#holy heralds month

[monstersdownthepath]

Empyreal Lord: Andoletta, Grandmother Crow

CR 28

Lawful Good Medium Outsider

Heaven Unleashed, pg. 16~18

Surprise! A special capstone for this month devoted to all that's good in the world.

Andoletta here has the same unenviable position as Furcas, in that she doesn't exist on the internet beyond some vague numbers on the wiki. No presence in the Archives of Nethys, no copyright-free version on d20pfsrd, nothing. Much like Furcas, the most we have are the stats of her weapon of choice, a +5 Anchoring Ghost Touch Holy Quarterstaff that's often masquerading as simple walking stick, the Artifact known as Helicyon. When I first found her in Heaven Unleashed as I was seeking more information on Divine Heralds, I was gobsmacked to see her at all! What other secrets are hiding in books I've never read?!

Grandmother Crow also has the actual enviable position of being the ONLY Archon Empyreal Lord with stats. Yes, even the shining paladin Ragathiel is an Angel, not an Archon, and Andoletta puts all future potential archons to shame by being one their best. The ultimate grandmother to all beings, Andoletta takes pains to remind her peers that winning a war means nothing if there's nothing left back home worth protecting, and as such, she watches over the most peaceful of Heaven's many kingdoms, caring for the souls within who have no desire or ability to fight in the crusades against Evil and even venturing into the mortal world at the edges of war-torn kingdoms to shepherd the lost, lonely, grieving, and innocent to better lives, masquerading as... Well, nothing. As one of the most human-looking celestials, she really has no need or desire to change herself (though she can take on the shape of a crow, raven, or tengu when needed), so her most common "disguise" is just walking around as herself, a stern old woman with a cloak of crow feathers who seeks those needing her advice.

It should come as no surprise to those even passingly familiar with fantasy stories that you should never question the advice of an elder with an eccentric accessory. When she speaks, it is of the utmost importance that you listen, for what she has to say will always be what you needed to hear, no matter what that may be. If you are grieving, you'll be consoled. If you are hopeless, you'll be encouraged. If you're questioning, she'll have the answer. If you're an idiot, she'll say it to your face, and then give you advice on how to smarten up. For the majority of her existence, Andoletta eschews the idea of conflict and instead focuses on offering little comforts to those in need, especially children; a kind word, needed advice, a basket of food, or even just something as simple as a reassuring hand on the shoulder or a glass of milk on the nightstand to help someone troubled go back to sleep. It's these small acts of kindness that she specializes in, the tiny comforts she feels build people into being better overall, giving them the tiny push they need to keep going.

Of course, that CR 28 isn't just for show. Andoletta is never the first to join a fight, preferring life on the homestead, but any fiend attacking what they believe to be a harmless old woman or threatening the lives of children in her care is in for a hell of a reality check.

Let's begin with her aforementioned weapon of choice: Helicyon. It's said that Grandmother Crow's divine power erupted into existence once she gained an understanding the secrets of an ancient willow tree which whispered the truth of the past to her. It was reduced to a single branch when a jealous archon attempted the same, only to find that pathway to enlightenment allowed only one creature to pass, forcing Andoletta to take that branch and turn it into a walking stick she can call to her hand from across any distance.

she presumably did that after giving the idiotic soldier of Heaven a solid whacking for such an egregious show of short-sighted envy.

Beyond just being a reminder of Andoletta's journey to divinity, Helicyon is her primary whackin' stick, and it's deadly enough to give pause to whatever Balor or Pit Fiend thought it'd be funny to swing on an old lady. This +5 Anchoring Ghost Touch Holy Quarterstaff can be swung up to seven times a round for 1d6+14 (+2d6 vs Evil) damage, with the Anchoring ability giving her the amusing option to slam it down into someone's foot or pushing them against a wall with its end in their chest and pinning them in place while she lectures them on how stupid they are to make her resort to such measures. And her lecture would work, too, because anyone struck by Helicyon must make a DC 25 Will save or be filled with Overwhelming Grief at every tragedy that's occurred in the entirety of creation since their existence started, unable to take any actions for up to 28 rounds unless they succeed the save again at some point during the effect. This crushing remorse is so potent it penetrates all defenses, including Mythic and deific protection, and no creature is immune to it, even if they don't have emotions. The only way to avoid the grief is to succeed the saving throw (any of the saves it offers will do), at which point there's a 24-hour immunity clause to prevent Grandma from stun-locking someone for minutes at a time.

While her melee may not seem intimidating at first, she's got a large pick of spells from the Inquisitor spell list she can invoke as swift actions, including Forceful Strike (+10d4 damage Force damage plus a free Bull Rush on a melee attack), Burst of Speed (+20 movement speed, movement doesn't trigger AoOs, can move through enemy spaces), and perhaps most dangerously for her foes: Litany of Righteousness, which causes the target to take double damage from the attacks of creatures with a Good alignment aura, including herself and her own attacks, for one round. 1d6+14 isn't impressive, but 2d6+28 up to seven times? There's an appropriate trope for this.

She has more than just a handful of Inquisitor spells, of course; among a handful of charming and helpful spells (such as Daylight, Plant Growth, and Calm Emotions), her combat options include a 3/day Dictum and Greater Dispel Magic, and the oxymoronic Quickened Slow to mire her foes with a lengthy stagger, making it much harder for them to harm her in a meaningful way... which is good, because she kind of needs it.

Unlike most demigods, Andoletta has comparatively fewer defenses. Her DR 15 is much harder to pierce than many other Good-aligned demigods, requiring a weapon that's Evil-aligned and Epic, but her low 10 Regeneration is suppressed by ANY exposure to Evil. She's got most of the Demigod Suite of immunities including proof against charm/compulsion, energy drain, ability score damage, poison, death, and petrification... but because grandma needs her naps and has arthritis, she's not immune to sleep or paralysis. In addition, her ONLY elemental resistance is immunity to Electricity when most creatures at her level are swinging around Fire and Cold with incredible ferocity. She doesn't even have Freedom of Movement available to her, leaving her terribly vulnerable to entangling effects, paralysis, or even just difficult terrain, which can prevent her from initiating with her otherwise-intimidating Spring Attack.

Thankfully, her lack of in-built defenses is somewhat mollified by her other unique abilities. She has the Primal Aura of all Empyreal Lords, her unique aura stretching to create a 30ft Circle of Protection From Evil, shielding everything inside from the attacks, spells, and effects of any Evil creature while also preventing any summoned Evil creature from setting a single toe inside. Anyone with 10 or less Hit Dice that's inside the aura is also shielded by an empowered Sanctuary effect that requires a DC 39 Will save to attack through... unless the fight takes place in Heaven, at which point the Sanctuary effect is completely unbreakable, resetting every round even if the protected creature attacks. The primary use of this power is, obviously, shielding civilians, as any attacker quickly finds out they can't bring their weapon against any innocent, costing them their action for the round and often allowing Andoletta to punish them for the attempt.

This isn't her only means of protecting her wards and allies, either; several of her lord and Inquisitor spells are for the benefit of others, like Litany of Escape and Litany of Warding, but she can also cause a mass-Sanctuary by standing tall and using Wing Snap. This 1/day thunderous crack of her hidden crow wings dispels fear effects from any number of creatures of her choosing within 30ft and shields them with Sanctuary, while any Evil creature within the radius must succeed a DC 39 Fortitude save or take 5d6 Sonic damage and be struck deaf for 2d6 rounds. This power can only be used when she has her Crow Feather Cape, but the indestructible artifact returns to her every 24 hours even if she's gifted it to someone, so she more or less always has it on her anyway.

Why would she give her cape away, though? Typically as a test. Anyone bearing her Crow Feather Cape is shielded by the immensely powerful Winds of Vengeance spell for 24 entire hours, a spell that's potent offensively and defensively. A creature shrouded by the cape can thus fly at 60ft/round through any environment and gains immunity to ALL projectile-based ranged attacks, 90% of existing breath weapons, and all gas/vapor-based attacks, spells, and effects. Anything striking a shrouded creature in melee has to make a DC 39 Fortitude save or take 5d6 damage and be knocked prone (or knocked from the sky, if it was flying), potentially ending a Full-Attack and allowing a retaliatory Full-Attack from the wielder with extra accuracy bonuses thanks to the victim being knocked prone.

Any creature that violates a just law while blessed with the cape not only immediately loses its power over winds, but has their voice stolen and replaced with the helpless squawking of a crow until they get the curse broken or until Andoletta removes it with a thought, typically followed by a stern lecture. It's an unbelievably powerful tool she can hand out to someone she thinks may use it correctly... but in my readings of this ability, there seems to be absolutely no restrictions in place which prevent Grandmother Crow from using the ability on herself as a move action, giving her insurmountable defenses against anyone trying to hit her from a range and blasting anyone hitting her in melee off their feet, letting her either lay into them with her staff... or use its Anchoring ability to pin them to the ground so she can advise them against going any further.

In the end, that's all she really wants. She is the least warlike of all the Archons; she's not made to fight, and in fact abhors actually doing so, battling only when innocent lives are on the line and even then only until her wards have fled the fight before she teleports, Time Stops, or Plane Shifts away herself. She's more likely to trip up, disable, debuff, and humiliate her foes than actually kill them, humbling them so that they may listen to her words and, eventually, internalize them. With age comes wisdom, with wisdom comes patience, and Andoletta is patient enough to watch for every minute crack and fracture in even the most staunchly evil soul in the hopes that she can jam it wide enough to plant a seed of good.

And if that fails, she tends to just hold off her attacker long enough for a finisher to come along, because Heaven knows there are plenty of them around, ready to jump to Grandma's defense.

Andoletta's stats are not available via official channels, but I did find them here. The stats for her staff, however, are on the Archives here.

[dusty-siltstrider]

Alright I'm properly boozed and decently numbed. I promised to bitch excessively on here if our boy became a name on a missing poster. Here the fuck I am.

For reference I'm focusing on Viktor and Jayce here. More than enough has been said about everyone else. Y'all ate good. Let us starve in peace. Lots of this comes from lengthy discussions on the Viktor Nation disc.

To start - no, Viktor does not appear in the new trailer. I'm sorry, he just doesn't. Not even a voice line which should have been pretty fucking easy. Over at Viktor Nation we spent nearly an hour going over the trailer frame by frame brightening shit to see if he shows. He does not. No, not even a far-off shot of his arm. We got more Viktor in the teaser from two months ago than the official trailer.

However...

100% Glorious Evolved. Fingerprints around their faces match what appears to be Viktor face-grabbing that Shimmer addict from the teaser trailer. Similar rune carvings. This is his cult. Which uhh right off the bat is much different from any other interpretations?

Basically confirms they're going all-in on runic magic for Viktor and largely veering away from classic Machine Herald. Which I have feelings about. That will be reserved for the season itself once we see it play out.

And before any smartasses come in with "lol at least you got a shot of his feet" jokes those definitely aren't his. Just one of the random cultists floating judging by the angling. And Viktor's would be full grape Fanta. The silvery/gold texture is interesting. Some kind of manipulation of metal through magic?

Don't even.

Also been seeing a lot on the shadowy golden-eyed figure and we figured that's near-certainly not him either.

Looks sick, I'll admit. I kinda hope it's him, in fact. Most likely not him. Face shape is slightly too squared off, ears stick out too far, yes I went in deep on skull shape for this and I'm at least 75% sure that ain't him. And Viktor's magical influence/Hexcore spookiness has been defined by purple sinews and more organic forms than this more fantastical shadow tendril thing. This seems to be a new force entirely.

I won't discount it outright since Viktor's eyes are indeed associated with gold/amber but for all I know this could be Mel. Eye socket shape/nose does vaguely match. And Viktor's eyes would likely lean more towards a purple voidy glow in S2 if they're going all-in on the Hex Core.

Possible Jayce cameo? Very obviously meant to be his wristband gem, maybe somehow got fused with his skin. The grip on the object appears heavy so it's not Viktor's cane/staff. Could very well be the Viktor/Jayce confrontation since if you squint there might a robed figure standing in front of that weird fuckin magic doodad.

Speaking of...

Saw a pretty interesting post from @nylloth saying this could be Viktor's "hospital" or maybe some kind of Glorious Evolved temple. It does resemble the fucked up glowing sinewy appearance of the Hex Core so perhaps some kind of hallucination or vision that Viktor is having of his potential. Would love to hear more thoughts on that though. It's very obviously related to "the Arcane" as a broader more mysterious force.

Wanted to be angrier here but I'm honestly just disappointed. Which is ass because pit fighter Vi and Ekko and revolutionary Jinx are all things I'm genuinely looking forward to but I can't rally it. I'm very glad everyone else ate good though. Does indeed look sick and I'm still excited. Pit fighter Vi especially. Holy fuck. But I'm just too bummed out about Viktor, call that dramatic or childish but idc it's how it is.

Be stingy about appearances and character designs but it could not have been difficult to include a single voice line. Don't even bother including it in the show, get a couple trailer-only lines or a "Glorious Evolution" or SOMETHING. Don't give me that "well their fates are still ambiguous" No they aren't lmao they just aren't. By this point everyone knows Jayce and Vik live and 50/50 on Mel.

If Viktor had not appeared in that teaser TWO MONTHS ago for like 2 seconds then it would be reasonable to assume he got erased from the show entirely lol. We have a shot of his arm to go off of until we hopefully get a proper Viktor poster. Cool. Nice arm.

That is all. For now. Please refrain from discussing leaks. I don't need any more temptation.

[lulu2992]

(This is a reply to this reblog because the post would have been way too long otherwise)

You’re right, @purplehairsecretlair; it would make so much more sense if the priest featured in the video was not Jerome! I was ready to accept this headcanon, but then I found the official description of the trailer:

This is about Joseph Seed's journey before he became the Father, before Pastor Jerome was forced to forfeit his status as shepherd of the County's souls.

So The Baptism is about Joseph “stealing” Jerome’s congregation… That said, I totally agree that this isn’t consistent with the game for several reasons (which you probably already know, but I want to use this opportunity to talk more about the trailer).

First, Joseph found John and Jacob before he started the Project, and they all arrived in Hope County together. In the trailer, however, as you pointed out, he’s alone. We see him creating Eden’s Gate, writing his own holy book, and recruiting his first followers. Also, this shot...

...looks like what the 2nd step of the Pilgrimage tells us in the game:

II. The Cleansing: Joseph Seed affirms his obedience to the Voice by cleansing himself with his own two hands, becoming born again.

Steps III and IV are about him getting his first followers and the Voice telling him about the Collapse, and he only “collects his blood family” at step V, which... I realize is not consistent with The Book of Joseph, unless that means he had already found his brothers and only “[anointed] them as his Heralds” at this point.

Regardless, the story told along the Pilgrimage path isn’t consistent with The Baptism either because he only brings his disciples to Hope County at step VII, but he’s clearly already there in the video. Plus, his Heralds don’t seem to be with him…

I tried looking for more information about the trailer, especially about the cast and characters but, aside from Greg Bryk, I couldn’t find the names of the other actors.

However, I found this. The website says the video has won 25 (in my opinion, well-deserved) awards and provides a synopsis, probably written by DDB Paris, the agency that created the two live-action trailers, The Baptism and The Sermon, for Ubisoft. It says that the little girl is “the daughter of the legitimate priest whose place [Joseph] took, ten years ago”. Far Cry 5 never implies Jerome ever had a child, so I don’t think that’s still canon, but I’m glad we finally know who she is!

I stumbled upon this other article (with a behind-the-scenes picture). It’s in French, so here’s a summary:

It was Ubisoft who “imposed” Greg Byrk on the agency, but the artistic director thought he was “perfect” even though they barely knew him. The copywriter comments he was “very immersed in his role” and “exuded something powerful”.

The video was shot in Canada, in Merritt BC. To help the team, Ubisoft sent them the “huge mood board” they made during their one-year trip to Montana.

Some shots were unscripted, such as the scene with the little girl on the swing.

About 150 people were involved in the project which also required dozens of supply trucks.

Finally, it says the trailer was released 14 months after the first briefing. Jerome and Joseph’s backstories had plenty of time to be rewritten...

I also remember reading this interview with the director on the now-offline UbiBlog years ago. So, in case anyone was wondering (I was), that string of saliva was, in fact, totally unplanned :’)

[scotianostra]

Nine month old Mary Stuart was crowned queen of Scotland on September 9, 1543.

Mary had actually become queen on December 14, 1542, when she was only six days old, the day that her father had died, making her the youngest female to become queen.

Mary’s mother, Mary of Guise, had schemed and plotted for months, in an effort to avoid Henry VIII’s offers of marriage to her daughter. He wanted the little queen for his son, the future Edward VI. However, Mary of Guise, being a French Catholic, wanted nothing to do with the Protestant Englishmen. Although James Hamilton, the Earl of Arran, had been appointed as regent to the young queen, her mother was very much in control of the young child’s comings and goings. Her wit and political savviness enabled her to remove the young Mary from Linlithgow Palace, where she was born, and where Arran felt he had more control over her. By July, the baby had been moved to Stirling Castle, Mary Guise’s castle of choice. This removed the infant queen out from under Arran’s control and allowed her mother more time and freedom to plot how to free Mary from the reach of the English.

On the ninth of September, Mary was carried to the Chapel Royal at Stirling Castle and crowned Queen of Scots. It was a very solemn affair, having conferred not only civil legitimacy on the young queen, but it also validated her religious rights as queen as well.

According to biographer, John Guy, three items of significance were used during the ceremony. The Earl of Arran carried the crown, the Earl of Lennox held the scepter, and the Earl of Argyll carried the sword of state. The scepter was given to James IV in the 1490s by Pope Alexander VI, and the sword was obtained from Pope Julius II in 1507. The crown had been worn by Mary’s father, James V, at her mother’s coronation in 1540. These three items are known collectively as the honors of Scotland and are still on display at Edinburgh Castle today. However, they were not used together until the coronation of Mary.

The crown was, of course, too big for a baby to wear. Instead, Cardinal David Beaton held the crown over Mary’s head. He also anointed her with holy oil and said a blessing over her during the ceremony.

Traditionally, heralds would read aloud the royal genealogy, a list of titles and honors that could take up to a half an hour to recite. However, the infant queen had a different plan. She squawked and wailed throughout the ceremony, causing the typical proceedings to be cut short.

The coronation may have been a solemn affair, but it was followed by banqueting, masques, and dancing afterward.

[carionto]

Bon voyage!

Wait, who's going? Where?!?

The time had arrived for Humanity's first colony ship to depart. A behemoth among the giants of the Human fleet. Thirty five kilometers long, fourteen wide, seven tall, capable of housing up to twenty one million people, and fully self sustaining. It's destination - Andromeda!

Wait, Andromeda? As in, a different galaxy?

"Yeah, that's the general idea, though this ship in particular, called The Herald of The Chosen, is privately funded by the Church of the Unforgotten and can kinda bypass a lot of red tape that's holding up the others. Twenty eight thousand members are aboard. Notice the pattern? Seven is a holy number to them and they really stick to it."

Wait wait wait, privately funded? As in, your government isn't involved? How is that even feasible? Like, logistically or legally?

"Well, back when we accidentally blew a reactor 700 years ago and caused what most saw as beyond a biblical apocalypse, there were more than enough people who became convinced of a lot of things that were kinda hard to argue against at the time.

The fact we had 'vanished' three centuries prior and there was no sun or moon or stars in the sky but things still functioned as if they were set a firm foundation for a lot of religious movements and reinforced some existing ones.

So, while most people aren't all that into faith, the ones who are are firm believers. Just so happens several big-shots are part of the Unforgotten and pulled a lot of strings and set aside many differences once the Earth 'reappeared' in real space. And now just over a year later, we have this Andromeda voyage."

Right. We're still processing that a private Human organization outperforms most of our industrial shipwright systems. We're getting used to that happening more often. Anyway, why so far, can't they establish their colony somewhere in this galaxy?

"Uhh, kinda pointless don't you think? It takes like what... six months to hyperjump from one end of the Milky Way to the other. We can colonize in-galaxy with just regular transports. Oh, I guess since your generators can't charge your hyperdrives while mid-jump it would take you a lot longer, huh. Something like five or six years, right?"

Wait. What? WHAT? You charge AND discharge hyperdrives while IN HYPERSPACE? AND YOU DON'T EXPLODE!?!

"Well, not over short jumps. We did find it becomes wobbly if you do both for over forty days straight, and then, yeah, it does blow up. We're working on a re-router. It'll be fine. Current fix is to just have two drives and switch from one to the other at regular intervals. No issues since we solved the synchronization bug that jumped half the ship clean off into a different hypertunnel.

You'd think warp gates would be the way to go, but we found that going through a literal tear in space-time causes quantum entanglement to break, among other potential problems, human testing is still a while away, so you'd end up cut off from all communication. Even the most ardent zealots still want access to the extranet."

Meanwhile, as the alien delegates swear and fumble and possibly hurts itself in its confusion due to exposure to "Humans being typical Humans", The Herald of The Chosen drifts gently into open space, to a medium sized open broadcast fanfare from fellow Unforgotten members who were not chosen. Then, as unceremonious as hyperdrives are, the act of a vessel of such magnitude jumping away still left an impression as everyone became aware of the suddenly vacated space.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Wolves At The Door; Part Ten

Fandom: Resident Evil [Village]

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg/AFAB!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: Heisenberg puffed out a breath, gazing off into the distance. His factory was out there in the rain, waiting. Waiting for his return.

A/N: Welcome all, welcome to our tenth installment! Nearly to the epilogue, have a little faith. Enjoy!

Tag List: @cookiethewriter @amneris21 @topgirl17 @vodkafolie @a-smol-witch @clockworkmidnight @calwitch @silver-quinn01 @velvet-paradox @hijackser @mrs-wolfwood @nonstop-haikyuu @mic-sunderland @somethingthatsaysbubbles @fullofmoonsandstars @stargazerofgoldenwords @imthegreenfairy86 @karlskitten @nitrogennightmare @chunnies @thirstworldproblemss @highly-unknown @tartimaar-bloggeth @thesmartbiscuit @spoopyredacted @crowtrobotx @kotall-ohh @doggydale @jackie-loves-yalls-writing @simplysolo @teeheemax

x. Prelude

1. Indebted

2. Blood On Your Hands

3. Brush With Death

4. Come To Bed

5. Smells Like Snow

6. Hot Iron

7. Turnover

8. Backslide

9. Tender Gray Light

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains mentions of blood, canon-typical violence, gore, and graphic depictions of mental and physical duress. Stay safe!]

The rain was welcome to Karl, for it heralded the return of spring. However, it made for miserable walking. The former Lord forged doggedly onward despite the downpour, rainwater dripping from the wide brim of his hat.

The sky was still dark. He had no idea what time it was, whether early or late. It had been months since the time had mattered to him, the man all too willing to move through life at the pace of your choosing. But last night's events seemed to have ruined that.

Dinner had been silent, the two of you refusing to really engage with one another after…what had happened. Karl was irritated with himself and a bit irritated with you as well, if he was being honest. Granted, he knew he wasn't exactly emotionally mature, but gods almighty he had told you not to look at him! He had wanted to avoid this…weirdness, this strange feeling in his chest, and now he didn't know how the hell to fix it.

You eventually went to bed alone and he was still awake staring at the ceiling hours later when he had finally made his choice.

He knew what he had to do. To an extent, anyway. He cringed as he thought of how hard he had bitten you, so strong you ruin everything you touch. 

He couldn't do that again. He wouldn't do that again. He couldn't keep slipping up. These moments of weakness, of forgetting himself, cutting loose…it was irresponsible. Risky. Wrong. He needed to put himself to use, take himself out of the equation.

He needed to go to the source.

For his own sanity, whatever was left of it, but also…Karl shook his head, feeling stupid.

He started sprinting.

…

You woke after a poor night's sleep to the sound of rain. Specifically, to the sound of a drip, drip, drip. You groaned, pulling the quilt up over your head. You didn't want to patch another leak. 

“Karl,” you mumbled, flinging your arm out to the side. You met nothing but more sheets and blanket, and then you recalled what had happened the day before. Sitting bolt upright, you ignored the puddle on the floor in the corner as you called, “Karl?” Your fingers gripped the quilt in a stranglehold when there was no reply. “Karl?” 

You moved from the bed, more than a little stiff, and hurried to pull on your shoes. 

The living room was empty. The stove hadn't been recently stoked, the couch was cold when you touched it, and the blanket the two of you had…well. The blanket was folded and placed over the arm of the couch. 

In a daze, you moved to the kitchen and picked up the large pot, then returned to your room to place it under the leak. Fix the roof. You would need to get the ladder, patch, the patching fabric…when was the last time you had even used the patching sealant?

You felt your eyes begin to well up, but you roughly dashed the tears away. Don't think about it. Do the job.

It was pouring outside, the rain washing away the last of the snow downhill into the river and exposing the muddy grass of your yard once more. You huffed out a shaky breath as you did up your rain gear, the front snaps still fiddly even after all these years. 

The ladder was stored underneath the porch and still partially frozen to the ground. A few sharp kicks loosened it enough for you to yank it free. Your fingers were so cold already that by the time you realized you had somehow cut yourself on the cheap aluminum stepladder, you were halfway to the roof. Muttering several choice swears under your breath, you just ignored it and continued upwards. Leak was priority. You could handle that.

Once you found the leaking area on the steep roof, you propped yourself up with the ladder and got to work placing a patch. Load the putty knife with wet patch material, spread it evenly, carefully pat down a precut piece of fabric, and then smear the second layer of patch. 

It was so quiet. 

The only sound was the rain hammering on the hood of your rain suit. You felt like you could hear the absence of noise, but in reality you knew you were just imagining things.

There had been a time when you were thrilled with the quiet. When you wanted nothing more than this…deafening silence, just the susurrus of wind and the far-off calls of birds, entirely removed from human companionship. You had been content for years.

A few tears slid down your nose, landing on the fresh patch with a wet little splat. You sniffled, frustrated with yourself as you used the heel of your palm to scrub at your nose. 

The ladder suddenly tipped, one leg sinking deeper in the mud and throwing you off-balance. A frantic noise escaped you and then you were slipping, falling off the edge of the roof.

…

Some stupid asshole had put up a chain link fence around the entire valley, the whole length of it covered with ridiculous signs. 

KEEP OUT! This area under military surveillance. Trespassers will be shot. KEEP OUT! ENTER AT OWN RISK!

Karl scoffed, bouncing on the balls of his feet and then easily clearing the fence, landing silently on the other side. He felt a bit foolish for doing so once he straightened up; down the fence a ways was a section that had been peeled apart from the inside. Upon closer inspection Heisenberg found tufts of white, matted hair and crusty ichor coating the ragged edges of the torn fencing.

Lycans. Clearly they came and went regularly. Maybe the military presence was gone? 

After using his power to secure the fence again, Heisenberg turned on his heel, squinting through the rain as he moved forward to the edge of the small valley the village was nestled in. Or rather, it had been nestled in. 

The entire village looked like it had been sacked and burned. Massive tire tread marks were still frozen into the mud, criss-crossed this way and that. Some heavy equipment had been brought in to demolish the already-frail buildings, but over the tire marks were hoofprints, footprints, pawprints. 

So there were still lycans here. 

Heisenberg puffed out a breath, gazing off into the distance. His factory was out there in the rain, waiting. Waiting for his return. The former Lord shook his head, cautiously making his way down the slick road into the village proper. He had no idea whether the area was still under active surveillance (snipers specifically had him a little skittish), and the last thing he wanted was to be caught unawares.

The ground was littered with what seemed like hardened ash, chunks of it wafting into the air when it was disturbed by Karl's boots. With it came the scent of rot, of decay, and very, very faintly, the smell of mold. Heisenberg's nose twitched and he shook his head, as if to dismiss the familiar odor. They had burned Miranda's ‘god’, then. 

As they should have. 

He only vaguely recalled some towering thing briefly glimpsed through the back of the Duke's wagon, but if the tenacity of Winters was anything to go off of, he and that slinking, sneaky bastard Redfield had no doubt put the titanic growth and its root system dead to rights. 

Karl found his thoughts growing more and more distracted as he crossed the marshy land that bordered what once was Moreau's reservoir. Judging from the frozen mud puddles, the sluice gate had either failed or been victim to the same demolishing that the rest of the village had suffered. 

He ought to have been able to see his factory from where he stood, but to his muted dismay it also appeared to have been toppled. Not all that surprising when he actually thought about it, though. A majority of its structural integrity relied on (essentially) constant input from him. A comparably-small percentage of his power had been dedicated to keeping the factory upright. He had nearly forgotten about it, that's how much of an afterthought it was. Through his will alone the building had endured; he wondered dimly if it had collapsed when he had or if it had propped itself up until the militants crumpled it.

All that was left was to see whether the lower levels had survived. 

The real chore was locating an intact bulkhead, but even that wasn't such a struggle. The problem with said bulkhead, however, was the goddamn Morlock-esque conglomeration of prints around the half-ajar door, and while Karl didn't fancy himself much of an Eloi, he also wasn't enormously fond of getting swarmed in the depths by lycans or their pet vârcolaci.

He stood by the door for a long while. Long enough that he was fairly confident even the world's shittiest sniper would have taken his head off. The signs had just been scare tactics, or just remnants of the military force that had since moved on to more important things. This site was back in lycan hands, whatever was left of them. 

And he was about to delve into the belly of the beast.

Why? Why the hell am I doing this? Karl knew the answer to his own silent question but it had always been his nature to rail against the inevitable, the inexorable. 

Poor Heisenberg, so strong you ruin everything you touch.

The ladder rungs were slimy with mud, coating his palms liberally. Karl swore under his breath. He had forgotten how filthy everything was. Hard for mold to thrive if the environment was spotless, after all! You just kept your cabin so clean…it felt like a loss, somehow, to descend back into the grime and darkness, the fecund catacombs that housed his quarters and manufacturing operations. His mind wandered anew to his Haulers and Soldats. Were any of them still left? Or had they all fallen to Ethan's unquenchable fury?

Again, that grudging respect for Winters, warring with his faint annoyance at the man for entirely razing the place to the ground. Bit rude, really, but understandable. 

Through the inky blackness that closed over his head, Karl sent out a mental pulse on force of habit. Metal, all around him, gears and machinery, radios and televisions stirring at his proverbial touch. Once a fortress of science, now an uneasy, creaking tomb. His breath caught in his lungs. He had never felt so claustrophobic in his own damn factory. 

You didn't have any electronics in your cabin. He hadn't realized until just now. The total absence of buzzing screens and subaudible hum of current had been such a blessing, and he hadn't even noticed until it was thrust upon him once more.

There was some commotion at the base of the ladder still far below him, startling Karl out of the reverie he had fallen into. He gritted his teeth and stretched out a hand, using his power to search the factory for his enormous hammer. From his left came a crashing din in the distance, crumbling stone and shrieking metal heralding the flight of his monstrous weapon.

Heisenberg grinned with a bleak sort of humor, catching the haft of the hammer and then releasing his hold on the ladder. “Papa's home, you greasy freaks!” He roared, plummeting like a rock to the floor below.

I can use this stupid, dangerous strength to make their home safe again, cut the lycans off at the source. I can use it…I can use it to keep them safe.

…

Rain was pattering against your face. You spluttered, opening your eyes slightly and then quickly closing them again in a grimace as a fat raindrop slammed into your eyebrow.

Ugh. Your back hurt. 

You gingerly sat up and rotated your stiff neck, grateful that nothing seemed to have been dislocated. Your right leg was scraped badly through your rainsuit; you must have caught the ladder on the way down. At least you hadn't broken the leg! You could live with the deep abrasion and bruises, but if you had broken it–and with Karl missing…

‘Missing’? No, he left.

Tears closed your throat and you struggled to exhale, irritated by your immediate response to thinking about waking up alone. You were fine. You needed to get back inside and dry off.

Your head started to pound as you struggled upright, grabbing the side of the cabin to steady yourself. Your right knee throbbed anytime you so much as thought about it, so you did your best not to. 

Just get inside.

You hobbled forward, fumbling with the stairs of the porch until you finally managed to get up them backwards. You were now sweating from the effort, nauseous and dimly terrified. You had never felt quite so alone as you did at this moment, your nails digging into the boards of the porch as you dragged yourself to the door.

Just get inside. 

You collapsed inside the door, shoving it closed with your arm. Shaking fingers unbuttoned your rainsuit, and you carefully peeled it off. The right leg of the suit was ruined, but you might be able to salvage it. Numbly you continued to extract yourself from the suit, leaving it in a heap by the door. You then automatically limped to the kitchen, filled your kettle with water and placed it on the wood stove to boil. You would need clean water to take care of your wound, and unfortunately at the moment your largest pot was currently camped out in the corner of your bedroom. The kettle would have to suffice.

He couldn't look at you.

Don't think about it.

The bite mark he had left on your shoulder was still tender to the touch.

Don't think about it.

Your head ached and you squinted, trying to hold back more tears to no avail. They spilled down your cheeks after a brief struggle, causing you to huff out a shuddering breath and sink down on the couch. 

In a rare moment of weakness, you opened your mouth to voice an honest emotion. “I…” You swallowed thickly, feeling foolish for talking to an empty room. “I miss you, Karl. Please come back.”

But silence was all that you received in return.

…

The only noise that met his ears was a steady drip, drip, drip. The ground beneath his feet had finally gone still, no more writhing bodies or snapping jaws to break. 

It had been like a never-ending nightmare din ringing inside his skull. Squealing, snarling, biting, clawing, the baying for blood and his own voice shouting until he was hoarse. The abrupt silence was nearly bliss. Heisenberg mused on whether his eardrums had ruptured but, no, the dripping persisted. 

His arms and legs felt like lead. How long had he been down here? Days? Weeks? Karl sank to his knees after a moment, propping himself up with what was left of his hammer.

From overhead came a creaking groan, the remaining structure of the factory dangerously close to failing. Karl had laid waste to the floorplan as he eradicated the den, the hive, so it wasn't really a surprise. He had no idea where he even was in the factory anymore. Even with his improved eyesight there wasn't much to see, and less still to orient himself with. 

Had he gotten them all? 

Gods, the exhaustion that was speedily overtaking his body was almost impressive. Clearly he had stretched himself a little too thin. How much blood had he lost? Down in the darkness all he could see was that his hands were a deeper gray than his upper arms, blackened tendrils writhing upwards along just beneath his skin. That was to be expected, he'd been bitten more times than he could count. His entire left hand hung at an awkward angle from his wrist and with a grunt Karl reset the appendage. The pain was what stunned him, its lightning-flash freezing him in place. 

A huge piece of sheet metal hit the floor beside him, then another, and another. It seemed that even the lower levels were caving in on themselves, finally succumbing to the damage and his weakened state. Without warning a cinderblock slammed into his head, nearly flattening him before he caught himself. Karl snarled, mentally shoving upwards with all his power and hearing several more pieces of metal ricochet off of one another and bury themselves in the masonry. 

A wet cough suddenly rattled his chest and Karl wheezed for breath, trying to remember what the hell had happened during his prolonged struggle. Black fluid splattered onto his hand when he hacked out another cough, and Heisenberg realized that there was a deep wound in his chest. He hadn't even felt it, hadn't noticed. Wasn't really a point to plugging it either at this stage, what with the whole factory coming down on top of him. 

A sense of calm washed over him. It felt a bit like inevitability, and he just didn't have the strength to fight it any longer.

Karl slumped down by a retaining wall, the cold stone pressing comfortingly into his bare back. He tipped his head to rest it against the wall, squinting pointlessly upwards as more dust rained down. The framework beams had begun to collapse, finally yielding under the immense strain to careen to the ground below.

Heisenberg bowed his head, his palm covering the wound in his chest as an afterthought. He could feel the hitch of his own breath, the former Lord understanding in a cold, clinical manner exactly what the hell was happening to him. His lungs were in agony, burning, his chest felt like it was going to burst–

He heard the metal plummeting through the air right before it struck, an enormous, knife-like edge driving home in the meat of his shoulder and pinning him in place. Karl retched, his mind shying away from the brilliant stab of pain. Before he could draw another breath a huge beam crashed down on top of him, jamming his chin against his chest. His last conscious thoughts were strangely (or perhaps, not-so-strangely) about you. 

Sorry sugar…guess I wasn't strong enough to make it out alive…

Buried there beneath the wreckage, crushed by the weight of his own hubris and surrounded by a mountain of corpses, Karl Heisenberg finally went still.

Epilogue

[nirikeehan]

Happy DADWC! Let's have some Thalia/Cullen, with "Reunion x Defying prophecies" from your Fun Trope Combos list!

Hi Duchess!! Perfect prompt for some post-Battle of Haven early Thalia/Cullen character study, I think.

Also had to add these prompts from @breninarthur and @wolfs-dawn:

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1289

---

Now that Lady Thalia Trevelyan had returned from the dead, Cullen did not know how to speak to her. 

It had been easy at first. The scrappy red-haired mage had looked to him for guidance those months in Haven. Uncertain of the moniker bestowed upon her by the masses, she had peppered him with questions — about leadership, philosophy, religion, and listened with earnest fervor to what he had to say about them. She was young, certainly, but Cullen had every confidence she could grow into the role presented to her. Had been flattered, even, to mold her for command. 

Then everything came crashing down, and Cullen, acting as her commander, sent Thalia off to die. 

He replayed the moves of the battle through his head as the stragglers that called themselves the Inquisition trudged through snow and mountain. The days were brutal and the nights were worse, with ice winds howling down into the narrow rocky passes, and Cullen thought he might freeze a thousand times over. Only the rage boiling in his gut keep his blood pumping, as he ran the plays again and again. In chess, there were times when one must sacrifice a piece, even an important one, but the risks so often outweighed the reward. Try as he might, he didn’t see an outcome that saved her from destruction. He would have to live with that for the rest of his days. 

Maker guide her, she went willingly.

The burden of the march had eased. The train moved with lighter steps, their Herald restored to them. They had a destination, a goal to picture in their minds. Still, Cullen found it difficult to approach her. It was he who had found her, on her knees in the snow. When her lips were blue, he cradled her fragile body to his chest, trying to bring some warmth back into her. He flushed with the memory, in turns frightened, relieved, and… something else. 

Tonight, the cook fires burned brighter, it seemed, after the skies had cleared. He saw her, sitting on the cot in the healer’s tent, where her condition was being monitored, nose in a book. Her hair, auburn and incredibly long, she had coiled around her head in one long plait. She seemed stronger, the color starting to come back to her oval face. For days she had been white as the snow around them, offset only by the spiked tattoo ringing one eye. An extra security measure, Cullen had learned, devised by templars at the Ostwick Circle. It made him vaguely uneasy to behold, but he often found other parts of her face more pleasing  — her bright blue eyes, for instance, or her heart-shaped lips. 

She looked up and spied him, and Cullen’s heart thudded. She smiled at him shyly over the rim of the book, and his feet moved toward her of their own accord. 

“Forgive the intrusion,” he said as he approached. 

Thalia glanced around the empty tent and back to him. “Oh, Commander, as you can see, there’s nothing to intrude upon. I’m alone.” 

“Yes, but you seemed so engrossed.” Cullen motioned to the book.

 Thalia cleared her throat and set it aside. “Just something Mother Giselle lent me. I guess she was conscientious enough to salvage several books from the Chantry before the evacuation of Haven. I wish I’d had that level of foresight.” 

Cullen glanced at the title. The Holy Mysteries of Andraste and Her Disciples. “Ah. I read that one in templar training.” 

“You did?” Thalia’s pale gaze was upon him. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold wind. “What did you think of it?” 

Cullen chuckled. “A touch… fanciful, perhaps.” 

“What? You don’t believe the story of Saint Sylvester slaying the dragon on New Year’s Eve?” The corner of Thalia’s mouth quirked upward. It was nice to see her smile again. 

“Some of the tales are apocryphal at best, if I recall,” Cullen said. Then, he blurted, “You look good.” 

Thalia blinked in surprise. 

“Better, I mean,” Cullen cried, backpedaling. “Healthier. When I saw you in the snow, I feared for the worst.”

Thalia ducked her head shyly. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to scare you then; I was just… very tired.” 

“No need to apologize,” Cullen said quickly, leaning on the hilt of his sword to regain some dignity. “I’m just relieved to see you on the road to recovery.” 

“After rising from the grave, you mean,” Thalia quipped. 

Cullen felt sheepish. “I don’t really believe—” 

“No, I know,” Thalia cut in, laughing nervously. “I already gave my report. It’s very unlikely I was truly dead at any point.” She sighed, glancing at the book. “I am not so sure that’s what the masses think. That’s why Mother Giselle lent me the book. She thought stories of other religious figures might… inspire me, I suppose.” 

“And do they?” Cullen asked softly. He could sense the conflict in her, but didn’t want to push her in one direction or another. Being looked to for leadership was an immense, painful thing, whatever the reason. 

Thalia shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re right, they sound like fictional characters, most of them. Do you think there’s truly been a secret Chantry in Par Vollen for centuries that no one has been able to find, run by an knight-errant Chantry mother?” 

“I suppose stranger things have happened,” Cullen conceded, “but no, I found the accounts of Prester Johanna far-fetched, as well.” 

“As far-fetched as being the Herald of Andraste,” Thalia huffed. “Is this how I’m going to be remembered in the history books? Some mythical figure no one can believe in?” 

“I think that may depend on you,” Cullen said carefully. “We have ways of crafting the narrative around you, but your own deeds and decrees, how you treat others… that’s as telling as the rest.” He smiled in spite of himself. “I think so far, most have wanted to follow you because you give them something to believe in. Your compassion and drive inspire them. Tales of defying death, or slaying dragons, that may come later, but… it’s who you are that makes the most impact.” 

Thalia was looking at him curiously as he spoke. Cullen cut himself off with an embarrassed sigh. “Forgive me, sometimes I do think I like to pontificate a touch too—” 

“No, no, it’s all right. I like listening to you.” Thalia chewed her bottom lip and looked down. “Thank you, Commander. That’s good food for thought.” 

“Right.” Why was Cullen’s heart thumping like that? She didn’t seem to think him a fool, though he certainly felt like one. “I’ll leave you to your convalescence.” 

“You could stay, if you like,” Thalia suggested brightly. “I could read to you. Saint Sylvester was just about to team up with two elven apostates to fight the dragon terrorizing Vyrantium.” 

Cullen hesitated. He had maps to pour over, losses to calculate, casualties to report to Knight-Captain Rylen. As of late, however, when it became difficult to concentrate, he dug through the trunk of his that had survived the Haven onslaught. He sat on the floor of his tent and, with trembling hands, contemplated the one vial of glowing cerulean that sang to him under tunics and greaves and letters from home. He’d been so parched lately, and no amount of mountain fresh ice water could quench it. 

“You’re busy,” Thalia decided, before he could answer. “I understand.” 

Cullen swallowed thickly. “Sometime soon, perhaps. Once we’ve reached this castle Solas has promised us.” 

“Of course.” The book was back in her lap, her eyes straying from his. “Have a good night, Commander.” 

“Yes.” He stifled a sigh, turning to leave. He felt more stupid than ever. “You as well, Lady Thalia.” 

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Glorious Liberty

by Charles Spurgeon

Our Father, we bless Thy name that we can say from the bottom of our hearts, “Abba, Father.” It is the chief joy of our lives that we have become the children of God by faith which is in Christ Jesus and we can in the deep calm of our spirit say, “Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth as in heaven.”

Lord, we thank Thee for the liberty which comes to our emancipated spirit through the adoption which Thou hast made us to enjoy. When we were in servitude the chains were heavy, for we could not keep Thy law. There was an inward spirit of rebellion. When the commandment came, it irritated our corrupt nature and sin revived and we died.

Even when we had some strivings after better things, yet the power that was in us lusted into evil, and the spirit of the Hagarene was upon us. We wanted to fly from the Father’s house. We were wild men, men of the wilderness, and we loved not living in the Father’s house.

O God, we thank Thee that we have not been cast out. Indeed, if Thou hadst then cast out the child of the bondwoman Thou hadst cast us out, but now through sovereign grace all is altered with us. Blessed by Thy name. It is a work of divine power and love over human nature, for now we are the children of the promise, certainly not born according to the strength of the human will, or of blood, or of birth, but born by the Holy Ghost through the power of the Word, begotten again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, children of the Great Father who is in heaven, having His life within us. Now, like Isaac, we are heirs according to promise and heirs of the promise, and we dwell at home in the Father’s house and our soul is satisfied as with marrow and fatness, and our mouth shall praise Thee as with joyful lips.

O God, we would not change places with angels, much less with kings of the earth. To be indeed Thy sons and daughters—the thought of it doth bring to our soul a present heaven and the fruition of it shall be our heaven, to dwell forever in the house of the Lord and go no more out, but to be His sons and His heirs forever and ever.

Our first prayer is for others who as yet are in bondage. We thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast given them the spirit of bondage and made them to fear. We are glad that they should be brought to feel the evil of sin, to feel the perfection of Thy law, to know something of the fiery nature of Thy justice, and so to be shut up unto salvation by grace through faith. But, Lord, let them not tarry long under the pedagogue, but may the schoolmaster with his rod bring them to Christ.

Lord, cure any of Thy chosen of self-righteousness. Deliver them from any hope in their own abilities, but keep them low. Bring them out of any hope of salvation by their own prayers or their own repentance. Bring them to cast themselves upon Thy grace to be saved by trusting in Christ. Emancipate them from all observance of days, weeks, months, years, and things of human institution, and bring them into the glorious liberty of the children of God that Thy law may become their delight, Thyself become their strength, their all, Thy Son become their joy and their crown. We do pray this with all our hearts.

Lord, deliver any of Thy children from quarrelling with Thee. Help us to be always at one with our God. “It is the Lord; let Him do what seemeth Him good,” and blessed be His name forever and ever.

God, bless our country, and the sister country across the flood, and all lands where Thy name is known and reverenced, and heathen lands where it is unknown. God, bless the outposts, the first heralds of mercy, and everywhere may the Lord’s kingdom come and His name be glorified. Glory be unto the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

[star--nymph]

look man you can do whatever you want with Inquisitions narrative all you want but the fact that it leans perfectly into the dehumanization of worship and becoming a symbol is perfect for Eurydice, who has been an object all her life

the constant unpredictability of her father, calling her his 'jewel' one second and his 'empty thing' the next, either a object of pride or abuse, but either way always an object, a thing, a mistake, a piece of a beautiful, broken piece of property 

the rejection by the clan that refused to see her parents for her they were and therefore refused to see her as a full child or person--just a strange bird at best, a troublemaker, creepy, cold, cruel, damaged, dangerous, a shadow to gawk at and level suspicious glares at, because Lycus and Ismene speak of the trouble with that one, that one causes them such headaches, that one's eyes are off, that one must be as dull as she looks, it's a shame to her parent's names, but at least that one is beautiful. At least she's nice to look at occasionally.

being placed in the position of the First despite the discontent in the clan, robotically going through the motions for duty's sake because duty is all she has, loyalty to the clan, to her family, to her Keeper, that if she performs right, there will be a nod of approval, she will be liked, left alone to her own devices, maybe even understood, but it never comes. She is a good student but a poor First--they whisper to each other that they hope a mage is born among them soon, or they must go to another clan for a new one. Can't have that one be the Keeper. Deshanna is mad and blinded by her own affection. She can't see what that is.

she leaves, for duty, she gets a taste of personhood for a few months, she wanders the world and feels an identity being grown past daughter, sister, mage, first, jewel, thing--

and then conclave explodes and the shemlings capture her, the imprison, they worship her, and they crown her

and she's only a fully realized person to a few of them--and even then there's a habit of them still trying to dehumanization her for the sake of the Inquisition as an agenda--Sera talks about the little people and how Eury can't forget about them, but she has issues seeing Eurydice past her position as "elfy" or "Inky. Vivienne, Mother Giselle, and Varric struggle between Eurydice the Inquisitor and Eurydice the Person; they both recognize that her personhood doesn't matter here, as much as it should. Eurydice as a person can't survive against the persona of the Inquisitor and as much they both want to tell her to save herself, in order for the Inquisition to prosper, she can't BE an individual, she has to be a commodity that keeps the world captivated. Something akin to a holy relic. 

Cassandra and on a lesser note, Leliana, are almost desperate for Eurydice to be a prophet despite her denying that every breath she takes. Them looking at her, an elf with God's of her own, having to live with the possibility that the Maker choose her doesn't work with what they know, what they want, but they'll make it work. It's why Cassandra asks Eurydice "Is there no room in your pantheon for one more god" because yes Cassandra IS tossing aside Eurydice's own beliefs because in the chantry's eyes, the elven pantheon doesn't matter but also it's not even about that for Cassandra. It's about HER comfort, HER faith, her need for Eurydice to take on the role as a Herald in a specific way to justify her faith

and Solas? Solas watches on and I think stays, at least in part, because he knows what he just sacrificed in Eurydice's name. She may not have died at the Conclave, but he killed her in a way. It may have been what was done to him all those years ago, when the rebels made him into the Dread Wolf and had his own name forgotten to time and dreams. Gods aren't people. They are beyond such things.

and Eurydice lives with it, stripped down every second of every day when they call her: Inquisitor, Herald, Your Worship, Lady Lavellan, The Banshee, Witch, The First, Jewel, Thing. What is she if not a doll, one posed this way and that for the will of an society that is just waiting to chop off her ears and portray her as human?

and when someone uses her name and sees Eurydice as a thinking, breathing person, her first instinct is to think she must have tricked them

because if everyone else only saw her as a thing, then it must be true, right?

[traumacatholic]

Can I please ask you and your followers to pray for me? I didn't have the best half a year in school, and now I'm set for a final exam which determines if I'm allowed to stay. I have to present my research findings which are not as satisfactory as I had hoped. I certainly could have done better but found myself struggling with the most basic tasks. I would really appreciate praying to find strength to finish (less than a month to this exam) and to be allowed to stay. Thank you...

Of course, I hope that your academic studies go well for you. May God bless you and soothe your anxieties, may He guide your studying and work. You might also get some value out of these prayers:

Prayer of A Student

Christ my Lord, the Giver of light and wisdom, who opened the eyes of the blind man and transformed the fishermen into wise heralds and teachers of the gospel through the coming of the Holy Spirit, shine also in my mind the light of the grace of the Holy Spirit. Grant me discernment, understanding and wisdom in learning. Enable me to complete my assignments and to abound in every good work, for to You I give honor and glory. Amen.

Prayers Before Study

Most blessed Lord, send the grace of Your Holy Spirit on me to strengthen me that I may learn well the subject I am about to study and by it become a better person for Your glory, the comfort of my family and the benefit of Your Church and our Nation. Amen.

Christ, the true light, who enlightens and sanctifies every person coming into the world, let the light of Your countenance shine upon me that I may see Your unapproachable light; and guide my steps in the way of Your commandments, through the intercessions of Your all-holy Mother and of all the Saints. Amen.

Prayer After Study

I thank You, Lord our God, that again on this occasion You have opened my eyes to the light of Your wisdom. You have gladdened my heart with the knowledge of truth. I entreat You, Lord, help me always to do Your will. Bless my soul and body, my words and deeds. Enable me to grow in grace, virtue and good habits, that Your name may be glorified, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, now and forever. Amen.

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Irori: The Old Man

CR 15

Lawful Neutral Medium Outsider

Inner Sea Gods, pg. 294

Yes, Lawful Neutral. I know, I know, he's not technically the Herald of a Good-aligned god, but I myself have trouble conceptualizing Irori as Evil-leaning, and Master Roshi the Old Man here is noted to only ever want to help and to motivate his students. Yes, one can take Irori's doctrine of self-perfection in a negative light (how many villains do you know fight just for the sake of fighting and becoming stronger?), and the Old Man can just as well choose to teach an evil student instead of a good one, but almost every piece of supplemental material about Irori signals that he leans towards Good, from his Monks and Paladins archetypes leaning Good, to his personal rules for Quivering Palm allowing a nonlethal option, to his divine servants stalking prey like a proper tiger only to bap them once with their paws and let their prey run off free... all the way to his Champions being restricted to Lawful Good. That last one's pretty convincing.

Anyway, onto the Old Man. Unlike most Heralds, the life of the Old Man before he became the Herald of Irori is basically nonexistent, with no hints as to who he was or if he even existed at all before Irori created him. He may simply be a divine construct born into existence by the Master of Masters, or he may have been the old master to Irori himself before he ascended. This isn't the only unusual bit about him: also unlike most Heralds, the Old Man freely wanders the world where Irori's faith is building, seeking out pupils to instruct in the ways of the Master of Masters. His teaching methods and even his entire personality changes depending on what his chosen pupil or pupils need the most, and while he's among mortals, he himself limits his powers to those of a mortal which his advanced age would suggest, so as not to discourage his limited students with his true superhuman might. This does come with a few drawbacks, but none he hasn't already considered; many times his mortal form has been beaten and even killed in pitched combat... though always to provide motivation to a student of significant promise.

Yes, he can pull the Mentor Occupational Hazard trope out on himself, and has done so many times in order to give a specific student a much-needed kick in the pants. As the Old Man reforms unharmed in Axis each time he dies as a mortal (dying in his true celestial shape is much harder to come back from), it's not even all that inconvenient for him. The only real pain he feels is if he looks upon the student he died for and sees a lack of improvement... which may prompt many spiritual or dream-based visits. The Old Man lives and breathes fulfilling every trope one expects of any old master in a martial arts movie in cycles lasting years at a time, something I find charming.

Of course, when I say every trope, I of course not only mean Old Master... but Awakening the Sleeping Giant for those moments when the Old Man shrugs off his mortal disguise and unveils fists that can dent steel.

I gave the Hand of the Inheritor a lot of guff for being an angel with Paladin class levels, but in truth I was mostly annoyed that he didn't get any of the good class abilities, or any class abilities which made him interesting to talk about at length. The Old Man is an immediate improvement in that regard, because instead of having some Monk abilities, he has all of them.

It made me laugh to see that the Hand of the Inheritor's heavy armored form and heavy steel shield actually gave him 32 AC, which is less AC than the simple robed Old Man, and that's because the Old Man--whom I will be referring to as TOM from now on--has +4 AC from being a Monk and can add his Wisdom modifier to it, bringing his AC up to a considerably more impressive 37 (with a TOUCH AC of 35). TOM has more AC than almost any other Herald! Killing the TOM as a mortal is a tough feat, but killing him in his true form? Hell, just hurting him is a mountain of a task. Even making it past his AC and his honestly impressive saves (+10/+20/+20 WITH Improved Evasion), he's got DR 10/Chaotic protecting him... and 30 Resistance to every element except Force. And if you DO damage him? That's what his 3/day Heal is for, just to spit in your eye.

And he's not just resilient, he's mobile. With Air Walk, Water Walk, and Dimension Door available to him 7/day and the ability to walk near as fast as a human can move at full sprint (80ft movespeed, and 30ft of both climb and swim), there's little one can do to escape from him once his ire is roused except, perhaps, tunneling away. Thankfully, he's still quite vulnerable to all manner of restraints, lacking both Freedom of Movement and, strangely, any ranks in Escape Artist... But to take advantage of that, you first have to survive him long enough for him to fail a save.

TOM has a frightening offense, as one can expect from a 16th level Monk stapled onto the resilient frame of a powerful Outsider. That staff of his is just for decoration; he doesn't use weapons at all unless he's giving his opponents a measure of mercy. While unarmed, he can throw out up to four unarmed strikes for 2d8+5 damage each... or he can perform a Flurry of Blows, sending out seven such attacks, plus one extra one if he spends one of his 18 Ki points, plus one more if he's used one of his 3 castings of Haste on himself for a grant total of a potential nine attacks. 2d8+5 for a single attack isn't special, but 18d8+45 (with the damage averaging out to around 140) with the ability to bypass 5 different types of Damage Reduction is likely to be enough to humble whatever beast pushed TOM into battle.

Against foes that have a ranged advantage against him, or if he has the ranged advantage against them, he can also flick flick up to four pebbles every round for a humiliating 1d3+5 damage. They're not even magic, they're literally just stones he can pick up off the ground and hurl with the force of a bullet, and he has as many of them as he needs.

Of course, like all Monks, his frightening offense is somewhat mitigated by the fact it's tied to attacks which decrease in accuracy as they're thrown out; he has no magical accuracy modifiers or even Weapon Focus, so a DM wanting to up his challenge a little bit can get away with giving him an Amulet of Mighty Fists or similar. His most accurate attack is a modest +20, but his least accurate attack is a pitiful +5, which at this level means his final blow is unlikely to actually hit any level-appropriate foes wearing modest medium armor. Unarmored or light-armored is far more likely, but his main prey are creatures hovering around the 10~12 Hit Dice range, which is where the party is going to be if they ever face TOM as a boss.

But if your AC is too high, he can always just make it lower. He's a 16th level Monk, so TOM can throw out 16 Stunning Fists every day, potentially locking down a single target for the entire battle if he just keeps combo-hitting them and they keep failing the DC 28 Fortitude save. While he lacks the power to fully paralyze a target, he can also swap out the stun for fatigue (which turns to exhaustion if the victim is hit twice), a 1d6+1 round stagger, or permanent blindness or deafness. Every single option benefits him as much as the stun does, with exhaustion robbing foes of their damage, staggering severely limiting their options for at least 2 rounds, blindness making him much harder to hit (and cast spells at), and deafness being extremely damaging to spellcasters, Bards, and teammates relying on coordinating with one another.

The fun icing on the cake, though, is that he doesn't need to actually do damage. He's got a feat suite of nonlethal options to disarm, disable, debilitate, and humiliate anyone who tries attacking him: Improved Disarm to throw your weapons aside, Trip to throw you off your balance, and Grapple to just throw you, with the seldom-seen Greater Grapple waiting in the wings to let him wrestle with superhuman speed and proficiency... or just Stunning Fist the snot out of anyone he's got in a headlock.

In a one-on-one fight against similarly powerful foes, TOM is almost unbeatable due to his long list of options to demean and debuff his enemies, and even full parties can struggle against his towering stats and staggering damage... unless, of course, you have some method of staggering him, or simply continuously step out of his reach. A nine attack flurry with a menagerie of debuffs attached is quite scary, but he's a Medium creature with Medium reach; he's insanely fast--especially with Haste--and incredibly mobile through almost every terrain, but his speed means nothing if you just keep moving 10ft back and denying him his Full-Attack. This isn't a reliable tactic, mind, and eventually you WILL lose (his Regen 15 will outpace your single attacks) unless you do something to hold him still or debuff him; he has high saves and 26 SR, but no immunity to paralysis, negative levels, death effects, or mind-affecting effects, so if luck is on your side, you may yet prevail.

Say, what's the average saving throw for a 10th~12th-level caster's most powerful spell? 24? ... Okay, maybe you'll need a lot of luck on your side. But it's still possible!

You can read more about him here.

[fantasyinallforms]

For April Alphabet, I'd love to see your take on "Languages", if you feel up to it!!

Thank you Razzy! This was fun 🥰 Holy smokes I actually managed to write a drabble under 1k words! (hopefully, this isn't too short but the scene felt right.)

This is for the April @fellowshipofthefics alphabet event!

This is Bagginshield spicy but not explicit. Khuzdul translations are at the bottom.

~~~~

“Try and sound it out one more time.”

“No, no, Thorin, I’m sorry, but my brain can't do more of this right now; we’ve been at it for hours.” Bilbo rubbed his hands over his eyes and fell backward onto the bed dramatically. Thorin chuckled and put down the paper he was holding. 

“You’re doing great, ghivashel. You have the words down.” Thorin remarked encouragingly  

“Yes, but I can't seem to put them into sentences! The moment I try and string them together, my tongue ties itself into knots! I’m going to make an absolute fool of myself.” Bilbo closed his eyes. When he opened them, Thorin had climbed on top of him, his hair falling in a curtain around them both. 

“You’ve only been practicing for five months; why this sudden rush?” Thorin’s breath was warm, and it smelled like pipeweed. Bilbo leaned up to meet Thorin’s lips taking petty pleasure in the small moan it elicited. Bilbo barely registered Thorin's hands caressing his arms until he finally broke the kiss and found himself pinned by the wrists to the bed. He tried to arch up but to no avail. 

“Don’t think you’re going to get out of the question so easily, amral.” Thorin had a twinkle in his eye that would have been annoying if it wasn't so charming.

“We only have one more month until the wedding. There will be foreign dwarves from all over Arda. I don't want to embarrass you by being a Khuzdbâha that has lived among dwarrow for over a year and has yet to learn his beloved’s language.” Part of Bilbo wanted to look away in shame but being pinned to the bed as he was it would do him no good. Thorin let out an audible moan.

“I love hearing Khuzdul words tumble from your lips, ibin abnâmul.” Thorin bent down to kiss and nip at the soft skin of Bilbo’s neck. “Don't worry yourself with the guests at our wedding. They will not judge you based on your ability to speak our language. This past year, you had a lot to do, namely helping rebuild a kingdom. Most of them will herald you as a hero. Besides, it won't matter what they think. You’ll be royalty.” Thorin pinned both of Bilbo’s wrists above his head with one hand and used the other to press him into the mattress. “I could teach you some new phrases right now if you’d let me.” 

“You know I can understand more than I can speak, right.” 

“Then see if you can remember the word for what you will be when I’m done with you.” Thorin’s voice was a low purr.

“Wait, I remember that one it’s Mamahmarlûn!” The word was cut off by the sound of Bilbo’s whimper as Thorin nibbled on the tip of his ear and slid his hands under his shirt.

 Studying could wait.

~~~~~~~

ghivashel- Treasure of treasures

Khuzdbâha- Dwarf Friend

amral- Love

ibin abnâmul- Beautiful Gem

Mamahmarlûn- He who has been made love to

[beardedmrbean]

Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi has inaugurated a grand temple to Hindu god Ram in the flashpoint city of Ayodhya.

He said it heralded "a new era" for India - the temple replaces a 16th-Century mosque torn down by Hindu mobs in 1992, sparking riots in which nearly 2,000 people died.

Top film stars and cricketers were among guests at the event in Ayodhya.

But some Hindu seers and most of the opposition boycotted it, saying Mr Modi was using it for political gain.

General elections are due in India in the next few months and Mr Modi's political rivals say the governing Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) will be seeking votes in the temple's name in a country where 80% of the population is Hindu.

Critics have also accused the government of exploiting a religious celebration in a country which - according to its constitution - is secular. For Muslims, India's biggest minority, the event evoked fear and painful memories, members of the community in Ayodhya told the BBC in the run-up to Monday's ceremony.

Televised live, it showed Mr Modi performing religious rituals inside the temple's sanctum along with priests and Mohan Bhagwat, head of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) - the ideological fountainhead of Hindu nationalist parties.

The complex history of India's Ayodhya holy site

Transforming a flashpoint holy city into the ‘Hindu Vatican’

"Today's date will go down in history," Mr Modi said after the event. "After years of struggle and countless sacrifices, Lord Ram has arrived [home]. I want to congratulate every citizen of the country on this historic occasion."

The temple has been constructed at a cost of $217m (£170m), funded from private donations. Only the ground floor was opened - the rest is expected to be completed by the end of the year. The construction work is part of a revamp for the city, estimated to cost more than $3bn.

The building of the Ram temple in Ayodhya fulfils a decades-long Hindu nationalist pledge. Many Hindus believe the Babri mosque was built by Muslim invaders on the ruins of a temple where the Hindu god was born.

The movement to build the temple helped propel the BJP into political prominence in the 1990s.

There was a festive atmosphere as tens of thousands of chanting Hindu devotees waved flags and beat drums - military helicopters showered flower petals on the temple. Saffron flags with pictures of Lord Ram line streets in the city festooned with marigolds, as do banners with the faces of Mr Modi and Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath.

Some of India's biggest celebrities, including Bollywood star Amitabh Bachchan and cricketer Sachin Tendulkar, attended.

Temple rises from ruins of one of India’s darkest days

Listen: The temple at the heart of Modi's India re-election bid

Transforming a flashpoint holy city into the ‘Hindu Vatican’

In many other northern cities Hindus lit lamps, and saffron flags carrying images of Ram are fluttering on rooftops, including in several parts of Delhi. Cinemas screened the event, and big screens relayed pictures from Ayodhya to town squares and residential neighbourhoods.

The ceremony, called Pran Pratishtha, which loosely translates from Sanskrit into "establishment of life force", lasted about an hour. Hindus believe that chanting mantras and performing rituals around a fire will infuse sacred life in an idol or a photograph of a deity.

Several domestic TV stations built huge sets by the side of the river Saryu, a tributary of the Ganges, just behind the temple, and provided wall-to-wall coverage of the event, some proclaiming the moment of consecration as the start of "Ram Rajya" (Lord Ram's rule) in India.

Hindus celebrated the inauguration in other countries too. Massive billboards of Lord Ram graced Times Square in New York, where a group of devotees braved the freezing weather to gather in the middle of the night.

Temples all across the United Kingdom - where Indians are one of the largest diaspora groups - marked the event. Colourful posters had been shared inviting devotees to honour the occasion and celebrations involved flowers, sweets and music. There were also some celebrations in Muslim-majority Dubai - where Indians are a significant population - but from Indian news reports these appeared more muted than elsewhere.

In 2019, the Supreme Court gave the disputed land to Hindus after a protracted legal battle followed the mosque's demolition. Muslims were given a plot outside the city for a mosque but have yet to build one.

One member of the community the BBC spoke to in Ayodhya ahead of Monday's inauguration agreed that Hindus have the right to build the temple after the Supreme Court gave them the site.

"We did not accept that decision happily, but what can we do," he said. Another man said he was happy Hindus are building the temple - "but we are also sad because it was built after destroying a mosque".

The new three-storey temple - made with pink sandstone and anchored by black granite - stretches across 7.2 acres in a 70-acre complex. A 51-inch (4.25-ft) statue of the deity, specially commissioned for the temple, was unveiled last week. The idol has been placed on a marble pedestal in the sanctum sanctorum.

Thousands of police were deployed for Monday's event, despite Mr Modi having appealed to pilgrims not to turn up and to watch the ceremony on television. In many states a full or half day holiday was called, with schools and colleges closed and stock markets shut.

The build-up to a demolition that shook India

The man who helped Lord Ram win the Ayodhya case

But a sour note was struck with some top religious seers saying that as the temple was not yet complete, it was against Hinduism to perform the rituals there, and many opposition leaders deciding to stay away.

Some opposition-ruled states also announced their own plans for the day - West Bengal Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee said she would pray at the iconic temple to goddess Kali in Kolkata and then lead an all-faith rally. The eastern state of Odisha (Orissa) unveiled huge plans to bring pilgrims to the Jagannath temple in Puri, one of the holiest sites for Hindus.

Authorities say they expect more than 150,000 visitors per day once the temple in Ayodhya is fully ready.

To accommodate this expected rush, new hotels are being built and existing ones spruced up as part of a major makeover and in recent weeks, a new airport and railway station have opened.

Officials say they are building a "world-class city where people come as pilgrims and tourists", but many local people have told the BBC that their homes, shops and "structures of religious nature" have been either completely or partially demolished to expand roads and set up other facilities.

[thenwhokilledtheworld]

From The Light Sent Down Chapter 11. Those Who Share The Blood

The canopy over the entrance to Kara Kara Bazaar is scarlet, embroidered with golden thread, so the sandstone under their feet, Sonia’s hair, and the late afternoon sun are all cast in scarlet. Tassels on the edges of the canopy bounce and sway in the breeze blowing over the dunes. A Gerudo with the sides of her head shaved and the rest in a long braid waves a fan made of Molduga fins to cool the air under the canopy. They are waiting to be announced and let into the gate. In this time, Kara Kara Bazaar is walled in, and is nearly the size that Gerudo Town is in her own time. It’s still the one settlement in all the desert where males are permitted entrance, which is why it’s been chosen for the feast at the end of Sonia’s diplomatic tour of Hyrule. Chief Ganondorf should be letting them in at any moment.

“Some delay now,” Bronwyn grumbles through thin lips.

“I think diplomacy is the part of chieftainship he likes the least,” Sonia replies, the ghost of a laugh curling the corners of her mouth. “My little brother would rather be with his books or his soldiers than wining and dining emissaries, unfortunately. We will have to be excellent guests.”

“So no second helpings of dessert?” Asks a crestfallen Danylo.

“Oh, no, I think second helpings are almost mandatory, don’t you? It pays a compliment to our host. I would suggest thirds if you can manage it.”

Zelda hopes that Gerudo desserts will be as good in this time as they are in her own. She has not had any fruitcake at all for several months, which is entirely too long. Only the Gerudo could think of something as wonderful as sponge cake and fruit and whipped cream soaked in cactus fruit liquor. She wonders if anyone will mind if she has four slices all to herself.

A low horn blares a note that echoes over the wall. The Gerudo holding the fan bows deeply to Sonia and says, “Your Holiness. The gates will open momentarily.”

“Come, everyone,” says Sonia. The priestesses array behind her. She dusts off her dress and straightens her crown of golden leaves. Rauru has remained behind, still visiting with the other Zonai. He’ll rejoin them once they’re on their way back to the Great Plateau. Sonia had thought it unwise to have Rauru join them in the Gerudo Desert, since Ganondorf was so wary of Zonai. Sonia still wears her Secret Stone on a chain of bronze and white beads, though, a reminder to all of the power that had been given to her both by the Zonai and the Goddess. She is glowing that evening. It is not even two months before the time for the baby to be born.

On nights like these it’s easy for Link’s absence to feel like a bearable weight. She doesn’t constantly wish to be alone or have to force herself to smile. It’s easy to believe that one day, soon, her power will be enough to carry her home. She has to hope that it’s more than just a comforting feeling.

The gates swing open. Another horn blast ushers them in. They walk through a short tunnel past rows of Gerudo guards standing at attention, although not kneeling, into a large courtyard lit by dozens of burning torches and filled with long, low tables burdened with a rainbow of food and surrounded by jewel-colored cushions. Palm trees planting beneath the paving stones surround the feasting area. Servers wait in archways to the sides with more platters of choice meats and cups of wine. The heralds lower their horns. The whole feasting area is filled with a riot of people from all over Hyrule, almosts none of them Hylian: Rito and Gorons and Zora, many of whom Zelda remembers from their travels. Sefa, the Zora queen. Rondan, the Goron headman. More soldiers along the walls stand and salute when Sonia enters. The Rito elder, an old and reedy character who mainly resembles a duck, is seated on an especially large cushion and talking on and on to Leto, the chief of the Rito archers. Several Zora are reclining at table eating grapes and lemon custard. At the foot of a raised platform bearing a jeweled chair is Ganondorf himself, wearing a long scarlet robe and his hair in what seems like a hundred golden pins and clasps. It’s the first time she’s seen him not bearing his sword.

There are no Hylians besides the priestesses and Zelda. Ganondorf had asked that the feasting be limited to non-Hylians, since none of them had been warring against each other in the last few decades, and he was uncertain about how civil his own people could be toward the Faronese especially. At least, that was how Sonia had explained their conversation. Zelda is not sure, looking at the Kara Kara courtyard, that they could have even fit more people.

“Sister,” he greets Sonia. A hush falls over the already anticipating crowd. Then they bow, all of them, with Ganondorf giving Sonia a deep nod. She lifts her face skyward and lets the amber light of the setting sun shine on her electrum-colored hair. She wears the role of priestess and High Queen wonderfully well.

“The Gerudo bid you welcome.”

“I thank you, brother, for extending your hospitality to us. My priestesses are weary after so many weeks on the road. And thank you, all of you, for coming to join us this evening. It was an honor to come and visit you and Hyrule, and an additional honor that you would make the journey to the southwest for this banquet.” A Gerudo servant in a long filmy veil rushes over with a goblet of something golden and translucent. Sonia takes it from her with a polite and quiet thank you. Ganondorf has been given his own cup by another server. They lift the goblets toward each other.

“To Hyrule.”

“To Sonia.”

They each drink. The crowd erupts into applause.

Several Gerudo attendants escort Sonia to sit beside her brother. A quartet in one corner strikes up a song on drum, flute, and sithar. Several high-ranking Gerudo sitting near Ganondorf sing along to the music. No one comes to lead the priestesses to their seats. It doesn’t seem like anyone except Sonia and Ganondorf really have their own seats. A young Rito girl and two Zora children are all sitting on one cushion, scarfing down their food. The Gorons are seated with several Gerudo warriors, talking about their preferred ways of killing Lizalfos. It’s much less rigid than the Zonai banquet had been, although no less splendid.

“Shall we sit with the Gerudo? It seems only appropriate,” Zelda suggests. She is personally wondering if her ability with the Gerudo language in her own time will translate to any proficiency in this one.

“Would you mind if I sat with the Rito?” asks Chanti, who is from Faron and is nervously clutching at Ana’s sleeve.

“Yes, let’s spread out,” Ana agrees.

“I’ll come with you, Zelda,” says Danylo.

“Hmph,” says Bronwyn, who has not been enjoying the dry desert air or the harsh sun, and who goes to join several Zora elders and two older Gerudo women sitting in the shade of a date palm.

Zelda and Danylo find two cushions right beside Sonia and Ganondorf’s seats with a group of Gerudo warriors in formal uniforms and one in a white sari with an emerald at her throat.

“Are you a new priestess?” asks one of the warriors, eyeing Zelda’s mushroom-printed tunic. The look the warrior gives her is an almost-successful attempt at bland politeness that reminds Zelda exactly of Link’s response to her enjoyment of mushroom clothes. Link’s response to her coming home one day with a mushroom-printed lavender dress with enormous pockets was to hmm through thin lips and then to say, it has pockets. She had once overheard him telling Sidon that Cece was committing ‘blasphemy against perfectly good mushrooms.’ She misses him. The Secret Stone burns against her chest, her one way home. Danylo looks at her with veiled concern.

“Ah, no, actually. I’m Zelda. I’m a, a friend of her majesty. And you?”

“Iqra.”

“I’m Danylo.”

“Saira,” says another warrior.

“Farafh,” says a third.

“I am Captain Jarailu,” says the woman in the white sari. “General of the Chief’s battalions.”

Zelda notices a ceremonial but wicked-looking scimitar at Captain Jarailu’s hip, thinner but longer than Urbosa’s preferred blade.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” says Zelda.

“The honor is all ours,” Jarailu answers. Where Urbosa would have answered with a quip and an echoing laugh, Jarailu is stiff and formal, constantly sweeping her eyes across the perimeter of the courtyard. “I hope your journey wasn’t too tiring.”

“Not in the least. I’m very happy to be on solid ground again. The Zonai city was so high up,” Danylo declares. She sips at her drink.

“The view of the desert was incredible, though.” Zelda enthuses. “Queen Sonia pointed out all of the towns and the great pyramid to us. I couldn’t believe how enormous the pyramid was! We could see the steps even from the sky. And we watched the sun set over the desert. It was so beautiful.”

“The Zonai keep that view all to themselves, huh?” says Iqra. Jarailu shoots her a look of brief annoyance.

“They were very kind hosts,” Zelda replies, wishing she were a more adept politician. Sonia, a dozen feet away, gives Zelda a momentary but encouraging smile. “I’m sure they would be happy to have the Gerudo as their guests.”

“It is very high up, though,” Danylo reminds them.

“It might be nice someday,” says Saira.

“Peace does have its benefits,” says Jarailu.

“While it lasts,” says Iqra, lightly. “Oh look, cake.”

A server stands over their low table. When the server sets a plate down in front of Zelda, she can practically hear the voice of her etiquette tutor telling her to not pull faces. It’s supposed to be fruitcake. She thinks . She’s honestly not sure. It looks like burnt scrambled eggs baked in a bread tin. There is no whipped cream and no fresh fruit. Instead, the sponge is packed full of fruit, among which she can only identify bananas and raisins. Zelda hates raisins. She forks off the smallest bite possible and raises it to her mouth. There is not even any cactus liquor in it; instead it’s dry as chalk. Zelda has to chug her wine in an unladylike manner to be able to choke the miserable stuff down. First there is the dessert-less Zonai banquet and now this, an even worse outrage against dessert. Even the aftertaste is enough to make Zelda’s eyes water.

“Lady Zelda, are you well?” asks Captain Jarailu.

“Very,” Zelda croaks.

After a course of heart soup and pickled hydromelon, Zelda is able to claim when asked that she is simply too full from the other delicious food to finish her fruitcake. At the table, they make small talk of the weather and their families, and Zelda learns that Archaic Gerudo and the Gerudo she knows have almost nothing in common except for grammatical structure. Another server comes around with plates of pit-roasted tenderloin, setting one in front of Saira, Danylo, Iqra, and Jarailu, but by the time she gets to Zelda and Danylo, her platter is empty.

“My apologies,” she says, lowering her eyes. “I will see if there is more.”

Apparently there isn’t. All around the courtyard, Zelda overhears other servers giving murmured apologies to the guests. There is a plate before Queen Sefa, but not before any of her warriors. There’s one for the Rito elder and for Teba, but not for the Rito children playing by the musicians. She takes a quick look over her shoulder and sees several of the guests lifting their empty cups to servers who don’t seem to notice them. The conversations buzz and lull. Sonia leans over to Ganondorf and says,

“Is something wrong?”

“Perhaps something amiss in the kitchens.” He waves her off. “I’ll have it seen to.”

The evening wears on. The sun goes down. Additional torches are lit along with lamps set among the dishes on the tables. Zelda finds herself listening again to the words exchanged between Sonia and Ganondorf while Danylo goes on and on about something Jarailu is trying heroically to pay attention to.

“I’m sorry if this all was ill-advised,” Sonia frets. “I hope that it didn’t take you unprepared. We could have had the feast elsewhere.”

“I offered,” says Ganondorf evenly. “Now that we are not at the throats of the Hylians every spring, I’m eager to let the rest of, ah, Hyrule see some of our splendors. It’s a pity about the wine.”

“It’s lovely to see you again so soon after the coronation.”

“An honor to host the Queen of Hyrule,” Ganondorf replies. “How do you feel your efforts have been received?”

“Which of my efforts?”

“Toward maintaining the peace.”

“Yes. They’ve gone well, I think. It helps that the clans were the ones who had originally begun the meetings on the Plateau, so there is still much momentum to be had from that. Of course there’s been some violence from smaller groups, but nothing large-scale. I have a great deal of hope that it will succeed.”

“What were the opinions of the Zonai about all of it?”

Sonia laughs. “I think they were happy to hear they’d have more peaceable neighbors. I’m optimistic that there can be more trade with them now that more hands can be occupied with artisanship and farming instead of warmaking.”

“You’re becoming quite the politician.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. There’s so much that I’m sure you know that I don’t. I am becoming quite the diplomat, I think. It’s not so different than being High Priestess. People bringing their problems and needing comfort and answers. I feel I am quite prepared for it. The administrative work, on the other hand… I don’t know that I would have accepted the crown if I’d known how much meeting with advisors and reading accounts there would be.”

Ganondorf chuckles. “You know you’re allowed to have assistance with that sort of thing.”

“One day. I want to make sure I’m familiar with how it all works first. I’d be happy for any of your advice.”

Ganondorf is suddenly somber. Sonia puts her hand on his arm in concern. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s the Zonai I’m worried for,” he tells her.

“What for?”

“I don’t mean to suggest anything about their nature at all, of which I know very little.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sonia, I have commanded armies. You have lived in your Temple where no sword can be drawn since you were fifteen and I was only a boy. There are things you… things I want you to understand.”

“You can tell me what your thoughts are. I don’t want you to feel that you must hold your tongue because I am Queen if that’s what this is.”

“Nothing brings people together like a common enemy,” he says, his voice so quiet that Zelda, close to them as she is, can barely hear it at all. “When they agreed to peace and swore their fealty to you, they gained much; I won’t deny that. But their desire for a common enemy may turn elsewhere. I hope it doesn’t turn outside of Hyrule.”

“You don’t think…”

“I hope not,” he repeats.

“It would be terrible,” she whispers. “I hope it will never come to that.”

“So do I,” says Ganondorf. “I have something to show for our guests.”

He claps his hands together, and the sound is so loud that the conversation across the courtyard halts immediately. He rises from his seat, an imposing figure, still holding out his arms. He steps down from the platform.

“Before some of us retire for the evening,” he announces. “I would like to put on a bit of a demonstration for our honored guests in my sister’s honor.”

The musicians all go silent, all except for the drummer, who keeps a slow and rhythmic beat going as Ganondorf rolls up his sleeves.

He lifts his hands. Tiny glittering lines shoot up from outside the walls toward the night sky. Zelda thinks they’re fireworks at first until they swoop down into the courtyard, darting through the courtyard like fairies. They grow brighter, then there are more of them, then there are glowing spheres rising from the torches, and shadows, dancing and laughing. One of the Zora girls squeals with delight and reaches out to touch an arcing line of magic zig-zagging across the feast table. Every breastplate and earring in the whole courtyard is flashing with the reflection of Ganondorf’s magic. The drum is rejoined by the flute, then the sithar, the music gaining tempo as the magic swirls around the courtyard faster and faster, twisting together into one thread growing upward like a tree, then racing up like an arrow, until it’s just one dot, one little star. It explodes apart and rains down in a hundred streamers, like the biggest firework she’s ever seen.

Zelda does not need a mirror to know that her face is as white as ash. She looks to Sonia, who is laughing and applauding with the rest of them. It’s not the magic itself that makes her stomach turn to lead. It’s the color of the magic. It is as purple-red as the magic that took Link’s arm. It is as crimson as the magic that killed Zelda’s father.

She should have known. She had guessed, but she should have known. She had thought that Ganondorf was named after Calamity Ganon, but no— it is named after him. Perhaps in a way it even is him. Her heart is thunder in her ears. Against her chest, the stone burns like an iron. Sonia will not believe her. Maybe even Rauru will not believe her. What if she has to face this completely alone, without Link, without anyone? And is that not what he’s doing in the future— facing Ganondorf reanimated, completely alone, where she cannot help him? What could they ever do without each other? What can they do against this?

Zelda turns to hide her stricken expression and her shaking hands, but her eye catches on Jarailu, whose face is illuminated in the dying embers of Ganondorf’s display. Her face is like stone, her jaw set, her eyes narrow. The guests think this is only a show, but it’s a threat. Chief Jarailu, captain of Ganondorf’s forces, knows it’s a threat. And she seems none too pleased.

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[orthodoxadventure]

Synaxis of the Archangel Michael and the Other Bodiless Powers

The Synaxis of the Chief of the Heavenly Hosts, Archangel Michael and the Other Heavenly Bodiless Powers: Archangels Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Selaphiel, Jehudiel, Barachiel, and Jeremiel was established at the beginning of the fourth century at the Council of Laodicea, which met several years before the First Ecumenical Council. The 35th Canon of the Council of Laodicea condemned and denounced as heretical the worship of angels as gods and rulers of the world, but affirmed their proper veneration.

A Feastday was established in November, the ninth month after March (with which the year began in ancient times) since there are Nine Ranks of Angels. The eighth day of the month was chosen for the Synaxis of all the Bodiless Powers of Heaven since the Day of the Dread Last Judgment is called the Eighth Day by the holy Fathers. After the end of this age (characterized by its seven days of Creation) will come the Eighth Day, and then “the Son of Man shall come in His Glory and all the holy Angels with Him” (Mt. 25:31).

Over all the Nine Ranks, the Lord appointed the Holy Archangel Michael (his name in Hebrew means “who is like unto God”), the faithful servitor of God, as Chief Commander. He cast down from Heaven the arrogantly proud Lucifer and the other fallen spirits when they rebelled against God. Michael summoned the ranks of angels and cried out, “Let us attend! Let us stand aright before our Creator and do not consider doing what is displeasing unto God!”

Holy Scripture and Tradition give us the names of the Archangels:

Gabriel: strength (power) of God, herald and servitor of Divine omnipotence (Dan 8:16, Luke 1:26). He announces the mysteries of God.

Raphael: the healing of God, the curer of human infirmities (Tobit 3:16, 12:15)

Uriel: the fire or light of God, enlightener (2 Esdras 5:20). We pray for him to enlighten those with darkened minds.

Selaphiel: the prayer of God, impelling to prayer (2 Esdras 5:15). He prays to God for mankind.

Jehudiel: the glorifying of God, encouraging exertion for the glory of the Lord and interceding for the reward of efforts.

Barachiel: distributor of the blessings of God for good deeds, entreats the mercy of God for people.

Jeremiel: the raising up to God (2 Esdras 4:36)

[Source]

[scotianostra]

On September 9th 1543 Mary Queen of Scots was crowned aged just nine months old.

Few details of the occasion exists, but accounts of the coronation record it as a hastily arranged affair, with little of the usual lavishness afforded on such a day, but it was witnessed by Sir Ralph Sadler, English ambassador to Scotland, who reported back to the English King, “is as goodly a child as I have seen of her age, and as like to live, with the Grace of God”. In a letter of 11 September 1543, Sadler wrote to Henry VIII that "the (coronation) ceremony was carried out with such solemnity as they do use in this country, which is not very costly"

According to biographer, John Guy, three items of significance were used during the ceremony. The Earl of Arran carried the crown, the Earl of Lennox held the scepter, and the Earl of Argyll carried the sword of state. The scepter was given to James IV in the 1490s by Pope Alexander VI, and the sword was obtained from Pope Julius II in 1507. The crown had been worn by Mary’s father, James V, at her mother’s coronation in 1540. These three items are known collectively as the honors of Scotland and are still on display at Edinburgh Castle today. However, they were not used together until the coronation of Mary.

The crown was, of course, too big for a baby to wear. Instead, Cardinal David Beaton held the crown over Mary’s head. He also anointed her with holy oil and said a blessing over her during the ceremony.

Traditionally, heralds would read aloud the royal genealogy, a list of titles and honors that could take up to a half an hour to recite. However, the infant queen had a different plan. She squawked and wailed throughout the ceremony, causing the typical proceedings to be cut short.

The coronation may have been a solemn affair, but it was followed by banqueting, masques, and dancing afterward.