#i have captured a fragment of his essence. i believe this can be used to conduct some sort of spell | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ahrorha · 4 years

Text

Flame of Winter

Hey,

I have listened to the Trespasser soundtrack a lot writing these chapters.

I hope I have captured the essence of the chase you go through in pursuit of the Viddasala. ;) I am also very excited to be able to share these last chapters with all of you. As always enjoy.

Chapter 31

The crossroads were brightly lid after the hours they had spent in the dark. Eirlana needed to catch Vivienne, who almost collapsed. Groaning loudly, she held her head and had her eyes shut. Eirlana noticed the others were also struggling, their eyes squinted as they slowly got used to the strange lighting. Somehow they didn't cope well with this environment, whereas herself seemed not to be affected. Rather the total opposite, despite her fatigue, she felt like she could walk for hours on end in this strange landscape.

Steadying Vivienne she slowly followed the others, who were having more difficulty than before to move through this place. Most likely because they were exhausted, bruised and wounded.

When they finally reached the eluvian and entered the Winter Palace again, the Inquisition guards stared at them in shock. It was understandable, they were all drenched by the water and covered with blood, dust and debris. Ryan hurried off, to inform the council, and several scouts went to fetch healing supplies and clean water, so they could tend to their wounds.

Eirlana treated Vivienne first, who was worried that her head wound would leave a scar.

Dorian soon joined them. He gasped when he saw Iron Bull. “Kaffas, what happened to you?”

“Nothing to worry about Kadan.”

“Nothing to wo...” Dorian spluttered. “You have a huge gash across your chest. And that bruise on your shoulder is as big as my head. Sit down!” Carefully he began to wash the wound. “Tell me what did you find. You have been gone for hours.”

“Not much Sparkler.” Varric sat down tiredly and began to refill Bianca with new bolts. “We found a bunch of Qunari using the crossroads. They are here to 'save the South', but how or why we haven't figured out yet. Only that it involves a lyrium mine filled with a lot of bombs. One thing we know for sure is that one of their targets is the Winter Palace and that they are using the eluvians to get here unnoticed.”

“As refreshing as it is to see the Qunari targetting something else than Tevinter for a change. This is alarming. Are they out of their mind? They can't possibly want to start a war with the South.”

Bull grunted as Eirlana took over from Dorian and began to close his wound. “I don't understand it either.” he hissed. “But this can't be a sanctioned action. I would know if they planned something this big in the South.”

“Are you sure, Tiny?” Varric asked. “You have been awfully long gone from your home.” “I am sure. They would need to keep an eye on the Inquisition's movements. They wouldn't attack blindly without knowing who would be here and how many troops we have brought to the Winter Palace.”

“Well, for now, let's get something to eat. I am starving.” Varric said and sent a servant to fetch them some food.

They had just begun to eat when Ryan came running back.

“They have smuggled gaatlok barrels into the Winter Palace.” he panted.

“What?” Varric exclaimed.

“You're shitting me.” Iron Bull said in disbelief.

“Are you sure about this, Inquisitor?” Vivienne asked.

“I am sure. We just intercepted an elven servant transporting one of the barrels. Leliana has her men searching the Palace for more.”

“This is bad.” Iron Bull stood up. “Let me sent word to the Ben-Hassrath. We've got to stop this Dragon's Breath before it goes any further. It can't have been authorised. My people wouldn't do this.”

“Can you tell us anything else about these Qunari?” Ryan asked.

“I know they aren't Ben-Hassrath. They're specialists, working for a Viddasala. Ben-Hassrath handle normal security. The Viddasala's people focus entirely on magic. They find it, study it, and neutralise it. And they must be desperate if they're using eluvians. I'd expect them to shatter any mirror they find. But if this Viddasala has gone rogue, it is possible her people would follow her believing they are obeying the Qun.”

“Go to Josephine and contact your people.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“The rest of you get some rest. We leave again in half an hour. We have found directions that could lead to this Viddasala. We need to find her and stop this insane plan.”

Dorian stepped towards Ryan. “I should come with you?”

“No, stay here in case the Qunari try to access this eluvian while we are gone.”

Reluctantly Dorian nodded and went after Iron Bull to see if he could help with uncovering more of the Qunari's plan.

As soon as they entered the crossroads again, they spotted a group of Qunari running across a newly formed path.

“There! After them!” Ryan yelled, and they all ran to catch up with them.

Eirlana, who wasn't struggling in this environment, soon was up front, and was the first to reach the eluvian, the Qunari must have used. It was surrounded by bookshelves filled with books, some to them lay scattered on the ground along with loose papers and scrolls.

Waiting for the others to catch up, she picked up one of the books. It was filled with random numbers and letters, they shifted slightly as her eyes scanned the page. It was like how she saw books in the Fade. “An eluvian marked by a bookshelf. This should be the place we will find the Viddasala.” Ryan panted as he finally reached the eluvian.

“Good.” Iron Bull drew his Stone-Breaker war hammer. “Time to get some answers.”

Eirlana gasped as they stepped into a massive room, that looked like a library. Sadly it was partially destroyed. The back-end of the room was blown away, and through it, they could see outside into a landscape that looked similar to the crossroads. Several islands were rising from a thick mist, and there was the same strange lighting. What was different were the many buildings and structures, that were built on the islands. She also noticed two big raven statues of Dirthamen, the elven god of secrets and knowledge. If this really was a library, it was fitting to find his statues here.

What was strange though was the air itself. It was charged with magical energy, but it felt erratic and twisted, like traces left by a giant explosion. It had affected everything surrounding them. Every building they saw was severely damaged and broken down, sometimes beyond recognition of what it once was. The damage was so great that Eirlana expected to find rifts here, because whatever and wherever this place was, it had a close connection to the Fade. They could practical see slivers of green Fade energy shimmering in the air. Also, they soon realised that the physics of this place was similar to that of the Fade. Some of the buildings were hanging upside-down, and there was even a waterfall flowing upwards.

Perplexed, Ryan looked around. “Is this some sort of old elven library?”

“It looks like it.” Vivienne agreed. “But it has suffered from a massive magical backlash. There are traces of some ancient magical catastrophe in the air.”

“Let's hope we can track down the Viddasala in all of this.”

Eirlana walked to one of the tables filled with books. Curious, she opened one of them. As she touched the pages, its context slipped into her mind like a vivid memory. Sounds, images, feelings finely interwoven created a scenery as if she had witnessed it herself. She saw how a monument was made in a single afternoon by a thousand-thousand toiling servants swarming over a lump of fallen stone as large as a collapsed mountain. By the end of the day, the stern figure of Elgar'nan stared down into a valley, carved out from the foothills of the rock. The slaves disappeared and a light radiated from the eidolon's narrowed eyes and its open, snarling mouth. 'Hail Elgar'nan, first among the gods! Mark his victory eternal!'

“What are these books?” Varric asked her.

“I think they are not books like we know them. They are more like a vivid memory. Their concept is similar to the mosaics we encountered, telling the story not by words but through magic.” she answered him.

“Hmph. Don't touch any more books.” Ryan said. “We have no time for distractions. We shouldn't linger here any longer than necessary.”

They walked over a destroyed road further into the ruins. It was quickly clear that all but Eirlana were struggling to move in this environment. Though it was not as bad as being in the crossroads. While Eirlana waited for the others, she took her time and looked around. Once this place must have been a marvel to be seen, with grand buildings on the different islands, connected by bridges and eluvians. Now al that was left were ruins and destruction. It was also apparent that the Qunari had explored these parts. She noticed several Qunari on different islands, though it looked like some were trapped. They wandered around aimlessly, trying to find a way back.

“Over there. Is that a spirit?” Ryan asked.

Eirlana blinked, distracted she hadn't noticed the spirit floating further up the path. It looked like it was waiting for them. They stepped closer, although some of their group were more cautious than others.

“Andaran atish'an, mirthadra Elvhen.” it greeted them.

“What does it say?” Ryan turned to Eirlana.

“If you wish, honoured Elvhen, I will speak, so your guests understand.” the spirit replied to him in common. “I am study. I am a learning thirst. Come, know what has not been lost. New words. New stories. The Qunari would not approach, but we learned their words as well. If you wish to exchange knowledge, they congregate by the lower gate.”

Ryan didn't seem pleased that he had to talk to a spirit, but they needed information. “What was this place?”

“This is the Vir Dirthara. The living knowledge of the empire. The libraries of every city. The wisdom of every court. A connecting place whose paths are in disarray. It was made with world and Fade. When they sundered, so did we. Paths broke. Knowledge fragmented. Many were trapped. I preserve their last words.”

“Last words?” Varric asked.

“What happened? Where are the paths? Where are the paths? Gods save me, the floor is gone. Do not let me fall. Do not let me... On this spot, that is all.”

“Thanks.” Iron Bull said. “Really paints a picture.” He looked warily at the edges of the path, that looked like they could crumble away at any time.

Turning away from the spirit, Ryan looked for a way to move on. “We know the Qunari are using this eluvian. The Viddasala has to be somewhere in here.”

“Viddasala. Yes.” the spirit replied. “She uses scholars and mages for study. They fear this place, but they seek to know the Veil.”

“The Veil? Why in all of Thedas would they studying it for?” Vivienne asked.

“I regret I do not have more information. I am sundered from myself. If you discover another one of me nearer the Qunari, I may know more. Kindly give it my greetings. I have not thought with myself for some time. Apologies. I knew all once. We knew. With the break, only fragments or knowledge new, since the fall.”

“Let's leave this thing alone.” Ryan climbed a set of stairs to reach the next part of the ruin. “The sooner we can leave this place, the better.”

Eirlana wished she had more time and freedom to talk with the spirit. Reluctantly she followed the others when the spirit began to speak again. “Know this: an unknown person, not of the Qunari, recently woke the librarians. The librarians facilitated learning before the fracture. Before the fall. Now, beware them. They are unwell.”

She stared at the spirit, desperately wanting to ask if Solas had been here. But she couldn't. Not with the others being here.

“Eirlana! Come!” Ryan said. He was clearly wary of this environment.

Reluctantly she followed the others, wondering what they would uncover.

They soon found the place the Qunari were gathering. Above their heads on what looked like an upside-down courtyard, a large group of Qunari was wandering around. Some of them looking up towards them. “Look there.” Ryan pointed above them. “Qunari. On that... upside-down island? They have seen us. If we manage to reach them, they will be ready for us.”

“Looks like a whole camp up there.” Varric agreed with him. “Or is it down there? Shit, this place is weird.”

“We need to find the right eluvian that will take us there. Be on your guard, there is no knowing what we will face in this place.”

Trying to reach the Qunari, they followed a twisted path through several eluvians. It led them to different parts of the library located on several of the islands. Everywhere they went was the same, ruins, broken structures and pathways. A couple of times they got turned around, and they had to backtrack their path to find their way.

“You know what?” Varric said as they passed through another eluvian. “This place has written Solas all over it. He would wet his pants if he was here with us now, with all this old elven stuff.”

Eirlana heart sped up hearing Varric talk about him. But not wanting their focus on Solas, she kept quiet.

Ryan let out another disgruntled huff. “More of this elven gods nonsense. In my opinion, we are lucky the elven empire collapsed. This much magic is not what the Maker intended for us.”

“I agree.” Vivienne said. “It is a pity they build an entire empire on the foundation of magic...”

“I don't know.” Varric objected. “There are worse things to base your civilisation around. Coin, the lyrium trade, tradition...”

Suddenly Ryan screamed out in pain. They had walked past a golden elven tree that was magical charged. As he came closer to it, the Anchor flared up and absorbed the magical energy.

“Inquisitor!” Vivienne exclaimed. “You! Do something!” she snapped at Eirlana.

Eirlana grabbed his arm and did her best to subdue the magic and ease the pain. Immediately she noticed that the Anchor's magic felt much stronger, as if it was steadily growing in this environment. She had no idea why, or how to stop it. When the mark flared up now, it engulfed more and more of Ryan's arm. If this continued, the magic would soon become uncontrollable and consume Ryan. At best, he would lose his arm, but if this would go on, it even could claim his life.

“The Anchor again? Are you alright?” Varric asked, looking worried.

“It's getting worse,” Ryan grunted through gritted teeth. “We best hurry.”

On their path through the library, they found several times Qunari that had been killed. They had terrified expressions on their faces. Whatever they had encountered, had scared them to death. They also encountered more spirits, just like the first spirit they were eager to talk and share their knowledge.

The second spirit greeted them. “Welcome. Welcome. Listen to the last words of those who lived past the fall. How could the Dread Wolf cast a Veil between the world that wakes and the world that dreams? The Evanuris will send people. They will save us. When have you last heard from the gods? When the Veil came down, they went silent. What is this Veil, what has Fen'Harel done?”

Shocked Ryan stared at it. “What? Did that thing just say that Fen'Harel created the Veil? That can't be right. The Maker created it to protect us against these things.”

“How can some guy just make the Veil?” Iron Bull looked just as disbelieved. “We must have been ass-deep in demons before then.”

“Impossible!” Vivienne declared. “If there was a time the Veil didn't exist, there would be some mention of it in human history.”

Solas created the Veil? Eirlana thought in shock. Is that what happened?

The memories of that time were sparse and fragmented. The few she had seen were often confusing and filled with fear, fear about the loss of magic, the ageing, the disappearance of the Evanuris.

She looked at the destruction around her, now she could understand that fear. If the Veil had suddenly appeared, it had impacted everything in the life of the elves. It must have been terrifying to be suddenly cut off of their source of power, the foundation of their society. The chaos of the library was a stark picture of what the result was. How many people had been trapped here? How many had died here, trying to escape? It must have been a catastrophe beyond measure.

And Solas had created it. How powerful was he to accomplish such a feat? The sheer magnitude was unfathomable. She almost laughed, amid her shock, but somehow she managed to keep quiet.

As they encountered a third spirit, the impact of Solas' deed was even more clear. It echoed the hatred against him. The same hatred that she had seen in the Fade and in the legends that had survived until this day.

“If we get out of here, I will end Fen'Harel.” the spirit echoed. “After he held back the Sky to imprison the gods, the Dread Wolf disappeared. Lies. We must tear down the Veil. The cities, the pathways... Without magic, they are crumbling. You're wasting your time. Fen'Harel's Veil has turned our empire to ruins.”

“This is a load of crap!” Ryan stormed past the spirit. “Don't listen to anything those things are saying!”

Eirlana held her breath, as she heard the spirit say 'held back the sky.' Skyhold, Tarasyl'an Te'las, Eirlana thought. Had Solas created the Veil at Skyhold? Was that the reason that the Veil was so strong there and the Fade was frozen in time?

In thought, she followed the others silently. While for them, the concept of Fen'Harel was still a legend that didn't fit inside of human beliefs and history, she was witnessing the history of Solas. It was shocking to realise and see what he had lost when he created the Veil. He hadn't just lost his home, his way of living, but also the people close to him, his followers, the slaves he saved. All the marvels of his world. They all had crumbled because of what he had done.

Seeing the destruction with her own eyes made her realise why he always carried such a deep sadness within him. To be responsible for the beginning of the downfall of the elves, it must weigh heavy on him.

But why did he do it?

Why had he cut the world and the Fade apart?

Did he do it to defeat the Evanuris and free the slaves? Or had something different happened?

They wandered further through the library. Occasionally they had to fight a group of Qunari that was looking for them. The fights weren't that difficult, they just had to keep an eye on the edges of the islands, so that they wouldn't be pushed off and fall into the bottomless mist. They also discovered the cause of the dead terrified Qunari when they encountered the librarians. They had been twisted into demons of fear, who immediately attacked them.

Eirlana almost laughed out loud when they were yelling 'Your books are overdue.' and 'Don't talk in the library.' at them in elvish. She wished she could have met the librarians in their true form. The knowledge they possessed must be immense.

After defeating them, they finally found the eluvian that took them to the upside-down courtyard above them. As they had predicted, a large group of Qunari was waiting for them with their weapons drawn, but unlike the Qunari they had encountered before they didn't attack.

“Survivor of the Breach. Herald of Change. Hero of the South.” A female Qunari addressed them. She stood on a balcony above them and emanated an air of authority. Next to her stood a huge Qunari. He was bigger than any Qunari they had ever seen and judging by his iron face mask, he was a saarebas.

Ryan lifted his chin and puffed his chest as he stepped forward. “The Viddasala, I presume.”

“After fulfilling your purpose at the Breach, it is astonishing to hear you still walked free among your people. Your duty is done, Inquisitor. It is time to end your magic.”

“You can certainly try. I've defeated all your Ben-Hassrath so far.”

The Viddasala narrowed her eyes. “So you have. The repercussions have already begun. I am no stranger to catastrophe, but this chaos in the South defies comprehension. The Qun left your people to curb your own magic. You've amply proven we should have stepped in long ago.”

“I have an alliance with your people. We defeated Corypheus and closed the Breach. I thought you would approve of that.”

She huffed. “Do you believe closing the Breach solved everything, that its consequences stopped there? The day we saw the Breach, the Qun decided its action. We would remove your leaders and spare those who toil. This agent of Fen'Harel has disrupted everything. Lives that were to be spared, lost for him!”

“What agent? And why would you think they work for the Inquisition?”

“Kill the Inquisitor, then follow me to the Darvaarad.”

The Viddasala was apparently done talking and stepped through an eluvian. The huge saarebas followed her. As soon as she gave her command the Qunari, surrounding them, attacked. It was an intense battle. At the end, all of them nursed several bruises and cuts, but nobody had sustained any serious injuries this time. Eirlana took care of them as best as she could. But her healing supplies were dwindling. She hoped they would soon return to the Winter Palace so she could restock. There was also the issue of her broken staff. It had snapped as one of the Qunari had tried to cut her down with an axe. With all the fighting they were facing, it made her nervous about being weaponless. Sure she could cast her magic without a weapon, but having such control over her magic would only stir up the suspicions of her being possessed. Because there would be no way, a 'simple' apostate could wield her offensive magic without the aid of a foci such as a weapon.

While she was at work, the others were searching the place for more information about the Qunari's plan called Dragon's Breath. They soon discovered that the Qunari were using non-Qunari spies to infiltrate the Winter Palace and smuggle the gaatlok barrels. Another note told them why the Qunari were in this old elven library.

“Here.” Ryan scanned the note. “It says that they came here to study the Veil and strengthen it. This Viddasala gave lyrium to the mages to boost their magical abilities, so they could study it better.”

“Let me see that.” Vivienne took the note. “So, they believe this notion that the Veil was created by this Fen'Harel. Though they call him an elven mage in these notes.”

“That can't be right.” Ryan shook his head. “The Maker...”

“I don't know.” Varric cut in. “Could be connected to that orb thing; otherwise, the magic in your hand shouldn't be able to manipulate the Veil.”

“A way to clamp down magic?” Iron Bull looked over Vivienne's shoulder to read. “No wonder she's here. That the Veil can be torn must have scared that Viddasala shitless.”

“Let's get out of here and tell the others what we've found.” Ryan looked around, making sure they hadn't missed anything. “On our way back, we can check the mines and make sure the Qunari can't use it any longer. Then we use the keystone we've found and go to this Darvaarad where the Viddasala went.”

“Look at it! It's completely submerged.” Ryan said as they reached the mines.

They stood on the outcrop where they first overviewed the mines. It now resembled a giant underground lake. Water was still falling into it by countless waterfalls, but the water-level looked stable.

“Did I mention lately that I can't swim?” Varric eyed the water nervously. “Just... keep that in mind.”

“At least the Qunari can't use this place any longer.” Ryan said.

“We should consider that the Qunari will find another place to mine.” Vivienne added. “We best contact Orzammar and warn them about the breach into their trade.”

“That is a good idea, Vivienne. I can't imagine they will be happy to hear the news.” Ryan agreed.

“Inquisitor, over there another eluvian.” Eirlana pointed towards the shimmering light source. It was hidden behind a cave-inn, that they had missed the first time they were here. “Judging by the gaatlok barrels, the Qunari tried to reach it. We should check it, to make sure it doesn't lead to another source of lyrium.”

They used the gaatlok barrels and freed the way to the eluvian. It led them back onto the surface into another elven ruin.

Eirlana swallowed when she saw the owl statue, symbolising Falon'Din. Though she hadn't seen a trace of him since he saved her from Xebenkeck, she was worried that it wouldn't stay that way. The ruin was small and had only a single room. Apart from the owl statue, there were a couple of wolves, representing Fen'Harel. The rest of the room was bare except for a prominent fresco. It showed a giant creature being struck by a beam of light and shattering into pieces. At the centre of the creature was a golden ball. To the left and right of it stood an elf. The left elf's hand was surrounded by a similar golden glow, while the right one carried an orb with the same symbol as depicted in the centre of the creature.

“Look at this mural.” Ryan touched it. “What is that thing?”

“If it is anything like Solas' paintings, it is probably depicting how some broody elf felt about shit that happened. If anyone sees his paintings at Skyhold in a hundred years, they wouldn't guess half the things that they symbolise.” Varric grumbled. Realising what he just had said he quickly looked at Eirlana. “Sorry.” he mumbled.

Eirlana smiled faintly at him. She knew he meant well and that he was angry at Solas for leaving her. She then noticed a shimmer hidden in the fresco, and she stepped closer. “It looks like there are ruins engraved in it.” and she summoned a globe of veilfire to read them.

The light of the veilfire activated the runes, and they began to shift, coiling and uncoiling like snakes. A thunderous voice shouted in her head. “Hail Mythal, adjudicator and saviour! She has struck down the pillars of the earth and rendered their demesne unto the People! Praise her name forever!”

For a moment, the scent of blood filled the air and a vivid image of green vines growing and enveloping a sphere of fire appeared. Then there was darkness, and it felt like an aeon passed. Then the intensity of the runes changed, they became filled with anger. There was a new vision; elves collapsing caverns, sealing the Deep Roads with stone and magic. There was intense terror, heart-pounding, ice-cold, filled with fear. And a voice whispered. “What the Evanuris in their greed could unleash would end us all. Let this place be forgotten. Let no one wake its anger. The People must rise before their false gods destroy them all.”

Eirlana blinked a few times as the images disappeared. The others looked at her expectantly. “It is a titan.” she looked back at the image. “The Evanuris fought them, and they mined their bodies for lyrium.”

“They managed to fight and kill one of those things?” Ryan asked perplexed.

“Yes. I know there is an elven song telling how Elgar'nan gained victory over the Earth that shook the elven cities. A titan probably caused the same earthquakes we encountered in the lyrium mines at the Wounded Coast.”

“Hmm, the information we find gets crazier by the minute. Let's leave, we got the Qunari to deal with.”

Before they left, Iron Bull found a mage staff. It had several small wolf figurines bound at the top. He tossed it to Eirlana. “Here, maybe you can use it.”

She caught it, twirled it around and fed her magic into it. It reacted immediately and sparkled with electricity. A strange feeling washed over her, giving her a sense of being vastly better than everyone and everything around her. It was as if she could hear faint laughter and Fade energy strangely clung to the staff. It filled her with unknown confidence. And there was something else, something... It felt like there was a presence that stirred from a deep slumber. For a moment she got a sense of a pair of round golden eyes watching her.

Puzzled by the sensation she asked. “Where did you find it?”

“Under that wolf statue. It may be old crap, but it is better than having nothing.”

“Thank you.” Eirlana said, feeling like she was being watched by something lingering in the Fade. It was a little unsettling, but she couldn't feel any ill intentions from whatever it was. It seemed rather curious. Suddenly there was a sensation of it stretching itself and taking a long yawn. The movement felt stiff as if it had awakened from a long deep slumber, and it probably had. For no one had been in this chamber for ages.

Not sensing any malice from the entity, Eirlana decided to take the staff. Before following everyone back into the lyrium mine, she looked one last time at the mural. The more she learned about Solas' past, the more she worried. He was involved in events that had shaken the very foundations of the world. It was dizzying to think about what he and the other Evanuris had done with their power. They had toyed with forces they thought they stood above. And she worried about what that vision was what she had seen. If the Evanuris dared to battle a titan, it was concerning that they had encountered something that terrified them so much that their only solution was to seal it away.

Solas what have you done?

The sun had long gone down when they stepped back into the Winter Palace. Ryan immediately went to inform the others about what they had found. A group of Inquisition agents had prepared a small sitting area for them outside. There was also food, wine and water.

Sighing deeply, Varric sat down. “This has been a long day. Argh, I am getting too old for this shit.”

Iron Bull also sat down and grabbed several cuts of meat. “More is to come.” he rumbled with his mouth full.

“I came here to drink beer on the Inquisition's tab, maybe play a few rounds of cards." Varric shook his head. “Should have known that trouble would show up again.”

“Not exactly my plan either. I wanted to sit at the bar and get drunk until the nobles had stopped complaining about us saving their pompous asses. Look like we were both wrong.” Iron Bull turned to one of the Inquisition guards. “You there. Can you fetch us some ale? I rather drink something decent before we go back in there.”

In the meanwhile, Eirlana had sent for more supplies, including regeneration potions and lumps of crystallised honey infused with elfroot. They were going to need them soon, having already fought through the day and most of the night without any decent rest. Iron Bull was right, at this rate they weren't going to finish anytime soon.

Ryan returned to them a good hour later. He looked grim and held his arm like he was in pain.

Eirlana stepped towards him. “Did the Anchor flare up again?”

“Yes, and it was the worst one yet. It is worse than when it grew under the influence of the Breach.”

She reached out to him, to help and numb the pain, but he pulled his arm back.

“Leave it! I have taken some elfroot against the pain. We have to hurry. I don't know how long I can stand this. This bloody thing will be the death of me.”

With a sigh, he sat down and began to eat. They were all quiet for a while, most of them looking worried at Ryan and the Anchor.

“Is there any news from the council?” Vivienne asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“They found gaatlok barrels inside Denerim's Palace, Val Royeaux and across the Free Marches. The Winter Palace was not the only target. Our agents have helped to disable the barrels and carry them to a safe place.”

Varric cursed loudly. “This is bad.”

“The Qunari planned to strike every noble house in the known world.” Vivienne said in shock. “We have to warn the other Châteaux in Orlais. This can't be allowed to pass.”

“We already sent ravens to our agents and allies, but it looks like that they're targetting the major seats of power. If they had succeeded to strike, the South would have been in chaos. Creating an ideal opportunity to invade us.

Although our Qunari contacts are currently denying any involvement.” Ryan grabbed more bread and covered it with meats and cheese. “After I have finished eating, we will go back in. We need to find this Darvaarad. What does it mean anyway, Bull?”

“Darvaarad is not a thing, more a location. It is a place to bring and quarantine magical things, until they can be studied and disabled safely.”

“Great, so we could walk into more magical dangers.” Ryan sighed. “Maybe we should bring more templars so we can deal with them.”

“I agree.” Cassandra said as she joined them. She was armed and clad in a set of golden armor.

Startled by her sudden appearance Ryan jumped to his feet. “Your Perf...”

“Don't you dare!” Cassandra interrupted him. “I am going to come with you. I can't ignore this threat any longer.”

“Your Holi...”

Cassandra glared at him.

“Cassandra.” Ryan began anew. “You can't come. We can't possibly endanger your life.”

“If you expect me to wait patiently and do nothing, you have chosen the wrong Divine. With your hand getting worse, you need another shield at your side.”

There was no way to change Cassandra's mind, and in the end, Ryan conceded. He also sent for three templars to accompany them. Seeing the familiar faces of her guard detail among them Eirlana wasn't exactly thrilled, but she could hardly object.

Back at the crossroads, they used the keystone they had found to activate the eluvian. It was the very first eluvian they had encountered in the crossroads, where the wounded Qunari had tried to go through. They stepped through it and reappeared into a castle fortress overlooking the ocean. It was unlike the elven ruins they had travelled through, but a castle of modern build and well maintained. A Qunari statue overlooked the courtyard, heroically holding a spear. The courtyard itself was filled with a couple of dozen broken eluvians. A few of them were still intact, and they had stepped through one of them.

“We seem to be in a dumping ground for broken eluvians.” Vivienne remarked.

“Where did the Qunari get all these?” Ryan looked around. “And how long have they been studying eluvians? Come! The sooner we stop this invasion plan, the better.”

Iron Bull readied his weapon. “Finally, a chance to get some answers and set this right. Thanks for bringing me along, Boss.”

They encountered only a couple of Qunari that were conducting some kind of experiment on one of the eluvians. They seemed to be surprised by their appearance. Being unprepared most of them were quickly defeated, but there was a saarebas among them who didn't fall so easily. He managed to kill one of the templars that just had joined their group.

Cassandra panted after the saarebas was finally defeated. “Maker! These Qunari mages are crazed. I haven't seen anything like them.”

“This Viddasala is giving them lyrium, so their magic is enhanced.” Ryan explained.

“Saarebas are more powerful than other mages.” Iron Bull explained. “That is why the Qun leashes them and keep them under watch by an Arvaarad.”

“I heard of them, they are like our templars.” Cassandra said.

“Something like that.” Iron Bull nodded, but didn't explain anything further.

On a table, they found observation notes filled with diagrams and complex formulas, but before they could look through them the Anchor flared up again. Ryan screamed in pain. “This bloody thing! Leave it!” he shrugged Eirlana's attempt to help him. “We need to hurry.”

They continued their path to gain access to the castle. Eirlana looked around, the air felt warmer than it had been at the Winter Palace. Judging by the vegetation, they were much farther to the North. Her eye caught a giant halla statue in the distance. It was standing on a high cliff staring out over the sea. Even if this place was now claimed and rebuild by the Qunari, it once had been elven.

They soon encountered heavy resistance, and they had to fight their way into the castle. Iron Bull had been right in his description that it was a place to gather and study magical objects. They found a tower filled with all sort of objects, from astrariums to elven statues. They even found a piece of red lyrium that looked like it had been tampered with.

“Red lyrium.” Ryan exclaimed. “Do the Qunari even know what they are dealing with?”

“No.” Varric shook his head. “They might think they do. But they don't.”

Inside the castle, they found even more relics and a library that overflowed with scrolls and books. They quickly searched the room, looking for anything useful.

“Look here.” Ryan picked up several maps. “They have blueprints of Halamshiral, Denerim and Kirkwall. They are very detailed.”

Vivienne browsed through a hefty tome. “Unless I'm mistaken, my Dear. These are artefact catalogues. The Qunari must have more of these facilities to acquire so many. What can they be doing with all of this.”

“This almost looks like research. Are they trying to uncover secrets of elven magic?” Ryan looked around, hoping to find more answers.

“Hopefully they don't have any more ancient magic crap to throw at us.” Iron Bull rumbled. “That orb was bad enough. Though that dragon skull would make a wicked armchair. Maybe we can take it back to Skyhold after we cleared this?”

At last, they came upon a set of big double doors. From behind them, they could hear a strange loud growling shriek. Ryan pulled out his weapon, and everyone did the same. Carefully they opened the door.

They came into a sizeable room filled with many barrels of gaatlok. Through an arch, they could see into a circular indoor courtyard. A dragon stood there and let out a bone-shattering shriek. It had ropes bound all over its face and was clearly in distress.

Ryan gasped. “Dragon's Breath is... an actual dragon? Are the Qunari crazy?”

A Qunari spearman noticed them and sounded the alarm. “Teth a! Bas!”

The Viddasala burst through a door and didn't look pleased that they were here. “Inquisition! Nehraa Ataashi-asaara meravas adim kata!” she yelled and soon the room filled with many armed Qunari.

She looked at Iron Bull. “Hissrad! Now, please. Vinek kathas.” she ordered him.

Iron Bull nodded. “Understood, ma'am.” He turned towards Ryan. “Change of plans. Nothing personal... Bas.”

He slammed the pommel of his war hammer backwards with great force, hitting Eirlana, who stood behind him, hard against her head. She staggered, and her vision blurred. Disoriented, she held her head and watched how Iron Bull rushed Ryan, letting out a vicious snarl. With brute force, he bashed Stone-Breaker down on him. Ryan barely managed to catch the weapon with his shield and was forced through his knees.

“Bull!” Cassandra screamed at the same time and hurried to Ryan's aid.

This was the last thing Eirlana noticed before she lost consciousness.

“Snowflake?”

Eirlana heard Varric's voice, but it sounded strangely far away. Her head pounded with a piercing headache. Something was pushed against her lips, and the familiar bitter taste of elfroot poured into her mouth.

“Come on. Open your pretty eyes.”

More of the healing potion was poured into her mouth, and something was nudging her hand. Slowly she opened her eyes, but she quickly closed them again as the world spun around her.

“Eh eh, come on, open them again.” Varric encouraged her. “You have to try and heal yourself. That was the last of our potions.”

Concentrating, she tried to summon her magic, but it faltered. Darkness threatened to claim her once again. She could hear Varric call her name, but his voice sounded like he was far away. Something was wining softly beside her, and there was another nudge against her hand. A strange surge of energy flowed up her arm, engulfing her. It stabilised her magic just enough so she could attempt to heal herself. It was difficult, but slowly she managed to mend her head wound. Iron Bull had struck her hard, and her skull was partially fractured from the impact. There was also significant trauma and bleeding. Somehow she managed to heal the worst of it, but the headache and dizziness remained.

Slowly the world came back into focus. In the distance, Eirlana could hear the growling shrieks of the dragon, but she could also hear Ryan.

“I should never have trusted him!” he ranted. “That traitor! How is this an alliance?!”

“I should have known. It was my duty to have known.” Cassandra contemplated.

Iron Bull! Suddenly Eirlana was wide awake. She looked around and saw Bull's corpse lying not far from her. He lay there just like his Qunari brethren. In disbelief, she stared at his dead body.

“There you are.” Varric tried to keep her from moving to fast. Following her eyes, he sighed. “Still can't believe Bull turned on us.” he muttered. “He was a better liar than I gave him credit for.”

With her head getting clearer by the minute, Eirlana looked at her companions. They looked beaten and battered. Also, she couldn't see the last of templars. Looking around, she noticed them dead, lying side by side. Someone had taken the time to fold their hands and close their eyes.

Clearly, the whole group had suffered without her aid and had to rely on their potions for healing. Judging by Varric's remark, they had quickly run out. Weaving another healing spell, she managed to heal more of her injury. With Varric's help, she struggled to her feet. Something nudged her hand again, and she looked to her left, but there was nothing there.

“You alright Snowflake?” Varric asked worried, when she stared at her hand.

Eirlana nodded but needed a couple of moments until she felt stable enough to move on her own.

“I still don't understand how he could fight beside us for years, and just...” Ryan shook his head. Seeing Eirlana back on her feet, he eyed the dragon standing in the indoor courtyard. “Come on, let's move. We have that dragon to deal with. They are using its poison to hasten the production of gaatlok. We have to put a stop to that.” He grabbed his shield. Eirlana noticed it was deformed by several new significant dents.

“Great. Just what I wanted to hear.” Varric groaned and checked his Bianca. “You sure you alright, Snowflake.”

Shaking her confusion about what had nudged her, Eirlana smiled faintly at him. “My head hurts, but I will be fine. Though I will try and stand more in the back during the next fight.”

“Bianca agrees with you. All this stress isn't good for a lady.” Varric said, gently petting his crossbow. Before he moved, he glanced one last time at Iron Bull's corpse. “He probably knew he wouldn't survive this.”

Eirlana too looked at his corpse. “I can't believe it. We knew him for years and he just... How are we ever going to tell Dorian?”

“With a lot of booze.” Varric shook his head. “It was quite a sight. After he knocked you out, he just slammed his hammer over and over again into Ryan. Like he had a lot of pent up anger.”

They both looked at each other and thought about the Chargers. Ryan called for them to hurry up, and they reluctantly followed.

The dragon fight was a challenge without the brutal strength of Iron Bull at their side. Luckily they had found a chest containing several healing potions, so they hadn't to rely solely on Eirlana's healing. They had enough experience fighting dragons, but this time the battle was made more difficult by groups of Qunari that tried to stop them. Both Eirlana and Varric quickly moved towards the gated exit so they could face both the dragon and the Qunari fighters without being overwhelmed.

Halfway through the battle, Eirlana heard something outside behind the gate. Quickly she took a peek and saw the Viddasala directing many Qunari through another eluvian. They were all geared up for a fight, but why were they moving away from them and not trying to stop them from killing the dragon. Was there something more important for them to achieve?

After a long and challenging fight, they finally managed to kill the dragon. By now, they were all exhausted, but they couldn't afford to rest. They had to move on and try to stop the Viddasala. Opening the gate, they ran towards the next eluvian. Most of the Qunari had already walked through it, but the Viddasala had stayed behind to face them. A squad of her men shielded her and the eluvian.

Eirlana noticed the golden mosaics and statues depicting Fen'Harel next to the eluvian.

“Pashaara!” the Viddasala called out to them.

Ryan looked ready to attack, but before he could take a step further, the Anchor lid up again. He doubled over from the pain, and they all halted, ready to defend Ryan. But to their surprise, the Qunari didn't attack but held their position.

“Dear Inquisitor.” the Viddasala sneered. “You have such little time left.” she paced back and forth. “You must finally see the truth. Elven magic already tore the sky apart. If the agents of Fen'Harel are not stopped, you will shatter the world as well.”

Finally, the Anchor calmed down enough, so that Ryan could face her. His expression was grim. “If these agents of Fen'Harel are a threat, we will handle them. You have no authority here!”

“How?” the Viddasala asked. “You have never defeated anything without their assistance. You would have died from the mark on your hand, but for the help of one of their chief agents. The same agent who helped seal the Breach. Who led you to Skyhold. Who gave Corypheus the orb, then founded the Inquisition.”

Ryan's eyes went wide as she spoke.

“Solas, agent of Fen'Harel.” the Viddasala snarled.

Cassandra gasped. “What?”

“That bastard!” Ryan growled. “I knew I couldn't trust him.”

“Solas tricked us all.” the Viddasala continued. “He pushed a dying Qunari into the Winter Palace, to lure you into opposing us. Without him, we could have brought the South peace and wisdom along the gentle path. Now we must take the way of blades.”

Ryan fell to his knees as the Anchor flared up again. He screamed out in pain.

“Panahedan, Inquisitor. If it is any consolation, Solas will not outlive you.”

The Viddasala went through the eluvian with the last of her man, leaving them behind.

“Well, shit.” Varric sighed.

Meanwhile, Cassandra helped Ryan back on his feet. Eirlana stepped to him to ease his pain, but he pulled his arm back.

“Do not touch me!” he glared at her. “Did you know?”

“No.” she shook her head.

“How could you not know?” Vivienne stared at her with hardened eyes.

“He is not some agent.” Eirlana was adamant. “I don't believe that.”

“Face it! He betrayed us.” Ryan growled.

“He didn't betray anyone.” Eirlana snapped. “He did everything he could to help and stop Corypheus. It doesn't make sense that he would give the orb to that monster.”

“Did you know he would be here?” Cassandra asked. She appeared to remain calm under the circumstances.

“You all know I haven't seen him for over two years. I don't know why he is here now or why he supposedly works with these agents of Fen'Harel. All I know is that we came to Haven to help seal the Breach. And Solas did help, as he is helping us again right now.”

“By the Maker! Please tell!” Ryan lifted his hands up in frustration. “How is he helping us now?”

“By revealing this Viddasala's plans.”

“He didn't reveal anything.”

“We would have been blown up by now, if it weren't for him.”

Ryan yelled at her. “You know nothing. I only ask you this once. Are you going to give us trouble? We have to go after these lunatics and need to stop them. If we find Solas, don't you dare to interfere with anything.” Eirlana glared at him but said nothing.

Ryan growled in anger. For a moment, he looked back towards the way they came from. Then he stepped threatening forward and glared back at her. “I will deal with you later!” Ryan pointed his finger sharp into her face. “We have no time to turn back. But I warn you. If you betray us, I will personally END you!”

For a moment she wanted to snap at him 'I would like to see you try.' But that only would make this situation worse. So she remained silent. Ryan glared at her with such hostility that she knew she never could return to the Winter Palace with them. She would be immediately be imprisoned and interrogated by Leliana. And judging by Ryan's glare, it wouldn't be a 'friendly' interrogation this time. If she wanted to survive, she needed to find Solas or at least these agents of Fen'Harel.

But to reach them she first needed to defeat the Qunari. Judging by the Viddasala's words, she was moving her army towards Solas. Eirlana needed to go through them if she wanted to reach him. Her thoughts halted thinking about the Viddasala. What had she said? That Solas gave his foci to Corypheus. Why would he do that? Why would he let such a powerful relic fall into the hands of a madman?

Puzzled and knowing she had to watch herself, she followed the others.

“Another elven ruin.” Cassandra said as they stepped out of the eluvian. “There! The Qunari must have taken that eluvian.”

Ignoring the suspicious looks towards her, from everyone except Varric, Eirlana looked around. The elven ruin they had stepped into was vast. She stared over the valley onto the ruins that were stretched out all over the next mountaintop. It was vastly overgrown and had crumbled over the ages, but judging by the many towers and arches, it must once have been an enormous complex. Even now, it was a marvel to be seen. She also caught glimpses of several statues of Fen'Harel. They were everywhere. This whole complex must have once belonged to Solas or was dedicated to him. Though nature had clearly taken over, much of the ruins were still intact. It looked beautiful with the many trees and several waterfalls that flowed down the mountainside. She also noticed the reflections of several eluvians spread through the ruins. The most prominent was a giant one, shimmering brightly in the morning sun.

They had fought the whole night through. And now they were tired to the bone, their bodies exhausted from the constant fighting. They also were battered and bruised, and the majority of them nursed significant injuries.

Although their wounds had been healed by magic or potions, the trauma remained. Their bodies hurt, and their healed wounds were painful and sensitive. Ideally, they all should get some rest and sleep, or at least take some time to drink and get a decent meal, but they had no chance, as a new group of Qunari emerged from the eluvian in front of them. They were probably sent by the Viddasala to stop them.

Before they could engage them, Ryan screamed and fell to his knees. He held his left hand, where the Anchor was flashing brightly.

“Stay back!” he yelled. “It's going to... Aaaaaah.” he screamed as the Anchor's magic discharged violently.

They all were flung backwards by the force of the magic unleashed. Ryan staggered back to his feet, holding his arm and breathing heavily. But they had no time to figure out what was going on because the Qunari attacked them. With Ryan still incapacitated, Cassandra stepped forward and rushed the first of the Qunari, bashing him with her shield. Soon also Varric and Vivienne jumped in. Eirlana sprinted towards Ryan, who tried to dismiss her help. But she ignored him and grabbed his arm to at least attempt to repair some of the damage.

The Qunari quickly fell, and Cassandra sheeted her sword before stepping towards them. She looked worried at Ryan's arm that surprisingly was still intact after the violent explosion. “ If it keeps up like this, it will kill you. Solas must help, as he did at Haven.” she said.

“Chuckles. Who apparently works for Fen'Harel. It's always the quiet ones.” Varric mumbled.

“As if that traitor could help. This is so much worse than in Haven. It feels like my arm is going to be ripped off.” Ryan gritted his teeth.

While Eirlana tried to ease his pain, she could feel how the magic was gathering anew within the mark.

“Inquisitor. Try to use the Anchor.”

“What?” he snapped at her. Clearly, he wasn't trusting her any longer.

“Use the Anchor. Maybe we can prevent it from overcharging again. It already is gathering more energy as we speak. Use the magic it accumulates before it gets too strong.”

Reluctantly Ryan used the Anchor. It hurt him, but this time at least he stayed on his feet. “I can't fight like this.”

Cassandra looked grim. “She is right. It looks calmer. Use it as often as you can. Let's move before we run out of time. We have to find Viddasala and Solas.” With determination, she stepped towards the eluvian in pursuit of the Qunari.

They fought dozens of Qunari as they tried to get to the Viddasala. They went through eluvian after eluvian, that brought them to different parts of the ruins. They only caught glimpses of the Viddasala, but again and again, more Qunari were trying to stop them.

In a broken down courtyard, the Viddasala was finally facing them. She was clearly displeased by their continues pursuit. “Saarabas! Meraavas adim kata!” she yelled to the massive saarebas, that was always at her side. Suddenly he leapt into the air and landed in between them and unleashed a massive wave of magic, throwing them off their feet and dispersing them.

“Incoming.” Varric groaned as he got back up.

Ben-Hassrath agents slipped from the shadows, attacking them from all sides. And javelins, thrown by several spearmen landed all around them. Eirlana immediately set up her barriers, trying to keep everyone safe. Ryan and Cassandra engaged the saarebas in the meantime. Dispelling his magical shields with their templar abilities. While Vivienne faced the spearmen by creating a wall of fire on top of them.

Two Ben-Hassrath rogues attacked Eirlana. Striking from opposite sides, they tried to penetrate her defences. Shooting ice at them, she fended them off. Varric also came to her aid by throwing a flask of bees into their middle. They soon were swarmed and stung by the insects.

Suddenly the saarebas threw a massive electrical bolt towards Ryan, hitting him right in his chest. His body convulsed as the electricity surged through his body. At the same time, the Anchor overcharged again in a loud explosion, throwing Cassandra backwards.

“Eirlana!” Cassandra yelled as she got back on her feet and slammed her shield into the saarebas. Next to her, Ryan lay motionless on the ground.

Seeing Ryan was critically injured. Eirlana let out a wave of icy force of her own, freezing and throwing the Ben-Hassrath rogues backwards. They shattered on impact. Dodging several spears, she ran towards Ryan. On her way, she renewed her barriers around everyone.

As she came closer to the saarebas to heal Ryan, she noticed just how powerful the saarebas' magic was. She could feel the lyrium humming within his body. Just how much lyrium had they given him? She wondered. He must be exceptionally strong to survive such quantities.

Cassandra had sweat drip down her face as she attacked the saarebas again and again, but she had a hard time to get a solid hit. As she tried to unbalance the saarebas with a blow from her shield, he suddenly flew up into the sky and landed at the other side of the courtyard. Where he continued to throw his magic towards them. Cassandra growled in frustration and ran towards him, but he had erected a new barrier that repelled both Vivienne's and Varric's attacks. In the meantime, Eirlana managed to revive Ryan. Groaning loudly, he rolled on his side, trying to regain control over his stiff body.

“Inquisitor. Use your mark on the saarebas. I will deal with his shield.” Eirlana instructed him

With effort and her help, Ryan got on his feet. He was visibly in pain and didn't seem to have the energy to object to her any longer. He gritted his teeth and jogged towards the saarebas. With everyone being pre-occupied Eirlana gathered her magic. Making a fist, she slammed her magic onto the shield, shattering it with such a force that the saarebas stumbled. With him being disoriented Ryan activated the Anchor blasting the saarebas even further back with brute force.

The saarebas groaned and grabbed his face as if he was in severe pain. The lyrium in his veins started to glow, and he arched his back in torment. The runes on his collar lit up for a moment, but they didn't seem to able to control the wild surge of magic. With a bang, some of the chains attached to his collar broke off. Freed from his leash, he leapt up in the air again and vanished.

“Saarebas! Meravas! Meravas!” The Viddasala yelled after him, but the saarebas was gone. “You will not leave here, Inquisitor! Antaam, ebrashok adim!”

Even more Qunari troops came towards them to fight, but the Viddasala didn't wait to see the outcome and ran farther into the ruins. After defeating the Qunari, they went after her, only to face more opponents. Eirlana did her best to keep everyone on their feet, handing out regeneration potions and lumps of crystallised honey, that gave their bodies much needed energy. When they finally managed to catch up to Viddasala again, everyone was at their last reserves.

“You are dead, Inquisitor! Your soul is dust!” the Viddasala yelled at them and disappeared through another eluvian. But before they could follow her, the giant saarebas reappeared again. He landed in front of the eluvian and created a forcefield around it. They wouldn't be able to go through it, until they managed to defeat him.

“We are in luck. Looks like we have to face only that thing this time.” Ryan snarled.

With his shield raised, he stormed towards the saarebas, closely followed by Cassandra. In the meanwhile Varric, Vivienne and Eirlana spread out, so they could attack the saarebas from different directions. But what looked like an easy task, not having to deal with other attackers, soon turned more difficult than anticipated. Whatever happened to the saarebas in their previous battle had strengthened him.

Magic swirled around him freely, charging the very air. Electrical charges jumped wildly around, hitting anyone coming to close. Again and again, the saarebas created powerful barriers that nullified their attacks until Ryan or Cassandra managed to dispel them. As the fight went on the saarebas displayed a magical strength they hadn't encountered before. His ability to conjure bolts of magical energy was endless, and he summoned demons to his aid.

Eirlana had to throw her barriers and healing magic constantly on her companions to keep them alive. Several times she was hit by the saarebas magical force, that shattered her barrier and threw her off her feet. That was until she strengthened her barrier enough to deflect his attacks. The battle went on for a long time, and she struggled, not only was she exhausted, but the wounds she had suffered before began to act up again. Her head was pounding, and her ribs hurt with every breath she took.

The others didn't fare much better. She noticed them making mistakes as their bodies gave out, and the fatigue caught up with them. Ryan struggled the most, mainly because he had to use the Anchor again and again. His arm was shaking from the constant pain, as he tried to keep his shield up. Even Cassandra, who hadn't fought as long as they had, was slowing down in her movements.

To her right, Eirlana could hear Varric muttering that his poor Bianca was running low on bolts. The saarebas, on the other hand, didn't slow down at all. Rather the opposite, the longer the battle went on, the more he unleashed his magic.

A pride demon appeared in front of Eirlana. It laughed ominously and slammed its claws charged with electricity repeatedly onto her barrier. She could feel her barrier waver under the pressure, and she wasn't sure how long she could go on like this. Her head hurt, and it was disrupting her flow of magic. Suddenly she could hear something snarl beside her and the Veil twisted from something pushing against it. On instinct, she warped the Veil, creating an opening for whatever was on the other side.

Time slowed down as a great spirit wolf appeared beside her. All around her, the world was almost at a standstill while she still could move normally. She stared at the wolf. It looked in its shape like a huge grey wolf, but its body was made from a silvery-white light. Two intelligent golden eyes stared back at her before it leapt onto the pride demon and tore its head off. Then in a flash of light, it flew from demon to demon, until all were defeated and disappeared. It ended its attack by smashing the saarebas' shield. The wolf then returned to her. It nudged her hand affectionately and rubbed its whole body against her, wagging its tail. Perplexed Eirlana let her fingers glide through its fur made of light, as she stroked the wolf her headache lessened and her energy slowly returned. The wolf let out a happy bark before it disappeared again.

As soon as it was gone, time began to flow again. Her companions stumbled at the sudden disappearance of the demons. Nobody but Eirlana apparently had seen the wolf that had come to her aid. With her renewed energy Eirlana attacked the saarebas, bombarding him with her ice magic. The others also took advantage of his shattered barrier and attacked with everything they got left. Despite the saarebas being vulnerable, it still felt like hours until the saarebas finally staggered. For a moment it looked like he recovered by igniting the lyrium in his veins, though this time something went wrong. He arched his back and lifted from the ground, but he somehow got stuck. He was trapped in some sort of stasis, and their attacks couldn't reach him any longer. Wild magic kept leaping of off him, and they had to continuously dodge to avoid being hit.

Varric cursed loudly as he shot one of his last bolts at the saarebas. “Shit! Is there no end to this thing.”

“Use the mark!” Cassandra yelled desperately at Ryan.

They all held their breath as Ryan activated the mark again. Somehow the unleashed energy reached the saarebas, and at last, his dead body fell to the ground. Finally, the fight was over.

For a moment, they stared at each other. They all were panting heavily, trying to catch their breath after the difficult combat. The barrier blocking the eluvian had disappeared with the death of the saarebas.

Ryan held his hand, struggling to keep the Anchor under control.

“We have to hurry!” he panted and moved towards the eluvian.

As soon as he stepped through it, the eluvian went dark.

“NO!” Eirlana yelled as the eluvian became inactive. She ran towards the mirror and pressed against the glass, but she couldn't get through.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age solas #Solas #solas romance #solas x oc #fanfic #eirlana #flame of winter

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gojirahkiin · 5 years

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What the Godzilla Anime should’ve been! Part 1

Starting with an apology to Tyrantis Terror, and a promise that unlike the last time I pinged you with fanfiction, this will be a good read.

Alright, so @tyrantisterror‘s cry of “BE INTERESTING YOU COWARDS!” is essentially the majority opinion of the Godzilla fandom towards the anime. This is how I, personally, would fix it.

To do so, I would take three premises, because in my spite I want to prove that there is a way that good can come of them:

Godzilla has reigned undisputed for 20,000 years

Mothra is dead, but her egg and people live

Ghidorah is an eldritch god.

What the anime lacks boils down to two things: character and spectacle. Everyone was boring and nothing cool happened.

But even assuming that you want to go in a completely different direction than the rest of the Godzilla franchise, you don’t have to be garbage about it. So Mothra has no Shobijin/Cosmos/Elias equivalents. Fine, but she doesn’t need any since she has an entire race/species of people. But you know who does need some now?

I present some amazing fanart for a priestess of King Ghidorah! Ignore the Noodledorah silhouettes behind her. I am scrapping that entire design for eldritch ramen.

Even worse, the canon Exif communicated with Ghidorah through math. That is the lamest thing possible. But once again harvesting and inverting classic Mothra, what do you think I could substitute for Fairy Mothra, a fragment of spirit given form and purpose?

A Dorat. Obviously it needs tweaking. No aspect of King Ghidorah would ever deign to be so cute. But my point stands: his most devout worshipers would have these tiny avatars of their god to guide them in their malice.

Now, I said that Mothra doesn’t need the Shobijin since she has a race/species. That’s not a metaphor. The canon Houtua are covered in powdery tattoos and given antennae. It’s never made explicit (because that might be cool) but they are implied to be literal children of Mothra.

Imagine the implications of being able to genetically prove that your goddess is the mother of your species? I discard the name Houtua and rename these technical kaiju the Elias. Could’ve also called them Cosmos, but I flipped a coin.

I’ll come back to Mothra in a bit. For now, let’s talk about Godzilla. He’s the ruler of Earth in this continuity, but what does that really mean? Well...

I do want to say that I’m not making this a post-apocalyptic MonsterVerse, as cool as that would be. What I mean is that every kaiju that hasn’t submitted to Godzilla’s dominance has been killed.

Godzilla is King of the Monsters in that he has no true rivals for the throne, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t resistance.

Mothra’s egg is hidden, proving that it is possible to hide from him. It is also possible to run from him since he can’t be everywhere at once, and there are creatures capable and willing to do both.

This is where my versions of the Servum (the worm & dragon-like creatures that were never named and hardly shown in canon) come in, in both name and concept.

The Kaiju Catastrophe wiped out many species, if only because humanity got increasingly destructive in their efforts to stop it, leaving vacuums in many ecosystems. 20,000 years isn’t a long time for new species to evolve, but a core theme of the Godzilla series is that mutations happen quickly.

In the aftermath, many species mutated and evolved to be symbiotic towards Godzilla, because being simultaneously around and useful to him was a great way to survive and be protected.

These creatures are the Servum, but there aren’t that many ways to be useful to Godzilla, and so they are essentially “battle honey guides.” They hunt down and swarm creatures that show signs of hostility toward the King, or simply call to summon him if they think they’re out of their league.

Godzilla has naturally been growing and mutating for all 20,000 years, but unlike the near-comatose tree in the anime, my Godzilla is active and roaming. Most of the Earth has well-worn pathways because unless he must deviate to deal with a challenger, he has a decently efficient patrol route.

One of the other results of Godzilla's never-ending world tour is that everything is a bit more radioactive and a bit more violent. The first is natural. The second requires explanation.

Essentially, kaiju that covet the throne hide in nice fertile areas with lots of food of whatever kind they eat. These are typically destroyed in the battle when Godzilla finds them. As a result, aggression, growth, and general "kaiju-fication" has been encouraged in the wildlife for the last 20,000 years, because if you can protect your territory from would-be crown-hunters it won't be destroyed by Godzilla.

Biollante exists, but less as a distinct creature and more as a taxonomic classification; when Godzilla destroys a region in battle, it takes truly remarkable plants to colonize it - these aggressive and radiosynthetic plants are the Biollante.

Now let’s talk about Mechagodzilla, an technology in general. What is left of humanity after 20,000 years? Not a lot to be honest.

Bunkers aren’t much protection from burrowing kaiju, and not even the most optimistic “abandoned by people” documentary thinks any skyscraper will last for 20,000 years.

But it sounds like I’m contradicting myself - if new kaiju are always rising, and virtually all traces of humanity are gone, then where are Mechagodzilla and Mothra’s egg in this continuity? Hilariously, they’re still around because they’re in almost the same place.

In my take on this scenario, Godzilla first appeared in 1954 at a height of 50 meters. By the time humanity had to flee in 2054, he’d swelled to his 100 meter height.

As a result, Mechagodzilla’s factory was built inside a mountain, so that the facility could constantly expand so that if and when the machine got wrecked, it could be rebuilt bigger and better for the next rematch, and both mecha and factory were constantly being built and improved until almost the day humanity evacuated.

Mothra first challenged Godzilla after humanity fled, but her standard procedure is to find a nice safe place for her egg before charging into mortal combat, and she found this very conveniently mostly empty hangar inside a mountain. A bit bland and sterile for her taste, but safe.

Hearkening back to the Heisei era again, Mothra’s egg is psychic, and has a useful passive defense. It radiates an aura that renders the area uninteresting to any kaiju not specifically looking for a Mothra egg. As a result, the egg, the Elias, and Mechagodzilla have been housemates for 20,000 years give or take.

Some of you may have caught that I said Mothra first challenged Godzilla. That’s because this version of Mothra is also active in the timeline... in a sense. Each time the egg hatches, the new Mothra has been challenging Godzilla, and each time she’s taken longer to develop, but done better in the fight. And the most recent challenger was 10,000 years ago...

So, let’s talk about King Ghidorah himself. The anime’s designers claim that their Ghidorah is the final evolution of the essence of Ghidorah.

Screw that! If I want an enemy that’s unkillable because he’s technically in another dimension, other franchises have done it better and with more spectacle.

King Ghidorah isn’t just about destruction. It isn’t enough to let a ghost noodle rip apart and eat a planet (in lore and not on screen of course). King Ghidorah is about the fear, helplessness, and despair in the face of an end to everything you care about that cannot be stopped.

Some people complain that in Rebirth of Mothra III, Ghidorah only destroyed a little bit and then went back to guarding his dome. My hypothesis is that there was a very deliberate and cruel reason for that.

The children knew that they’d been captured and knew that the walls were acidic because one of them tossed a ball at it. But their parents didn’t know yet. Ghidorah destroyed a little and then went back to the dome so that the parents would know what happened and that there was nothing they could do to stop it.

Also, he loomed over the dome and watched it - he was waiting for the digestion process to begin; he was people-watching in the most sadistic manner possible, like a child setting fire to ants with a magnifying glass.

But that incarnation of Ghidorah was a bit too stoic and focused for my taste. I want him to hearken back to Shōwa Ghidorah: we don’t know why he does what he does, only that he’s having a blast doing it!

So let’s run with that. I’m discarding the Exif’s name. In another callback to the past, their name can translate as Xians or Xiliens depending on your preference. And the Xiliens don’t often name their god, but they call him one of three euphemisms: The Laughing King, The Golden Light, and The Threefold Death.

The Xiliens also follow their god’s example: they are quite cheerful and always happy to meet new people (because they’ll get to kill them later); they’re decked out in gaudy, shiny golden colors; and when they’re getting ready to kill someone, they do their damnedest to give them a threefold death.

The Death of their Hopes.

The Death of their Body.

And reserved for their god alone, the Death of their World.

When King Ghidorah is summoned by the terrible cruelty and laughter of his followers, a tear into another dimension is opened over the planet, and an asteroid drops from it, with all the destructive power you’d expect of an asteroid strike.

To die in the blast is an honor and a mercy, because the true horror manifests from the molten ruins and lets out a cackling roar that can be heard across the entire planet. If there are any orbiting ships or space stations, the roar defies all laws of reality to be heard there too.

And in every listener, the sound inspires the primal terror of imminent death.

A cornered rat will bite the cat, but the Laughing King does not begrudge his prey. It’s no fun if they don’t fight back! They need to believe that they stand a chance, so that as they lie bleeding and broken by the Golden Light of gravity beams their hopes can die with their flesh!

This is the true purpose of the Threefold Death that is King Ghidorah. You don’t kill for sustenance or defense; such material needs are mark of a mortal. You kill for fun! For the joy of watching life and hope leave a victim’s eyes!

That is the true essence of King Ghidorah!

#Fanfiction #Premise #Worldbuilding #Godzilla #Mothra #Mechagodzilla #King Ghidorah #Rant #animezilla #noodledorah #Proud of Myself

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jeidafei · 6 years

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D.Gray-Man Chapter 231 Translation Notes

Hi DGMers! jeidafei from Kougeki Scans here. I’m a total newbie to scanlation and I’ve never made my own note before. However, I’ve read all THREE versions of the DGM translation for reference, (This just goes to show this fandom’s undying love for the subject matter) and noticed some discrepancies between scan groups...

Not to say who is wrong or right, as translators are also humans (unless AI got over its Google Translate phase and take over our jobs someday!) with different experiences and backgrounds, and as such there is no such thing as right or wrong in a translation.

So, in addition to my translation, I would also like to give readers the opportunity to interpret things freely without the language barrier as well, and maybe share some of my knowledge regarding Japan and the Japanese language accumulated from over a decade of learning Japanese (mostly through D.Gray-Man and Ghibli animes XD) and around three years of living, studying and working full-time in Japan.

1. “生々流転” (seiseiruten or shoujouruten)

The cover art is mind-blowingly beautiful this time. So much so that I’ve been secretly wondering whether Hoshino-sensei spent even more time on the cover than the actual content itself and that’s why we have 20 instead of, like, 40 pages.

Anyway, it also gives us this little conundrum...

@panthaleia has already done a marvelous analysis here and you should check it out! so I won’t be going into details much; I would just like to give you a definition and leave it to your imagination. I admit I’m pretty much stumped by this as it isn’t clear what exactly Hoshino-sensei is referring to by this concept.

Japanese culture and language takes heavy influence from Chinese since ancient times, and there are plenty of these four-letter Chinese idioms in daily use, called 四字熟語 (Yojijukugo), some of which can be challenging for non-native learnersーand even the Japanese themselvesーto fully grasp its concept, considering the wealth of yojijukugo-themed dictionaries and games published in Japan.

The Japanese definition of 生々流転 goes as follows:

すべての物は絶えず生まれては変化し、移り変わっていくこと。▽「生生」は物が次々と生まれ育つこと。「流転」は物事が止まることなく移り変わっていく意。「生生」は「しょうじょう」とも読む。 (source)

A compilative translation of the above and other versions in the source would be nothing is unchanging; all existence is born, constantly changes (and dies) in a cycle that repeats itself endlessly. The emphasis seems to be put on the term of “constant change” and the “neverending cycle” of all existence, rather than the birth and death of living beings, however, and thus I believe my own and Mangastream’s translation of it as “Circle of Life” may not be comprehensive of what Hoshino-sensei is trying to convey.

In my opinion, it could either be interpreted literally to mean the cycle and flow of energy and soul-force that Past!Allen had mentioned to Nea all those years ago, or considering the plot of the current chapter it can also refer to the story coming full circle and returning to the point of its birth, by taking Allen back to Eddystone...Edinston...Edinburgh...Edinsーargh dammit I give upーwhere his story began with his meeting with Mana Walker.

Speaking of which...

2. The Town Where Allen Began

Mangastream called it Eddingston. Starbuds called it Edinston. The D.Gray Wikia adopted Edinstown and that’s what I decided to go with for now.

However, the actual Japanese text is エディンストン, phonetically E-din-su-ton. Thus, the most phonetically accurate would probably be Starbuds’ Edinston. Edinstown can be transliterated back into Japanese as エディンスタウン, whereas Eddingston would probably be エッディングストン to the Japanese folk (I’ve highlighted the difference in spelling).

There you go! Now y’all can call it whichever way you want!

3. Why is Allen so alarmed?

Right after Mana said that he draws all those little “I am here”s like a street graffiti punk so God would be able to find him, Allen looked as if he had recalled something significant. Seeing as Allen is about to tell the tale of his beginnings, this would probably be clarified in the next chapter. However, in my opinion, Mana saying “so he would be able to find me” is reminiscent of this sentence back in Reverse: Lost Fragment of Snow:

Back when he still remembers Nea and his purpose of searching for him, Mana was taking every measure to make sure Nea recognizes him, as he now looks different from his 17-year-old self. Sure, Mana might actually be referring to God this time as he said it; we’d never know until the next chapter at the least, but the memory of Mana’s words back at the circus must have been what shook Allen to the core.

4. はじまり

The term はじまり (hajimari) or “the beginning” seems to be the central theme in this chapter; appearing on the cover page, the first page and the last page of last chapter, emphasizing the fact that both Allen and the plot has now come full circle and returned to where “Allen” began.

This cliffhanger freaks me out though, as I couldn’t see how Hoshino-sensei could tell Allen’s story without repeating Reverse: Lost Fragment of Snow, as that is stated to be the story of how Allen came to be:

Anyway, my fear and frustration of waiting-six-months-for-new-developments aside, hajimari is a very popular to the point of cliched concept in Japan, in my opinion. If you go to karaoke in Japan and type in hajimari in the machine, it would come up with a SH*T TON of songs containing hajimari in the song name, with hajimari no uta (The song of beginnings) and hajimari no basho (The place where it all began, which is also mentioned in this chapter) being some of the most repetitive.

As much as the cherry blossoms are a symbol of Japanese culture, the Japanese people themselves regard the month when the cherry blossoms bloom, April, and the season of Spring, as the marker of new beginnings, of significant turning points in life. The start of school term, start of fiscal year, start of working life and end of childhood, Your Lie in April , etc. all happen in April.

This phenomenon is especially remarkable in Japan. Being the country of uniformity, virtually every school and workplace throughout the country would start their activities in April.

In my experience, Japanese aesthetics revolve around the changing seasons and times a lot, and countless pop songs that are released around March-April would sing of the blooming cherry blossoms swaying to the wind and new beginnings for students graduating from high school or university. In the same manner, songs coming out in Winter would feature slower melodies and the distinctive, ringing, Christmas-ey chime from the likes of music boxes, glockenspiels, triangles or celestas, and songs released in Summer would usually be quicker, livelier with lyrics retelling a fun trip to the beach, firework shows and sunshine (－and bikinis, if you’re listening to AKB48!).

To someone who came from a tropical country with three pretty much indistinguishable, unpleasant seasons (Damn-you-Summer, Damn-you-Summer-with-Rain-and-Floods and Damn-you-Summer-with-Three-Days-of-Winter), the beauty of the Japanese seasons and how the Japanese culture and lifestyle intertwine so closely with it has always fascinated and charmed me.

5. The Gratitude Dilemma

In addition to the seiseiruten conundrum, this chapter also throws up some more challenges for translators. One notable example for me being how to accurately capture the essence of this panel:

Both Starbuds and Mangastream worded this bubble very differently, and I won’t say who is the most accurate, but I will explain my choice of wording the best I can (with a few tips to weary Japanese learners along the way, hopefully). The actual Japanese raw is below:

My atrocious highlighting skills aside, we can clearly see the emphasis given to the suffix てあげよう (te-ageyou) here.

Allen didn’t say it straight out that he’s pitying Kanda or the like, but he’s using the te-ageru form, which means “ [doing something] for your sake” .

The concept of gratitude is important in a strict, seniority-based society like Japan, and accordingly there are two verb suffixes just to show gratitude: when someone else does a favor for us: te-kureru, and when we receive a favor from someone else: te-morau.

Yes, there’s a difference. And this is one of the most troublesome head-scratchers and trick-question-subjects for intermediate learners of Japanese taking the JLPT test (and translators of Japanese songs and manga as well), as to make things worse the Japanese usually omits the subject and/or object of the sentence.

My tip for making sense of this is for te-kureru, the other person must be the subject of the sentence, whereas for te-morau, I/me must be the subject.

Starting to see now why so many of my classmates gave up on Japanese and why so many anime subs/manga translations are sometimes inaccurate?

We also get another instance here:

(watashi ha kami ni) mitsukete-moraeru you ni would literally mean something along the lines of so (I) could be found by (God) for my sake. I put parentheses here to show you how both the subject and object of this sentence is omitted, and why we must be extremely careful in cases when it is less clear than this who is doing what for whom. To learners, you MUST pay attention to the conjunctions.

For the sake of convenience and more natural speech I just used so God would be able to find me.

Back to Black Allen, te-ageru or its more casual/demeaning form te-yaru, on the other hand, is used for when we’re doing a favor for someone’s sake and should be used sparingly/carefully to people of the same status or lower, as it could sound patronizing depending on context. So Allen using it to Kanda is meant to be very cheeky and infuriating, as if he’s trying to emphasize that his giving up is more out of pity/sympathy for Kanda’s hapless persistence than his own being tired of or incapable of escaping.

Because in reality it is just as he personally admitted in the earlier page: he’s got no money and cannot elude the Order without Kanda’s help, and decided to just twiddle his thumbs and wait around for now.

But food and a man’s pride are everything to Allen...

That’s all for now. I hope you enjoyed our translations. See you in three months, fellow DGMers!

#dgm #dgm 231 #d gray man #analysis

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namorthesubmariner · 6 years

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Marvel’s Atlantis

This post is a collection of information about Marvel Comic’s Atlantis. (Warning: long post ahead. I have not read every comic pertaining to Atlantis yet and as such I’m only gathering things I know.)

The Gods, Goddesses, Creatures, and Relics:

Neptune: The Holy Father. Atlantean Deity, an Olympian who has the power over the all the seas and its creatures. He is father to the Atlantean race (Homo Mermanus). He is also called Poseidon. Typically depicted as an old man with a beard and blue skin like the other Atlanteans. He wields his trident which has unimaginable magic power. The Atlanteans still revere and pray to him. Favors Namor and has on occasion protected and brought him back to life as well as sends him on quests. Has once said that Namor is his favorite son and always has his blessing.

Cleito: The Holy Mother. Atlantean Deity, Mother of all things. Wife of Neptune. The pure essence of femaleness. Embodiment of Illusion, Ruler of the City of the Golden Gate (Pre-Cataclysm). Atlanteans pray to and revere her and she is said to be in all places all at once and knows what lies in the hearts of men. Has said that Namor is a child born of land and sea, that only he holds the power to accept the power of the Nexus Fragment. Has once said that Namor is her favorite son and that her blessing is always upon him.

Cleito and Poseidon had five sets of twins who became the Ten Kings of Atlantis

Evenor: Father of Cleito, Guardian of the City of the Golden Gate, Guardian of the temple of Cleito. Guardian of the Shroud of Cleito. Adviser to pilgrims who make the journey to the Lost Temple. Is depicted as a large terrifying sea creature whose head resembles that of a seahorse and has long clawed hands and glowing eyes.

Set: The Demonic Serpent God, an Elder God and creator of the race of serpent men. Worshiped by Naga a leader of Lemeriuans who broke away from the main Lemurains. Is evil and wishes to control/rule the world in his image.

The Scared Trident of Neptune: A magical Trident that grants the bearer the power over the seas. Is extremely powerful and contains great magic.

The Shroud of Cleito: The Shroud contains Gems that are interwoven into the cloth. The destiny’s of all creatures are held in the gems and the woven into the fabric of the Shroud are the souls of all past and future King’s of Atlantis.

The Amulet of Kings: A magical amulet that holds the souls of the past kings of Atlantis. It was used to transport Namor to Hell.

Crown of Empire: The royal crown of the ruler of Atlantis.

The Coral Throne: The royal throne of Atlantis.

The Serpent Crown: Created by the Serpent men as a magical tool that would allow Set to be able to enter their world. Influences the wearer to the control of Set. Found by Naga and his followers.

The Great Cataclysm: The Fall of Atlantis.

After the Great Cataclysm:

The Atlanteans: City dwellers who live in the various underwater cities in the oceans. Are often seen as the civilized ones compared to their more barbaric cousins who are more of a nomadic tribe usually lead by Attuma. There are varying stories as to how the Atlanteans came to be, some say they were always there a race of water breathers, some say that the wizards of Atlantis saw their continent sinking and used the last of their power to change their surviving people into water breathers. Atlanteans have blue skin, pointed ears, and gills on their necks. They come in varying shades of blue and some have more fish like features than others. Atlanteans also have mutants. They are a very proud race who respect the oceans, earth and all the creatures. They are susceptible to things that damage the environment, like pollution. They cannot survive out of water without a device to aid them. Devices such as water scarves, water tanks, magical pills/potions that will allow them to be able to breath air, etc. They are ruled by Namor the First.

The Lemurians: A splinter group of Atlanteans who live in the pacific/Enemy of Atlanteans/they had their own land before it also sunk below the waves.

Faceless Ones: Ancient tribe of subterranean underwater creatures. Often attacking Atlanteans.

Aqueos: Underwater Vampires. Thought to be myth.

Sirens: Atlanteans with the power to enchant their intended targets with song.

The Logomancer: Atlantean with the power to guide the magic of Atlantis/the oceans through the King to aid Atlantis. Atlantis has scientist and magicians who use technology and magic together in harmony but only the Logomancer can use it on a large scale level and has the power to let the magic flow through the King.

Trident Station: A building that is in the middle of the ocean where land dwellers can come to learn about and explore the history of Atlantis. It is meant to be a neutral meeting place for Atlanteans and Humans to work together in peace.

(Marvel Adventures Fantastic Four #24)

The History:

Before the Fall

Atlantis was not one kingdom but ten. The ten kingdoms were ruled by ten kings. Atlantis was merely the capital kingdom. Within Atlantis there was a city called the Golden Gate. It was the apex of all the wonder and beauty. Before Atlantis sunk below the waves, the event was thereafter known as the Cataclysm, it was a wonder land filled with machines and technology far beyond any civilization of the time. It was a place where miracles were common place and where Magic and Technology were used together in perfect unison. Atlantis stood at the beginning of time and no place yet has ever come close to reaching the utopia and beauty of Atlantis.

Not much is known of the Golden Age of Atlantis before the Cataclysm when it’s history was lost to time and the waves.

(Man-Thing #7-8 1997)

The Fall

Different accounts of how Atlantis fell into the sea and the City of Atlantis rose:

- There was a war between the Lemurians and the Atlanteans involving the Deviants and the Celestials. Shockwaves from a nuclear cataclysm caused Lemuria to sink into the sea along with Atlantis.

- Poseidon reveals that the reason Atlantis fell was due to its own hubris. That the rulers of the past began to grow lazy and neglectful of the city and its people. Unwilling to even fight since they believed fighting was beneath them they hired the Amazons to fight for them. Rather than pay the Amazons their fee teh council of wizards chose to kill them all. This was an Atlantis that was far from the one that stood at the beginning of time, where people were happy and lived in peace, it is unknown how many centuries passed from the Golden Age of Atlantis to the pre-cataclysm but the nation suffered as it grew corrupt from the greed of the rulers. The wizards sought more power and attempted to remake the world in their image. The magic they unleashed was far too powerful for even them to control and it ripped the continent apart and The Empire of Atlantis fell into the sea. (The Incredible Hercules #123)

What few wizards were left used their remaining magic to save the last of their race by turning them into water breathers. Over the centuries the lost and scattered people of the ocean came together to reform their nation this time in the south ocean near the south pole and the continent that is now called Antarctica. The City of Atlantis rose once more. Now ruled by a single Emperor or Empress. A descendant of Neptune’s royal blood.

- Final account is that Homo Mermanus just appeared out of nowhere in the oceans/have always been in the oceans and merely settled from a nomadic lifestyle in the ruins of Atlantis and thus became the Atlanteans.

Noteable Past/Current Royalty of Atlantis:

- The Ten Lost Kings/Queens (No one knows if the five sets of twins were all males, females, or half of each. Only that they were born of Cleito and Posiden and ruled the Ten Kingdoms of Atlantis in the golden age.)

- King Kamuu and Queen Zartra, The last rulers of Atlantis before the Cataclysm

- Empress Ritha, the only female Empress of Atlantis after it fell into the sea.

- Emperor Thakorr, Father of Fen, Grandfather of Namor, Tyrant King of Atlantis.

- Princess Fen, Daughter of Thakorr, Mother of Namor, Goddess of the Seals.

- King Namor the First, Fen-Son, The Avenging Son, The Sub-Mariner, Lord of the Seven Seas and Emperor of the Deep.

After Thakorr’s death it was said the only true King of Atlantis was the Sea-God Neptune and the current holder of the throne of Atlantis was his vessel on earth thus Namor went by the title of Prince out of respect to Lord Neptune since he is very close to his Atlantean faith.

- Princess Namora, Aquaria Nautica Neptuna, the sea beauty, the sea goddess, cousin of Namor and granddaughter of Thakorr

- Princess Namorita, Daughter of Namora, Great Granddaughter of Thakorr

Phrases commonly used by Atlanteans:

Imperius Rex!: A war cry typically uttered before battle. Mainly used by Namor.

People who live on the Surface (typically used as an insult): Lung men/people, air-breathers, surfacers, surface people, air suckers, pink skins.

Minnows: Small Atlantean children (generally babies)

Curse words/exclamations of surprise: By Neptune’s: beard, trident, etc. By the swriling saragossa, By the seven secret seas. etc.

Other Things:

Neptune Net: A large net that is pushed by dozens of Atlanteans to capture great amounts of fish.

Market: Atlanteans are seen to barter their goods and services, they have no use or need of land money. However Namor knows locations of many sunken ships and vessels that contain jewels and treasures from the past. Atlantis it is a hunter/gatherer/fishing/farming community with bartering instead of monetary exchange. There seems to be no sign of poverty or homelessness, the king takes care of his people and ensures that they need for nothing.

School: The Royal Atlantean Academy teaches the students about everything from magic to science to the history of Atlantis and more.

Police Force: The Atlantean Guards are the main police force, city guards and palace guards. Head of Security is usually Andromeda.

Tridents/Trident Team: A specialized team of warriors.

#namor #namor the sub-mariner #namor mckenzie #marvel #atlantis #marvel's atlantis #meta #comics #long post #If i forgot anything I'm sorry I tried to get the most important stuff I could in the post

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cloudbattrolls · 6 years

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Bury Them Softly

Maidel Juzuxt | One Week Prior | Alternate Plane 556-V

Sayamh is chewing on a pen as he scribbles at the paper. Your skin still crawls when you remember holding him.

He’s not Echthros, or Doroch, or even Srevni. Nowhere near the level of Chimera or Miruka.

Unfortunately, you can’t just destroy him, or send him away. That’d just land you in more trouble. So you put him in another plane, with a desk, paper and a chair. He said he didn’t need anything else, and it’s not like you were inclined to give him much.

He looks up at you, long hair tied back in a ponytail. He’d be pretty if you didn’t know what he was, strands of black falling in his thin face.

“What’s the state of things, miss Maidel?”

His voice weirds you out with how quiet and submissive it is, even for a maroon. Especially for a maroon. Even Pheres isn’t really like that, he’s just good at pretending. You’re pretty sure it’s a nonsense stereotype. The other maroons you know can be downright scary.

So why does he pretend?

“Um. Not good.” You admit.

“Derevnya’s fog still smells weird, and some trolls keep having weird dreams or reactions. The canals are still pretty empty, some seadwellers are having a tough time feeding their lusii.”

He nods, and you can feel yourself grimacing.

“Don’t you...know anything about this?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

You bite your lip. What use is he then?

He claims his undead state is the result of a joke summons he didn’t even think would work. Given his lack of control, you can believe it wasn’t intentional...but that doesn’t mean he isn’t biding his time, waiting to feed on people whenever he gets an opportunity.

“Since you don’t know anything.” You say, careful with your words as if they were artifacts in the shop. “Why did they want you so badly?”

He looks both guilty and terrified, and a pang of shame runs through you, but you’ve refrained from pushing him too hard about his captivity so far.

That luxury’s gone.

“Sayamh, you have to have heard something. Or seen something.”

His ears pin back and his head goes back slightly, bearing his bandaged throat. Bleugh. Is he doing this on purpose?

“They ripped pieces off from me.” He says, looking at the lichen-covered stone ground that spans this part of the alternate world. “They said many things I didn’t understand, about weapons and essence and a problem they needed to solve. I don’t know.”

Sympathy wars with revulsion, all on a backdrop of bitter satisfaction. The cult had captured a monster and had started tearing him apart, probably intending to kill him in the end.

Except they’d made monsters too. You weren’t about to forget Dexter in a hurry, or the terrifying beasts that chased you after you ran off with him.

A sigh puffs out of you, and you sit down on one of the rocks rising from the stone plain.

Sayamh tilts his head at you.

“What’s wrong? Besides the big problem, of course.”

You groan and drop your face into your hands. If he was like the others of his kind, it’d be so much simpler.

“Nothing you want to hear, trust me. Just...give me a minute, then we can talk strategy.”

You look up to see him standing only a few feet from you and you nearly bruise yourself trying to scramble backwards.

His eyes become resigned at the sight of it, which finally breaks your last straw of patience.

“Don’t do that!” You snap, already feeling bad, but justified. “You’ve got to warn me before you get up close like that, okay?”

“What good would it do, miss Maidel? You’ll still be afraid of me.”

“Well gee, am I not supposed to be? Like anyone wouldn’t be afraid of you!”

After placing him here, you learned the truth of exactly what he was when you stumbled in on his true form tearing at the carcass of one of the bird-insect creatures in this plane, immediately popped out, and didn’t go back for a week after you threw up in the load gaper.

He opens his mouth, then closes it.

“Look.” You mutter. “It’s nothing personal. I haven’t had any good experiences with the supernatural, ever, and I’ve had a lot.”

“I’ve never hurt you, miss Maidel. I try very hard so that won’t happen.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? You still could, and the only reason you won’t is because I can stop you.”

Sayamh’s horrorterror form messes with your powers like all his kind do, but you’re starting to learn ways around that. There’s a range to it, and there’s a cap; you can’t do big stuff, but you can do a few smaller things, and you’ve worked out how to make the most of that.

The maroon studies you, and you fold your arms, even though your ears are pinned. He doesn’t deserve to make you feel bad about this. He has no idea what you’ve been through.

“What do you think happened when I did the summoning?”

You blink.

“You got a horrorterror in you?”

“Part of one.” he corrects. “I know that now; it was an accident for them and me. Now am I neither really troll, or fully horrorterror. Do you know why I didn’t kill myself when I realized what I was, after I woke up?”

Your face must be pure green from the heat you’re feeling.

“I literally couldn’t. The fragment in me won’t let me do it, no matter how much I want to. I’m sure someone could do it for me, if I figured out a way, but...” He shrugs. “There are worse monsters than me out there. Since I can’t do anything about it, I refuse to feel bad. I can’t help what I am anymore than you can help being hatched green.”

“Those are totally different!” You protest, despite the squirming embarrassment you feel.

“Being green isn’t the same as being a monster! Nobody’s hatched that way! It’s not right and it’s not fair!”

A flock of beetle-sparrows takes flight nearby, whirring off. You slap your face with a hand. Idiot.

A clay mask flickers in your memory, and the heaviness in you worsens.

You start to apologize when Sayamh sits next to you and you freeze, breathing quickening, but he doesn’t move further. He looks out into the distance, across the gray stone plain dotted with tufts of vegetation.

“If I’m a monster, why do you bother calling me by my name?”

His voice is so soft you strain to hear it, freckled ears twitching.

You draw in a sharp breath.

“What else am I going to call you?”

“You don’t mind ‘monster’. Why not a cage, instead of my own little world? I know why you took me, why you need me; what I can’t work out is why despite how scared you are, you’re still holding back.”

You look at him blankly, green eyes bereft of any comprehension.

He sighs, rubs a few strands of hair between his fingers.

“You’re one of the few trolls who stands a chance of culling me, and you could imprison me too if you wanted to feel safer.”

He gestures at the things you brought him.

“So why all this?”

You’re back in the first hive you lived in - yours, but you’d never call it that, not when Riccin’s windmill hive feels more it belongs to you than that place ever will - staring at the locked door, drained of your psi as usual. You can’t even make sparks to light up the space. You could try to force it open and run, but with your powers in her, she can be anywhere; she’s probably watching you now.

Waiting for you to give her an excuse.

“I can’t.” You manage, your voice oddly strangled. “I can’t do that.”

“Someone trapped you once, didn’t they?”

“Shut up!” You wail, sparking lime. You know you’re being stupid, but he keeps pressing you like he has any right, has any reason to know beyond wanting to taunt you for how weak you are -

He isn’t touching you, but he’s so close. One palm only inches from you, fingers splayed as the details of bandages fill your sight, frayed as they are, but with no stains; he doesn’t bleed, like any real troll should.

It’s the lack of blood that makes nausea well up in you, and from the look in his eyes, it’s plain on your face as well as in your digestion sac.

His thin fingers, so unlike your soft ones, curl in and he puts it back down on his lap, his ears low like yours now.

“Silly of me.” He says, and you’re pretty sure if trolls could die of awkwardness you’d have a million graves.

It’s worse than if he’d mocked you. You know how to handle that.

“I have to check on the kids.” You babble, and then pop back to the shop so you can slide down on the couch in the backroom and bury your head in your hands.

Ugh.

#tw suicidal ideation #tw abuse mention #in which they are both dumbasses #Maidel Juzuxt #Sayamh Firahj #what lies beneath us

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nostalgiaultrame · 6 years

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A relative unknown at the time, Jon Hopkins emerged as an artist in his own right on his fourth full-length release with an album that broke down the significant wall dividing electronic/techno music from a mainstream audience. It feels difficult to comprehend the impression that Immunity left upon me when I first heard it back in the summer of 2013. That impact exists now as a collection of thoughts and emotions, linked to experiences from a personally tumultuous year. It became my long player of the year; not only my favourite release but the one that got the most consistent play as the months went on and winter approached. Despite dozens of other albums competing for my attention, Immunity continued to linger in the mind. I know I’m not alone in regard to that impact. Immunity is an album whose reputation precedes it, now even more so than it did during that long summer. At the time, you might’ve checked it out because a friend of a friend was singing its praises, or you’d glance over someone’s shoulder on the tube in morning rush hour to see them listening to it (my wandering eye spotted this on several occasions). Or better yet, how its slow-burner status was confirmed once it bagged a Mercury Music Prize nomination and the predictable spike in sales solidified a burgeoning love for an album that already had the formations of a stone cold contemporary classic. Immunity bulldozed virtually every other album released in 2013 in its ability to straddle that revered space where artistic vision and commercial success amalgamate without even so much as a whiff of compromise. That it resonated as much as it did was mostly a surprise, not least of all to Hopkins; it appeared seemingly out of nowhere and only built on its success as time went on. I can think of perhaps no other electronic release this decade that has achieved the same success without intentionally playing to the kind of audience the label might market it to. (Grimes’ Visions has arguably a more enduring legacy than Immunity, but not even the most hardcore Claire Boucher fan can say the superb Art Angels wasn’t conceived as more accessible in response to Visions’ breakthrough success.) Compare some of the other releases of 2013 with Immunity and it’s easy to see how it stands alone as a sort of outlier, hallmarked within strict perimeters of Hopkins’ fascination with sound design, a technique he employs throughout every track that can only be described as a ‘sensory overload.’ There are most likely two caveats when it comes to finding a worthy 2013 release to compare to Immunity’s reputation. In my experience (cross-referencing to jog my memory of a specific time, place and even an album’s cultural clout in 2013), all came up short. Firstly, there are those that no doubt matched the artistry of Hopkins’ larger than life ambitions, yet quite understandably, were too obtuse to make ripples beyond the pool of those within esoteric earshot (Amygdala, R Plus Seven, Tomorrow’s Harvest). Secondly, there are those albums that felt borne of the weight of commercial expectation and succeeded, managing to deliver healthy sales, news features and, by 2018, reverence as cult albums amongst a select group of devout diehards (The Bones Of What You Believe, Random Access Memories and, most notably, Settle). All of these releases were big news in some way in 2013, the final three managing to achieve particular acclaim for crossing over genres and blurring the distinction between indie, rock, dance and synth-pop. What can we learn from Immunity by comparing it with these other albums and Hopkins’ ability to communicate beyond the usual artist/audience relationship? Was it all pure luck? Usually a couple of the hits from Settle or Random Access Memories will find their way onto most people’s Spotify playlists; a Latch here or a Get Lucky there. It might be less common for those listeners to know the albums back to front, and almost certainly not in the case of R Plus Seven. Even Immunity falls into that trap, yet there are a number of clues as to its enduring appeal and why such a relatively large audience connected with an hour-long electronic album almost devoid of vocals. Hopkins is a classically-trained pianist and his piano playing comes to the fore on numerous tracks on Immunity, the most arresting of which is Abandon Window. Technically the album’s showstopper, it takes a heartbreaking piano motif to its core and fuses it with the sound of distant erupting fireworks in its second half. It’s difficult to know what kind of emotional reaction we’re meant to take from Abandon Window, but maybe that’s the whole point? We can take what we want from an album that is more concerned with pushing the boundaries on sound content, leaving us to focus purely on our emotional response. The lack of vocals throughout the majority of the album feel in part responsible for creating this strong reaction in a large number of listeners. Devoid of that most instantaneous and human of responses to popular music, the listener is forced to have an internal reaction over an external one. We cannot sing along to Immunity; we may nod and hum or tap our feet, but its cerebral and hypnotic rhythms reflect a desire to solve one of its most common themes; the harmony that arises from the discord of its rhythmic melodies and archaic stop-start programming. Within it evolves a kind of beauty out of madness. It’s like solving a mathematical problem in our heads and slowly making sense of its garbled information overload, problems that become more familiar as we learn how to trapeze through Hopkins’ den of mystery and intrigue. Hopkins is fascinated with the pure essence of sound and how it can be manipulated. Immunity was recorded over a nine month period in his east London studio and the confident, jagged instrumentation of most of the album’s ‘upbeat’ tracks reflect not only a remarkable tactility but pure joy in the power of creation. Second track Open Eye Signal is arguably Hopkins’ most popular and enduring song. It captures perfectly the album’s technique of sustained delay and release, accruing tension ever so slowly with each passing wave of noise until it become so strong that everything building up behind it cascades forward, tumbling down in a glorious, shimmering mess of glitchy, fragmented distortion. Its melodies are distinct and minuscule, yet our brains are wired to group them together into larger blocks that click together like a Jenga tower. Working better as a motif, they function like small shards of glass reflecting light at an infinite number of angles, repeating and recurring with emphasis placed at key points to drive forth a particular mood or feeling. Hopkins manages to sew them together so intricately and so beautifully that they work just as well as modern pop music. It’s impossible to listen to Open Eye Signal (or its sister track Collider) without thinking about Hopkins’ intentions in the same way one might feel Kubrick or Scorsese lurking in their mind whilst watching Barry Lyndon or Taxi Driver; the director’s vision is so apparent that it affects every frame, even more so at intervals where a pinnacle thought or idea begins to crest. Immunity’s position as a landmark album this decade is thrown into even starker contrast when we consider its successor, Singularity. Released a few weeks ago, the weight of expectation surrounding Singularity was intense, so much so that it landed within the top ten of the official UK album charts (Immunity peaked at 63). Reaction has been strong with critical accolades aplenty (no doubt a Mercury Prize nomination will follow), yet Singularity feels like more of a shuffle than a stride forward. It’s a product of the reactionary effect of Immunity’s surprise word-of-mouth success. To be fair to Hopkins, Singularity contains many moments of awe, it’s just that they feel indebted to Immunity’s jackpot-hitting formula. As with Grimes, how could it not be? Immunity felt like it had the power to change your life, but no one’s life was changed more so by its success than Hopkins’. Even the titles have an uncanny similar...ity, along with the artwork, and the fact that the first half contains the heavier techno numbers before giving way to more ambient soundscapes. Over time we must come to view both albums as separate works and allow Singularity the distinction of its own merit. Would we be satisfied with anything less than what Hopkins has bestowed upon us? Would we be happier if Hopkins had taken an entirely left turn? Most of us have been waiting patiently for a follow-up to Immunity that captures that same lightning in a bottle, so it feels particularly unfair to criticise him for continuing its sound. His style is one that is hard to pick faults with and Hopkins has stated that Singularity actually contains many studio advancements. Whether you can spot them or even care doesn’t matter. We know that lightning never strikes twice in the same spot and if Singularity feels mildly underwhelming, it stems from the relationship I’ve built with Immunity over the years. Had Immunity never existed, Singularity could be taken of its own accord and we would be freer to make up our own minds about all the same things we did five years ago, but since it is indebted to its predecessor in style and content, we can never know what that might feel like. It will be interesting to see how time continues to shape Immunity and its reputation as a landmark electronic release. Singularity has thrown that into sharp relief this year. If we can deduce anything at this early stage, it’s that the sound Hopkins has carved out across these two albums hints at a bigger picture, something that could be blown wide apart on his next release, and that is definitely an exciting idea to mull over whilst we wait for the next chapter of his journey.

#jon hopkins #immunity #singularity #open eye signal #disclosure #daft punk #dj koze #oneohtrix point never #martin scorsese #stanley kubrick #techno #electronic #music #chvrches #grimes #visions #art angels

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dfroza · 3 years

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the universe was made through the Son.

and the current form of earth is promised to be made perfectly new at some point. there must be rebirth, just as with the heart (inside, Anew)

and this contains the promise of the body being reborn as a spiritual form that will never die.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament begins the book of Hebrews:

Long ago, at different times and in various ways, God’s voice came to our ancestors through the Hebrew prophets. But in these last days, it has come to us through His Son, the One who has been given dominion over all things and through whom all worlds were made.

This is the One who—imprinted with God’s image, shimmering with His glory—sustains all that exists through the power of His word. He was seated at the right hand of God once He Himself had made the offering that purified us from all our sins. This Son of God is elevated as far above the heavenly messengers as His holy name is elevated above theirs.

For no heavenly messengers have ever heard God address them with these words of the psalms:

You are My Son.

Today I have become Your Father.

Or heard Him promise,

I will be to You a Father,

and You will be My Son.

Now, when the Son, the firstborn of God, was brought into the world, God said,

Let all My heavenly messengers worship Him.

Concerning them, God said,

I make My heavenly messengers like the winds,

and My servants like a flame.

But to the Son He said,

God, Your throne is eternal;

You will rule Your kingdom with the scepter of justice.

You have loved what is right

and hated what is evil;

That is why God, Your God, has anointed You

with the oil of gladness and lifted You above Your companions.

And God continues,

In the beginning, You, Lord, laid the foundation of the earth

and set the skies above us with Your own hands.

But while they will someday pass away,

You remain forever;

when they wear out like old clothes,

You will roll them up

and change them into something new.

But You will never change;

Your years will never come to an end.

Did God ever say to any of the heavenly messengers,

Sit here, at My right hand, in the seat of honor;

and I’ll put all Your enemies under Your feet?

No, of course not. The heavenly messengers are only spirits and servants, sent out to minister to those who will certainly inherit salvation.

The Book of Hebrews, Chapter 1 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 41st chapter of the book of Jeremiah that documents an evil tragedy of betrayal and murder:

But in the seventh month of the year, this same Ishmael (son of Nethaniah and grandson of Elishama)—a member of Judah’s royal family and a former captain of the king—came with 10 of his men to Mizpah to visit Gedaliah (son of Ahikam). As they were eating together, Ishmael (son of Nethaniah) and his 10 men betrayed their host and suddenly got up and with their swords attacked and killed Gedaliah (son of Ahikam and grandson of Shaphan), the man the king of Babylon had appointed governor of the land. Ishmael and his men then killed all the rest of the Judeans who were with Gedaliah at Mizpah and the Chaldean soldiers who had been left there.

The next day, before anyone had learned of Gedaliah’s assassination, a group of 80 men arrived from Shechem, Shiloh, and Samaria. They were on their way to Jerusalem, bringing grain offerings and incense to what was left of the temple of the Eternal. It was obvious they were in mourning, having shaved their beards, torn their clothing, and cut their bodies. Ishmael (son of Nethaniah) met them just outside Mizpah, weeping as if something terrible had happened. When he got to their company, he said:

Ishmael: Please, come and see what has happened to Gedaliah (son of Ahikam).

But once they were in the city, Ishmael and his men started to slaughter the innocent worshipers and throw their murdered corpses into a large cistern. Now there were 10 of these men who pled with Ishmael.

Men: Please do not kill us. We have a large quantity of wheat, barley, oil, and honey hidden in the field.

Ishmael agreed to let them live in exchange for these supplies. But he did kill 70 of their company.

Now the cistern into which Ishmael threw the corpses of Gedaliah, his men, and these worshipers on their way to Jerusalem had been dug by King Asa years ago when he was preparing for an attack from King Baasha of Israel. Ishmael (son of Nethaniah) filled it with dead bodies. After this massacre, Ishmael took the rest of the people in Mizpah captive, including the royal princesses and the others left under the care of Gedaliah (son of Ahikam) by Nebuzaradan (captain of the imperial guard). Ishmael (son of Nethaniah) forced everyone to leave the city with him as he escaped to the land of the Ammonites.

Now when Johanan (son of Kareah) and the other army leaders who were with him heard about this massacre carried out by Ishmael, they rallied all their men and pursued Ishmael (son of Nethaniah) to fight him. They caught up with him not far from the great pool in Gibeon. When the people Ishmael had captured saw Johanan (son of Kareah) and the other army leaders closing in, they rejoiced. All those who had been taken prisoner by Ishmael at Mizpah escaped and joined Johanan (son of Kareah) in the fight against Ishmael. But somehow Ishmael (son of Nethaniah) and eight of his men were able to escape from Johanan and cross over into the land of the Ammonites.

Then Johanan (son of Kareah) and the other army leaders led the people they had just rescued away from Gibeon. This group (who had been taken from Mizpah after Ishmael assassinated Gedaliah) included soldiers, women, children, and court officials. They made their way south and stopped at Geruth Chimham near the village of Bethlehem. The entire company was on its way to Egypt to escape the Chaldeans; for the Judeans were afraid of what would happen when the Chaldeans discovered that Ishmael (son of Nethaniah) had killed Gedaliah (son of Ahikam), the man appointed governor of the land by the king of Babylon.

The Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 41 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, September 23 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about choosing to “believe…”

Though it is good to ask questions about what we believe, to seek for understanding, and to study the Scriptures, we must do so using the principle that “faith seeks understanding,” rather than the converse principle that “understanding seeks faith,” since the latter elevates human reason to be the judge and arbiter of the things of God, a role for which it is both incapable and unsuited (Isa. 55:8-9; Job 9:10; 11:7; Psalm 139:6; Rom. 11:33). God is not a “what” but a “Who,” and that determines the means by which we know him (John 4:24). We can indeed know truth about God, though attaining such knowledge transcends the abilities of unaided human reason (see Deut. 29:29).

Some people talk about "honest doubt" regarding matters of God, and while there may indeed be occasions to confess the limitations of our ability to understand the mysteries of heaven and earth, we must be on guard not to ply a present lack of "semantic closure" as an excuse for despair that hardens our hearts and justifies our sin... The lower nature's machinations are so devious that we must be on guard and "test what manner of spirit" we are (Luke 9:55; 1 John 4:1; James 4:4). In the name of "honest doubt" a soul can invent all manner of difficulties of interpretation, the mind may become jaded and agnostic; the heart cools and steps away from the passion of faith... Doubt introduces hesitancy, compromise, and godless misgivings; it is a leech upon the soul, sapping the strength of conviction, weakening the balm of assurance. Be careful. Honest seeking is one thing, but practiced doubt may be an evasive measure - a diabolical ploy meant to distance yourself from responsibility to the truth of God's Presence....

Often enough people have a "problem" with faith not because there is insufficient reason to believe -- after all, every soul has intuitive awareness of the reality of God's reality and power (see Rom. 1:19-20; Psalm 19:1-4; Acts 14:17) -- but because secret sin lurking within the heart is cherished as the soul’s ultimate concern and most precious value. Such idolatry of heart is the essence of much "doubt," since faith ultimately is an act of will. "The heart has its reasons that reason knows not of" applies both to the realm of God but to the affections of the selfish heart... In that sense doubt serves as a deal made with the devil - an exchange of a "mess of pottage" for the blessing of God!

Charles Spurgeon once wrote: "It seems that doubt is worse than trial. I had sooner suffer any affliction than be left to question the gospel or my own interest in it" (Vol. 29, Sermons). Amen, the gospel cannot be esteemed apart from personal interest in its truth, for otherwise we are merely toying with its message. You must believe that the truth of God - and being properly related to this truth by means of a trusting relationship - is the most inestimably precious and important matter of your very existence... We cannot escape from the double-mindedness of our way apart from sincerely turning to God and asking Him to show us his glory, his beauty, and the wonder of his great love. A divided house cannot stand. The way of deliverance from yourself - the way to be free of enslaving passions and dark desires that fragment the soul - is by the miracle of God: "For the flesh has desires that are opposed to the Spirit, and the Spirit has desires that are opposed to the flesh, for these are in opposition to each other, so that you cannot do what you want' (Gal. 5:17; Rom. 7:15-25), but if you are led by the Spirit, you are free from the law of sin and death and are enabled to live according to a new source of power and life, namely, the law of the Spirit of Life in Messiah Yeshua (Rom. 6:6,14; Gal. 2:20). Living in slavery to sin is to lose yourself - to have no “center,” no self that unifies your heart and focuses your reason for being... It is the hell of no longer believing in anything at all, and especially no longer believing yourself.

Soren Kierkegaard once lamented: "The matter is quite simple. The Bible is very easy to understand. But we Christians are a bunch of scheming swindlers. We pretend to be unable to understand it because we know very well that the minute we understand we are obliged to act accordingly.” There is a very real danger of “thinking about” truth rather than living it. For instance, you might study the Psalms as literature and attempt to understand the nuances of Hebrew poetry, but that is altogether different than reciting the psalms with inner passion, with simple conviction and the earnest desire to unite our heart’s cry with the devotion that gave life to the words... We must read with a heart of faith to unlock the truth that speaks to the heart. If you believe only what you understand, your faith is actually grounded in your own reasoning, not in the Divine Voice of Love...

The way of trust is always a matter of the heart’s passion and hope... The Spirit of God speaks gently: "My child, give me your heart, and let your eyes observe my ways" (Prov. 23:26). When we call God "Abba," we are not using a formal name that indicates distance, but rather a term that evokes intimate closeness and reliance. Calling out to God as "Abba" signifies that we genuinely accept that God regards us as his beloved child... [Hebrew for Christians]

9.22.21 • Facebook

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

September 23, 2021

The Meaning of Man

“When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?” (Psalm 8:3-4)

This question has been posed as a rhetorical question by many generations of skeptics, especially in our present generation when the tremendous size of the universe is often used to argue that God, if He exists, could not possibly be interested in such a small speck of dust as our own planet.

But essentially the same argument was used against Job by one of his three “miserable comforters” (Job 16:2) over 3,500 years ago. “How then can man be justified with God?...that is a worm? and the son of man, which is a worm?” (Job 25:4, 6).This dismal type of reasoning, however, is utterly fallacious. Significance is not a function of size but of purposeful complexity, and the human brain is surely the most complex physical system in the entire universe, as acknowledged even by such an eminent atheistic scientist as Isaac Asimov. Rather than being insignificant nonentities, men and women have been created in the very image of God and are the objects of His redeeming love.

The most wonderful measure of man’s importance is the fact that God Himself became a man! “Christ Jesus...being in the form of God...took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men” (Philippians 2:5-7) to be able to take our death penalty upon Himself. Furthermore, God’s love for man is measured not only by His substitutionary death for our sins but also by His eternal creative purpose for us. He has redeemed us so that “in the ages to come he might shew the exceeding riches of his grace in his kindness toward us through Christ Jesus” (Ephesians 2:7). HMM

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kylydian · 7 years

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Musical Concepts in Animal Crossing

Let’s start our journey of looking at concepts of new ideas in music by first focusing on everyone’s favorite animal life simulator, Animal Crossing. But Kyle!? Why Animal Crossing? That’s so laid back, how does the music do interesting thing?! Because not only is it my favorite game, but because it’s a great example of using thematic material! Also, the soundtracks are surprisingly large, and this leaves us a lot of inspiration and ideas for us to use. Granted, there’s better music out there, and much of the Animal Crossing soundtrack is similar, but the importance of this music shouldn’t be overlooked. Ideas gained from the music of Animal Crossing can be applied across all genres of video games and music.

And where else would be a better place to start off with other than with our favorite in game dog musician: K.K. Slider.

K.K. is honestly who I believe conceptually the entire soundtrack revolves around. But these concepts are hidden behind who exactly K.K. is as a musician. His songs are so specific in nature. You walk up to him on a Saturday night and say “Hey K.K.! Play me a ballad!” Or you want parade music? You got it. His songs are named are named true to the genres as well. Most of his songs are titled “K.K. Rock, K.K. Bossa, K.K. Love Song” or something similar. Thinking about it on the outside, this is all there is, but diving into the compositions, I believe name becomes more than just a name.

K.K. Rock is…well…a rock song. It’s nothing more. And nothing less. Is it a good composition? Sure. It’s fine, it’s rock music through and through. It doesn’t break any ground as rock music, instead the piece plays it safe. This to me could be a musical definition of rock music in its absolute purest form. Taking this definition farther, we could say that this is K.K. Slider (And Totaka effectively) answering the question “What does rock music sound like as a concept?” This “concept” is so important and is not thought about often in my opinion. K.K. Rock captures the essence of an art form, and being able to do that shows a level of mastery that I know I don’t have. This is a piece meant to be played in your home in-game. If rock music is your favorite genre, it’s very likely you’ll have it playing in one of your rooms. And the brilliant thing about all of the other “K.K. Insert Genre Here” songs is that each one does this exact same thing. Animal Crossing is a game about communicating in so many different ways. But above all it’s a game about communicating yourself. Each of these tracks incorporates something that an individual could use to define them, and they do it through music that the listener will probably like if they’re a fan. And that’s really cool.

This concept doesn’t stop here though. In all actuality, I believe that the rest of the Animal Crossing soundtrack is structured around the idea of writing to concepts. The true genius of the soundtrack lies in the main theme of each game. Main themes are critical to understanding what a game is about, but in many ways the main theme of Animal Crossing is almost more important, and even more all encompassing. Example: It plays at every hour of every day in every game. The main theme of these games have to be written in a way that you never get tired of them. And they do this in a brilliant way. First of all, the main theme has to be good. Really good. You can’t pull this off if the theme itself gets annoying. The main theme of each game is present enough that you hear it, but background enough that it quickly fades to the subconscious. They’re melodies and harmonies that are easily understood by the human ear. Naturally though, even the best written melody will become tiresome if it’s all you hear. That’s why for each hour of the day, the main theme is presented in a different arrangement. Each hour has a different feeling when compared to each other, and adjacent hours often share similarities in musical style or concept. To me the music answers the question of “If music was playing around me at this point in time, what would it sound like?” This is the true brilliance of the sound track. It answers questions such as: “What does 7:00 am sound like? What about 12:00 pm? Why do these hours sound that way? How are they different? What about 7:00 o’clock, how are am and pm related at this time?” In addition to this, each track needs to be appropriate for every season of the year! Writing tracks that encompass so much with such simplicity is the true magic of this music.

Each hour is a different arrangement featuring the main theme or fragments from the main theme. All of the arrangements are different enough from each other that the main theme never gets tired. At the same time, answering the question of what this time of day sounds like allows the player to be drawn farther into the world subconsciously. This musical glue is in many ways a key feature of why I believe Animal Crossing can be played in long bursts for days on end. This concept goes back to the idea of K.K. Slider and answering what a genre of music would sound like in the purest form. Animal Crossing has music that puts ideas into a musical space, allowing our brains to make sense of what we’re playing. Going even further, there’s a slight alteration of each hour for when it’s snowing or raining! The variety is endless! Animal Crossing is a series that has marketed itself as the game that never stops, and this movement of music overtime plays right in to that idea.

Tired yet? There’s a couple more concepts left!

Next, let’s focus on the town tune. I’ve seen people either love this idea, or never really pay it any mind, but in the context of Animal Crossing’s music it simply can’t be ignored. For those of you who aren’t familiar When you move in to town, there’s already a town tune, but to put it bluntly, it’s not good. This encourages players to change it early on, adding some immediate sense of your personality to your town. Some people write original compositions, some put in their favorite Nintendo music, or maybe even a pop song. But whatever it is, it always reflects the individual. The neat thing though about this composition you write is it plays constantly. Well, not constantly like the hour music, but you get the idea. Walk into a store? There it is. Oh the hour changed? Here’s the town tune. Going to talk to a villager? Cue your song. This is truly the anthem of your town. But similar concepts have been done before. So let’s talk about the way it’s presented. Every time you talk to an animal, your town tune is going to play, but never the same. For every animal in the game, the town tune has a different sound to it. This often reflects the type of animal you’re talking to. If you walk up to a duck, the tune is going to have some quacking quality to it. A mouse is likely to be high pitched with some squeaks, and a dog is going to greet you with a barking rendition. In addition, each personality type will influence the sound as well. This once again takes something that we know all too well and shoves it to the back of our mind because we never hear it the same way. There are TONS of characters in Animal Crossing, so there might be some repeats among villagers somewhere that I don’t know about, but even so there are countless versions! And if you happen to ever get tired of the song you wrote? Well…it’s good that you can go change it!

Animal Crossing is a game about defining yourself while escaping from real life. The music in the game is all about this. It strikes this truly unique balance between defining what you know and characterizing what’s happening, but it finds ways to use repetition over and over again so that you don’t notice repetition. This allows both the game and the music to help blur the distinction between world and game. This is awesome to see a game do, and it provides so many unique ways for us to think of repetition in our own games.

Concepts such as these are easily applicable in our own games and music. Varying melodies or rearranging them is extremely common in games, but it’s often only presented in a few ways. Writing all encompassing melodies has been done all throughout music history (more on that in future posts), but I find it to be extremely effective when a melody is used to such lengths. The challenge comes in making it sound consistently fresh to the player and listener. Something though that I think should be done more is the idea of writing to concepts. I’m going to be talking about this a lot over time, which is the true reason why I wanted to start with Animal Crossing. So much video game music is written to accompany battle, story, or location that I think it’s easily forgotten that there’s other ways to enhance game play through music. I think Animal Crossing presents these ideas in a more approachable way than other games I’m going to talk about. As we go over other examples of writing music to concepts, not everything else is going to be as easy as “What does a rock song sound like?” And even with answering that question, answers are sure to vary! I’m not necessarily here to provide answers at all times, but give different ways of looking at music. Again, music is a subjective topic while possessing objective qualities. I want innovation to happen, and without conflicting ideas innovation is going to remain something that is all elusive.

Kylydian

#Animal Crossing #Nintendo #Music #video game music #video game #indie #indie music #sound design #game music #game audio #game #Kylydian #k.k. slider #indie game #game development #indie dev #indie developer

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whileiamdying · 5 years

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BIRD HUNT IN THE UNDERWORLD

This fragment of a wall painting, so bright and cheerful in mood, belongs in the solitary seclusion of a tomb. It shows the deceased out hunting. He is swinging a throwing stick in his left hand and holding three birds firmly in his right. He stands on a flat boat of papyrus reeds, reinforced with wooden planks, that is altogether barely bigger than a surfboard. On the prow stands a Nile goose, and behind the deceased his wife; a daughter crouches between his legs. The air and bushes in front of him are full of birds: some appear to have been startled, others are shielding eggs in their nest.

Painted before 1350 BC, Hunting in the Marshes was not a new subject as such. Of the almost 200 examples uncovered to date, however, none offers such a wealth of bird species in such differentiated colours. We know from other wall paintings that a fowling scene of this kind is usually accompanied by a scene of the tomb-owner fishing. In the case of the present fragment, this section no longer survives, but a length of spear can still be seen in the bottom left-hand corner, together with the tail end of the fish that the weapon has trapped.

The Egyptians believed in an existence after death, which was why they strove to preserve the body with their mummification techniques, performed daily rituals in which they supplied statues of the dead with food, and decorated their tombs with scenes from everyday life: lavishly spread tables, leafy vine bowers hung with bunches of grapes, excursions into the marshes and hunting in the papyrus thickets. The hieroglyphs beneath Nebamun’s left shoulder tell us what pictures such as this fragment show, namely the deceased “enjoying himself and seeing beauty instead of a lifetime of eternal repetition”. These scenes from life accompanied the dead and were infused with magical powers so that the deceased might fare as well in eternity as on earth. These powers were far more important than the aesthetic quality of the representation. This was true for all places of worship, for temples as for tombs. If the tomb-owners sit at tables piled high with haunches of beef and roast duck, for example, it is because these painted supplies of food will help ensure that the dead suffer no hunger for all eternity. For this reason, artists and craftsmen muttered charms while working, the knowledge of which was passed — together with manual skills — from father to son. “I am the lord of mystery”, boasted Iriirusen from the Middle Empire (c. 2040—1785 BC). “I have used all the power of magic” so that the paintings -- created according to the correct conventions might “live.”

The tomb-owner remains forever young

One of the conventions of Ancient Egyptian painting and bas-relief was the representation of the human body from a combination of two angles: the head, torso and legs inside view, the eyes and shoulders from the front. Elements to which the Egyptians attached particular importance were to be clearly visible. Thus, the width of the shoulders, for example, and the symbol of power held by kings in front of the breast, are better appreciated from the front. Striding legs, on the other hand, could not be shown from the front because the Egyptians were unfamiliar with spatial perspective. Individual body parts were painted without depth or modelling, but were laid down as a flat plane in one colour. The renunciation of the third dimension helped Egyptian art to achieve the clarity that we still admire in it today.

Its incisiveness and simplicity are also heightened by its renunciation of individuality. The tomb owner was called Nebamun, but his face betrays nothing of his age or character and doesn’t even register enjoyment of the hunt. The artist does not seek to capture a likeness but depicts only what we might call the core or the essence of the person what remains when everything incidental and transient has been stripped away. The wig plaited into small braids and the wide collar tell us nothing about the personal tastes of the sitter, but were standard dress for men from the upper ranks of the Egyptian social hierarchy. Such men were identified only by their written name and title. Nebamun was a senior official and manager of a royal granary from the 18th Dynasty.

A more detailed representation of a bird hunt, found in a different tomb and dating from the Middle Empire, takes the form of a model boat. Manned by miniature oarsmen and paddlers, it includes men hurling spears tied to ropes (i.e. harpoons), high-ranking figures who are standing idly by, and a young woman stowing away the birds bagged by hunters. Documentary sources indicate that boats were normally bigger than the one Nebamun is standing on and had comfortable cabins for longer trips, as well as storage space for food and drink and the equipment and spoils of the hunt. Hunting in the marshes or in the desert was one of the sporting pursuits of the upper class. It required a degree of training, for example in how to use the throwing stick. These were slightly curved and broadened out at one end, which was often carved into the shape of a snake’s head. In his other hand Nebamun is holding three decoys.

A fertile field for her lord

The wife is smaller than her husband, in line with the traditional pictorial hierarchy. Even if she had been taller in real life, in pictures her scale is reduced. It was social status, not reality, which counted. The royal official and granary manager ranked higher than his spouse and she higher than their daughter, who is holding her father’s shin. These distinctions were valid not only within a family group but also wherever the Pharaoh or leading officials were depicted in the company of persons of lesser importance. It would be wrong to deduce from these relative proportions that strict subordination reigned within the family. A married woman was described as “mistress of the house” and in contrast to other Ancient societies, in which they were treated as minors and had to be represented in legal proceedings by a male relative, Egyptian women (at least in the New Empire from c. 1550 to 1075 BC) could go to court themselves. But that was probably just one side of the picture. The advice offered by Ptahhotep the sage (c. 2300 BC) to a married man is likely to be closer to the everyday reality of women’s lives: “Fill her stomach and clothe her back, for she is a fertile field for her lord. Do not contend with her in a court of justice but keep her from power and restrain her.”

The high official’s wife is festively attired: it is thus that the deceased should remember her and thus that she should accompany him into eternity. She wears a pleated dress with wide sleeves, through which the contours of her slender body can be seen. All women in tomb paintings have ideal figures. She is holding lotus blossoms in her arms and a scented cone sits on top of her head. Made of perfumed animal fat, the cone was worn on top of the wig on social occasions, causing the hair to shine and smell sweetly as it melted. Wigs were worn by both men and women of the upper class. Her hair was considered one of a woman’s most important attractions, even if it was not her own. “He found me alone,” says the heroine of a fairy tale of her admirer. “He said: ‘Come, let us spend a while together. Let us go to bed, put on your wig.’“

Perfumes also played a major role in the perception of the Egyptians, and it is likely that people several thousand years ago could differentiate between scents to a greater degree than we can today. The proximity of the gods was signalled by a particular odour, called the “sweat of God”. The hieroglyph for “joy” is a nose, and Ptahhotep the sage also advised the husband to provide his wife with perfumed ointments “as the remedy for her limbs” and thereby “gladden her heart as long as you live”.

The depiction of married couples was characterized not only by their different sizes according to importance but also by their arrangement. The wife stands or walks behind the husband, as remains the custom in many regions of the Middle East and Africa even today. In adherence with another traditional convention of art, the wife has her feet close together as a sign of reticence while the husband strides out with energy and power.

The cat as assistant hunter

Holding birds in its and one in its teeth, the cat — like the people — has been idealized by the artist and portrayed as particularly handsome, large and clever. Whether it is retrieving the animals brought down by the throwing stick or hunting for itself is impossible to say. Cats were popular companions on the hunt and in the home, where cats with brown and yellow stripes were preferred. One such Libyan wild cat is found in another tomb, painted lying under its master’s chair and eating a fish. Gathered beneath the throne of a queen are three of her pets — a little monkey and a cat embracing a goose. Nebamun is also accompanied by a goose as well as a cat.

A cat coffin elaborately decorated with reliefs has found in Memphis, the Ancient capital: furnished with the usual protective female deities and spells, it resembles the sarcophagus of a small person. The mummified animal that lay inside was called Tamiat and belonged to Akhenaten’s elder brother, who died before he could ascend to the throne. In a relief on one of the outer walls, the cat Tamiat is seated at a table bearing food all eternity.

The above examples date from the New Empire and are few in comparison to the Late Period, from which vast numbers of mummified bulls, dogs. birds and cats have come down to us. These vestiges of ancient animal cults also extend to magnificent statues of cats, in which the Egyptian feel for elegant line seems to have found a particularly welcome subject. The majority of these statues are cast in bronze and many are richly decorated, as in the bronze figure of a seated cat in the British Museum in London, which has gold rings in its nose and ears together with a wide ornamental collar and an eye amulet in front of its chest.

The proliferation in animal cults arose out of the belief that animals were embodiments of gods or at least possessed divine powers. Herodotus, the Greek, who travelled through Egypt in around 450 BC, wrote that the animals “in the country, whether domesticated or otherwise, are all regarded as sacred. If I were to explain why they are consecrated to the several gods, I should be led to speak of religious matters, which I particularly shrink from mentioning.”

The goddess whom the Egyptians imagined as a cat was called Bastet. In the Old Kingdom (c. 2660—2190 BC) she had the shape of a lion, then she became a cat, then the lion goddess and cat goddess were combined. The Egyptian gods changed their attributes repeatedly over the course of the centuries and even embodied different powers from city to city, with the result that many of them appear to possess contradictory characteristics. This did not bother the Egyptians, for whom the true shape of a god remained an eternal mystery, independent of such metamorphoses. The cat goddess was held to be merry and boisterous, and feasts held in her honour were celebrated with copious amounts of alcohol, at least in the Late Period. She nevertheless retained something of the lion goddess, who embodied courage and the eagerness to fight and hunt. As a wild, frisky huntress, Nebamun’s favourite cat accompanies her eternally young master.

The swamp as a mythical setting

Nebamun’s tomb lay in the Theban Necropolis on the west bank of the Nile. The dead were almost always laid to rest to the west of cities, where the solar bark — the boat carrying the sun god — slipped below the horizon at nightfall, having risen in the east and travelled across the sky during the day. In the underworld, on the primordial waters of Nun, it sails back to the east. It was the hope of the living to be able to join the bark of the gods after their death and to ascend with it back to the light. According to one theory, our pictorial motif is an encoded representation of precisely this journey by the dead: the hunt for fish in the water corresponds to the nocturnal passage across Nun, while the birds fluttering upwards embody the ascent into the heavens.

But our frequently painted subject also evokes associations of a quite different sort. These are connected with the behaviour of the Nile. Before the embankment dams were built, the Egyptians watched the waters rise every year and inundate large areas of the fertile countryside. The land was swallowed up and only reappeared once the great flood was over. This natural phenomenon reminded the Egyptians of the myth of the creation of the earth, which arose as something entirely new out of a material like the silt on the riverbank. Hence the thicket on the shore assumed a mythical aura of fertility and reproduction for the Egyptians, who made the lotus plant that grew in the swamp their symbol. The lotus flower closes at night and opens again in the morning. The marshes play a role in one of the legends of the gods. When Seth savagely tore Osiris to pieces, Isis — Osiris’s wife — gathered up the dismembered parts of his body, fled to the marshes of the delta and used her magical powers to bring her dead husband back to life so he could impregnate her. She raised her son Horus in the shelter of the marshes until he was old enough to take up the struggle against his father’s murderer.

Alongside the ascent into the heavens in the company of the birds, the Egyptians also associated the shores of the Nile with the idea of renewal. It is for this reason that the painter has made the bird’s eggs so prominent, and that the tomb-owner is accompanied by his wife and child — his wife dressed in her best clothes, unsuitable for a hunt but appropriate as a celebration of eternal regeneration. And all three carry lotus plants. The tomb-owner carries them draped over his shoulder, the wife has them in her hand and on her wig, and the daughter is pulling a bunch out of the water.

The thicket could also be an out-of-the-way setting for erotic encounters, as implied by one anonymous poet: “My beloved, so that I may be alone with you I have come bird-catching, my snare in one hand, my net and my throwing stick in the other.” In tomb paintings such things remain unspoken, not least because the spells cast by the painter meant the figures might come alive.

In Nebamun’s day, only his family and friends had the opportunity to enjoy the wall-paintings executed by the anonymous artist. The scenes that were to accompany the deceased were painted inside the tomb-chapel, which was only opened on feast days and for ritual purposes. As the centuries passed, the tombs were forgotten, and their entrances became blocked. Only tomb robbers attempted to break in. The British Museum is today home to eleven fragments from the tomb of Nebamun, which were broken off the walls in a crude and careless manner. We owe the preservation of their delicate colours to the fact that they remained in the dark for millennia.

Bibliography

Hagen, R. M., & Hagen, R. (2019). What Great Paintings say: 100 Masterpieces in Detail. Cologne, Germany: Taschen.

#hunting in the marshes #egypt #afterlife #nebamun #seth #isis #osiris #ptahhotep #cats #herodotus #in english

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10oclockdot · 7 years

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Regimes of Time: Great Long Takes, ep. 47 The man meets the woman from the city in Sunrise (dir. F. W. Murnau, 1927)

For years, Photoplay magazine had listed their six (or more) Best Performances of the Month in a column reviewing new movie releases. But in their December 1927 issue, they did something they'd never done before: alongside names like Mary Pickford and Gloria Gaynor, they also listed "The Camera in 'Sunrise.'" It was no joke. Sunrise went on to capture the first Oscar awarded for Best Cinematography. But these days, 90 years after Sunrise's release and over four decades after the invention of the Steadicam, it can be hard to recognize what a landmark achievement this was. Some context is necessary to perceive this long take from Sunrise as both a culmination of German Expressionist camerawork (and perhaps, by extension, silent-era cinematography as a whole) and a starting point for many later explorations and elaborations of the aesthetics and philosophy of cinema.

In the mid-1920's, a number of German filmmakers, Murnau the most noted name among them, developed a style or ethos of camera movement called entfesselte camera (often translated as "unchained" camera, though sometimes rendered "unfastened" camera). Film historians Bordwell and Thompson point out that screenwriter Carl Mayer might be responsible for first imagining the unchained camera in Germany, since his script for the 1923 film Sylvester specified that the camera should track smoothly down a long city street (Film History: An Introduction (3rd Ed.), 98). I say "in Germany" because at the same time Abel Gance in France and Dziga Vertov in Russia were both cooking up their own new camera tricks and techniques. Carl Mayer, it should be noted, also wrote the scenario for Murnau’s 1924 film The Last Laugh and several other projects now noted for their unchained camera. But without cinematographer Karl Freund's technical innovations on The Last Laugh -- including mounting the camera on a bicycle for its famous opening shot -- the sublime camerawork on Sunrise might never have happened. Karl Freund worked with Murnau on one more film, 1925's Tartuffe, after which Murnau further honed the techniques of unchained camera with cinematographer Carl Hoffmann. From here, the skills passed to Hollywood cinematographer Charles Rosher. Rosher explained, "Carl Hoffman photographed Faust and I learned a great deal from him. I took several ideas back, including the dolly suspended from railway tracks in the ceiling, which I adapted for Sunrise, Murnau's first American picture. ... For some scenes, such as the swamp sequence, the camera went in a complete circle. This created enormous lighting problems. We built a railway line in the roof, suspended a little platform from it, which could be raised for lowered by motors" (qtd. in Kevin Brownlow, The Parade's Gone By..., 230-32). Almost immediately, the techniques which Murnau and his German Expressionist colleagues pioneered became part of the Hollywood toolkit. But they had an even more direct influence on one of the 20th Century's greatest directors. In 1924, a young Alfred Hitchcock had the opportunity to observe Murnau at UFA in Berlin during the making of The Last Laugh. According to Hitchcock himself (cf. James Bade, here), he was so inspired by what he saw that he embarked on a careerlong investigation of camera techniques and visual storytelling.

Murnau's innovations proved equally influential for the trajectory of film theory. And this deceptively simple shot, in which the camera glides through a foggy moonlit marsh to witness the meeting of two people, connects in some way to his entire legacy. For instance, Marc Silberman argues that the unchained camera, as developed for The Last Laugh, was able to represent the psychic disruptions that German life underwent in the mid-1920's as white collar and service sector jobs in urban areas rapidly replaced factory wage labor (German Cinema: Texts in Context, here, pp. 19-33). Interpreted in the context of Silberman's claims, Sunrise employs its mobile camera to address the same tension between modern and traditional ways of life, but from the rural, rather than urban, perspective. Indeed, this long take stages that very rendez-vous between the tempted man of the country and the frau fatale of the city. As soon as they embrace, Murnau cuts to an image of the man's wife tearfully embracing their baby at the thought of the family's impending dissolution. The idea that this collision of city and country is destructive rather than productive was first proposed by Alexandre Astruc. Writing in the Cahiers du Cinema, he argued that the image in Murnau "is the meeting place for a certain number of lines of force... brought to this point of extreme tension so that henceforth only their destruction can be conceived and supported. ... Every frame of Murnau's is the story of a murder. The camera will have the simplest and most shocking of roles: that of being the annunciating and prescient terrain of an assassination" (qtd. in Brian Henderson, "The Long Take," here, pp. 7-8). Whereas the Soviets used editing to bring opposing forces or ideas into collision, Astruc claims that Murnau developed a vocabulary of staging this collision within the shot.

Starting in the 1940's, film theorists became embroiled in ongoing discourse over which of these -- the shot or the cut -- constituted the essence of cinema. Andre Bazin, the most influential of the Realists, championed Murnau for an aesthetic in which "montage plays no part" ("The Evolution of the Language of Cinema," in What is Cinema Vol. 1, 26-7). Bazin believed that cinema was not so much an invention as it was a desire. Humans, he argued, pursued a longstanding psychological desire for the preservation of likeness, and to fulfill that desire, we developed techniques and technologies like linear perspective, the camera obscura, photography, and cinema. Cinema, as he saw it, was no incidental gadget, but the latest device that sprang from humanity's fundamental desire for realism (a desire which cinema, incidentally, did not quench; Bazin predicted further inventions, beyond cinema, that would make more perfect reproductions of the world). Following from this, Bazin praised the work of directors whose use of wide-angle lenses and long takes allowed viewers to encounter represented space and time in their relative wholeness, rather than through the fragmentation and illusionism of montage. Here, the realism -- or, at least, the event of the shot -- envelops the viewer. In moonlit reeds and fog that feels genuinely nocturnal, we follow the man across a single-plank bridge, through some low-hanging leaves, and over a fence. Following his line of sight, the camera does not cut, but instead pans left and pushes its way through more leaves to find the woman clandestinely waiting for him. As he approaches, she touches up her make-up. Though the camera followed the man's eyeline to the left, he enters from the right. A pause, and they embrace. Perhaps mimicking the moral ambiguity or hazard of this adulterous topos, Murnau confuses space by having the man walk behind us. But this is not spatial disorientation for its own sake -- again, our transit through this murky world embeds us within it. We do not watch from a distance. We walk right into the film. Picking up on this, scholar Sabine Müller argues that Murnau's moving camera triggers a "kinesthetic empathy" in the viewer -- an emotional response based on the camera's simulation of something like a body in motion (here).

Finding a way to release internal emotional states into the material of the mise-en-scene is, of course, the bread and butter of German Expressionist cinema. At its inception around 1920, directors like Weine (The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari) and Wegener (The Golem) took this externalization perhaps a bit too literally, designing sets in the shape of jagged cubist explosions. Murnau, on the other hand, materialized whatever tumultuous collision of emotion lay at the heart of his story through nearly elemental archetype. In Sunrise, Astruc's collision of forces is not limited to the rural and the urban, or even the modern and the traditional. As this long take graphically expounds, it's about light and darkness. Gilles Deleuze argues that German Expressionism is defined by its orchestration of light intensity, whether understood as gradients of chiaroscuro, as black and white rays, or as the overall contrast in settings between "the luminous town and the opaque marshland" (Deleuze, Cinema 1, 49). Indeed, the very title of the film designates such a zone of light collision: Sunrise, where the day and the night meet. Understood this way, the metaphysical terrain of the story transcends a simplistic standoff between the modern and the traditional to something more rarefied, more abstract -- something fundamental about love, commitment, and sacrifice.

Sunrise stands as one of the crowning achievements of German Expressionist style. But far from the end of an era, Murnau's work (and Sunrise in particular) inaugurates the dawn of much of what came later: the stylistic inspiration for Hitchcock and film noir, the post-theatrical collaboration between actors and camera in creating performances, aesthetic debates over long takes and filmic realism, and the legacy of silent-era cinematography in inspiring freer, more elaborate camera movements thereafter. I can hardly imagine Regimes of Time without the groundwork of Sunrise.

#regimes of time #long take #long takes #film #f. w. murnau #friedrich wilhelm murnau #sunrise #charles rosher

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kenotype · 7 years

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Projecting the Prequels

The primary expression here is puzzlement, some indication that Ethan does not know his own mind and suddenly realizes he does not know his own mind…

-Robert Pippin, Hollywood Westerns and American Myth: The Importance of Howard Hawks and John Ford for Political Philosophy

I have some friendships that began online simply because they placed two frames from two different films side by side, or one below the other, with perhaps not even a name or a title, and I liked it. Through 0s and 1s I would see the infinite play of identity and difference. In the context of years of comparing frames to other frames, for the minimal and maximal differences and identities, of finding, in its rub of fragments, new counter-histories, accomplishments, and signs of a future cinema waiting to be plucked out anew, it should have been clear that at one point we would bump into the prequels again, as the prequels, in their form, are the essence of film criticism for those with a tumblr. Bill Krohn commented that Star Wars is nothing but the continual reversal of signs, and what better form than the comparative screen capture to understand this series. Like all comparisons without writing, either you see the connection, you see the lineage or you don’t. If the comparison is trivial, the connection too loose, we may see that we are not in a thinking of montage but simply a sequence of shots. But all the comparisons work in a thinking of montage that turns the images into something both prequel and fraternal. Every true work of art re-invents the tradition it belongs to, opens up what came before it, and is the condition of what is old to persist as still new. A true work turns its predecessors into unexpected prequels.

The transitions between scenes, the different wipes that go diagonally, turn the screen into blinds, into squares, a minute hand on the clock, become more and more pronounced as the prequels succeed one another. Indeed the prequels are a question of transition, of succession of one form of government to another. It becomes most clear in Episode II: Attack Of The Clones, as Neil Bahadur pointed out, the very colour of the political world changes. All I would add is it appears like a diagonal wipe that is often seen across the films, except here there is no wipe at all, the world itself is in transition, no need for the subjective jump of the actualized wipe.

The lack of the wipe, of the transition, does not mean there is no transition occurring. In fact, the lightsaber duel between Darth Tyranus and Anakin manifests the actuality of transition within the battles themselves: in close-up the lightsabers act like the transitioning wipes, opening or closing down the frame, the blue or the red floating atop the faces, in the heat of battle political realignment can occur. Each attack on the other is a transitional wipe that only returns one to themselves. Even the sound during this sequence emphasizes the moving of the sabers about themselves rather than the actual hitting of two sabers. Via over-anticipation of the coming hit, we touch air, a pure rotation -

die Zuschauer sich drehen, rotating around itself, like a Kuleshov effect that returns to Darth Vader again and again as he looks at Skywalker, and the Emperor.

The decision to kill the Emperor emerges through a Kuleshov effect, or to put it another way, decisions arise through projections, through the coincidence of a blank face estranged from itself. The K-effect exemplifies that one does not know their own mind, but knows this, and perhaps only this opaque blankness. What is precisely blank is that this decision, to save Luke, repeats a decision when he saves Palpatine in Episode III. The first time, he loves Padmé, the second time, his son. In truth the decision is the same each time, it is its own K-effect, whether one is good or one is evil is a pure projection on the same decision. Anakin is the chosen one, as he only chooses the one choice, out of love, twice. The one decision is a clone of the other, a cloning of the chosen one. If to the question rye or wheat, Verdoux says “Yes,” if Anakin is asked, good or evil, he will reply, “Yes.” Throughout, Anakin always has a Master. He says Obi-Wan is like a father. As Darth Vader, he is almost constantly kneeling. Finally in Episode III, Obi-Wan says: “You were my brother Anakin. I loved you.” Neither Master nor slave, but kin. A figure of equality. Neither the law of the Jedi nor the desire of the Sith, but love.

Episode III ends in elation as we know what happens in the later episodes. At this mid-point in the story, we are in Anakin’s position: we see the future (which already happened). And what happened? The choice of love, twice. Neither beyond good, nor evil, but the risk of living through both. He failed where others succeeded, he succeeded where others failed: he took control of the universe. Anakin turns the world into a green screen, destroying and creating the conditions to love unconditionally.

To choose one, or choose zero, is the question of the digital. The genius of Episode II: Attack of the Clones, a landmark in digital cinema, is that it poses the question of the form of the digital against a critique of democracy. Yes (1), the form of digital offers a true choice, No (0) democracy does not offer true choices. Schelling saw that evil is more directly spiritual than the good in its cold abstract hatred of reality. The unrepentant joys of CGI are evil in this formal sense, and beautiful for the same reason. In showing the rise of evil, we need the digital imagination unfettered by the studio interference, democratic test-screenings, and the care of making a movie ‘for the fans’, the majority. In Les trois désastres, Jean-Luc Godard claimed that digital will be a dictatorship. If celluloid long takes were democratic in its manipulation, then the case is not that of democracy vs. dictatorship, but that dictatorship is the truth of democracy’s purely formal manipulations. The democratization of the digital cinema, in terms of criticism and filmmaking, must be coupled with the digitization of democracy, the shift in making transparent all the points, decisions, zero and one, that show its formal identity to dictatorship. At the level of the Jedi vs the Sith, in the concrete moment of decision, there is nothing to say that the Jedi are better than the Sith. The Separatists and the Republic are both headed by Palpatine, which is to say, the Republic’s war against the Separatists are an outgrowth of the divisions produced by democracy itself. As a political problem, the solution of more democracy, or in another popular phrase, a real democracy opposed to a fake one, is false and explains nothing. When Lucas claims that the Republic is the Empire, we have a speculative judgment, which is to say, there is only a formal change in the transition. As Palpatine says, its a point of view, and the Jedi and the Sith are alike in almost every way. The glow of the lightsaber on the face of the warrior is an instance of a K-effect with no need for an opposing shot to infuse a blankness with meaning.

Thus when Anakin makes the choice, the same choice of love, in Episode III and VI, in fact nothing at all is learned. His choice was correct both times. The first choice of love destroys the law of the Jedi, and the second choice of love destroys the desire of the Sith. Love is beyond good or evil and he brings balance by destroying them both. “You were the chosen one!” Obi-Wan yells, and yet, Anakin was, always will have been, chosen, by his own choosing. The mystery of the prophecy remains a mystery to those who believe it, but not to the one who needs not to learn it. If nothing was learned, what was learned was the nothing of subjectivity, to be nothing but equal to one’s choice.

The logic of the digital continues as when Obi-Wan tells Anakin that only a Sith deals in absolutes, only to later say “Senator Palpatine is evil” to which Anakin replies “In my point of view, the Jedi are evil”. Exhausted, Obi-Wan yells “then you are lost!” Of course many commentators on this and other popular films will claim that the ideology is always inconsistent, and designed that way to attract the largest possible market. However the issue is not inconsistency itself, but which inconsistency? Only the greatest philosophers and artists contradict themselves, since they approach a real point of tension that cannot be easily dissolved into the morality of their time. A true artist will create the precise contours of ideological inconsistency, and situate us at various points of impasse. Any film without this tension is perhaps neutered and of interest only for patting one self on the back for being on the right side of history. Instead, working in these tension spaces, we find that not only is the future open, but so is the past itself. After all, that is the creative struggle in creating a prequel.

If Lucas’ Star Wars writes the transition of one frame to another, there must be something shared to register the change from one to the other, a part of change that itself does not change. That is, we must assume an invariance that is discovered by the back and forth between one era to another. This is projection. As Daniel Morgan writes that for Godard: 1917 is 1789, and so is 1848, and Weimar in 1945 is Weimar in 1806, and finally Berlin of 1944 is Nosferatu’s village of 1922, as seen by Godard in the 1950s at the Cinémathèque Française. Pedro Costa makes a similar remark when he says “There will be someone from Finland who’ll ask about Fontainhas. Fontainhas is Russia in ‘17, it’s Hollywood in ‘34. It’s not more or less than that.” Neil Bahadur, commenting on Straub-Huillet’s Fortini/Cani: “street scenes take on multiple meanings: 1976 Rome serves both as stand-in for 1940’s Germany, Italy, and France, reminding us how easily citizens accepted fascism […], then also as 1976 Rome in relation to history - […] democratic systems try to design us to 'forget’ the past, and spaces which haven’t changed at all.” Lucas makes a similar projection. The original Star Wars was inspired by the Vietnam War, and many commentators related Episode II to the Iraq War, Anakin kills the ‘sand people’, and slaughters the men, women and children, “like animals” because “they are animals” (to which Padmé comforts with a link of humanism to the justification of terror: “to be angry is to be human”). Lucas in 2005: “The parallels between what we did in Vietnam and what we’re doing in Iraq now are unbelievable.” To track the invariance of democracy becoming itself, i.e. a dictatorship, the projections of studying history become strikingly compressed into what is called a “[fleecing] and plunder” by Jonathan Rosenbaum: “various planets recycle the stereotypical settings, costumes, hair styles, and accents of Renaissance Venice, Africa, India, China, and the Middle East.” What is a street scene in Straub-Huillet becomes an abstraction of stereotypes of entire planets, and the legend of stereo continues where democracy projects dictatorship. Or to put it like Pedro Costa speaking on Rossellini, the degree of abstraction gets higher and higher as the prequels progress. And what is key here is that we are truly in a deadlock, and its a deadlock that is in our past, a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. The relation and reversibility of democracy and dictatorship is a true problem not to be solved simply by choosing one over the other as they are the same. It is democratic to have to choose one or the other, which is to say, it is a false choice, and at the same time, it is a forced choice, dictated to us. Like Stalin speaking on left and right deviations, he claims that they are both worse. Anakin finds that both the Jedi and Sith are both worse, opening the space for another possibility. I don’t see Luke as a Jedi, as both Obi-Wan and Yoda claimed that he must kill/confront Vader to become one, and thus both the legacies of the Sith and Jedi die with Anakin. What we are left with, in the final shot, are a set of different species with the false forced choices of Jedi and Sith no longer operative, just a generic set with in an open space of perhaps new decisions, where even the Jedi who show up as immortal ghosts are ambiguous in their consequences, as it is a desire of the Sith to be immortal.

Self-abolishment would be the true solution, a world without either Sith nor Jedi. The passage of a Tramp to Hynkel to Verdoux, or a child slave to Anakin to Vader, is always a question of ridding the conditions that forces one to choose or exist in such a manner. But to get where we want to go, we need the passage through CGI. JJ Abrams, claimed what was great about the original trilogy is that it felt real. That black and white good and evil distinctions have the air of the real whereas the impasses of democracy/dictatorship appears ‘fake’ should give us a signal to pause. The inability to believe CGI and political imagination is the true failure. As Dan Rubey pointed out in his classic article on Star Wars for Jump Cut:

Darth Vader’s use of the Force in the council meeting to control his opponent and Ben Kenobi’s use of the Force to get by the storm troopers;

or the “bad” guys’ destruction of Alderaan and the “good” guys’ destruction of the Death Star;

or the attack and penetration of Princess Leia’s ship by Darth Vader’s men firing laser guns, and Luke and Han breaking into the control room on the Death Star in the rescue of the princess;

or Darth Vader breaking the neck of the technician on Princess Leia’s ship and Ben Kenobi dismembering the alien in the bar scene;

or the pursuit of Princess Leia’s ship by the enormous ship of Tarkin and the pursuit of the imperial fighter by the Millennium Falcon; and so on.

…that is, there is no true difference. That the original Star Wars could present these judgments in a register of realism, points to the dead end of realism as a register of thinking the present of choosing good or evil. In realism, there is no difference, and perhaps to see where the line between the two lines up, we need a different form.

5. Beginning with Episode II: Attack of the Clones Lucas placed a primacy on the computer generated imagery, the use of blue and green screen, and the least amount of physical sets possible. On the first day of shooting, Ian McDiarmid would address crosses and markers while on a podium in an elevated pod. Brian Jay Jones wrote that many of the actors felt anxiety when performing within the blue screen - crucial to note, as it is only anxiety and enthusiasm that do not lie. If anxiety, as relation to the real, appears when actors are surrounded by a blue screen, perhaps the filling of the blue can be called courage. As Slavoj Žižek comments on Leslie Kaplan’s essay-poem L’excès-usine, it’s not only that factory life is alienating as a self-enclosed universe, but the fact that this space is cut off has its own emancipatory actuality. For what is the prison in THX 1138? In Neil Bahadur’s reading, THX and SEN are placed in prison when logic and emotion are discovered. As punishment, they are in a white space without any orientation. In this space, conventional cutting and framing is manipulating. But perhaps we should instead see that the coherent representation of the space allows for determination and orientation, and it is indeterminacy that is imprisoning. THX and SEN are unfree by fleeing from determination, the prisoners are all the more determined, unable to make a coherent space to track their own movements and exit. As any artist knows, it is the blank canvas that is ultimately imprisoning, and the first act of freedom is making a mark to orient oneself in it. Ultimately THX escapes and sees the sun. Bahadur claims that Lucas retrieves the world back from the deception of images. I would only add that by Monday, June 26, 2000, after seeing the sun, Lucas envelopes himself back in the prison, except this time it is all blue instead of all white.

For the battle is to be fought here: there are no images, no world to reclaim that would be without mediation. What was a scene of disorientation in THX 1138 becomes the ground of orientation, of infinite possibilities, in the making of Episode II. The only escape from alienation is its redoubling. 6. Where Lucas praises the freedoms of Soviet artists as opposed to his own freedoms as an American independent, it must be stressed that Lucas constructed a new alienation, that is, a new freedom: not a State art, but an art without the State, while never not confronting the state of the art. After finally escaping the studio Lucas then faced the demands of the People, the mass audience, as an external measure of what he should do; this is one of the most bitter reversal of signs in the history of cinema, the reverse of the State and the Mass. His escape was a victory, but a bitter victory, as bitter as Darth Vader being born as Padmé dies. I was always struck by the beauty of the moment where Padmé “for reasons we can’t explain, is losing the desire to live,” - naming the children, she willingly dies, for Mother is not the destiny of woman, and children are not reason enough. The sheer heat in which these decisions are made is dizzying - before dying, with knowledge that Anakin has killed younglings, she still tries to restart their love. It is this stuckness to the real by the Skywalker family that forces history into motion. Which is to say no artist will ever escape external obstacles altogether but the problem is how to choose, how to choose our measurement and distance from the obstacle, which itself is a form of sticking to it.

What is worth sticking to, what is worth keeping? Even in a digital world, hair still moves in the wind, like Griffith’s wind in the trees, a minimal index that these actors are in the world that we see while also pointing elsewhere. Yet we stay here. In fact, it is staying in the present that is Anakin’s most difficult task, for he can see the future. At the close of Revenge of the Sith, we are also tempted to look into the future, since we know how it all ends, what happens in the other films made in the past but presenting a future, and we rush to make connections before they happen. We are, for once, within the subjectivity of Anakin. The temptation of those chosen is to know how things end and act with this knowledge. The bliss of the final iris to space is to know what it is like to be tempted by the truths of the future, and the future of truths – gladly acting according to what will have been, while changing those very coordinates in the same motion.

#Star Wars #Revenge of the Sith #George Lucas #The Prequels #Cinema #Attack of the Clones

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dippedanddripped · 6 years

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We all know that retailers and brands are (or should be) in an accelerated process of reinvention. What’s needed for stores or brands to reinvent themselves?

SIMON GRAJ, GRAJ & GUSTAVSEN: It’s no longer about learning the right approach to brand building; it’s now about observing, listening and acting on intuition. People are no longer buying “stuff;” they’re not listening to marketing messages for things they don’t need. They’re looking for solutions, for products and experiences that enhance their lives. With the emergence of so many new digitally derived brands, it’s much harder for big brands. Today, you have to be a little bit of a rebel, an activist. If you’re authentic, it’s a good time to be in this business. If you’re just selling stuff, it’s not a good time.

ROBIN LEWIS, THE ROBIN REPORT: Everything starts with the consumer, which is now the newly dominant next-generation culture. Using AI and machine learning, it’s now possible to know, and even predict, what each and every consumer wants (and will want) when and where. (Think Amazon and StitchFix.) All channels of distribution must be seamlessly integrated as one. The physical platform (the store) must promise a compelling experience and personal touch, and anything BIG is a big turnoff. Small, intimate, special, constantly new and highly personalized—this is the winning formula.

STEVE PRUITT, BLACKS CONSULTING: What’s needed for reinvention: desire, brand capital, strategy, financial capital.

ERIC JENNINGS, E2 BRAND MANAGEMENT: Reinvention can produce great results if you reinvent while still staying true to your core. Deviating too much from your brand DNA can alienate your customers and leave them puzzled, which can hurt sales. As long as brands remain true to what author Simon Sinek calls their “WHY” (why they exist, or their reason for being), then reinvention is exciting and creates desire.

Some easy steps you can take:

■ Visuals—It doesn’t have to be complicated! I’ve seen a fresh coat of paint work wonders on many occasions. Visual reinvention by creating breathtaking displays and adding modern fixtures can make a significant impact. Crisp visual consistency online and in social media will have significant impact too.

■ Technology—When incorporating technology as a way to reinvent yourself, keep in mind, it should create a show-stopping “wow” moment, or it should create an invisible behind-the-scenes process that helps your customers get exactly what they want as quickly as possible. Today, capturing and utilizing data is the name of the game. Be sure you know what value you’re giving your customers and communicate that to them clearly. No one wants to appear too “creepy.” People are willing to give up data about themselves, as long as they see the value given back to them.

■ Partnerships—An unexpected partnership with like-minded brands and influencers can up your “cool-factor” and create a whole new perception of your brand. The Saks Fifth Ave x Fox’s Empire partnership a while back comes to mind; it had a lasting effect on reinventing the Saks brand image for a younger, hipper customer.

Who’s reinventing themselves well and what are they doing right?

PRUITT: Gucci has got to be the greatest turnaround in the last five years. Their ownership is very smart, reinventing twice in the past 20 years. They understand brand capital as well as any company.

LEWIS: Walmart is changing at warp speed in all the right ways, ironically even “debigging” itself by acquiring a long tail of small businesses and turning its physical stores (supercenters first) into social community gathering places with small boutiques, parks, skating rinks and on and on. Target, Kohl’s and Nordstrom all understand they must do the same (in the appropriate configuration for their models); some are further along than others and speed is of the essence.

GRAJ: One example: We’ve just developed a new plus size women’s brand for Kohl’s. They had the option to buy an existing plus size brand but they opted to launch a new one. We’ve announced it but have not officially launched it but I think it will do great: It’s a respectful destination space for plus size women who have had few positive shopping experiences in the past.

JENNINGS: Nordstrom did a great job with its new men’s store in NYC. The layout of the store is a bit quirky, and the brand adjacencies are sometimes dubious; however, it’s still quintessentially Nordstrom. They added just enough new and unexpected and paired that with the great classification merchandising for which they are known, so it all works. Moreover, there always seems to be a broad range of customers shopping: young and old, locals and tourists, urban and classic.

Can you give any examples of failed attempts and why they didn’t work?

PRUITT: The best example is Sears: It was a bad strategy and was run by bankers, not merchants.

LEWIS: I agree: Sears and Kmart because they were run by a financier who didn’t have a clue about how to reinvent them and JCPenney under Ron Johnson circa 2012. He had the perfect vision of what needed to be done but his implementation was a disaster because he refused to test his ideas and he eliminated all promotional pricing on Day One, thus alienating all of his core consumers who fled the store and never came back.

JENNINGS: Agree! JCPenney was built around great sales and discounts; when they tried to sell their customers on an everyday fair price business model, it had a terrible impact on their bottom line. Another good example is Brioni, a business built around classic, elegant Italian tailoring. When they hired an edgy creative director and put Metallica in their ad campaign, they strayed too far from their core brand DNA.

Can you comment on the future of pop-up shops, collaborations, product drops, bloggers/influencers? What will have the most impact on future shopping?

LEWIS: It’s no longer about siloed distribution channels: The new point of sale is consumers wherever they are. Today’s consumers are channel- and brand-agnostic. Marketing too is being fragmented: We are “de-massifying”—no more marketing to mass markets, which is why even the advertising and publishing industries are being squeezed. Most importantly, physical stores and online sites are no longer the only two distribution points. All we have are “platforms”—and Amazon’s platform is one on which any product, brand, other retailer, essentially anything and everything in the world can operate.

GRAJ: I think there are many big opportunities today. We’re in a moment of less inventory, fewer SKUs but more raison d’être. I also believe that art is the new fashion, food is the new fashion, drinks are the new fashion. There’s a new little shop downtown in the Bowery called MaMaCha that’s a matcha tea café and art gallery; the art changes frequently so it’s a fun “selfie” experience combined with a detox beverage.

PRUITT: The world is small. It’s all about both spreading and sharing information. Pop-ups, collaboration, product drops, bloggers/influencers are the execution of information spreading and sharing. There will be more: Just wait until AI and 5G technology gather deeper followings.

JENNINGS: Pop-ups, collaborations, limited product drops, and influencers are here to stay because…they work! Not every brand can do all of these options, so pick your partnerships wisely. Make sure they push the envelope enough to surprise and delight your customers while staying on-brand to your core mission.

#the robin report #fashion blogger #streetwear blogger #menswear blog

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catfishmera · 8 years

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The Mysteries of the Island: Creating and Preserving Ambiguity in Lost

A twelve page essay I wrote about one of my favorite TV shows and how it fits into the grand tradition of storytelling. I dissect it by means of Todorov and compare its bits to the classic Middle Eastern folktales collected in One Thousand and One Nights. Written in May of 2015.

Since its publication in 1970, Tzvetan Todorov’s The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre has allowed scholars to draw critical comparisons in fictional narratives based upon their engagements with the supernatural. His analysis is timeless – investigating a subject that is fundamental to the structure of most literature, from its inception as an oral custom to its modern day manifestations in the popular media. In his study, Todorov refers to the tale of The Thousand and One Nights, citing it as an excellent example of his research, a narrative which balances the dramatic realism of our familiar world with an opulent dose of magic and the impossible. But The Nights are only a single instance in a tradition that has experienced innumerable iterations and adaptations, one of these being the television series Lost, which aired for six seasons between 2004 and 2010. The acclaimed show conforms agreeably to Todorov’s critical proposal of a necessary hesitation, relying on the synthesis between the real and the unreal to create an intriguing narrative tension for both its characters and its audience. By adopting the element of ambiguity throughout the various aspects of its storytelling, Lost parallels its Arabic literary predecessor in its engagement with Todorov’s concept of the fantastic – even in its refusal to resolve that essential hesitation in its ultimately ambiguous finale.

To understand how this ambiguity originates, we have to consider the formulation of the world which Lost inhabits. To arrive at this uncertainty, there is the initial requisite of “the existence of events of two orders, those of the natural world and those of the supernatural world” (Todorov 26-7). These two systems, the former being regular and comfortable and the latter being unusual and disturbing, work in conjunction to attract and fascinate the readers (or in the case of Lost, viewers) without alienating them. In our example of The Nights, we can explore the integration of these two orders through the frame story, whereupon the reader is introduced to a tale that is grounded in what appears to be the real world and centered around the familiar drama of human relationships (that of cheating husbands and wives), but that also contains a demon as a part of its environment. This is not unlike the pilot episode of Lost which presents the believable although tragic scenario of a plane crash, alongside a mysterious shadowy smoke monster of unexplained origins. The effect is the blurring together of the real and the imaginary, informing the audience that this fictional world will contain moments that seem incredible but that they should not simply reject all of their preconceived notions. Essentially, it is producing the proper conditions of tension for the fantastic to exist by inserting the supernatural into the real world.

For this reason, it is important that Lost be cautious of the genre with which it affiliates itself. Describing it as strictly science fiction, for example, would prove problematic. “Science fiction,” Thornham and Purvis inform us in their comprehensive study titled Television Drama: Theories and Identities, “is not the same as ‘the fantastic’, and writers of science fiction have sought to distinguish the two” on the primary basis of “alternative worlds […] described with technical precision and presented as internally coherent, possible worlds, unlike the ‘irrational’ transformations of the fantastic” (104). To suggest that Lost is solely a work of science fiction would spoil the tension that is essential to a fantastic narrative, because the genre implies an order that is precise and all-encompassing. Regarding it so would mean that Lost is only concerned with the supernatural world, rather than being the integration of the real and the unreal. It would annul any tension because the audience would understand the entire universe to be beyond their rationalization, beyond comparison with the natural standard; and thus, there would be no fantastic, only fantasy.

To prevent this, Lost needs to balance out the supernatural order with the natural: by prioritizing the human elements of drama over the magical. This approach is explained by executive producer Carlton Cuse, who says, “At the beginning the secret was that the show didn’t announce itself as a genre show, so it could be about the characters. The audience got invested in the characters first and the mythology second” (“The Island Paradox”). This formulation is key to Lost’s development of the fantastic, which requires the tension to be between the real and the imaginary but through the understanding that everything is occurring in the normal world. The show focuses on the relationships between the characters and their reactions to the supernatural instead of the actual reason such things are happening. This allows the audience to experience the same confusion as the characters and side with those whom they feel are morally or intellectually correct in regards to the island’s mysteries. Lost relies on the union of drama and science fiction as its natural and supernatural orders, using this tension to establish the proper climate for the fantastic. By refusing to label itself as a genre show, it retains its ambivalence; by keeping vague as to the source of the supernatural, it intensifies its plot. This method of producing the fantastic is valuable to the story’s intrigue, with novelist Evelyn Vaughn remarking that “[t]he only classic frame that comes close in drama [to Lost] is Sheherazade’s daily risk of death in the Book of One Thousand and One [Arabian] Nights” (57). By comparing it back to The Nights, we can see that Lost is following an effective model that necessitates human interactions interspersed with acts of magic. The drama, which Shahrazad’s situation epitomizes and which exists in each of her stories, constitutes the natural order that reminds its readers that the supernatural must be anchored within the factual in order to produce the proper tension.

This tension, which Todorov labeled ‘the fantastic’, can be rebranded as the genre ‘mystery’ in the context of Lost. If the purpose of the fantastic is to create an ambiguity towards the strange and a suspension of clarification until a climactic finale, whereupon the cause of the tension is disclosed, then mystery fits the definition. Just as the fantastic navigates a fine line between the uncanny and the marvelous, mystery (as it manifests in Lost) is so too situated between drama and science fiction. Author Stacey Abbott explores Lost’s engagement with mystery, describing “its narrative” as a “labyrinth of potential storylines, character connections, enigmas and puzzles […] marked by twists, turns, dead ends and misleading clues and [where] the audience is invited to negotiate its way through the maze along with the series’ protagonists” (10). Abbott captures the essence of Lost’s convoluted storyline which is so infused with mystery (the fantastic) that the viewer is never certain which supernatural occurrences will be attributed to the uncanny, the marvelous, or never explained at all. The importance of the audience’s immersion into the mystery is also significant, as “[t]he fantastic therefore implies an integration of the reader into the world of the characters; that world is defined by the reader’s own ambiguous perception of the events narrated” (Todorov 31). Abbott is thus confirming an aspect of Lost that is essential to the fantastic: that the mystery involves its audience in its solving. The viewer, or reader, has to experience the tension through the fictional world of the character; if they are too distant from this, they risk an omniscient perspective and thus the end of their anticipation and even their complete detachment from the story.

In order to maintain the viewer’s commitment to its mystery, Lost creates tension on both narrative and structural levels. If we consider Lost to be “a tightly serialized programme centered upon narrative enigmas”, the duality is efficiently distinguished (Pearson 4). The show’s “narrative enigmas” are its overarching secrets, such as why there are polar bears on a tropical island or how people can travel through time. This level of the fantastic procures a long-term involvement from the viewer who becomes interested in having these mysteries solved despite the lengthy interval between when they are first presented and when they are finally explained. But Lost also captivates attention through its composition; its serialization allows it to abruptly interrupt its program at opportune moments to create cliffhangers, which fragment the stories on a regular basis. This, inversely, serves as a short-term hook, keeping the viewer in constant suspense as the story works its way through the larger narrative tensions. This two-fold technique may seem intrinsic to the sequential format of television episodes but this would only prove ignorant of a mode which predates the medium. Again, we can refer to The Nights as our estimable sample. It too engages the reader – through the nightly intermissions in Shahrazad’s stories (short-term), as well as through the suspense of whether or not she will succeed in changing Shahrayar’s mind and survive the frame-tale (long-term). This surfeit of mystery, although originating in separate means of literary understanding, convenes in the story’s ability to instigate and preserve the audience’s fascination, keeping them perpetually in a state of hesitation and confusion.

The geographic displacement in the narrative is another essential factor in the creation of a conceivable scenario while at the same time introducing ambiguity. By marooning its characters miles off course on an unknown island, Lost “presents the intriguing spectacle of an inviting subtropical terrain both strange yet familiar” (Stringer 74). This “strange yet familiar” landscape indicates elements of both the natural and the supernatural, a place that has, at first, no reason to seem exceptional but that has also agitated the viewer’s stability and sense of order. Throughout the show, the island remains “unknown and unnamed”; even after the series finale acknowledges its purpose, it still leaves many questions about it unanswered, “an island very much of uncertain identity” (75). The unrecognized location and the precipitous means of arrival thus become tools in suggesting the fantastic: by losing our ground on what is usual, we become unsure if we can retain our previous understanding of the world or if we are finding ourselves in a place governed by entirely different rules. This phenomenon can also be traced back in comparison to The Nights, in moments such as the sinking of King Badr’s ship in “The Story of Jullanar of the Sea” causing him to wash ashore at the City of the Magicians where things are not as they appear, or how in “The Story of the Two Viziers”, Badr al-Din Hasan is dropped by demons outside of Damascus when he had just been sleeping in Cairo. One story, that of the Third Dervish, even begins with the destruction of a ship pulled apart by a magnetic mountain (it is eventually revealed in Lost that the plane was drawn to the island due to a burst of electromagnetic energy). What all of these stories share in common is the ensuing supernatural which appears after they have undergone the disorientation of their location. Just as they are unsure where they are, so too is the observer in suspense, awaiting the first hints of strangeness.

The island itself is only one of the copious mysteries embedded in Lost’s plot, so many even that not all were answered before the show’s termination. Another such example is ‘the numbers’, a series of numbers which appear throughout the show, sometimes all in sequence and other times independently. In his essay, “Codes, Interpretation, and Deconstruction”, Tom Grimwood notes that the numbers “appear in unexpected and unrelated places, yet display enough consistency to suggest a relation” (113). This spectacle is one that is not overtly supernatural, at least not at first glance, but as they continue to turn up, the audience begins to suspect something extraordinary. Once it is clear that they are more than just a coincidence, they become a part of the overall mystery of the show and must be adopted into the tension to be ultimately deemed uncanny or marvelous. The viewer searches for some “suggestion that these numbers hold some significance to the master narrative – without the suggestion that they are, in fact, a code – the numbers are meaningless” (113). The numbers, like every other riddle presented on the island, contribute to the fantastic by demanding resolution; their ambiguous purpose inspires the show’s fans to decipher the role they play in the story, but first by deciding whether or not they can be considered a natural deception or a truly supernatural phenomenon. Although by the end of the series, they are given a significant purpose in the plot, the cause of their constant repetition and whether or not they have any power inherent to themselves is left entirely unanswered.

But Lost will even extend its mythos beyond its fictional limits, transcending its narrative form by materializing in the world of its viewers. This technique modifies a tradition of intermixing historicism with the fantastic to make a story more ambiguous, such as the way in which The Nights will include the real life character Harun al-Rashid or the compounded approach of magical realism in general. The effect is to heighten the hesitation, creating doubt by the subtle association of the natural and the supernatural. Lost expands this by reversing it, portraying elements of the show in the audience’s world as if they were actual rather than fabricated. Derek Johnson, whose essay on Lost considers the role of transmedia in the series, concludes that “[t]he fictional institutions Hanso and Dharma, not fictional characters or narrative threads, enabled viewers to experience everyday life as part of the Lost hyperdiegesis – not just in the digital real, but across a range of mediated experience” (42). Johnson is addressing the way which Lost crosses over into the real world, of which he mentions several instances: television ads for its fake companies on ABC, an actress pretending to be an anti-Hanso activist and harassing the show’s writers during a panel at Comic Con, a false communications director from Hanso appearing on Jimmy Kimmel Live to defend his (imaginary) institution against how it is being depicted on Lost. This encroachment on the real world causes an uncanny impression on fans of the show who are forced to question if whether what they thought was fictional is actually so, and their interest is captured by the formulation of such extensive conspiracies. Lost has the ability to create mystery even outside its weekly hour-long timeslot by appearing when the viewer does not expect it, thus augmenting the tension between what is natural and what isn’t.

Apart from the reader’s immersion into the world of the characters, Todorov also insists on the rejection of allegorical and poetic interpretations in order to sustain the proper conditions for the fantastic. His reason is evident – by making the story symbolically supernatural, the audience’s uncertainties are spoiled because there is no longer anything to decipher literally. Lost has adhered to this requirement in order to cultivate its mystery, avoiding those outcomes which would have alienated its viewer’s involvement and made its conclusion predictable and pretentious. One scenario which many fans were outspoken about was the fear that all of the characters had been dead since the initial crash. Co-creator and showrunner Damon Lindelof addressed this concern in an interview at the 2014 PaleyFest by explaining, “For us, one of the ongoing conversations with the audience and there was a very early perception, was that the island was purgatory and we were always out there saying ‘It’s not purgatory, this is real, we’re not going to Sixth Sense you’” (“Lost 10 Year Anniversary Reunion”). Lindelof’s quote demonstrates the unease of an audience who dreads an unoriginal or unfulfilling explanation. By making the island into a physical representation of purgatory, the entire show becomes an allegory and all of the strange activities lose any creative meaning, which in turn severs the fan’s interest in solving something that is just being fit into predetermined analogies. Lindelof’s reference to the 1999 Shyamalan movie demonstrates how exhausted a concept this solution is. Furthermore, it relinquishes the real world, allowing every supernatural instance to occur without the need to question its purpose. If Lost would have revealed its characters to have been dead all along, every mystery up until that point would have been shadowed over by the seemingly last-ditch revelation that their world was never meant to be analyzed. This “anagnorisis” (that is, moment of critical discovery) should ideally produce an effect not unlike Ja’far’s discovery of the apple in his daughter’s pocket in the story of “The Three Apples”; however, whereas The Nights plays this out in “a way as to make the climax seem realistic and unforced”, Lost would have had the opposite effect because the technique would have accepted a strictly supernatural world and isolated the viewer from making sense of the tension (Pinault 98). In the context of the fantastic, allegory destroys mystery by disengaging the audience’s involvement in solving something that is preordained and lacks suspense.

Another similarly detrimental interpretation would have been the possibility that it was all a dream. This is teased at by the first scene of the pilot episode where the main character Jack opens his eyes, finding himself laying on the ground. This scenario has been equally disputed and discredited by both the creators and the fans for many of the same reasons – having everything be a dream denies the conjunction of the natural and supernatural worlds and supersedes any mysteries. Lost creators have been careful to eliminate this option, including indications that “the characters aren’t simply dreaming [such as that] there are a lot of focal characters, for one thing, each of whom seems to have a life that stretches off into the past and to exist largely independently of the other characters” (Richardson 111). The multitude of disconnected perspectives and the constant flashbacks serve to establish the natural world which the characters came from before they were thrust into the island’s mysteries. It shows the viewers information that is outside of that which any one character could be imagining. The inclusion of these safeguards against figurative interpretations allowed the show’s creators to keep the audience involved in the mysteries of its fictional world. If it had all turned out to be nothing more than a dream, this explanation would have overshadowed all of the uncertainty as inconsequential hallucinations, and any supernatural elements to have been a fraud of one’s imagination. If made to accept a dream as a solution to every mystery we have immersed ourselves in, our reaction would be not unlike Badr al-Din’s confusion and incredulity that such a “strange story”, so intricate, could be fake when it surely “must indeed have been real” (Haddawy 204). The dream explanation lacks gratification and diminishes the supernatural to where it is no longer a hesitation but an expectation.

By creating a world that is ambiguously supernatural, eliminating those problematic interpretations, and involving its viewers in the resolution of its mysteries, Lost fulfills the requirements which Todorov details as essential in establishing the fantastic. Having settled the prerequisites, we can next observe how Lost situates itself in regards to the marvelous and the uncanny. In order to do so, the show makes explicit use of the third and expendable condition – that in which the hesitation, which must be experienced by the audience, “may also be experienced by a character; thus the reader’s role is so to speak entrusted to the character, and at the same time the hesitation is represented, it becomes one of the themes of the work” (Todorov 33). The effect serves two purposes: it makes the hesitation a part of the story’s plot and it makes the characters advocates for the ultimate possibilities. By considering the first portion, that of thematizing the fantastic, we can see that Lost is entirely obsessed with this device. Just as the fantastic sets itself in between the marvelous and the uncanny, Lost too is concerned with “trying to skirt that line between the two possible explanations, the scientific one or a mythical and magical one”, all while remaining “purposefully ambiguous about which one might be correct” (Cuse, “15 Questions”). The result is that the characters are as preoccupied with revealing the island’s secrets as its viewers, all of whom are trapped in a six-season period of uncertainty and hesitation.

To evoke the two alternatives of the marvelous and the uncanny, Lost appoints two of its main characters as representatives of the opposing perspectives. The vital hesitation of the show occurs here, in the “dichotomy between faith and science, between Locke and Jack” (Wright 88). Championing science, Jack leads the interpretation for the uncanny. He is pragmatic and skeptical of magic or divine interference; he attributes the plane crash to accidental tragedy. Locke, on the other hand, embraces the marvelous and argues for faith in a purposeful destiny. He views the crash as meaningful, a belief that is doubtlessly affected by the restored use of his legs (as he had prior to the accident been crippled and restrained to a wheelchair). The two characters are constantly disagreeing, eventually in outright opposition. The tension of their relationship is immensely telling of the nature of the fantastic which relies on this stress to build suspense and intrigue the viewer. The discord of these confronting ideologies is discernable when Jack is asked, “Why do you find it so hard to believe, Jack?” by Locke, to which he replies, “Why do you find it so easy?” (“Orientation”). Advocates for inverted resolutions to the fantastic events of the island, the two convey the uncertainty of the audience members who can side with the character they think is correct.

At the end of the show, however, Lost refuses to commit to any definite resolution of the fantastic. Along the way, it answers many of its mysteries, categorizing some as uncanny (electromagnetic discharges, a man living beneath the island for three years, the affected reproductive systems of the island’s inhabitants) and others as marvelous (Walt’s ability to interact with animals, the Man in Black’s shapeshifting, the time-traveling) – but ultimately it is ambivalent towards an overall explanation. “[T]here’s this essential human desire to have a unified field theory,” explains Carlton Cuse, “But there is no unified theory for Lost, nor do we think there should be. Philosophically we don’t buy into that. The great mysteries of life fundamentally can’t be addressed” (“The Island Paradox”). The producers of Lost have willingly chosen to create a narrative that does not settle its tension even upon its conclusion, one that retains some of the fundamental hesitation that first drew its viewers by keeping its mystery pending even beyond the limits of its series. The fear of this kind of conclusion was in itself a contributing factor to that initial tension, as for many fans there was “unease that they were making an investment in a show that is complicated, without any sense of where it is going to lead them”, leading many of them to question the producers: “Are you making it up as you go along?” (“One Mystery Solved”). While unsettling for fans, the approach is brilliantly fantastic. Returning to Jack and Locke’s debate in regards to why the plane ends up on the island, it is significant to note that both are correct. Jack who argued for coincidence is proven right as we find out that the crash occurred due to an electromagnetic discharge caused by one character’s accidental failure to operate a certain machine; but Locke’s faith and belief in fate are also true, as we learn that the passengers on the plane were intentionally chosen as potential candidates to replace the island’s guardian. By legitimizing both perspectives, Lost declares that it will not side with either the uncanny or the marvelous and accept as permanent the fantastic. In rejecting a unified theory, it retains its ambiguity and keeps itself as a source of suspense for viewers to continue to speculate on the mysteries, even years after the show has ended. It creates a more convincing and expansive world, open for future stories to continue and for spinoffs to explore their own projections. By choosing to not provide answers, occasionally where they had even planned to have them (as with the mystery of the outrigger), the show is remaining accessible and irresolute.

That is not to say that Lost does not reward its fans with any closure – while it chooses to preserve its mystery, it does resolve its narrative tension by returning to its beginning. Todorov explains that really “[a]ll narrative is a movement between two equilibriums which are similar but not identical” (163). Lost’s begins with the very first scene where Jack open his eyes as he lays in between the trees, everything peaceful and silent, until he gets up and walks to the beach where we begin to hear screams and are made aware of the plane crash. For The Nights, this is in Shahrayar’s initial ignorance, before the discovery of his wife’s betrayal and his decision to kill every virgin he sleeps with. At this point the tension will enter and we have left the first equilibrium: the story has begun. In both of these scenes as well, we are first exposed to the mystery of the paranormal which “intervenes to break the median disequilibrium and to provoke the long quest for the second equilibrium”; and yet, if as Todorov insists, the “supernatural forces must intervene”, do they also need to be expelled in order to restore the narrative balance (164-5)? Both stories seem to prove otherwise. There is no final decision of the uncanny or the marvelous, only a return to a similar state but one that has broken the tension. Lost’s finale acts like a mirror of its opening: with Jack lying in the same place, watching a plane take off from the island before closing his eyes. The same can be said of The Nights, which returns Shahrayar to his status of married and sane, as in the beginning, but without addressing the supernatural’s significance and clarifying its ambivalence. Either tale’s final ambiguity, while lacking absolute answers, does not interfere with its narrative’s resolve.

Through following Todorov’s model in every aspect of its form, Lost has created a thoroughly fantastic universe, but by refusing to fulfill the hesitation, it has created one that persists. The result is a fertile environment in which to tell stories and from which future stories may still be wrought. Ultimately, Lost chooses to remain as ambiguous at its end about the supernatural forces as it did in its beginning, leaving this open for its viewer’s endless speculation. "It only ever ends once,” the island’s guardian warns, “Everything before that is just progress" (“The Incident, Parts 1 & 2”). But Lost has decided not to finish, to remain a story in progress, still unfolding and ambiguous to all who analyze it. Eternally fantastic, it may stay a source of inspiration, another link in a grander tradition which began with the first suggestion of the supernatural unknown. Followers of Lost are still on the island, hesitant to leave its mysteries behind.

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