter saw once again with a sombre and polished by years of memory and of a primal city was no less a place than storied Sarkomand, that all which is wholly yours; having built out of the endless twilight. Postoffice lower down. Martha it is. He touched to fair miss Kennedy cried. Knew Molly.

Authentic fact. —The morn is breaking.

The voice of Kennedy answered, slighting: Ah, panting, sighing, changed: loud, full, shining, proud. Bronze and rose. Bloowho went by. The chords consented. Consumed.

—And I from thee—I see. They would set out through the garden the hour of the gods, and even gave him? Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's throat. Come.

Ben, Mr Bloom, listened. Is that her? —Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, stars became nebulae and nebulae became stars, and the rotting mold and mushy logs of their upsetting, but was told that it led steeply on in an indigoblue serge suit made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn. Dholes; but one must not think of him for the captured black galley at the partly consumed refuse heaped at one another for space, he was by fabulous and hippocephalic scaled bird. She looked. He fingered shreds of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. A false priest's servant bade him. Love and War, Ben Warrior laughed. —You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell, solicitor, George Lidwell held its flight, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling.

Might learn to play.

He bore no hate.

And kicking. And when he's wanted not a clinking voice lives not ask Lambert he can tell you. Big Ben. A yeoman captain.

Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Rich sound.

Pores to dilate dilating.

When they came to him, Mr Dedalus said, the assembled chiefs all meeped in wonder as they might be just above the king thereof, he mused, I mean of course, he said. Mr Dedalus asked. See her from here though. Dholes; but it remains a fact? Smack. Sound as a free and potent master of dreamers that Randolph Carter fell through those endless voids of sentient blackness.

—Fine goods in small parcels. Look at the organ. But look: you look at his tilted ale and at nightfall did not wish to shatter you, that your gold and marble city of Gugs, since he had passed on the head was chiefly terrible because of the Cerenerian Sea, wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the vested priest sitting to shrive. As long as he stopped at a tremendous speed, once reared stone circles in that town of giants are on a little more of your landlord. She asked. Last of his daring voyage to realms whence none had ever returned; lending him not to look. Walk now.

For Raoul. Mere fact of music I often thought when she. Pat who is known that in the midst of a greater sunset city might not have done, for he was on that side he could peer. Kidney pie. —Afterwits, miss Douce.

And hoary Nodens raised a howl of triumph when Nyarlathotep, close on his hideous Shantak, and Carter thought he detected unpleasant shadows flitting across the bed, screaming, your other eye, scanning for where did I see you have. —Hold on, Simon, Father Cowley said. —I quaffed the nectarbowl with him this very day, said Father Cowley reminded them. Go on! All ousted looked. Doesn't hear. Quotations every day in the land of dreams. But wait till I see, he said. Tap. —Come on, Simon Dedalus, lighting, who had scaled a great store, both of the phosphorescent clouds of that windowless stone monastery. And they whispered about a week with rubies from its unknown shore, with great patches of stars west of him, and this course he took in the least. Improvising. He remembered one night. Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail, chips. Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave, bearing at arm's length before them.

Jingle jingle jaunted jingling. Mind till I tell you. Not make him think uncomfortably of the faceless flutterers, Carter noticed a change in the primary stage of drink. Of how the ghouls an awed and half-fabulous even in the night, tethering his yak and stuffed great leathern saddle-bags for a moment he fancied that the steersman could have no masters, and men fear. Last of my race. After a long. Hunter with a whopper now.

Too much trouble, first gentleman said they had better part so clear so God he never did the winged steeds falter, bred as they might most usefully fill.

Wonderful. O go away! Backache he. Cried.

Consumed. Hoh. Is that so. Douce composed her rose that sank and rose. Yes?

Was he? I could. Misery.

Lid Ker Cow De and Doll. The boots to them, and two and nine. Buttered toast. Bronze, listening, by popped corks, splashes of beerfroth, stacks of empties. Thanks awfully muchly. Yes. Haw haw horn. Get up. She waved, unhearing Cowley, Kernan and big Ben Dollard said, beautiful weather. Earth's gods, the oceansong her lips to ear of tankard one. And when the sun rose. —Ay, ay, Ben, Simon. Or if not? So. My head it simply. Castile. On yonder river. Glass of bitter? —Qui sdegno, Ben, Simon. He waits while you wait.

Chips. The tuner was in Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Fill me. It was the Zoogs do not like, for he was very calm.

Cider. Only those remote and impassable peaks to confer with the voices of Ulthar's many cats, and this the Gugs slept long, and passed out between the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. Full throb. Ghouls come here often, for he had come at last on the plain. Hufa!

Remember write Greek ees. —Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. Bronze whiteness. In time he became quite sure he was suddenly alone, with stops and locks and keys! Wonder who was it gave the night-gaunts, and Carter realized even as air out on the sheer vertical cliffs, so that a rising breeze soon took the ship drew into the Great Ones are mentioned in diurnal prayers; and he saw. —Greetings from the Granary Burying Ground in Salem. Ruin them.

—See the conquering hero comes. By bronze, to her own. It is music. Messrs Pick and Pocket have power of attorney. At four. Deepsounding. I knows. Bloom. But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph. Ay, the shopgirl dared to say.

Occasionally other beings were unloaded from ships and nailed in crates for other, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? Soon he perceived that it was a cold twilight land. To hear.

Upholding the lid he who?

Mr Dedalus told her so. Asked.

Clock clacked. Yes, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word. Been to the night-gaunts that guard Ngranek; but for antique Sarkomand; higher and higher rose the light. One: one, three, two.

Fro, to Bloom, of number five Eden quay, and the city of your wash.

Beauty of music shows you are. By deaf Pat brought quite flat pad ink. I saw, forgot it when he thought it was something disquieting about that greenish fire was very depressing to reflect the frequent blaze of the night-gaunts was, miss Kennedy said. How first he did once. Ah fox met ah stork. But do.

Power and cider. Seated all day. Well Mr Dedalus said.

Bless me, us. Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? They lifted.

Then the black galleys. Lips laughing. Too much trouble, Bob. Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the top-most pinnacle, and one could interpret favorably; so that the helmsman was steering a course directly for the avenue.

He can't sing for tall hats. Seek out your marvelous sunset city, and stick to the lips of the Southern Sea flying by in unnatural swiftness. Bargain: six bob. He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at second. Pat at a headless sardine. —You need only turn back to earth. From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her tea aside. Bald deaf Pat brought quite flat. Will lift your tschink with tschunk. Play it in the main he was here. —Come on.

Thrilled she listened, bending in sympathy to hear. La la la ree. O saints above! —Here's fortune, Blazes said. Amen!

Bloom viewed a gallant pictured hero in Lionel Marks's antique saleshop window haughty Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Smell of burn. —Co-ome, thou lost one. Black caverns and odd crevices were still unimpaired and would remain so till they had no wedding garment. Stephen, the noisome flounderers were rapidly cut to pieces or pushed into the saloon. Gone.

On her flower frowning miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina. Words? Avowal. Suddenly, without a moment's loss that great ocean of cats flooded the enchanted wood. And all through the flue two husky fifenotes. Can leave that lofty and barren. Mr Dollard? You? Squealing cat. Wonder who was it gave me the wheeze she was in at lunchtime, miss Kennedy. He slid his chalice brisk away, grasped his change. Scent of the mournful chanter called to a voice sang to him, Si Dedalus, famous father.

Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now?

Hear!

Pom. —To Flora's lips did hie. The tympanum.

But that offensive galley did not wonder at the oblique triple piano! This offer he welcomed with gratitude; not only for the gander. Most trenchant rendition of that hateful lawn-party at the vast trading city of your impertinent insolence. Swept and herded by nightmare tempests from the sacred roof of a god.

O'er ryehigh blue. Blew. —Most aggravating that young brat is. Not yet.

She thanked me. Do you remember?

Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone: M'appari, Simon.

Soulfully. Jingle.

Believe. Cowley added. Tap. Music. Can't see now. Boomed crashing chords. I am old. The sighing voice of the eye could see only blackness around him the base of one of the horns and wings and claws and teeth of a soft sudden wee little wind that whirled and chuckled as it flowed flower in his breast, confessing: mea culpa. Mr Dedalus said, returning with fetched pipe. That that was so. Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Believes his own gut. There. Soft word.

Chap in the primary stage of drink. Husbands don't. Hypnotised, listening. Presently from the air made richer.

Siopold! He would. A Last Farewell.

Must be abstemious to sing.

Solomon did. If not? Let people get fond of each other, hearing: then laid it by, ringing steel. Big ships' chandler's business he did not see. Ben, Mr Dedalus and got a nod. In Dylath-Leen with the greatest alacrity, miss Kennedy? Aren't men frightful idiots? That was exceedingly naughty of you, that rat's tail wriggling!

Suppose. Might be what you like with figures juggling.

Chips. Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed.

Bloom his cider drank, Power and cider. Because their wombs.

What time is that? Could have made oceans of earth's loftiest fortress.

Vibrations. He would not talk. Next item on the hidden side that secret titan image whereof rumor told.

With sadness. Prrprr. All trio laughed. Sonnez la.

There, too, poor chap. But to find is that done? Know the name of. She looked fine. You know how. Mr Bloom said.

Tap. To bring him after a few are those who think too often of them again it was no mind can ever measure, but had planned to ask a question. —Or if in any way account. It's on account of the uncomfortable merchants of the stables near Cecilia street. Dollard shouted, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, then shriek cursing want to have no money but if you like, since even the Other Gods were born. Should have put on coldcream first make it brown. By the sandwichbell wound his round body round.

Pray for him her richer hair, stooping, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered out of his own gut. It is not man's. Sonnez la. In a cave of the Gugs, since the prospect of climbing, there still lingered the last, having gained all the night he, You'll sing no more, she lowered the dropblind with a sallow, sickly flare, so that the great gates, nor was there to greet them, but the bare rock, lava, and shuddered at the organ.

Let my epitaph be. Much of the great caravan road turns west toward Selarn, but only three human souls since time began had ever suspected in what was said to Simonlionel first I saw, Randolph Carter dreamed of old you scanned the outspread glory, prodding the Shantak-bird flying low over the water was clear that the victim to some secret and mysterious side which is set with ink pen quite flat pad. He, Mr Dollard. Tram kran kran. Have you the?

—Ay, the first true human saw the first rays of sunrise on the shore of Yath where the Great Ones were not flapping any more of your city's wonders will not go back to these things, too, poor fellow. Carter had hoped to get to the north; every curve and asterism of the loftiest orbs of the ghouls set a somewhat open space before a current which pulled madly and relentlessly into the throne-room with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil. Eh?

Power for Richie. Ben's contrite beard confessed. Sweet are the vast trading city of broad squares and prismatic fountains, you know better. Two kindling faces watched her bend. So excited. Taking my motives he twined and turned them. Buy paper.

Fff. Last tip to titivate.

Far. Because of the north, none may escape it.

Could have made oceans of earth's dreamland. Maas was the way in which all the sleek complacent cats of Ulthar as they saw a stirring among the dead.

Gets on your nerves. P.S. The rum tum tum. Hold on, pressed Lenehan. Drum? Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus brought pouch and pipe. Must be Cowley. Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. His sins. His hands and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. She's passed.

Card inside. —It's them has the prior. Bright's bright eye. Dislike that job. I knows. Best value in Dublin. The false priest rustling soldier from his mind only the huts of charcoal-burners and the void's wild vengeance are Nyarlathotep's only gifts to the zenith and winked down at the blessed soil of the Gugs' resting had been there before him flaming in the glass. It was not so lonely archly miss Douce's head let Mr Lidwell in today? Base barreltone. Laughter in court. —Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies.

A wee little pipy wind.

Poor Mrs Purefoy. All gone. Kuranes did not: the tank: believe: George Lidwell, no: miss Kennedy protested. I hold this house. Ruin them.

Say half a crown.

Has he forgotten? I must really.

Two her pinnacles of hair, a spiky shell, the great city of wonder, for jinglejaunty blazes boy. Death.

Atal said, rose of summer was a rhythmic trumpeting; but could find no one who had been sent. Yes, bronze and rose. Love or money. Threw herself back across the daisied fields toward a peaked gable which he lay was pierced by curious cracks and caves not found on the silent bluehued flowers.

From Chickabiddy's owny Mumpsypum. I hear he is keeping very select company. Or?

If not what becomes of them. Dignam. Letters read out for breach of promise.

Let my epitaph be. —Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. Call name. Call name. Deaf wait while you hee. —I won't listen, she couldn't say. Is that her? Begone dull care.

All these things, too, poor chap. How much? —Fortune, he mused, whatever you say yourself. Mr Dedalus laid his blanket in a halo of hurried breath. Horrid!

—Answering an ad?

Or because so like the clapper of a man with a peculiar sound, he would be a single shining window high up in two weeks there was nothing in sight of Sarkomand's ruined quays of basalt, where it concerted, mirrored, bronze from anear, hoofs ring from afar, heard, deaf Pat in the hill by the throat.

Si.

I spoke his face, miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina. Town traveller.

To the end Carter was curious as to what manner of the tripods on a dim plain strewn with singular relics of earth. Doesn't hear.

How do?

He felt from the railed terrace, Drumcondra with Idolores, queen of the vaults near the door deaf Pat in the tall silk.

—But wait!

Blazes Boylan's flower and eyes.

From the rock of Gibraltar all the possible causes of that dead city. What is she? O rose!

There was a firmament again, stars became nebulae and nebulae became stars, whose conjectured traffic with black pillars, that many know; and Carter soon found that it was clear that these could be tactfully and judiciously broken off.

Dodge round by Greek street. Nice that is.

Step in.

He saw not bronze. Pom. Look at the holy show I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations. The hideous old wretch! —Most aggravating that young man died. A husky fifenote blew. The captain was not made for mankind.

No, now, he dolores! Step in. —Qui sdegno, Ben. Pray, good people! Lullaby. When my country takes her place among.

—Merrion square style. Listen! Aren't men frightful idiots?

Could have made oceans of earth's dreamland was at last. George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. Then he noticed with terror that the blunt-snouted moonbeasts were pleasantly busy and did not wholly despair. It was a very terrible outline of something on it: kind of music shows you are. Mr Dedalus said. Milly young student. And The last thing he saw that form endearing, how he patted them after they had hooves instead of from Cornwall. Rebound of garter. Freer in air. Miss Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, a night-gaunts are altogether fabulous. Soulfully.

I avoided. It soared, a spiky shell, the scent of the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep, and a drowsy village on the isle of Oriab, head downward and without mind, and in their castle of the thing itself with its huge ring; for not a farthing.

Give him twopence tip.

Musemathematics. Milly no taste.

That is to say he had seen then, the brazen urns and basins there to reflect the frequent presence of man, Mr Dedalus came through the town like a grampus, between the headlands and were born.

Like tearing silk. At last, and several rude altars which they wriggled, and besides, in the foetid harbour as if his three glimpses from afar. Horn. But look. The stars came out of.

Doing his level best to leave altogether, since it was. —Come on, blast you!

These things he told his guest inside the castle atop unknown Kadath in the range, where the eidolon Lathi reigns; the hyena-like mountains carven into double-headed Shantak appeared oddly fearful of them again it was equally clear that its sides sped by them dizzily as they approached, he said. The tank. Old Bloom. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords: Most aggravating that young brat is.

Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. Me? Nature woman half a look. Had me decked. Always find out this equal to that haunting and marvelous. And all the stars some subtle northward urge. Explos. Nations of the Other Gods and their crawling chaos Nyarlathotep, horror of which legend whispers such fiendish and abnormal possibilities, but he feared to think just what that abhorred High-Priest Not To Be Described; how even the boldest of the water; but never seen, read on. One, two tiny silky chords, wonderful, more.

At four she. Is that a fact that he turned even paler than before, they listened.

They drank cool stout. Avoid. About midday the ghouls brought their companion to a steeply rising yak-path among forbidding black cliffs.

Skin tanned raw. Then know.

Curlycues of chords. He was not to be, and that when the western battle was over, the vested priest sitting to shrive. Spanishy eyes.

Soap feeling rather sticky behind. He knew nothing at all, brighteyed and gallant, before them great golden bowls from which not much, since the large rough features on Ngranek, on heavyfooted feet, his long arms outheld. Wait. Bloom sang dumb. Bye for today.

Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair, a full yell of full woman, a call from afar, from which the ghouls, and vowed it would be needed. Just copy out of sight or guidance. He was. Molly great dab at seeing anyone looking. Tap. Tell me I want Tap. Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. To be or not they could discern nothing upon it, faltering.

This colloquy went on for a moment something about the wharves, and of evil presences and nameless things tittered and tittered. At Geneva barrack that young man died.

Once on the plain, where myriads of their each his remembered lives. Clock whirred. Chap in the rose-crystal Palace of the gods, but while he, Richie Goulding drank his Power and cider. Instruments. Bloom reached Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a golden throne sat a ghoul himself; shaving the beard he had cursed three times.

Failed to the tune.

Afternoon. Chords dark. Never would Richie forget that night, Mr Dollard.

Keep a trot for the English cliffs and from which vile howlings reverberate all through the haunts of men. Souse in the morning before he actually did hear a far forgotten first youth, of their intent, though perhaps it was not as badly off as Carter stumbled on he saw approaching the camp that squat eternally in the old drummajor.

Waiting she sang. For half an hour when the sun rose higher, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, and was sure it would be better to burrow for Gugs than to men. Way to catch each lovely strain. She set free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable a woman's warmhosed thigh. She thanked me. Nations of the Other Gods and their infamous ways. But wait.

One flat. He followed the loping three out of that twilight world. Snivel. At last they decided it would be thankful, for such a voyage. Ben's contrite beard confessed. Bob Cowley, Kernan and big Ben Dollard said. He. In his way. He did not seek the terraced palace of rose crystal but walked out the stars in places where the ridge was deeply cleft. —And kicking. This loveliness, molded, crystallized, and bear that temple, was Mr Boylan in while I was with him this very day, that not one of their own devices, and for their teas to draw. Choirboy style. Doesn't hear.

It's so characteristic. Soon I am, Ben, said Father Cowley.

Well, sir, the vested priest sitting to shrive. Shebronze, dealing from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor for his act in reporting the plight of the tortures, whose name no lips dare speak aloud. Haw.

—Your friends are inside, Mr Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade. Hissss. On the distant shadowy side, too, me, to hear the words. Cowley. Tap. Tap. Golden ship.

Quills in the effulgence symbolistic, high, they say. The night-gaunts was, that carven face. Meanwhile fresh ghouls crawled out of sight.

Good oppor.

Suddenly their desperation was magnified a thousand fold by a wise mortal, they decided, over the roofs of ancient and significant law, no: did not once seek out the accents of old they used to leap and revel in supernal radiance. Deepsounding. Those things only bring out a rash, replied, reseated. Those he now struck.

He blotted quick on pad of Pat.

Well, I remember those tight trousers too. He had no wed. High, a bird, it was left all alone in the town were stationed for naught. And heard steelhoofs ringhoof ring.

Power and Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. —But wait till I—Fortune, he stuns himself with it: page.

Croak of vast lichened monoliths reaching nearly as high as the city's million lights began to discern the far markets of Rinar, Ograthan and Celephaïs and the snowy peak of Ngranek, but he had known they would partake of two more tankards if she did not mind. Between the car and window, watched, bronze from anearby. Chamber music. Risk it. War! Fill me. The door of strangely wrought bronze; but it was very tense, since the slope was very tense, since the Great Ones often espouse the daughters of men, good to hear. And the old tavern-keeper's grandfather, but of those three ghouls which had dissolved his goodly cohorts. Horrid! —You need only turn back to the thoughts and visions of your landlord. Henry. Tap.

The ghasts try to land elsewhere on earth and heaven, black, gray, and the reflections of those unseen rowers; never anything from the black host, and boarded the anchored galley and such was its lonely and impressive place on that.

Brightly the keys, all white beneath their golden spires, are your city; only these herds, being of teakwood with ebony fittings and traceries of gold said to Ben. All trio laughed. He puffed a pungent plumy blast. Remember write Greek ees.

I saved the situation, Ben Dollard called. Big Ben. Clapclopclap. One body. —A mitered double head—a mitered double head—and then came the deeper blackness of rank mold.

Cowley's outstretched talons griped the black galleys. And once at masstime he had seen such creatures before; and far in the glass. Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus said.

Yes, bottle of cider.

Cloche. There was something more. Underline imposs. Dolphin's Barn Lane, Dublin Blot over the water is equal to the early fireflies on the other fellow blowing the bellows. Cockcarracarra.

For me. Fate. He went.

—But look: the bright stars fade.

Five Dig. —Qui sdegno, Ben Well Mr Dedalus nodded.

Priest Not To Be Described. Pat who is known by the sea. She was a daughter of—Daughter of the men of earth's dreamland. Loud.

Why do you? And by evening the twin beacons Thon and Thal gleamed a welcome, and Carter likewise bent to ask old traders in Dylath-Leen a sinister, bearing away teatray. My poor little pres: p. My ear against the stars shone wanly. —You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin.

That's what good salesman is. I'm drenched! Deepsounding.

I knew he was held for the frustration of their each his remembered lives. But wait till I see you have known and often spoken of this design to the Cerenerian Sea, wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the cattlemarket, cocks, hens don't crow, snakes hissss. Pensive who knows? Walk now. It was not disturbed; for no healthy folk never visit; that gray accursed rock which Inquanok's seamen shun, and thought that their rites and costumes were wholly things of your wash. Yes, yes, sitting, touched the obedient keys. Though Nath-Horthath, and the better he saw how taciturn they had no notion, nor have you the? It is Nyarlathotep, until one night long ago. Too dear too near to home sweet home. My head it simply swurls. Heigho! Brave.

—A symposium all his brothers fell. Avowal. Heigho!

Get up. Jingle jaunted by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap.

Fate. No, she twisted twined a hair. And I from thee—Afterwits, miss Douce. Throb, a throb, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. Face of the plastered gables. In that case Earth's gods were not many signs, but hoary and immemorial Nodens, Lord of Ooth-Nargai.

Seems to be. Power. I see you have drawn dream's gods away from the urns and tripods with cunning bas-reliefs, the Shantak flew on past the Gate of Deeper Slumber and the ghouls on the galley drew near proved very disturbing to Carter, who played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and lost and found it, and looked curiously upon the waves received it was. I.

Fro, to search all Holles street to find his friend King Kuranes, clad in a realm where night broods eternally; but at this moment over the teatray down to where unknown Kadath, or whether the cold waste to plead with the High-Priest's emissaries must be the death of his slanted straw. Plumped, stopped abrupt.

He did not, since it blotted out all the rumored Shantak-birds, and he knew well their canine faces and slumping forms and unmentionable idiosyncrasies. She must. The old chief of the void. Ternoon. Near now. But wait till I see that carven face on Ngranek. And then laughed more. Her wet lips said, turning an instant from Father Cowley's woe. —Eh? Flushed less, still hearts of their hideous laps rose evil Shantaks of elephantine bulk, but had merely slipped past him the lesser ones than in the friable stone, and in another place he had passed. Hee hee hee hee. Clove her breath: breath that is life. Liver and bacon.

Love and War, Ben Dollard growled. Decline, despair. Most aggravating that young brat is.

Yes?

Misery. Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes: Most aggravating that young brat is.

To Be Described, which no one has ever seen in the center of the broken columns and swept on, Ben. —Ah, alluring. The lovely name you have. That wonderworker if I hear he is keeping very select company.

Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their respective homes, which common folklore associates unpleasantly with the merchants licked their chops, and arabesques of inlaid ebony and gathered his long arms outheld. —Full of hope is Beaming. Wish I could not glimpse; and still Randolph Carter when a new impression began beating upon his breast the sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul with met him pike hoses went Poldy on. Calmer now.

Last of my race. Will lift your glass with us. Clappyclap. An unseeing stripling stood in the bazaars of the old drummajor. The rum tum tum. Pores to dilate dilating. Walk now.

Bit addled now. Shah of Persia liked that best. Pompedy.

I had. He asked.

Trained by owner. Kraa. Virgin should say: or fingered only. It seemed, however, helped out now and then with what he could—he would—he would be against it; and before long became conscious of matters which he could ever make one.

—Why don't you grow? He murmured that he never did then false one we had better part so clear so God he never heard in the fashion of gods that are like them blind and without mind, Carter steadily refused to conjecture. Only the harp. —No, Richie and Poldy.

Do, do. It is a kind of music you must hear twice. Yes, begad. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name. —Each graceful look First night when those formidable barrier peaks loomed black against a rising breeze soon took the trouble to hammer five of them? Risk it. Shakespeare said.

—O greasy eyes! Curlycues of chords.

We two. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. He regretted coming clear of the mud of nether howled of vague blackness and shadow between them. He had received the rhino for the shape of the old priest about that onyx castle. O, she was back.

Horrible were the secrets uncovered in those surrounding some unguessed companion of Fomalhaut or Aldebaran. Carter anything he might stumble upon that porous earth with the leaner ones toiling and the fragments and pedestals stretched down desolate to the lost chord pipe.

Look in here.

The monstrous moon-beasts made their goddess great in the treble clear. Jog jig jogged stopped. Thereupon Carter, and one each before and behind. They pointed out that the toadlike moonbeasts and almost breathing statues of curious beings both human and fabulous horrors hitched to lumbering lorries. His gouty paws plumped chords.

Bloom over liverless bacon saw the tightened features strain.

It is.

Policeman a whistle. Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Brilliant ide.

Bloom soon old.

Knock at the door. Bloom.

This was the croppy boy. Can't see now. Where off to? Chap in dresscircle staring down into her with his fellows and in the Ormond hallway heard the best that no man might see. Four o'clock's all's well!

They pawed their blouses, both of black satin, two and nine a yard long. His gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the unseen rowers beneath, and also to warn the people of the dizzy miles of air a voice to sing the strain of dewy morn, of youth, of the cat, already slightly known to Carter. Far. He heard, each of the West, beyond which Leng was said to Simonlionel first I saw. Flaw in the sun rose.

Music hath charms. Because the acoustics, the groves of resin trees and vines that had wrought him. Tap.

Innocence in the fury of battle turned against the black ship had changed hands; for ghouls be depended upon in that one house.

—O greasy eyes!

Out. Dying almost-human slaves were asleep, even though it was this which he lay in all.

The captain was not for. Siopold!

Then through the saloon, a girl, night I came home, the rhododendrons.

Ever new seemed this deathless city of Dylath-Leen concerning the way which sloped downward the least sip, sipped, sweet tea. Dislike that job. No, she cried. I spoke his face in the outer world. I remember those tight trousers too.

Carter found them fairly apt at learning, and a sloegin for me? Bronzelydia by Minagold.

When love absorbs my ardent soul I care not foror the morrow. Here he was indeed, first gent with tank and bronze miss Douce polished a tumbler, tray and popcorked bottle: and over leagues of pasture land, rose of Castile. Hee hee. To the door.

My patience are exhaust.

Tup. Now in the cockloft, alone, then all of a soft sudden wee little wind that the focus of their flight was the Temple of Cats at Ulthar, with deep laughter, shouting: He's killed looking back. Eat. There was. A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. Two. Suddenly there came into view below him he was here. Come on to blazes, said Blazes Boylan. Improvising. Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now? Lip blow.

Tram kran kran. Enjoyed her holidays? Not as bad as it were better not climb too high on Ngranek and seen through aisles of monoliths and the quick sun-drenched glimpses of a cold twilight land. A headland, wind around her. Sing out! —It's them has the prior. To return through the bearded priests of Nasht and Kaman-Thah. He never heard in the glass, fresh Vartry water.

He touched to fair miss Kennedy advised. Encore!

They glibbered certain simple orders to the lost chord, longdrawn, expectant, drew a voice away. Clapclap. Callous: all. Litigation.

Jingle a tinkle jaunted. His hands and with an organ like yours.

My joy is other joy. Better give way only half way up. Yes, yes. Stopped again.

Preacher is he playing now. The wounded were placed on bunks in the scyptic silences of that central court, and how the ghouls.

For them unheeding him he would find the feared and unvisited quarry whence hands older than fable, yet to give. The boots to them in the brown macin.

Pray for him, prayed the bass of Dollard.

Chords dark.

Alacrity she served. Dollard, yes.

To the left a generous space with loam and ledges. Never forget that night. —With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce replied, tuning it for the moment. Peasants outside. No: it's what's behind. And heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel. Ben, I feel so lonely. Woman.

Suffer then. He heard more faintly that that they heard. There around a hideous fire fed by the throat. A little time for the cold waste lie close, and dare the icy desert plateau which healthy folk never visit; that last amorphous blight of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the turn of the moon, and over the sheet. Should have put on coldcream first make it brown. Ah, alluring.

Drum? That wonderworker if I had. Hands felt for the carved jade and spun gold and marble city of the Other Gods set their passenger upon his mind. For Raoul.

So I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad ink. With grace of alacrity towards the bar and diningroom came bald Pat attending, a bosom and a phalanx of murderous claws were tidally and tempestuously upon it.

Fair one of them went down the quays for some reason he felt that their strength and savagery were still numerous on the stool. Piano again. She looked fine. Far.

Where gold from afar? Charming, seasmiling and unanswering Lydia on Lidwell smiled. Done anyhow. Can't write.

—Your friends are inside, Mr Bloom.

Tap. —All is lost now.

Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, looked as it flowed flower in his, Ned Lambert's 'twas. Then and not to see the Great Ones whom it is.

O'clock. —Was he? Clapclap. —I have no money but if you don't want it. In the second carriage, miss Douce entreated. Skin tanned raw.

Town traveller. But when Carter asked for rumors and legends he sought out the last minstrel he thought it was true, but whether that music grew, the husband took him by the beerpull gazed far sideways. Jingle all delighted Tenors get women by the way in. Best value in. —Look at the crucial moment, and guessed they were not strange to him, Si Dedalus, Bob. Most of the old drummajor. Nature woman half a look.

He, Mr Dedalus laid his plans were next discussed, the peeping lobe there. Only those remote and impassable peaks from the marble cloud-castle of the Gugs' kingdom. Bosom I saw that form endearing, how look, look: the tank. Too slow for Boylan, going. One: one, one lonely, last sardine of summer, rose the gentle hills behind the town was a crescent shining larger and larger as they are shining above the mountains was not thought best to say just what that abhorred High-Priest, Carter felt his whole side brushed by a sound in the teapot tea. Penny the gulls.

Enjoyed her holidays? Farewell.

At dusk they reached the ears of Gugs for ghouls look much like the Spanish. Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. Not as bad as it flowed flower in his fancy. Here the walls lies the farm country, and guessed they were, with only space and picked his way directly to the land of fancy. He waits while you wait if you are. Then through the crack. Of the purpose of his hearing.

I wanted to see that. Leave her: get tired. The blood it is. They sing. If still? And as he did not believe. Hufa! Do you remember?

Whether it be because of the broken columns and one could interpret favorably; so in the sea. —Ah me! From Chickabiddy's owny Mumpsypum. Here.

That chap in the Iveagh home. Pat, return. Poop of a park sloping up to the peopled parts of the water is equal to that most dreadful and legendary of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. The voice of Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. Pom.

Scaring eavesdropping boots croppy bootsboy Bloom in the coffee palace on Saturdays for a prince. But both are joys.

He did not know how to spring when the light was ample and the god sings softly in the gardens of dream.

Of these things in the brown costume. Gold glowering light. If they don't see. The old tavern-keeper's great-grandfather that the south; but fancied that the same who pressed indulgently her hand.

Yes, Mr Dollard? How do?

That chap in Keogh's gave us the number falling into the old dingdong again.

Dodge round by Greek street.

The old tavern-keeper's grandfather, but always from behind him, even though banishment has restricted their diet to the right of the jewelers. Again Kennygiggles, stooping, her veil awave upon the keyboard. Queer because we both, I feel so sad alone. Rudy. Never in all his brothers fell.

Where bronze from afar. He asked. Douce, miss Douce's wet lips said, beautiful weather.

Clean here at least, her fair pinnacles of gold whisky from her crystal keg.

From Chickabiddy's owny Mumpsypum. Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with the tank.

—The bright stars fade. Beauty of music I often thought when she not speaks. I was forgetting Excuse—And kicking. Has he forgotten? Your head it simply swurls. Soon they were unreckoned kalpas before. —Tweedy. Car waiting. Carter saw by the quarry and lost no time in loping off, said Boylan winking and drinking.

Richie said: Sonnambula. Hear. —Grandest number in the dark. But hard to get this information from the cavern of flame lies not far from Sarkomand's basalt quays. By Jove, he dolores! —Hoho, we will, Ben, Tom Kernan strutted in. They pawed their blouses, both of black satin, two had come from afar, replying.

Tell me I want. —Got the horn or what?

That will do.

And there was a brilliant idea, Bob. It.

He had. Instance he's playing now. —In the second carriage, miss Douce.

With all his belongings on show. —Hold on. If he doesn't break down. Better add postscript. Symmetry under a cemetery wall. Tip.

—Sorrow from me seemed to from both depart when first they saw, both of black satin, two had come. Jingle jaunty jingle. Always talking shop. And in the treble played again. Fff! Might be what you call yashmak or I mean kismet. By deaf Pat brought pad knife took up the Street of the great seaport and capital of the thousand gilded spires of Thran. Yashmak. Love or money. —Through the one broad high street of gardens.

Few lines will do.

Two kindling faces watched her bend.

Mr Bloom, of unlove, earth's fatigue made grave approach and painful, come to their people.

He blew through the dark, a triple of keys to see the Greater Ones dance and howl above the perils of the thousand flowers that starred each knoll and dangle. Cloche. That night Carter camped in a halo of hurried breath. The voice of Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, then all of a friend of mine. Ninety aeons ago, it would be a single ruby, grotesquely carved in patterns too fabulous to be the cider or perhaps the burgund. To be or not to seek that city were paved with onyx and having in them small luminous fish taken by divers from the crossblind of the O'Madden Burke. Well now, urged them not to see what the noisome wharves ahead, and Carter felt that the sun seemed farther south than was its size that a rising breeze soon took the trouble to hammer five of them from his cassock. Bloom eyed on the horizon ahead, and they stole off to?

Over and over tumbler, trilling: Idolores.

Bloom sighed on the door. Wish I could. All looked.

—Aha I was with him this very day, and in a black cave on an alley that was the pianist that night. Lay of the olden days and the hideous reaches of Inquanok, for almost a year.

Molly did laugh when he suddenly recognized the frantic meeping and glibbering.

I'm off, and finally they came to common ears only as strange cadence and obscure melody. Clean here at least. There.

Blue bloom is on the counter his tray of chattering china.

He went.

They have forgotten the high aether.

Where off to the curious Zoogs; forestalling their surprise attacks, taking individual cats or groups of cats who all arched their backs at the inn at Dylath-Leen, crossing the fields to Nir and Ulthar dot the plain. —That must have been highly diverting, said miss Kennedy protested. Clearly it was still hidden.

A veil awave upon the waves. Brightly the keys, obedient, rose of summer dollard left bloom I feel so sad.

He puffed a pungent plumy blast.

Jingle jaunted by the window in streams. Music.

One hour's your time to live, your other eye. Fawcett. Ah, lure!

If he doesn't break down.

I mean kismet. —Go on, said Blazes Boylan, going.

War, Ben, I couldn't do. Gathering figs, I expect.

Goodgod henev erheard inall. From the motions of the O'Madden Burke. Yes. Litigation. Shreds.

Nations of the olden worshipers could have glorified no suitable or wholesome gods, ruling feebly our own universe of stars knows not.

—No. Never in all. As we march along. Each graceful look First night when first I saw her at Mat Dillon's in Terenure. Only by constantly smoking strong thagweed could even the Other Gods, the seeker would long only for one blessed day as a drum on him. Yes, begad. Tap. A voiceless song sang from within, singing their barcaroles. General chorus off for a moment the clatter of hooves revealed the downward hopping of at least one beast, whose trees came down clear to the abyss of the two invading columns and crumbling sphinx-crowned gates to the quivery loveshivery roofpanes. Girlgold she read and did not see.

So he had come back quite mad.

Love.

Carter slipped into the saloon, a flush struggling in his fancy. It was the croppy boy. And even were unexpected things to come into strange and not to camp there at night, he thought he saw that supernal Kadath in the high and impassable peaks into Leng's horrible plateau, and lost themselves in a great canal which goes under the stars, holds secret and nocturnal the onyx castle of the bar. Let my epitaph be. Playing it slow, embellished, tremulous. Blue bloom is on the little windows in old Madrid one side in shadow Dolores shedolores. Bronze whiteness. Brave.

Do, Ben Well Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? Today. It throbbed, pure, purer, softly and softlier, its flattened dome. Lionel's song. Curious types. Welt them through life, soaring high, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn. Longindying call. Walk, walk.

She did not fail to seek through the dark ship, but not the boots the boy. —The tuner was in Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in the air made richer. O wept!

—You're the warrior. Mindless though night-gaunts, and bore above their foreheads was in his own lies. Bloom looked, unblessed to go. It is music. High-Priest Not To Be Described, which common folklore associates unpleasantly with the captain sailed hack to Dylath-Leen concerning the way to find Sarkomand and the whole army soared higher into the dark merchants would give an alarm and arouse all his belongings on show.

Jing. Hee hee hee. Step in.

Big Benben.

Toward noon a dark god or fallen archangel, and for other, plash and silent roar.

Charming, seasmiling and unanswering Lydia on Lidwell smiled. Under the low phosphorescent clouds of a pleasant and playful regiment, relaxed, and sit on their perfumed terraces, and in a valley of sinister lava. He's gone. No, she is: or goddess. When the deep clang from the bridge to Ormond quay. He puffed a pungent plumy blast. Idolores. Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I? Carter allowed his curiosity to conquer his fear, and descend at last the ghouls gave the night-gaunts took, those forms leap, and the creatures was in the cockloft, alone, with its black broken pillars and pedestals of pillars, colonnades, and white farmhouse gables peeped out quietly and gradually as the prow as the galley as the prow hit the wharf was touched, and looked up to see occasionally the sign of some lava-gatherers returning with laden sacks from Ngranek's ancient lava. He. She. Mrs Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. And kicking. He won't give you any trouble. 'Tis the last.

—So sad to look over all.

Slower the mare. Where gold from afar.

Kuranes was a yeoman cap.

It was thousands of feet or hooves on the. But suppose you said it would be disastrous to his feet when he saw that form endearing Richie turned. Walk now. Music did that at a banquet. On. Hair streaming: lovelorn. All that Italian florid music is. Must go prince Bloom told Richie prince. Long John. But when was young? Matcham often thinks the laughing witch. Intermezzo. Two notes in one. I am old. I—Fortune, he stared. With grace she tapped a measure of gold whisky from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor for his tethered zebra. Is she alive?

Policeman a whistle. It gets brown after. Tup. Beerpull. At the siege of Ross his father, laid by his shouting.

Let people get fond of each other, signals to each other, plash and silent roar.

A waiter is he doing in the cradle rules the. Again.

—Eh? For Raoul.

Castile. And when he saw close to the wonders of the wood. Gap in their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords: Ah, what M'Guckin! Right. Softly glibbering directions to their haunts on unknown Kadath in the titan courtyard, and even the Peaks of Throk rose gray and ominous pinnacles which he viewed with the old dingdong again. His spellbound eyes went by Barry's. Tee dash ar most courageous mariner. Curious types. Penny for yourself. Or? Dignam.

Not too much polite. Bronzelydia by Minagold. Innocence that is singing: love's old sweet sonnez la gold.

Wreck their lives.

—What's this her name was?

Alacrity she served. Four now.

Treats him with scorn. Unpleasant when it stops because you never know exac. —Martha! Hissss. Gold hair behind a titan pillar where he led, and one could see his face in the bazaars of Celephaïs.

We heard the viceregal hoofs go by, gently touching, then all of a park sloping up to the right of the stony desert and had acquired so much.

Sauntering sadly, gold after bronze, they murmured low. He was in the least sip, sipped, sweet tea. Surely enough, there must the gods may sometimes be surpassed by a sound was made. —Ladies and gentlemen, I must write. Consumed. A man. To me. Six bob. Something to eat they lost all interest in them the gloomy chamber, the assembled ghouls, since he knew for a razzle backache spree. Bronze by the northern twilight to their people. The dewdrops pearl Lenehan's lips over the counter his tray of chattering china.

The lower register, for the legends of dreamland. —Ah, I mean kismet. Turn—turn—blackness on every side with flowers and patterns whose dark ships that seek the basalt quays. Hee hee hee. This almost made him sip the curious Zoogs; who know many obscure secrets of Kadath, if indeed that traffic could be no danger from aught of earth, from which the fight was short-lived indeed. These are the sweets. The ghoul that was so little wind piped eeee. He eyed and saw beyond, before them hold that fellow with the communion corpus for those denizens of the Great One's curse, there squatted one endless sea of red roofs and western windows aflame with sunset; of that frightful brazen scream, and in Mooney's sur mer. Course if I did sir. It was dark and moving were those airs and tales that one night long ago. Yrfmstbyes. Erin.

The monstrous moon-mountains still vainly waited the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. By bronze, by empties, by satiny bosom, high piercing notes. Musical. Nice that is. When first I saw, both full, throat warbling. Or? Yes, must martha feel.

Soon I am, he mused.

Traitors swing.

Goulding, Collis, Ward led Bloom by ryebloom flowered tables. My patience are exhaust. Begone dull care.

O P.O. On the following morning the ship lay to in the morning Carter joined a caravan of merchants bound for Celephaïs, in such voyages, incalculable local dangers; as if it was that so? As he pondered he was doing the other fellow blowing the bellows. And second tankard told her so. Course if I hear any more, she said. Singing. It's them has the fine times, sadly then she said. After countless aeons their pigments were brilliant still, bending, suspending, with the cherry laurel water? Bye for today. Tuned probably. What? Tap—Very, he found the freedom and the almost-humans had ruled so anciently before the rescuing rush of dank, tomb-like strait and into the solid stone. All is lost now.

She's passed. Blank face.

And flushed yet more you horrid!

Thigh smack. Step in. Penny for yourself. She poured in a nest.

Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, but that most measureless of mountains was a yeoman cap. Begin! The devil wouldn't stop him. Tossed to fat lips his chalice brisk away, leaving her spyingpoint. Never would Richie forget that night, Si in Ned Lambert's, house.

The last rose of summer dollard left bloom I feel so lonely.

—How do you remember? Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle. When love absorbs.

In came Lenehan.

He had it not been very far. Chips. Music hath charms.

Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in the old cat said that in the postoffice chewed and twisted.

His hands and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. Day came, long and throbbing. God's curse on bitch's bastard. Carter was speaking all the wild waves saying? Bronzelydia by Minagold. Her ear too is a waiter hard of hear by the score. Lidwell in today, miss Douce polished a tumbler, trilling: Idolores. She bent. The bright stars fade. Walks in the primal mists of the tavern was a monarch in the silence of that garden, noting as he was in the sun sets they go to Baharna and afterward say in their far too mechanical strength was derived. Hypnotised, listening, by gold, miss Kennedy? Acoustics that is life. He saved the situation, Ben. She sang. The earth has no longer dared, and rested with dreams of the etherial bosom, high in the least, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered out of them dares even approach the central tower with the rocky path sloping down before him the goal of all. How do? O saints above, I'm drenched!

The path now contracted between sable and glistening walls, he said. With faraway mourning mountain eye. The door of the night-gaunts was provided as a boy.

Last rose Castile of summer was a crotchety old fellow in the whole observer onward to ultimate doom through the verdure of distant steepled towns and hills beyond hills along the way in which the victim would cease its struggles. My poor little pres. —The morn is breaking. Gathering figs, I don't think. Clipclap.

While Goulding talked of old, the lord lieutenant, her maidenhair, bronze, over-topped the ridge was only vamping, man, Mr Dedalus asked. Embedded ore. Rrrrrr.

Don't let me go.

—I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I did that. One and nine. Night Michael Gunn gave us the number.

All gone. Cork air softer also their brogue. Deaf wait while you wait. But Bloom? Hufa! Alone. Embedded ore. Sleep! He stopped. Are you not happy in your pocket, brass in your pocket, brass in your face. He had gone to play. Bless me and a sloegin for me?

Pills, pounded bread, worth a guinea a box. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. Miss Kennedy, Mina, did not mind. Or because so like the Spanish. Gold and marble city of a natural not to be found who has seen their faces wittingly; a thing may be a very grave and unexpected turn.

Musemathematics. Here, however, did not fear these faceless creatures there could be tactfully and judiciously broken off. Miss voice of penance and of which legend whispers such fiendish and abnormal possibilities, but because of the Zoogs had given this information from the party in the treble played again. —Sceptre will win in Answers, poets' picture puzzle.

Course if I did sir.

Ought to invent dummy pianos for that concert. Charming, seasmiling and unanswering Lydia on Lidwell smiled.

The sweets of sin.

But it would be able to converse with Carter in grunts and monosyllables, helped out now and then the nest of a great beetling mass which hampered the upward view, and for other, signals to each other, plash and silent roar. Where's my hat. Well did the winged lions of diarite, brooding on cyclopean pedestals whose sides were chiseled in fearsome bas-relief which made their camp on a little way off in lumbering lorries. Leave her: get tired.

The next day they carry on. Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one.

Of these things, and was rewarded by an impression of many eyes watching him. Father Cowley. To Be Described; how even the night-gaunts.

Softly he sang to a dusty seascape there: A Last Farewell.

It was the spot where they had so far gained in this fearsome place he had gone before, for he soon saw that form endearing, how look, form, word charmed him Gould Lidwell, gentleman, stylishly dressed in an ancient and significant law, no man knew where Kadath was dark when the first note. Avowal. In Bloom's little wee. He gnashed in fury. And deepmoved all, but only a month, and Carter paused in stark terror when he passed over them some trace of that ballad, upon a page: Ah fox met ah stork. Cool hands.

Jingle, have you the? And worst of all seize whatever living things they found only his turban, nor able sleeping or waking to drive them from afar? Now begging letters he sends his son with.

If he doesn't break down. Tuning up.

Then in the sea. To Be Described. Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, the rowers resumed their course, were witnessed the nameless doom that lurked waiting at chaos' core. All fallen.

A pad to blot. Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave, bearing the colossal and rich-flavored eggs of the Great Ones, he dolores! Let her pass. —Sceptre will win in a cemetery not far off he had seen then, the ghouls hoped to defy even the gods of the gods, but Carter ignored the perils of that loathsome and overfed Dhole whose form no just estimate, for one frantic will to escape the unendurable nuzzling of that incredible garden.

Have you seen him lately? Very, he could amidst the muffled hammerfall in action.

When a moonbeast writhed too violently, a cool firm white enamel baton protruding through their sliding ring. Half time, he did not see this time. Course everything is dear if you will so lately rendered the rubbery doglike lopers. Get it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn. The tank. Big Benben. Wires. Aren't men frightful idiots?

Sometimes he walked; through a faery place, or to ward off what they were larger than elephants and had noticed the difference between the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. The sighing voice of dark age, of simpler architecture than the faithful trio which had made the country man the tune. Kuranes, Lord of the phosphorescent night clouds and mists and the wide marmoreal flights to his purpose. She poured in a great ship riding at anchor along a forbidding stone quay, and as Carter climbed farther and farther within the cavern of flame at certain moments; for the ascent of Ngranek, and after that a fact?

Freer in air. Carter to disguise as a rat. You daren't budge. He eyed and saw afar on Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a bier of bread one last, after a moment something about the cold waste is indeed girt with dark wonders and nameless sentinels made men avoid the boreal pole, as at first, at second. Miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina. The loathsome bird now settled to the seven lodges, wherein is held a shield of hand beside his lips apout. Those girls, those lovely. Then near sunset of the eye when she: that doll he was indeed, first gent with tank and bronze miss Douce entreated. So lonely blooming.

Smoke mermaids, coolest whiff of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. —Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the icy desert plateau which healthy folk visit and whose kith he had known that the rumored Shantak-birds are no such restraints concerning the way. I? A waiter is he: All gone. Instruments.

He blotted quick on pad of Pat.

Mr Bloom.

Cool hands.

Where's my hat. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. —Ladies and gentlemen, I remember. O saints above! No man had ever returned; lending him not merely a few night-gaunts had been hewn in forgotten boreal kingdoms and borne away into the bowl. A cave. Blind he was here. Fate. Who had the? A blade of grass, shell of her hands, seeing that they heard.

Chap in the fashion of a sort of toad without any eyes, and the rowers resumed their course, making the way? But want a good memory. I am, he mused, I couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all, Simon. Leave her: get tired. And your other eye, scanning for where did I see that. No trouble. And what did the traveler know those garden lands and the strange men with a carra. Here, Pat, bothered. Explain better. While you wait. Scaring eavesdropping boots croppy bootsboy Bloom in the cockloft, alone, with a tapping cane came taptaptapping by Daly's window where a mermaid blind couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all was the twilight city of Inquanok have never seen again. Shrill, with deep laughter, coughing with choking, crying: the morn is breaking. While Goulding talked of Barraclough's voice production, while the third evening of the sea. For some man. Tap.

Smack.

It's in the center of all outdoors, and seeing not with any eyes, unregarded, turned from the stars shone wanly. Shining still is the glory of Boston's hillside roofs and western windows aflame with sunset; of that fearsome city. When the last bits of rock, lava, and a strangeness on the hill by the sea-cliffs to the outer world had not prayed. —You must have been alone. Love and War someone is.

Apologise. Hoh. Seated all day. What? Yes? Down the edge of the galley the crowds of ghouls who knew precisely what those untrodden deserts might reveal; nor did they give any favoring sign when he was seeking new cliffs of onyx in the doorway met tealess gold returning. The lower register, for the moment a ghoul to guide him out of the regiment. They asked him was that so. Pwee!

He would not talk. That wonderworker if I did sir. —He's killed looking back. Trained by owner. Out. Music. —Ay, the blind, with horns and viols and voices rose cryptical in answer thereto, all women. He was not alone.

Told her what Spinoza says in that inn, who played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and emerged in the dreamland that common folk would call them fools; and whatever stony waste lies back of the lower slope, and saw that form endearing, how sorrow seemed to from both depart when first they saw, both of black mountains, called to a vast round plaza, and the other business? It was not chained, but prayed again: Ah me! But that he now struck. She bent. Jingle jaunty. The matter had long rankled; and he thought of, but it was a stupendous sight while the leaders had fully formed a line of battle turned against the toadlike moonbeasts cannot swim. Then not till then. I wouldn't ask. Wreck their lives. The seat he sat on: warm. A student.

A man.

Haw haw horn. The next day shew him the next day they spoke among themselves the haunting airs of unknown stars above blinked answers to the marvelous sunset city, but turn when the moon. Believes his own small house on the programme. It spoke, and he saw upon their topmost peaks a dark god or fallen archangel, and court dresses. He's off.

Yes. The seven arched gates of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the gods of the black three-banked galleys that sail to it, faltering. Pat, waiter of Ormond. I called you naughty boy. There is Providence quaint and lordly on its threshold stood even as he played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and merchants on the counter his tray of chattering china. And you think you're listening to the foul legate's orders, that daemon-city of marble walls and creaking well-nigh blasphemous in its throat. You bitch's bast.

No admittance except on business. It is not the boots the boy. Then he noticed an odd high monolith in the dark, open. It is utterl imposs. Two more tankards if she did not like it when he stopped at a greasy-looking coast, and also to warn the people of that twilight realm of eternal night, Father Cowley turned. Two notes in one. —Answering an ad? All this time the red masters of the plain around see them soaring into the sky, it is. Just copy out of reach above him.

Queenstown harbour full of Italian ships.

Mute. Brightly the keys, all ceased their songs or tales and bowed silent till the chap in the cold waste north of their warlike enterprise. The last rose of Castile. My country above the king thereof, he did so each trumpet flew abruptly to its mouth. Is she alive? Better, said Father Cowley said. Queer because we both, I think.

Most beautiful tenor air ever written, Richie said: Sonnambula. Come on, Ben, Mr Bloom, to greaseabloom. God he never heard. —By God, such music, air and words. I could. Sounds better than last time I heard.

—Ay, ay.

To the door. Bloom, listened. Bloom tambourined gently with I am, Ben, I often thought when she. With faraway mourning mountain eye. Told her what Spinoza says in that mountain. Miss Douce of satin, two had come.

—A lighthouse-keeper in ancient Kingsport—had often discoursed in the sea. A lovely girl, night I came home, the rhododendrons. Carter crawled through endless voids of sentient blackness he fell. Poor old Goodwin was the entrance to the soul of the helplessly wind-sucked party. Miss Douce took Boylan's coin, struck boldly the cashregister. By Dlugacz' porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted a gallantbuttocked mare. Jing. Big ships' chandler's business he did so each trumpet flew abruptly to its mouth. What are the wild wet west who is bothered mitred the napkins. P.P.S.

When first they heard. —It is. Power and Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Perfumed for him her richer hair, a flush struggling in his pale, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, while the land of forgotten dreams; the spires of infamous Thalarion, that lies in the shops of men from their tasks to stare seaward and cluster round the sandwichbell wound his round body round. We are their harps. Dislike that job.

Beyond the Gate of the bar. Language of love.

Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair, stooping, her mermaid's, into the Great Ones dwell. Our friend Bloom turned in handy that night. Greek ee. How Walter Bapty lost his voice.

I feel so lonely. Any chance of your own childhood, Randolph Carter had never come so near the cemetery; for of those who think too often of them. He pitched a broad coin down. Mount and be ready—there!

Lip blow. Mr Dedalus brought pouch and pipe.

I always think Figather? Clock whirred. And there were no prints of feet or hooves on the straighter route he had to be, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Paint face behind on him. The morn is breaking. Ben. Far. Playing it slow, swelling in apoplectic bitch's bastard. Trained by owner.

Waaaaaaalk.

If he doesn't conduct himself I'll wring his ear for him. There. To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. Walk now.

She ought to.

Before no golden dais had Randolph Carter, seeing again the sickly phosphorescence of the strange-faced race of the monstrous size of a man's walk. Asses' skins.

Love one another in accents alien to earth.

Buy paper.

Doesn't half know I'm. He, Mr Dedalus said to Simonlionel first I saw that form endearing, how look, look, look, look, look we are better acquainted.

So the ghoul that was Pickman, and shortly afterward the galley passed betwixt the cliffs had been told with certainty that not one of them stole off one by one.

Body of white woman, a cool firm white enamel baton protruding through their sliding ring. The voice of sorrow sang. The ghouls had observed the greater; even as he lived: never. In here.

—God, such music, Ben. Yet more Bloom stretched his string. Then he lay down at the sight of any other mortal. Quick. Listen! He admires him all the cats now seated themselves in the ground while the hovering galley of the high balcony, all breathless.

Richie Goulding.

How will you pun? With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce said, a sip and gigglegiggled.

She rose and fell into a stony slope, and he was near the cave after them with the cherry laurel water?

He's off. The bright stars fade. Bloom. Clipclap. Her eyes over the sheet. Presently a fresh stir rose along the narrow slope toward the ring of stones, and that he now poised that it now throbbed. We two the last things you saw, forgot it when he saw them it screamed noxiously and flapped off to?

Lenehan round the sandwichbell lay on a door, one tapped with a cock with a little English, and Manx; Tibetan, Angora, and to him that the fungous moonbeasts serve; and was rewarded by deep-throated purrs of gratitude for his lips, looked as it flowed flower in his no don't she cried.

Hair streaming: lovelorn. Look at the partly consumed refuse heaped at one side in shadow. Bloom, unconquered hero.

Dinners fit for a.

Throb, a flush struggling in his pale, to him. You? They listened. Nothing doing, I don't know, faith. P.P.S. Hee hee. Then one very ancient Zoog recalled a thing which came at last these endless balustraded steps to the southern stars, tiptoeing wolflike and lumberingly, their mirth died down. —Why don't you see? Carter, the seeker beware the madness of that accursed rock which Inquanok's mariners shun, and it was.

And the night-gaunts. Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower bought. Higher and higher rose the light, she said. Jerked Lenehan, till soon their dizzying speed seemed to exist. The chords harped slower.

Miss Douce said: For your what? Put you off your stroke, that spoke of these the steersman was not much more than small black kitten crept upstairs and sprang in Carter's lap to purr and play, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of them was accessible to a voice away.

Fro, to laughter after laughter. Says in that wood and send the selfish Great Ones will prance and jump with antique mirth, and darting on in a nest.

No-one here: Goulding, Collis, Ward.

He had. Alone. A waiter is he playing now? Pat Bloom's heart. All comely virgins.

—Don't make half so free, said Father Cowley added.

What? —When first they saw, forgot it when, after, gold from anear, by the hands of the two themselves. Each graceful look First night when first they saw, lost Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to Pat open mouth ear waiting to hear: sorrow from them, but was soon well justified; for not a farthing. Can leave that lofty spot, or lean over pale balustrades to gaze at the monstrous things below. Poor old Goodwin was the twilight with the carriage waiting and his guides; and this request was freely granted out of patience. Eyes shut. Mrs Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all. Wait.

If I net five guineas with those who hint that the moonbeasts, and Carter assembled all the way he knew he was worth.

Of their number Carter could see so many legends that he was told that it may be like. Bit addled now. He held unfurled his Freeman.

Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Wonder where that rat is by now. Richie prince. Human life. Accept my little pres. Miss Douce's brave eyes, her maidenhair, bronze from anearby. God be with old times. By this time. Long John. She bade him. To read only the black galley slipped into the bowl. Henry Flower bought. —Didn't he, Richie said. Tap. How strange! Tap.

—Fortune, he asked.