#illustrious Corpses

[tina-aumont]

Tina Aumont in Francesco Rosi's film Cadaveri eccellenti (1976). This photo was used in the Polish program for the film.

Ebay.

[falsenote]

Illustrious Corpses (1976)

[polyboros]

need to stop reading posts abt That Webcomic that my dearest friends are reblogging because it makes me so (fondly) indignant about the fact that they wont get into kingdom hearts

[silasoctakiseron]

The thing about Locked Tomb gender roles too is that you can see in NtN how hard Ianthe is attempting to do Augustine and yet never can because she's a woman. She had to suck up to Augustine in this specifically feminine, ingratiating way to get close to him at all, and now that he's dead she's trying to step into his shoes as the cool, aloof, well-if-needs-truly-must new Lyctor. And yet she's still in charge of managing John's feelings, making sure Daddy's happy, doing his bidding as a Lyctor while simultaneously running emotional triage on her depressed alcoholic fatherboss. Augustine didn't have to do that shit! Augustine wasn't expected to tend to John's every need and be personally responsible for his happiness! That's a job that John specifically delegates to women in his life ⁠— he did it to Alecto, he did it to Mercy, and now he's doing it to Ianthe. And as the third in this illustrious line of corpses, Ianthe knows what awaits her if John gets tired of her insufferable habit of having a personhood that exists outside of him.

[goryhorroor]

Upcoming horror movies (some without release years) - not in order

Longlogs - FBI Agent Lee Harker is assigned to an unsolved serial killer case that takes an unexpected turn, revealing evidence of the occult. Harker discovers a personal connection to the killer and must stop him before he strikes again.

Nosferatu - A gothic tale of obsession between a haunted young woman and the terrifying vampire infatuated with her, causing untold horror in its wake.

Bermuda - Unknown details but it will be set in the mysterious patch of the Caribbean where planes and ships have gone missing over the years.

Twisters (ok thriller but imma count it because i can) - A sequel to the 1996 film about stormchasing scientists studying tornados.

Immaculate - Cecilia is warmly welcomed to the picture-perfect Italian countryside, where she is offered a new role at an illustrious convent. But it becomes clear to Cecilia that her new home harbors dark and horrifying secrets.

Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire - The film centers on the Spengler family as they return to where it all started – the iconic New York City firehouse – to team up with the original Ghostbusters, who’ve developed a top-secret research lab to take busting ghosts to the next level. But when the discovery of an ancient artifact unleashes an evil force, Ghostbusters new and old must join forces to protect their home and save the world from a second Ice Age.

Mickey's Mouse Trap - follows a group of friends who become targets of a serial killer dressed as Mickey Mouse

Imaginary - When Jessica moves back into her childhood home with her family, her youngest stepdaughter Alice develops an eerie attachment to a stuffed bear named Chauncey she finds in the basement.  Alice's games with Chauncey become increasingly sinister, and Jessica intervenes only to realize Chauncey is much more than the stuffed toy bear she believed him to be.

Skeletons in the Closet - Haunted by a malevolent spirit since childhood, a desperate mother allows herself to become possessed in order to save the life of her terminally ill daughter.

Lisa Frankenstein - love story about a misunderstood teenager and her high school crush, who happens to be a handsome corpse. After a set of playfully horrific circumstances bring him back to life, the two embark on a murderous journey to find love, happiness… and a few missing body parts along the way.

Winnie The Pooh: Blood & Honey 2 - oh yay? I guess a sequel

Adrift - It is described as a supernatural ghost story set aboard a ship. It is an adaptation of a short story by Koji Suzuki

Dustbunny - It follows a young girl who asks her neighbor to help her kill a monster under her bed after she thinks it has eaten her family.

Faces of Death -  follows a woman who discovers violent videos that recreate death scenes from movies online. 

Heretic -  two religious women who become the focus of a strange man's games. 

History of Evil - In the near future, war and corruption have plagued America and turned it into a theocratic police state. Against the oppression, ordinary citizens have formed a group called The Resistance. One such member, Alegre Dyer, breaks out of political prison and reunites with her husband Ron and daughter Daria. On the run from the militia, the family takes shelter in a remote safe house. But their journey is far from over, as the house’s dark past begins to eat away at Ron, and his earnest desire to keep his family safe is overtaken by something much more sinister.

MaXXXine - Six years after the ‘Texas Pornhouse Massacre’, Maxine is now LA-based and on a driven quest to become a star in the acting world. But things take a sinister turn when bodies once again begin to fall around her.

Dracula - A futuristic sci-fi western version of Dracula.

Apartment 7A - Prequel to the 1968 film Rosemary’s Baby.

Baghead - follows a young woman who inherits a run-down pub and discovers a dark secret within its basement. Enter Baghead - a shape-shifting creature that will let you speak to lost loved ones, but not without consequence. 

Out of Darkness - In the Old Stone Age, a disparate gang of early humans band together in search of a new land. But when they suspect a malevolent, mystical, being is hunting them down, the clan are forced to confront a danger they never envisaged.

Stopmotion - stop-motion animator by the name of Ella whose latest project might just be driving her to the brink of madness.

Late Night with the Devil - 1970s talk show host Jack Delroy on his last legs, wrung out by personal tragedy and in need of a ratings win. His plan to feature as a guest a young girl who is allegedly possessed seems like a Halloween night layup… until the cameras roll and all hell literally breaks loose.

You'll Never Find Me - An isolated man living at the back of a desolate caravan park is visited by a desperate young woman seeking shelter from a violent storm. As the savage storm worsens, these solitary souls begin to feel threatened – but who should really be afraid?

The First Omen - When a young American woman is sent to Rome to begin a life of service to the church, she encounters a darkness that causes her to question her own faith and uncovers a terrifying conspiracy that hopes to bring about the birth of evil incarnate. (this might be a prequel to the omen)

Abigail - After a group of would-be criminals kidnap the 12-year-old ballerina daughter of a powerful underworld figure, all they have to do to collect a $50 million ransom is watch the girl overnight. In an isolated mansion, the captors start to dwindle, one by one, and they discover, to their mounting horror, that they’re locked inside with no normal little girl. 

Return to Silent Hill - James, a man broken after being separated from his one true love. When a mysterious letter calls him back to Silent Hill in search of her, he finds a once-recognizable town transformed by an unknown evil. As James descends deeper into the darkness, he encounters terrifying figures both familiar and new and begins to question his own sanity as he struggles to make sense of reality and hold on long enough to save his lost love.

Infested -  invasion of venomous spiders, forcing residents of a suburban building to find a way out.

Tarot - Tarot follows a group of friends who recklessly violate the sacred rule of Tarot readings – never use someone else’s deck. In the wake of broken rules, consequences follow, this time in the form of unleashing an unspeakable evil trapped within the cursed cards. 

The Strangers Chapter 1 - a couple, have to survive the night while being terrorized by masked strangers in a remote Airbnb in Oregon

The Watchers - the film follows a young woman who becomes trapped with three strangers in a shelter deep within a forest in Ireland where the group must fight off mysterious creatures every night in order to survive. 

Never Let Go - a family who has been tormented by an evil spirit for years as their lives become more dangerous when one of the kids questions if the evil is real. 

The One - Follows character Taylor as she becomes a contestant on a reality TV dating show to find love. Taylor's experience takes a turn as she gets down to the final three and becomes terrified of not finding love (with a horror twist)

Thread: An Insidious Tale - new actors who play a husband and wife who use a spell to travel back in time to prevent their daughter's death, which has worse consequences than imagined

Weapons - The movie is about the disappearance of high school students in a small town, similar to the movie Magonlia's from 1999

A Quiet Place: Day One - New characters in New York

Alien: Romulus - takes place between the first & second movies

Beetlejuice 2 - not much is known about the plot details, but Beetlejuice will have a wife & Lydia's daughter will be in it

Speak No Evil: this is the English remake (all it really says; but it's just the 2022 movie but English?)

Smile 2 - it's a sequel but no details have been revealed

Terrifer 3 - not too many details revealed but it will take place on Christmas Eve

Wolfman - not too many details revealed but it's a new take on the werewolf tale

I Saw The TV Glow - Teenager Owen is just trying to make it through life in the suburbs when his classmate introduces him to a mysterious late-night TV show — a vision of a supernatural world beneath their own. In the pale glow of the television, Owen’s view of reality begins to crack.

Don't Move - A seasoned killer injects a grieving woman with a paralytic agent and she must run, fight and hide before her body completely shuts down.

Arcadian - Nicolas Cage comes back to save the day - and his children - from ferocious creatures at their remote farmhouse.

All My Friends Are Dead - College friends? Remote Airbnb? A secret murderer? What could go wrong in this classic toxic friend group killing spree? Looking forward to attending the biggest music fest of the year, this group of friends get together for what should be a killer weekend.

Monolith - It is about a disgraced journalist who investigates a conspiracy theory while trying to salvage her career.

some movies coming out maybe not this year but have been floating around: The Toxic Avenger (I think remake), Witchboard (remake), Year 2 (about werewolves), Shelby Oaks (A woman's desperate search for her long-lost sister falls into obsession upon realizing that the imaginary demon from their childhood may have been real), Salem's Lot (remake), Little Bites ('70s-set monster movie that highlights the lengths a parent will go to protect a child), The Crow (Reboot), Jordan Peele's untitled movie, I've also seen there's going to be another Saw (but it hasn't been confirmed), and another Scream (but that production is already a trainwreck so who knows)

[chains-of-destiny]

Few families can say that they've been blessed by the gods, and even fewer can count ancestors as illustrious and celebrated as Niemon, your great-grandfather. He was the very man who led the rebellion against a tyrannical magocracy and laid the founding stones for a free and fair republic. Your family was destined for greatness and respect, but your grandfather ruined it all… You are the heir to House Serin, and the burden of your family's legacy weighs heavily on you. However, your destiny is much greater than that of your forefathers, maybe even the great Niemon's. So, let the chronicles begin! But remember, the chains of destiny are strong and will not be easily broken. Do you have the power to defy fate?

This is the first book of Chains of Destiny, a planned trilogy where you step into the shoes of the heir to House Serin. Set in the fictional continent of Runsas, your choices will not only shape your life but also impact the lives of those around you and the future of the republic. Uncover the secrets behind your grandfather's betrayal, break free from the chains that bind you, and finally take control of your destiny.

The game is more character/story-focused and places less emphasis on stats.

[Link to the demo]

Total word count: ~271k words (as of 2024/08/18)

ROs | Forum Page  | Update Log

The intention is not to make the story as dark as possible but to establish a living, breathing world that exists within the setting it found itself in. So, you will not be swimming in a sea of blood and body parts, it is not the point of the story. Still, I feel obliged to warn any potential players before playing this game, as certain scenes contain things that may not be for everyone.

Reader Discretion Advised: This content may be disturbing or triggering for some players. Proceed with caution and consider your own emotional well-being before continuing.

[Content warning] - this game currently contains (or will contain in the future):

Strong language

Graphic scenes of violence

Graphic depictions of injuries, wounds, and corpses

Scenes of physical and emotional abuse

Blood and gore

Dark and disturbing themes

Body horror - Transformation (skippable)

Alcohol and drug use

Mentions and references to animal death

Mutilation

Physical and psychological Trauma

War crimes

Manipulation and gaslighting

Themes of authoritarianism and oppression/discrimination of certain groups of people

Themes of war and conflict

- The list may or may not expand as the development progresses.

Also, this story was created purely out of my passion for writing. It does not intend to preach or lecture anyone about any particular topic or belief.

If you feel that any part of this game is preaching or trying to convey a specific message, it is unintentional, and I sincerely apologize. The primary goal is to provide an enjoyable and fun experience for everyone.

PS: I should've already made a post like this in the beginning, but somehow I just forgot to.😄

[nikethestatue]

Rant incoming.

Maybe I am a bit of a psycho (okay, not a bit) but for the love of God and all that is holy--Sarah, give us the Shadowsinger that you keep hinting at.

I need at least ONE of these men to go dark. Go fucking black.

We keep hearing about the violence, the terror, the sheer presence of them that would make a grown man piss his pants---but we never see it?

The one and ONLY time where I feel it happened (and marginally too) was when Rowan skinned (not gonna say who) alive.

But it's kind of like--if SJM insists on making all these men ruthless warriors, torturers, the most powerful Fae in the kingdom or the world or whatever--then SHOW IT. Show us the men we are supposed to crave and fear.

We had Hunt, the Umbra Mortis, who barely ever 'mortis-nized' anyone ever. He was just a himbo who wanted to eat pizza and watch sunball.

Cassian, the Commander General, had one good run during the war and then became a human dildo.

Azriel cut the Attor a lil bit.

Give me the scary. The unhinged. I don't need cinnamon rolls. I want one of these dudes to rip out someone's heart and then fuck his ladylove on top of the corpse.

I am also so so so tired of the 'girl Power woooo!' thing that SJM keeps writing--where the women always take care of business and need no help, no protection, no revenge, no assistance from the men whatsoever. Why even bother making these men these illustrious warriors, when we know that Nesta can kill a Death God in 10 minutes, and Bryce can kill an Asteri in about 8 minutes.

I am beginning to wonder what is the point of men in SJMs' stories at all?

We had the 'Most Powerful High Lord In History' running around dropping to his knees, looking for a good OBGYN for all of ACOSF. We had the Commander General taking lots and lots of time from his clearly not very busy schedule to train some girlies and have repetitive sex. Lucien, not much of a warrior to begin with, just hangs out at his country manor. Azriel seems to be working at least, but mostly he is just being angsty.

Like there's been a shipwar raging for 3.5 years over these guys, and honestly, for what? Azriel is a spy, a torturer and 'a freak'. If it all ends up being for nothing, and he is just going to be some pining useless follower, carrying Elain's purse, whose 'freakiness' consists of light spanking and a nipple bite, then honestly, GAs or whoever, can have him.

I feel like 90% of all ACOTAR readers came to the series through Rhys. Because Rhys was so shifty. So cold. So unremorseful. Rhys was...INTERESTING.

What happened? Where are the interesting male characters? We know that SJm is not GRR Martin or anything, but come on.

Let's even take Lucien--and I don't give a shit about Lucien--but make Lucien...interesting? If he is so wily and crafty, why can't Lucien at least TRY to trick Elain into liking him, going out with him on a date? ANYTHING. Try to gaslight her, lie to her, trick her--do anything that makes me want to read about you. Eluciens keep whining about 'mean Elain' but like, why are they satisfied with this limp noodle of a painfully boring character? Why no demands of fucking everyone over and going after what he wants? 'Oh, he is so respectful'! Who cares? Why do you want to read that in a fantasy book about supposedly violent and brilliant fairies?

I am reading all kinds of things outside of ACOTAR, and I reflect and I think, OMG, SJMs males are boring AF!!!! Why do they even inspire a glimmer of desire or interest? They literally do nothing memorable or interesting.

Honestly, if the next book is the same, and she murders Azriel's character, it will be a big fat goodbye from me.

I am holding on to hope that she'll write him and even Lucien somehow, somewhat compellingly.

[formerly-wraith-caller]

Fia's ending is not the restoration of a natural death : a theory

There are plenty of confusing things going on in the Elden Ring lore. Given that we learn it piecemeal through dialog, cut scenes,, and various item descriptions, it's understandable that we don't all end up with the same interpretation of what's happening. One thing I frequently see is the claim that Fia's ending, "The Age of the Duskborn", is a return of the balance of life and death to the Lands Between. I strongly disagree that this is what is being communicated by her ending, and would like to posit the opposite. It is the insertion of an alternative yet equally unnatural lifecycle, one of death unending.

🚨Spoilers Ahead🚨

So we can all agree on this much: Fia is allied with Those Who Live in Death. Per her dialog:

"I wished to be a mother to Those Who Live in Death. So it is that any loathing, any hatred that overshadows them, I must bear, as a matter of duty, with my own flesh."

"I am the guardian of Those Who Live in Death."

Her goal is to uplift TWLID from what she feels is persecution, and to lay with Godwyn and give him another life:

"We, who humbly live in Death live in waiting to one day welcome our Lord. What right does anyone have to object? Our Lord will rise, the Lord of the many and the meek."

"With [the cursemark], Godwyn can take his rightful place as First of the Dead, and claim a second, illustrious life."

"The new life of the golden prince, and first Dead of the demigods, as the rune of Those Who Live in Death. Please, do one thing for me. Brandish this child, my rune, and take for yourself the throne. Stay the persecution of Those Who Live in Death by becoming our Elden Lord."

What are Those Who Live in Death? Per the Skeletal Militiamen Ashes:

"These are the spirits of militiamen who live in Death, and will continue to rise again until properly finished off. This is the grotesque fate of those who come into contact with deathroot."

So we can take a few pertinent bits of information from this. Becoming one of TWLID is likely often involuntary. Corpses buried in the ground aren't going out huntiing for deathroot to rub up on, after all, and we know that the deathroot spread through the lands by infecting the Erdtree after Godwyn's half-death. I won't rule out the possibility that there are living people who voluntarily choose to become TWLID, but given that the majority (if not all) of the undead we encounter are at an advanced stage of decomposition, we can assume that's not terribly common. This is relevant because the nature of TWLID is a point of contention between Darian, Fia, and Rogier.

Darian describes TWLID in no uncertain terms as a blight upon the world:

"Those Who Live in Death fall outside the principles of the Golden Order. Their mere existenece sullies the guidance of gold, tainting its truth. And so it is the vermin must be exterminated, down to the very last."

They run counter to the tenets of the Golden Order. Death was sealed from the Lands Between, and souls of the dead are intended to return to the Erdtree. It's also worth noting that, well, TWLID aren't exactly a friendly bunch. The Skeletal Militiamen Ashes refer to their fate as "grotesque" for a reason, and they don't limit their aggression to the player character. We first encounter Darian apologizing to the body of a person killed by TWLID for being unable to give them their "proper rites".

Fia describes TWLID as "meek", yet their acts seem anything but. Darian describes them as vermin, yet the undead have no control over their fate. Interestingly, Rogier does not clearly throw his lot in with either of these ends of the spectrum, and claims to want to "save them". While it would seem that he feels the best way to do this involves working with Fia somehow, it's less clear what it means to him to save TWLID. He doesn't mention Fia (though she mentions him, making it plain they trade information), so it's harder to understand his motivations. It's tempting to think he wants to save the dead by integrating life within death the way Fia does, but I'd like to suggest an alternative: he wants to put them to a real, proper death. He is the midpoint between the extreme alternatives offered by D and Fia, extermination or prolilferation.

Rogier gives a little insight into what motivates him when he says:

"I've spent many an hour scouring the archives for knowledge of that fateful plot. The world has grown crooked, and if you intend to put it to rights, you'd better understand what happened to make it that way, hm?"

He isn't talking cursemarks and new overlords here, he is talking about understanding what broke everything to begin with. We don't hear talk about the might of the Golden Order(though he does spare it a little admiration in spite of his apparent heretical ties), nor about uplifting the meek undead, nor any reverence for the Prince of Death. In fact, Rogier refers to Godwyn's corpse as "that thing", hardly in line with the sort of respect Fia holds for Godwyn. In order to save the dead, he knows he first has to work out why they exist to begin with. He tells us that if he could inspect Ranni's cursemark, he will "have the answers [he has] sought for so long."

Of course we get a bit more of an explanation for Rogier's interests when we ask him why he wants the cursemark. He tells of us his desire to save TWLID, explaining that in his research he has discovered something of their nature. Again, I think this relates to the fact that TWLID didn't intentionally become what they are, coming into being by random chance through no fault of their own.

"These souls have committed no offense. They have every right to life, only, they happened to touch upon a flaw in the Order."

It's hard for me to decide what he means by this. The SOULS have committed no offense, but TWLID are what they are because they are bodies persisting without the soul. They have a right to life, but does this mean life within death? Or does it mean a proper death, so that they may be given back the life stolen from them when their souls couldn't be returned to the Erdtree due to their affliction as one of TWLID? Something pointed out to me by elden_things is that, in the original Japanese version of this part of his dialog, he says:

"They violated nothing. They only lived in earnest, and thus, they came in contact the law's flaw."

"They only lived in earnest" is A LOT different than "They have every right to life". One is simply understanding that TWLID are not necessarily malicious fiends but an unfortunate accidental byproduct of Godwyn's death, the other more explicitly sympathetic. Taking the Japanese version could lend more credence to the idea that Rogier is not necessarily advocating for the integration of life within death into the Order. He understands that the Order needs repaired, that it is broken, but also that it is able to adapt:

"In the past, [the Academy of Raya Lucaria] obeyed laws which contravened the Golden Order, or so I'm told. Fascinating, isn't it? That the Golden Order was pliable enough to absorb practices that contradicted itself in the past. With the Order broken, twisted, and in need of repair, such adaptability is more important now than ever."

Interestingly, Rogier doesn't ever deride the Golden Order the way Fia does (referring to them as "dogmatic brutes" seeking to deny Godwyn's ascension and, well, murdering Darian). He actually appears to admire its ability to change with the needs of the current age, and he doesn't talk about upending it or tearing it down, but repairing it. He feels this can be achieved by understanding the things that broke it to begin with. He must understand why TWLID exist, and to do that he must understand deathroot, and to do that, he must understand the nature of Godwyn's death, and to do that he must understand the cursemarks, and so on until we get to the knifeprint and the Night of the Black Knives itself, the genesis of the Shattering and the origin of TWLID. This is how ends up pointing us towards Ranni's cursemark, rather than Godwyn's. It's unclear if he knows Darian had the latter, but I personally assume he didn't, and that this is why he went to inspect the corpse beneath Stormveil. He wanted the cursemark for his research, and Darian knew better than to let anyone know what he had, especially Rogier who he would know was working alongside Fia at this point.

Returning to Fia's ending. Her story culminates in her fashioning the Mending Rune of the Death Prince. Right away its description can cause some confusion:

"Formed of the two hallowbrand half-wheels combined, it will embed the principle of life within Death into Order. The Golden Order was created by confining Destined Death. Thus, this new Order will be one of Death restored."

It's understandable to see the phrase "Death restored" and assume this means that people will be able to die naturally again whereas before they couldn't, both due to Marika's removal of the Rune of Death, and because of the curse of the deathroot causing TWLID. But let's back up to the first half of that item description: "it will embed the principle of life within Death into Order". So which is it? A restoration of real death, or the integration of the living dead into the Order of the world?

Reviewing Fia's dialog would strongly indicate the latter. She states she wants to be like a mother to them, a guardian, to bear the scorn they receive. She wants Godwyn to have a new, "illustrious" second life, calls for his rise as the Lord of the meek and many undead. If it were merely a matter of his second life as the mending rune putting the living dead to rest, how is that significantly different from what the Golden Order is doing with its hunters? Why oppose them instead of joining them in their quest to end TWLID if you both seek to give rest to the dead? The Order wants to "eradicate" them, but we see what this means in practice when we fight a Mariner alongside Darian: sanctifying the undead so they can't rise again, and weeding deathroot so more can't be made. In what way is this not being put to rest? Beyond that, what would Godwyn/the rune be lord of if his meek and many are dead and buried? What persecution needs to be stayed if there are no undead to receive mistreatment?

Then there's the actual cut scene from the Age of the Duskborn ending. Everything in grey shades and shrouded in mist, the light of the Erdtree dimmed, and most worthy of note, the swarms of flies at our Tarnished's feet. We've seen these flies before in the Deeproot Depths before Godwyn's body, as well as on Rogier when he's dying of deathblight. The flies are very heavily connected with deathroot and TWLID, another indication that this is not an ending of a peaceful and natural death, but the inclusion of the living dead in the world order. These same living dead who we have already established are unlikely to have chosen this fate for themselves. Is it really a mercy to be left to what the game itself refers to as a "grotesque" fate, one which you have no control over and don't choose for yourself?

A final nail in the "this is a return of true death" coffin for me is the simple fact that there already is a rune for giving people natural deaths. It's the Rune of Death, the same one the player can obtain from Maliketh. If Fia's intention was simply to give a peaceful death to people in a world plagued by the immortality given to it by Marika, wouldn't it be more sensible to seek this rune instead of fashioning a new one altogether, one that it kills her to create? (I know people believe Devin killed her, but I'm pretty confident she's already dead. She gives us a farewell before laying with Godwyn to create the rune, and talks to us like she won't be there when she asks us to take the rune, and the other two NPCs who fashion mending runes die in the process as well.)

If you've made it this far, feel free to share your thoughts. It's always interesting to read new perspectives, and I'm sure there are things I've missed or even totally misunderstood. There's a huge amount of information tucked away in this game and it's very exciting to learn something more about it.

[mochaintherain]

Pleonexia

Summary: Cemented as a false God, the title of "The Creator" warranted a certain Fatui Harbinger to impose his greed upon you.

Word Count: 1.3k

CW: SAGAU, implied violence, implied cultish themes, the fatui comes as it's own warning, slight jealousy?

A/N: formatted on mobile </3 A little drabble I had lying around (*´▽｀*) I really like SAGAU but only a specific flavor of it RAUGHH I also have so,,, many ideas for other fics. Yippee for summer!!! (delusional)

Zapolyarny Palace was destitute of warmth.

The room the Tsaritsa had generously provided on account of your descending far outgrew your meager body; the walls stretched too far, any insulation it may have mustered in the heart of a blizzard out your reach, and the chandeliers hung from the ceiling too high to provide any ample light, encompassing you in darkness. The only reprieve within your residence laid a stately hearth. The fire roared, breaking the monotonous cold hues of the bedroom. Its heat blanketed your face in a sweet caress. Soft whispers of crackled wood lulled you to slumber.

Temptation gnawed at your being. You wanted to rest.

But something you quickly learned about the palace was its capacity for people.

For Fatui.

And they wanted anything but your comfort.

The Regrator hummed, cold fingers trailing the bare of your neck, reveling in your shudders as he clicked the gold necklace onto your figure. Illustrious gemstones and the smoothest links of gold culminated to create art - now adorned by you. It could have been beautiful, had it not been tainted by avarice. Had it not been tainted by his prayer.

"Your Grace, do you like it?"

That moniker stirred ill within the depths of your stomach. When would be the day they realized they deluded themselves into a lie? When would be the day they killed you for being something you never claimed you were?

As intriguing as the Fatui were on one side of the screen, they were sinister zealots on the other. They despised the Gods so much their hatred festered piousness--and they paraded you like a doll around the estate, an object to collect worship and donate it to rising influence. You were another gnosis, another piece to their revolution.

The match to inevitably burn away the Old World.

"Your Grace," the Regrator repeated, the edge on each syllable chiding, "is this not up to your tastes? ...Not refined enough?"

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze. No semblance of warmth pierced his icy veil. For all the devoutness the Harbingers touted, their theatrics fell short. Ugly, false fidelity bled through their altruistic ministrations.

How you wished to curl up next to the fireplace instead of having to cling onto your robes.

"No...no, it's, ah, beautiful. Thank you," you mumbled, forcing a smile onto your face.

"Of course. Someone of your status—" he grit that phrase out from his throat, you swore it—"deserves only to be lavished in the finest treasures Teyvat has to offer! Wouldn't you agree?"

When they killed you, would he scatter his riches upon your corpse? Or maybe Pantalone would bury you with all the accessories he gifted you--

Perhaps they’d continue the facade, setting your still heart upon the altar dedicated to the Creator. The name you unwittingly stole from its rightful place.

He took your long, drawn, silence as acquiscence. "It's quite alright if you're shy. I fully understand, as your acolyte, but really, you must be more open about you and your capabilities--humbleness goes hand in hand with honesty, after all! Surely that's nothing to hide, hm?"

His hands found their way to your own, and he traced the shape of a diamond on your palm.

"What did you call them again? What was it...oh, primogems?" From your visage, the corners of his lips curled. "Your Grace, won't you show me your divinity? For all my offerings, a glimpse wouldn't hurt."

It's only fair.

"I'm...truly grateful for everything the Fatui, and especially you, have provided," you started slowly, eyes falling to his rings, unable to harbor the weight of his scrutiny any longer, "but...I'm sorry. I can't just use them whenever I wish—" the words died on your tongue as his grip tightened, leaving behind desiccated sputters.

"And why is that?"

"I'm—I'm sorry—"

"Am I not worthy?" Pantalone laughed a little, devoid of joy, "have I not given you enough, Your Grace? What more can I give? I've already built myself up from nothing, despite the Gods' negligence—must I give that up too, to bask in Your warmth?"

You winced, trying to pull away. Yet he held firm, as if it wasn't wrists he was holding, but the bags of mora he hoarded.

"That's not—"

"I really am not asking for much, Your Grace. You've shown the Balladeer—even the Doctor—your powers. So why not me? Dottore and I are close partners, and if you trust him, I can assure you, you can have complete and utter faith in me, just as I do you."

"I...Okay. But only one summon," you conceded, the crystalline shards manifesting into your hands.

As if he hadn't been intimidating you moments prior, Pantalone stared in awe, clasping his hands together and humming.

"Oh! You're too kind, Your Grace!"

"Please, just call me by my name," you whispered, before cupping the primos together into an Intertwined Fate.

"How beautiful," he gasped, "may I?"

Reluctantly, you handed it to him. The size of his figure dwarfed the small orb, brimming with power. A pink and blue glow breathed life into his otherwise dull fur coat.

"How do you use…this?” Pantalone’s brows furrowed together, raising it up to the light as if to get a better view. “It’s quite…tiny.”

"Well, I'm not sure how it fully works in Teyvat—but you wish for something and hope to get it."

"Hm? So you leave it up to chance?"

"Yes, in a way..."

"How pitiful," he whispered, before his voice dropped an octave, "you must have more power than that. You’re a God.”

“I’ve already told you all…” you stopped in your tracks, images of corpses scattered across Dottore’s lab. You were almost a test subject, “godhood” shielding you from the vivisection table by a narrow margin. If they learned the truth…

“I…am not a god in my home world,” you stammered, picking words haphazardly from the floor of your mind, “I’m still getting used to Teyvat, so…”

He sighed, squeezing your shoulder. “I see. Well, demonstrate how it works.” The reassuring gesture only spurred your unease.

With a slight nod, you pondered what to wish for.

“…Thrilling Tales,” you declared, the fate sizzling with luminescence before shooting up into the sky.

Pantalone’s mouth fell agape as a bright, blue, light enveloped your hands, swirled together, then dissipated, revealing the weapon. Another wish granted. More primos depleted, with no way to earn them back.

“A book; Is it a catalyst?” He took the tomb from your grasp, skimming its contents. “From what I can tell, not a very good one.” A frown slowly painted over his countenance. “Are you playing games with me, Your Grace?”

“W-whatever do you mean, Pantalone?” Your voice faltered as he took a step towards you. Gripping your face just hard enough for his rings to chafe and dig into your cheeks, he tilted your chin up.

“When you were with Dottore, you summoned a brilliant sword that he remarked, “wasn’t from this world”. And, with me, you summon this…” He pinched the book by its cover, letting the pages sway limply below. “Fairy tale?”

“Well—! The Doctor scared me—I, I am much more comfortable with you.” Though not necessarily a lie, it wasn’t a truth either. Of all the people you’d interacted with so far, mainly the harbingers—only the harbingers, when you thought about it—Pantalone, compared to the Doctor, was much less scary.

Eyes widening, the grip on your face went slack, morphing into a soft caress of your cheek. You shuddered again.

He smiled, returning to that cheery demeanor.

“Well, if that is the case, I’m glad, and honored, Your Grace.”

You nodded, every muscle in your body taut and strangled by your lies.

“Of course.”

.

[writeious-hand]

Holding Out for a Hero: Part 1

"Fine, I'll do it myself"

After watching the D&D movie yesterday, I have had *brain rot* for Xenk Yendar. And no fic has been posted. I want romance. And you know what they say - If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. Probably will be multiple parts if the writing bug bites again.

Please be kind, I haven't published fanfic in years, and never on Tumblr.

After defeating Sofina and saving Neverwinter from the Wizards of Thay, the Thieves did try to lead a normal life.

Honestly.

However, it wasn't a surprise when on more than one occasion, Thay assassins showed up to try and kill them. So often in fact, that they had to constantly travel in order to stay ahead of their hunters, who would reanimate within hours of being killed, no matter how bloody Holga or Doric made the scene. They had made an enemy of Szass Tam after all, and he was not the forgiving sort.

Finding a letter on the corpse of their last assassin (they had taken to "liberating" all of their would-be killers' belongings before they were able to revive, as it really delayed the next time they would meet) showed that the tide of undead assassins would not be slowing any time soon. By order of Szass Tam, they were to be killed in the most painful ways imaginable with a mighty prize to whoever was successful.

So Edgin and the troop once again tracked down the illustrious Xenk Yendar to find a way to put the assassins in the ground, permanently. You couldn't always count on an overfed dragon to do the job for you.

"What do you mean, a cleric? Clerics are healers!"

Xenk turned to face Edgin. "Clerics are the holy warriors of the gods. They can use the light to perform miracles, yes, but they also can harness the gifts they have been given against the undead in ways unparalleled by even the mightiest warrior or wizard."

"For the record," Simon spoke up from behind Edgin, "I also thought they just stayed in their temples healing people. So do we just stay at one until they catch up with us again?"

While it would offer the party safety, as temples are normally built or given hallowed ground and no undead can step foot there, it was decided (mainly by Edgin) that they would have to set a trap if they wanted these assassins gone for good. And they would need a cleric. The only connection they had to a holy order was the Emerald Enclave, who supposedly had dealings in the past with a traveling cleric.

There had been a small faction of the Church of Eternal Winter which had frozen a swath of land in their forest. This cleric had come through and removed the taint of Auril and in return was given a seedling of their largest oak tree and a promise of a place to rest whenever they passed through the area. According to Doric, the cleric was an elf, though she didn't know which god she was in service to. The last time they had passed through was before Doric was born.

Their journey brought them to Loudwater, the city of grottos. In searching and questioning in the section of the city populated by elves, they did not receive a warm welcome. Asking around at the many temples of Lathander and other woodland gods, there were no clerics who traveled or were willing to leave on such a dangerous quest. The party upon exiting was stopped by an orcish man.

"Sounds like Lyra. Why are you looking for her anyway?" He looked the party up and down with suspicion. "She hasn't done anything wrong."

Edgin served his role as face of the party. "No, of course not, it's just that-"

"We heard she can kill our enemies."

"HOLGA!"

After the misunderstanding was cleared, the orc who introduced himself as Zedroar Brittlebone brought them out to the Forestview Gate and into the town of tents and other less permanent structures where the orcs who labored in the fields had lived for a long time.

"Lyra's been here for a while now, keeps saying she'll leave soon but always finds a reason to stay. Says there are stories left to be told but I think she'll just miss us."

As they passed through the camp they could see the relaxed atmosphere of the community that had been built. Ahead on the path, there was a whole crowd of children orcish, human, and a few mixed in of other races and combinations. They were all sitting around on blankets or each other, listening to a woman tell a story.

"And the mighty warrior let out a fierce roar, saying You'll never get her, fiend!" The children squealed with excitement and laughed at her attempt at a deep heroic voice. She was elven, most likely a sun-elf with her golden complexion. At the sight of her, Xenk began slowly backtracking but was caught by Edgin.

"What are you doing?"

"I never should have come here." His eyes never left her.

"What are you talking about? Do you know her?"

Xenk was able to pull his eyes away, and look into Edgin's soul. "If she sees me with you, she will never agree to help."

"Now wait just a minute."

"It is high time for me to return to Mornbyrn's Shield"

"You are afraid of her." Edgin knew he was right, when Xenk stopped struggling to get away.

"i am not afraid," Now Xenk wouldn't look him in the eye, "I just don't wish to reopen old wounds."

"Come on, man. We need both of you if this is going to work. Take it from someone who has had to deal with their past catching up to them almost constantly for the past few years. The only way to get closure, for whatever happened, is to face it head-on." Edgin reached a hand to where Xenk had taken cover behind one of the wooden buildings. "I'm sure she's probably forgotten about it, since you both have been around for a long time."

Approaching the group, their other companions turned to face them.

"Where were you guys?" Holga looked them both up and down suspiciously.

"Good news," Simon smiled, "Lyra agreed to help us, right?"

The elven woman turned around from gathering her things and saying goodbye to some of the children. The casual smile on her face fell as she locked eyes with the paladin.

"Xenk"

"Alariel"

[late-to-the-fandom]

Daily Writing Challenge - February 2024

Throwing myself headfirst out of the moving car that is my many-months hiatus and into the roadside ditch that is writing again, I have challenged myself to write for the @daily-writing-challenge's February prompts every day this week. The goal: remember how writing - particularly finishing a piece of writing - works. These will all be snippets from Prince Renathal and companion's continued adventures in the Dragon Isles (full stories here). Will they be any good? Probably not. But they will be done (maybe).

Day 1: Flirt - 600 words, no warnings

The saviour of Azeroth and the Shadowlands, champion of the Horde, former archmage and famous Maw Walker lay her weary body back against the sun-warmed grass and closed her eyes with a final, defeated sigh.

The Dark Prince raised one eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Not giving up already, are you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed, pushing off the railing with a clunk of plate armour and descending the ancient stone staircase toward his motionless companion. “You cannot give up. I know you too well. You are incapable of accepting defeat.”

“First time for everything," was her petulant reply.

Renathal’s wordless disapproval was a masterful sound, full of throaty skepticism and dubiously clicking fangs. Elisewin refused to acknowledge it. Her eyes remained shut, limp arms drowned in the swaying grass, determinedly ignoring the vibrant butterflies fluttering curiously around her wild, windswept fan of dark hair.

Coming to a stop beside her would-be corpse, Renathal tried a different tact.

“An ignominious end for such an illustrious hero.” He announced the words like a eulogy, gesticulating elegantly to his audience of butterflies, who showed no obvious interest. “Imagine - grappling with gods, conquering whole armies, destroying any number of mountainous beasts, only to be beaten by -”

“It’s so stupid,” spat Elisewin suddenly from the ground. Her eyes snapped open in a blaze of blue-white fury. “It’s such a stupid, ridiculous test of an even more ridiculous practice, and I don’t see why I should have to learn it. I was perfectly happy with my old Undercity bat. Slow and steady. That thing -” She twisted her head to throw an accusatory glance at the proto-drake sniffing the bushes at the base of the nearby cliff. “It reacts to the slightest movement! I can’t even breathe without it changing direction. And it goes too fast!”

“I have never known you to mind fast. You usually request it,” remarked Renathal playfully.

Elisewin narrowed her eyes at him instead.

“Don’t flirt with me when I’m frustrated.”

Renathal laughed aloud at that. Mustering all her available dignity, Elisewin turned her face pointedly away from him and closed her eyes again.

“And I mean it. I’m done. I’ve tried sixteen times now, and I'm all over bruises. I am not trying it again. I’ll just walk everywhere.”

Wholly undaunted, Renathal swallowed the last of his laughter and fixed his tone into something that might have been mistaken for sympathy by someone who did not know him well.

“Very well, dearest, if you are certain." He stepped around her studiously still form and headed towards her waiting mount, calling behind him: “You can simply ride alongside me. I am happy to take the lead. I, personally, do not find the practice particularly taxing. Then again, I am much older, with a greater reservoir of power to draw from. You can hardly hold yourself to my standard."

A rustle of grass, a low groan, then a series of furious soft-soled footsteps assured Renathal this last hand had won. He turned expectantly, already holding out the proto-drake’s cracked leather reins. Elisewin snatched them from him. Her lavender glower as she swung one leg over the bulky creature's back only made Renathal smile.

“Ah,” he declared in affectionate triumph, propping himself against the rocky cliffside to watch his lover's seventeenth attempt. “That is the Maw Walker I know."

It was Elisewin’s turn to scoff. She wriggled uncomfortably, settling back into the saddle. Fixing her grim expression on the looming tower at the top of the cliff, she declared to the wilderness around them:

“I’d take the Maw over dragon riding any day.”

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Religious and spiritual people say that everything happens for a reason and nothing happens by chance. I’m beginning to think they might be on to something. On May 15, 2024, I posted on X a reply to Naomi Wolf’s posted image of the famed Shroud of Turin—believed by many people to be the burial cloth of Jesus—noting that it was…

Debunked decades ago as a 14th century forgery. If the basis of religious belief is faith, why do believers continue to insist they have physical evidence—here in the form of a burial shroud of someone whom a 1st century Jew would resemble not at all.

I have no idea what Wolf’s intent was in her post that lacked commentary, but I was surprised to see so many people in the replies to my post tell me that, in fact, the Shroud of Turin had not been debunked:

By chance (or was it?), shortly after this post my friend, colleague and historian of science Massimo Pigliucci wrote me from, of all places, Turin, in northern Italy, where he happened to be “teaching a course on the relationship between science and religion.” It turns out that Massimo’s host is Andrea Nicolotti, one of the world’s leading experts on and author of a book about The Shroud of Turin: The History and Legend of the World’s Most Famous Relic, suggesting that perhaps we might like to publish an excerpt from in Skeptic. Dr. Nicolotti’s book outlines the most important facts about the shroud, its history, authenticity, and claimed miraculous origin, and why it is almost certainly not the burial shroud of Jesus, and so I am please to present this excerpt from the book.

Dr. Andrea Nicolotti is Full Professor of History of Christianity and Churches in the Department of Historical Studies, University of Turin. He focuses on the methodology of historical research, Greek translations of the Old Testament, ancient Christianity, and the history of the relics. He wrote a book on the practice of exorcism in early Christianity (Esorcismo cristiano e possessione diabolica, 2011), a history of the Image of Edessa (From the Mandylion of the Edessa to the Shroud of Turin, 2014), and The Shroud of Turin (2019).

--

The Shroud of Turin

By: Andrea Nicolotti

For over a decade I have devoted myself to studying the Shroud of Turin, along with all the faces of sindonology (from the Greek word sindòn, used in the Gospels to define the type of fine fabric, undoubtedly linen, with which the corpse of Jesus was wrapped), or the set of scientific disciplines tasked with determining the authenticity of such relics. My work began with an in-depth analysis of the theory linking the Knights Templar to the relic,[1] and the theory according to which the Mandylion of Edessa (more on this below) and the Shroud are one and the same.[2] Studying the fabric also revealed that the textile has a complex structure that would have required a sufficiently advanced loom, i.e. a horizontal treadle loom with four shafts, probably introduced by the Flemish in the 13th century, while the archaeological record provides clear evidence that the Shroud is completely different from all the cloths woven in ancient Palestine.[3]

The result of my research is The Shroud of Turin: The History and Legends of the World’s Most Famous Relic.[4] As a historian, I was more interested in the history of the Shroud than in determining its authenticity as the burial cloth of Jesus, although the evidence is clear that it is not. However, for a historiographical reconstruction seeking to address the history of the relationship between faith and science in relation to relics, the Shroud offers a useful case for understanding how insistence on the relic’s authenticity, alongside a lack of interest on the part of mainstream science, leaves ample room for pseudoscientific arguments.

Relics

The Christian cult of relics revolves around the desire to perpetuate the memory of illustrious figures and encourage religious devotion towards them. Initially limited to veneration of the bodies of martyrs, over the centuries it extended to include the bodies of saints and, finally, objects that had come into contact with them. As Christianity spread, the ancient custom of making pilgrimages to the burial places of saints was accompanied by the custom of transferring their relics (or parts of them) to the furthest corners of the Christian world. These transfers, called “translations," had several effects:

1. They increased devotion towards the person from whom the relic derived. 2. They were believed to protect against war, natural disasters and disease, and to attract healings, conversions, miracles, and visions. 3. They heightened interest in the place hosting the relics, turning them into poles of attraction for pilgrims and enriching both the church and the city that housed them. 4. They increased the prestige of the owners of relics.

Relics are objects without intrinsic or objective value outside of a religious environment that attributes a significance to them. In a religious environment, however, they become semiophores, or “objects which were of absolutely no use, but which, being endowed with meaning, represented the invisible.”[5] However, enthusiasm for relics tended to wane over time unless it was periodically reawakened through constant efforts or significant events, such as festivals, acts of worship, translations, healings, apparitions, and miracles. When a relic fails to attract attention to itself, or loses such appeal, it becomes nearly indistinguishable from any other object.

For a long time, many scholars did not consider relics to be objects deserving of interest to professional historians because the cult of veneration surrounding them was regarded as a purely devotional set of practices largely associated with less educated classes. Conversely, the intense interest in relics—like the Shroud of Turin—engages people from all social ranks and brings together different social classes in pursuing the same religious interest. For some people, the Shroud even represents the physical evidence of what is claimed to be the greatest miracle in the history of Christendom—the resurrection of Jesus.

As the demand for relics grew among not only the faithful masses but also illustrious abbots, bishops, prelates, and princes, the supply inevitably increased. One of the effects of this drive was the frenzied search for ancient relics in holy places. Though the searches were often conducted in good faith, our modern perspective, equipped with greater historical and scientific expertise, can hardly consider most of these relics to be authentic. It was thus almost inevitable that a category of relics intermediaries and dealers emerged, some honest brokers and some dishonest fraudsters. So many were the latter that Augustine of Hippo famously spoke out against the trade in martyrs’ relics as early as the 5th century.

The Matter of Relic Authenticity

Historians who study relics from the perspective of the history of piety, devotion, worship, beliefs, secular or ecclesiastical politics, and social and economic impact, should also speak to the origin of such relics, and hence their authenticity. In the case of relics of lesser value—those that have been downgraded, forgotten, undervalued, or removed from worship—historians’ task is relatively simple. By contrast, historians and scientists face greater resistance when dealing with fake relics that still attract great devotional interest. In order to avoid criticism, many historians sidestep the authenticity issue by overlooking the question of the relic’s origin, instead focusing only on what people have believed over time and the role of the relic in history.

While this approach is legitimate, what people most want to know about holy relics like the Shroud of Turin today is their authenticity, particularly during the Age of Science with its emphasis on evidence-based belief. Unfortunately for believers in the Shroud and related relics, the likelihood of being fake becomes almost 100 percent when it has to do with people who lived at the time of Jesus or before.

The Shroud of Turin is part of the trove of Christ-related relics that were never mentioned in ancient times. When the search for relics in the Holy Land began—with the discovery of the cross, belatedly attributed to Helena, mother of the emperor Constantine—no one at that time ever claimed to have found Jesus’ burial cloths, nor is there any record of anyone having thought to look for them.

[ Helena of Constantinople with the Holy Cross, by Cima da Conegliano, 1495 (National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.) ]

The earliest travel accounts of pilgrims visiting the sites of Jesus in the 4th century show that people venerated various relics, but they do not mention a shroud. By the beginning of the 6th century, pilgrims to Jerusalem were shown the spear with which Jesus was stabbed, the crown of thorns, the reed and sponge of his passion, the chalice of the Last Supper, the tray on which John the Baptist’s head was placed, the bed of the paralytic healed by Jesus, the stone on which the Lord left an imprint of his shoulders, and the stone where Our Lady sat to rest after dismounting from her donkey. But no shroud.

It was not until the second half of the 6th century that pilgrims began to mention relics of Jesus’ burial cloths in Jerusalem, albeit with various doubts as to where they had been preserved and what form they took. The next step was the systematic and often unverified discovery of additional relics from the Holy Land, including the bathtub of baby Jesus, his cradle, nappy, footprints, foreskin, umbilical cord, milk teeth, the tail of the donkey on which he entered Jerusalem, the crockery from the Last Supper, the scourging pillar, his blood, the relics of the bodies of Jesus’ grandparents and the Three Wise Men, and even the milk of the Virgin Mary and her wedding ring.

Obviously, objects related to Jesus’ death and resurrection could easily be included in such a list. Moreover, the movement of relics from Jerusalem—bought, stolen, or forged—reached its peak at the time of the Crusades. The Carolingian era, dawning at the beginning of the 9th century, was a time of intense traffic in relics. One legend, built up around Charlemagne himself, held that he had made a journey to Jerusalem and obtained a shroud of Jesus. According to this legend, the cloth was then taken to the imperial city of Aachen (AKA Aix-la-Chapelle), then perhaps to Compiègne. There are accounts of a shroud in both cities, and Aachen still hosts this relic today.

The coexistence of these relics in two important Carolingian religious centers has not prevented other cities from claiming to possess the same objects. Arles, Rome, and Cadouin all boast a shroud, although in 1933 the one in Cadouin was revealed to be a medieval Islamic cloth. Carcassonne likewise makes this claim, even though this latter was found to be a piece of silk dating from between 1220 and 1475. There is an 11th-century holy shroud in the cathedral of Cahors, as well as in Mainz and Constantinople, and dozens of other cities claimed to possess fragments of such a relic.[6] An 8th-century sudarium is still venerated in Oviedo, Spain, as if it were authentic.[7]

The Shroud of Turin, 14th- 19th Century

With this background it might not surprise readers to learn that the Turin Shroud, in fact, is not one of the oldest but rather one of the most recent such relics. It is a large cloth resembling a long tablecloth over 4 meters in length, featuring a double monochromatic image that shows the front and back of a man. This man bears marks from flagellation and crucifixion, with various red spots corresponding to blows. The Turin Shroud first appeared in the historical record in France (a place that already hosted many competing shrouds) around 1355. It is different from all the previous shrouds in that the others did not display the image of the dead Christ, and until then no source had ever mentioned a shroud bearing such an image (although Rome hosted the well-known Veil of Veronica, a piece of cloth said to feature an image of the Holy Face of Jesus). The explanation behind its creation can be found in the contemporary development of a cult of devotion centered on the representations of the physical suffering of Christ and his wounded body.

The Turin Shroud made its first appearance in a small country church built in Lirey by an aristocratic soldier, Geoffroy de Charny (see figure below). As soon as this relic was put on public display it immediately became the subject of debate. Two local bishops declared the relic to be fake. In 1389, the bishop of Troyes wrote a letter to the Pope denouncing the falsity of the relic and accusing the canons of the Church of Lirey of deliberate fraud. According to the bishop, the canons had commissioned a skilled artist to create the image, acting out of greed and taking advantage of popular gullibility. The Pope responded by making a Solomonic decision, allowing the canons to continue exhibiting the cloth but simultaneously obliging them to publicly declare that it was being displayed as a “figure or representation” of the true Shroud of Christ, not the original.

[ Pilgrimage badge of Lirey (Aube), between 1355 and 1410. Paris, Musée National du Moyen Âge, CL 4752. (Photo © Jean-Gilles Berizzi / RMN-Grand Palais - Musée de Cluny, Musée Nationale du Moyen-Âge). ]

Various erasures and acts of subterfuge were required to cover up these historical events and transform an artistic representation into an authentic shroud of Jesus. The process began after 1453, when the relic was illegally purchased by the House of Savoy.

Interpretations of this first part of the history of the Shroud diverge significantly between those who accept the validity of the historical documents and those who reject it. However, the following developments are known and accepted all around. Deposited in the city of Chambéry, capital of the Duchy of Savoy, the Shroud became a dynastic relic, that is, an instrument of political-religious legitimization that shared in the same symbolic language used by other noble European dynasties. After surviving a fire in 1532, the Shroud remained in Chambéry until 1578. It was then transferred to Turin, the duchy’s new capital, where a richly appointed chapel connected to the city’s cathedral was specially built to house it in the 17th century.

[ Display of the Shroud in the chapel of the Dukes of Savoy; miniature from the Prayer Book donated in 1559 by Cristoforo Duc of Moncalieri to Margaret of Valois. Turin, Royal Library, Varia 84, f. 3v. Courtesy of the Ministry for Cultural Heritage and Activities, Regional Directorate for Cultural and Landscape Heritage of Piedmont. ]

From that point on, the cloth became the object of a triumphant cult. Historians loyal to the court constructed a false history of the relic’s origins, deliberately disregarding all the medieval events that cast doubt on its authenticity and attested to the intense reluctance of ecclesiastical authorities. In the meantime, the papacy and clergy in general abandoned their former prudence and began to encourage veneration of the Shroud, established a liturgical celebration, and launched theological and exegetical debate about it. The Savoy court, for its part, showed great devotion to its relic and at the same time used it as an instrument of political legitimization,[8] seeking to export the Shroud’s fame outside the duchy by gifting painted copies that were in turn treated as relics-by-contact (there are at least 50 copies known to still exist throughout the world).

Having survived changes of fortune and emerging unscathed from both the rational criticism of the Enlightenment and the Napoleonic period, the Shroud seemed destined to suffer the fate of other similar relics, namely a slow decline. In the meantime, the Italian ruling dynasty had clashed fiercely with ecclesiastical authorities and moved its capital to Rome in the second half of the 19th century; it too began to show less and less interest in the Shroud. Following a solemn exhibition in 1898, however, the Shroud returned to the spotlight and its reputation began to grow outside Italy as well. Indeed, two very important events in the history of the relic took place that year: it was photographed for the first time, and the first historiographical studies of it, carried out using scientific methods, were published.

Shroud Science

Photography made available to everyone what until that moment had been available to only a few: a view of the shape of Christ’s body and the image of his face, scarcely discernible on the cloth but perfectly visible on the photographic plate. It was especially visible in the negative image which, by inverting the tonal values, reducing them to white and black, and accentuating the contrast through photographic techniques, revealed the character of the imprint.

Photographs of the Shroud, accompanied by imprecise technical assessments holding that the photograph proved that the image could not possibly have been artificially generated, were circulated widely. This prompted other scholars to become involved, seeking to explain the origins of the image impressed on the cloth through chemistry, physics, and above all forensic medicine. More recently, these disciplines have been joined by palynology, computer science, biology, and mathematics, all aimed at experimentally demonstrating the authenticity of the relic, or at least removing doubts that it might have been a fake. At the beginning of the 20th century there were many scientific articles published on the Shroud and discussions held in distinguished fora, including the Academy of Sciences in Paris.

[ Holy Face of the Divine Redeemer, for the exhibition of the Shroud in 1931, photograph by Giuseppe Enrie. (Photo by Andrea Nicolotti). ]

The scientist associated with the birth of scientific sindonology is the zoologist Paul Vignon, while Ulysse Chevalier was the first to conduct serious historical investigations of the Shroud. Both of these authors were Catholics (and the latter was a priest), but they held completely contrasting positions: the former defended the Shroud’s authenticity while the latter denied it. Canon Chevalier was responsible for publishing the most significant medieval documents on the early history of the Shroud, showing how it had been condemned and declarations of its falseness covered up, and wrote the first essays on the history of the Shroud using a historical-critical method (Chevalier was an illustrious medievalist at the time). The debate became very heated in the historical and theological fields, and almost all the leading journals of history and theology published articles on the Shroud.

After the beginning of the 20th century almost no one applied themselves to thoroughly examining the entirety of the historical records regarding the Shroud (much less compared it to all the other shrouds). After a period of relative lack of interest, new technologies brought the Shroud back into the limelight. In 1978, a group of American scholars, mostly military employees or researchers associated with the Catholic Holy Shroud Guild, formed the STURP (Shroud of Turin Research Project), were allowed to conduct a series of direct scientific studies on the relic. They did not find a universally accepted explanation for the origin of the image. Some members of this group used mass media to disseminate the idea that the image was the result of a supernatural event: in this explanation, the image was not the result of a body coming into contact with the cloth, perhaps involving blood, sweat, and burial oils (as believed in previous centuries) but rather caused by irradiation. At this time the two most popular theories on the historical origin of the Shroud—despite their implausibility—were formulated:

1. The Shroud and the Mandylion of Edessa are one and the same object. The Mandylion is another miraculous relic known to have existed since at least the 6th century BCE in the form of a towel that Jesus purportedly used to wipe his face, miraculously leaving the mark of his features on it; 2. The Knights Templar transported the Shroud from the East to the West, deduced from statements made by the Templars under torture during their famous trial of 1307-1312.

The clash between sindonology and science reached its peak in 1988; without involving STURP but with permission from the archbishop of Turin, the Holy See and the Pontifical Academy of Sciences, a radiocarbon examination was carried out that year involving 12 measurements conducted in three different laboratories. As expected, the test provided a date that corresponds perfectly with the date indicated by the historical documents, namely the 13th-14th century. As often happens when a scientific finding contradicts a religious belief, however, from that moment on attempts to invalidate the carbon dating proliferated on increasingly unbelievable grounds, including: conspiracy, pollution of the samples, unreliability of the examination, enrichment of the radiocarbon percentage due to the secondary effects of the resurrection, etc.

[ Turin, Palazzo Reale, October 1978: observation of the back of the Shroud during the STURP study campaign. (© 1978 Barrie M. Schwortz Collection, STERA, Inc.) ]

Dating the Shroud

In 1945 the chemist Willard Libby invented the radiocarbon dating technology Carbon 14 (C14). Despite rumors that Libby was against applying the C14 method to the Shroud, I found proof that at least twice he stated precisely the opposite, declaring his own interest in performing the study himself.[9] In the early-1970s, the test had always been postponed, first because it was not considered sufficiently tested yet, and later because of the amount of cloth that would have to be sacrificed (the procedure is destructive). But by the mid-1980s, C14 was universally considered a fully reliable system of dating, and it was regularly used to date antiques. Several C14 laboratories offered to perform the trial gratis, perhaps imagining that the examination, whatever its result, might bring them much publicity.

Once Cardinal Ballestrero, who was not the relic’s “owner” but only charged with the Shroud’s protection, had made the decision to proceed, he asked for the support and approval of the Holy See. The Pontifical Academy of Sciences was invested with the responsibility to oversee all operations. For the first time in its history, the papal academy was presided over by a scientist who was not a priest, the biophysicist Carlos Chagas Filho. The scientists’ desire was to date the Shroud and nothing more, and they did not want the sindonologists to take part in the procedure (as they had little regard for STURP or other sindonological associations). This desire for autonomy engendered reactions that were, one might say, somewhat vitriolic, since some sindonologists had hoped to manage the radiocarbon dating themselves. The Vatican’s Secretary of State and the representatives of Turin agreed to supply no more than three samples, which were more than enough. Turin chose three of the seven proposed laboratories: those at the University of Arizona in Tucson, the University of Oxford, and Zurich Polytechnic, because they had the most experience in dating small archaeological fragments.

April 21, 1988, was the day chosen for the extraction. The textile experts observed the fabric and discussed the best place to make the withdrawal; after excluding the presence of material that could interfere with the dating, they decided to take a strip from one of the corners, in the same place in which a sample had already been taken for examination in 1973. The strip was divided into pieces and each of the three laboratories received a sample. The procedure was performed under the scrutiny of over 30 people and filmed.

The results were published in the world’s leading multidisciplinary scientific journal, Nature. Conclusion: the cloth of the Shroud can be assigned with a confidence of 95 percent accuracy to a date between AD 1260 and 1390. In response, the Cardinal of Turin issued this statement:

I think that it is not the case that the Church should call these results into question. . . . I do not believe that we, the Church, should trouble ourselves to quibble with highly respected scientists who until this moment have merited only respect, and that it would not be responsible to subject them to censure solely because their results perhaps do not align with the arguments of the heart that one can carry within himself.[10]

[ Prof. Edward Hall (Oxford), Dr Michael Tite (British Museum) and Dr Robert Hedges (Oxford), announcing on 13 October 1988 in the British Museum, London, that the Shroud of Turin had been radiocarbon dated to 1260-1390. ]

Predictably, Shroud believers rejected the scientific findings, and started to criticize the Turin officials who had cut the material. The sample of cut-out cloth had been divided into parts, but no one had thought it necessary to write a report with the official description of the subdivisions and the weight of each fragment. There were, however, footage and many photographs, which would have been more than sufficient documentation on a typical occasion.

Others preferred to deny the validity of the method of radiocarbon dating as such. Sindonology had by now assumed the character of pseudoscience, and it is not surprising that it drew not only on the ruminations of the traditionalists but also on the war chest of creationist and fundamentalist literature. The method of radiocarbon dating is in fact used to date objects up to 50,000 years old, which stands in contradiction to the idea of those who believe that the world and the life in it were created only a few thousand years ago. What follows from such creationist convictions is the wholesale rejection of radiocarbon measurements, as well as the rejection of more popular scientific explanations of the origins of the universe, the existence of the dinosaurs, human evolution, and so on. Creationists and fundamentalist Christians had already prepared a whole list of alleged errors in the method of C14 dating, which was promptly copied in the books of sindonology. The alleged errors generally concern cases of objects of a known age that—so they claim—once dated, would yield a result that was off the mark by several hundred or even a thousand years.

But a careful evaluation of these so-called errors (which, however, are always cited in a generic and approximate manner) demonstrates that they do not exist, or that they go back to an earlier epoch in which the dating system had not yet been refined, or that they concern materials that do not lend themselves to radiocarbon dating but whose concentration of carbon 14 is measured for purposes other than those concerned with their age.

Other sindonologists preferred to discredit the C14 result by resorting to the notion of contamination of the samples. This pollution hypothesis claims that through the centuries the Shroud picked up deposits of more recent elements that would, therefore, contain a greater quantity of carbon; the radiocarbon dating, having been performed on a linen so contaminated, would thus have produced an erroneous result. Candidates for the role of pollutants are many: the smoke of the candles, the sweat of the hands that touched and held the fabric, the water used to extinguish the fire of 1532, the smog of the sky of Turin, pollens, oil, and more.

This approach gains traction among those who do not know how C14 dating works; in reality, however, it is untenable. Indeed, if a bit of smoke and sweat were enough to produce a false result, the measurement of carbon 14 would have already been declared useless and one could not understand why it is still used today to date thousands of archaeological and historical finds each year. The truth is rather that the system is not significantly sensitive to such pollutants.

Let us suppose that we were to admit that the fabric of the Shroud dates back to the 30s of the first century; we also admit that the Shroud has suffered exposure to strong pollution, for example, around 1532, the year of the Chambéry fire. To distort the C14 dating by up to 1,300 years, it would be necessary that for every 100 carbon atoms originally present in the cloth, another 500 dating to 1532 be added by contamination. In practice, in the Shroud, the amount of pollutant should be several times higher than the amount of the original linen, which is nonsense. Things get even worse if we assume that pollution did not happen all at the same time in the 16th century, but gradually over the previous centuries. In this case there is no mathematical possibility that pollution having occurred before the 14th century—even if tens of times higher than the quantity of the original material—could give a result of dating to the 14th century. It should be added, moreover, that all samples, before being radiocarbon dated, are subjected to energetic cleaning treatments able to remove the upper patina that has been in contact with outside contaminants; this procedure was also undertaken on the Shroud.

Those who believe that the Shroud was an object that could not be dated because it was subjected to numerous vicissitudes during the centuries evidently do not know that often C14 dating laboratories work on materials in much worse condition, whether coming from archaeological excavations or from places where they have been in contact with various contaminants. For a radiocarbon scientist, the Shroud is a very clean object.

A more curious variant of the pollution theory suggests that the radiocarbon dating was performed on a sample that was repaired with more recent threads. This would force us to imagine that two widely recognized textile experts who were present on the day of the sampling were unable to notice that they had cut a piece so repaired, despite the fact that they had observed the fabric carefully for hours; to distort the result by 13 centuries the threads employed in the mending would have had to have been more numerous than the threads of the part to be mended. To eliminate any doubt, in 2010 the University of Arizona reexamined a trace of fabric leftover from the radiocarbon dating in 1988, concluding:

We find no evidence for any coatings or dyeing of the linen. . . . Our sample was taken from the main part of the shroud. There is no evidence to the contrary. We find no evidence to support the contention that the 14C samples actually used for measurements are dyed, treated, or otherwise manipulated. Hence, we find no reason to dispute the original 14C measurements.[11]

Among the various attempts to invalidate the radiocarbon procedure, there is also one based on an examination of the statistical analysis of the laboratories that carried out the C14 tests. In general, it is interesting to note that, as Dominican Father Jean-Michel Maldamé wrote, “the disputes over the carbon 14 dating do not come from individuals who are competent in the subject of dating.”[12] Rather, a publication concerned with the use of radiocarbon in archaeology dedicates an entire chapter to the dating of the Shroud and to the various criticisms put forth by sindonologists to discredit it. The conclusion states:

For those whose interest in the Shroud is dominated by a belief in its religious or devotional function, it is virtually certain that any scientifically based evidence, including any additional 14C-based data, would not be compelling—unless, of course, it confirmed their beliefs.[13]

The final possibility raised against C14 dating falls within the sphere of the supernatural. As the radiocarbon present in the Shroud is excessive relative to the hopes of sindonologists, at the 1990 sindonology convention a German chemist, Eberhard Lindner, explained that the resurrection of Christ caused an emission of neutrons that enriched the Shroud with radioactive isotope C14.[14]

Miraculous explanations can be constructed with such scientific jargon but they have no chance of being scientifically tested (as there is no availability of bodies that have come to life from the dead and emit protons or neutrons). They are, however, extremely convenient because they are able to solve any problem without having to submit to the laws of nature.

With all of the available evidence it is rational to conclude—as the most astute historians had already established more than a century ago—that the Shroud of Turin is a 14th century relic and not the burial cloth of a man executed by crucifixion in the 1st century. Only the historiographical study of this object, accompanied by the scientific and critical examination of sindonological claims past and present, can provide us with a clearer picture of this relic’s real background.

-

References

[1] Nicolotti, Andrea. 2011. I Templari e la Sindone. Storia di un falso. Rome: Salerno editrice.

[2] Nicolotti, Andrea. 2014. From the Mandylion of Edessa to the Shroud of Turin: The Metamorphosis and Manipulation of a Legend. Leiden and Boston: Brill. https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004278523

[3] Nicolotti, Andrea. 2018. “La Sindone di Torino in quanto tessuto: analisi storica, tecnica, comparativa.” In Non solum circulatorum ludo similia. Miscellanea di studi sul Cristianesimo del primo millennio, ed. Valerio Polidori, 148-204. S.l.: Amazon KDP.

[4] Nicolotti, Andrea. 2019 [2015]. The Shroud of Turin. The History and Legends of the World’s Most Famous Relic. Transl. Jeffrey M. Hunt and R. A. Smith. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Originally published as Sindone. Storia e leggende di una reliquia controversa. Turin: Einaudi.

[5] Pomian, Krzysztof. 1990 [1987]. Collectors and curiosities. Paris and Venice, 1500-1800. Transl. Elizabeth Wiles-Portier. Cambridge: Polity Press. Originally published as Collectionneurs, amateurs et curieux. Paris, Venise: XVIe - XVIIIe siècle. Paris: Gallimard, 30.

[6] Ciccone, Gaetano, and Lina Sturmann. 2006. La sindone svelata e i quaranta sudari. Livorno: Donnino.

[7] Nicolotti, Andrea. 2016. “El Sudario de Oviedo: historia antigua y moderna.” Territorio, sociedad y poder 11: 89-111. https://doi.org/10.17811/tsp.11.2016.89-111

[8] Nicolotti, Andrea. 2017. “I Savoia e la Sindone di Cristo: aspetti politici e propagandistici.” In Cristo e il potere. Teologia, antropologia e politica, ed. Laura Andreani and Agostino Paravicini Bagliani, 247-281. Florence, SISMEL - Edizioni del Galluzzo; Cozzo, Paolo, Andrea Merlotti and Andrea Nicolotti (eds). 2019. The Shroud at Court: History, Usages, Places and Images of a Dynastic Relic. Leiden and Boston: Brill. https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004390508

[9] The judgment is cited by Wilcox, Robert. 1978. Shroud, 147-48. London: Corgi Book. According to Pierluigi Baima Bollone, Libby asked for a piece of cloth from the Shroud in order to date it (P. Baima Bollone, “Perché la Sindone non è stata datata con il radiocarbonio?,” Stampa sera, September 17, 1979, 5).

[10] Conference on October 13, 1988 (audio transcription).

[11] R.A. Freer-Watersand, A.J.T. Jull, “Investigating a Dated Piece of the Shroud of Turin,” Radiocarbon 52, no. 4 (2010): 1526.

[12] J.-M. Maldamé, “À propos du Linceul de Turin,” Connaître: Revue éditée par l’Association Foi et Culture Scientifique 11 (1999): 64.

[13] R.E. Taylorand, O.Bar-Yosef, Radiocarbon Dating: An Archaeological Perspective, 2nd ed. (Walnut Creek: Left Coast, 2014), 169.

[14] The idea had already occurred to T. Phillips, “Shroud Irradiated with Neutrons?,” Nature 337 (1989): 594.

[mothwingwritings]

Taming Of Beasts

Fem!Reader X Zenos Yae Galvus

I wrote this right after I finished StormBlood a few months ago. Zenos is def one of my fav villians in Final Fantasy and I wanted to take a stab at trying to write something for him. :) I hope I did him an ounce of justice.

This is supposed to take place sometime between Heavensward and Stormblood. Ala Mhigo is still very much going through some shit in this little fic (and so is the reader, for that matter).

(Also Stormblood is free right now so if you have any interest and haven’t played, now is the time to act!!!)

Warnings: War, death, blood, spoilers possibly up to the point of stormblood? But not anything huge.

Victory had become too easy.

Over the past several months the thrill of the hunt had significantly waned, each battle presenting itself with less resistance than the one prior. Every adversary faced was now more apt to cower, roll over and submit then to stand up and fight. The empire’s spreading influence was quickly becoming far too overpowering for these backwater colonies to handle, and it was painfully apparent with each visit Zenos made that these hunting fields had long since held any interesting sport. Citizens who were once so eager to fight for their homeland now bared their stomachs like whimpering, scared dogs.

His father and the legion commanders saw it as a good thing, satisfied that the illustrious Garlean Empire was finally achieving what it rightfully deserved. With every passing day more land was claimed by the empire, and with the land came influence, victory, and boredom.

The successes were too easy and each day that dragged by in Ala Mihgo had grown lackluster to the empire’s crown prince. What was once an exciting hunting ground was now a barren isle, the lands that had brought thrilling promises of conquest now plagued by dwindling opposition, souring the once sweet experience he found roaming these fields.

Each step of his heavy sabatons sunk him into the earth, the dirt path softened with the spilled blood of the fallen. Droplets of the viscous red liquid stained the sole and sides of the dark metal, the agonized expressions of the corpses reflecting back off their bloodied surface as he paraded by.  Soon those bodies would be carted away, dumped in some unmarked mass grave to rot deep underground. There was neither honor nor peace in their passing, their miserable existences snuffed out as easily as blowing out a candle.

He smiled.

He was making his way towards a line of soldiers and survivors, and though the latter of the two outnumbered his battalion, they were far too broken to pose a threat. The group consisted of a varied mix of individuals, men and women, young and old, huddled together shoulder to shoulder. Most wept, while others remained silent and quivering. Held firmly in the soldiers grasps, none of the prisoners dared make eye contact with the approaching prince.

None save for you.

Wild was the only way he could describe you, ready to lunge at him the moment he took a step too close. Covered in blood, hair matted and tangled, outfit torn to shreds with gaping wounds peering out through the cracks, you were truly a sight to behold. It was obvious you had fought hard to earn your spot amongst the survivors, and judging by the more kempt look of your compatriots, you deserved it far more than they did.

While most of the prisoners shared a soldier keeping them in check, you had your own personal guard holding you under firm lockdown to prevent you from breaking free and causing issues. The soldier watching you seemed haggard, as if restraining someone as tiny as you had taken a great deal of effort. Zenos internally scoffed at the scene. There was no place for weakness in his battalion, he made note to exact due punishment later.

“Sir,” one of the men spoke as he approached, imperial salute following his words, “We have cleared the area. There was some opposition, but it has been dealt with.”

Zenos’ masked face scoured the surrounding area, finding far too many of their own men’s bodies mixed in with the mongrels. “Dealt with you say, but it seems you had quite the time taking over one small village.”

The soldier addressing him stiffened. “… It’s true, my lord. They did put up more of a fight than was anticipated. There is no excuse for the amount of lives our side lost.”

“If you are aware of that then it should have been avoided,” his cold words made the soldier visibly uneasy, his weight now shifting unsteadily between his feet, “but that may be addressed later. I see we have some cornered animals in our midst.”

The man quickly nodded, relieved to have the heat taken off himself. He turned to the disheveled group, causing them to flinch at the recognition.  “These are the enemy survivors, all of them active members of the resistance. Some, once trained, we believe may make fine soldiers. The others can be used as slaves, in the pleasure quarters, or as bargaining chips. Should my lord will it, we can instead kill them.”

A jolt passed through the crowd, a wave of sheer terror and indignation flashing across their muddied, bruised faces. Even you, staunch as you remained, shuddered at the flippant words that spilled from his soldier’s lips. The lot of you was nothing in the face of the Garlean Empire, and it horrified you that you lived or died at the whim of one man.

He did consider ending you all, leaving your final moments to be filled with dread and the futility of your efforts. How fitting it would be to have the final thought to flit through your fading conscious be your own ineptitude, the frailty you exuded trying to preserve your own existence for a chance at freedom. Your subjugation was inevitable, but he supposed being spared watching the rest of your brethren and kin being torn down until they were all nothing but toiling and obedient pets, cannon fodder, or corpses could be considered a nicety.

Mere inches separated you from the crown prince, and he took a moment to fully take you in. The unrestrained malice and fear dancing in your wide eyes, the tightly clenched fists held in place at your side, the deep grimace that engulfed your entire face. Your body shook in the guard’s hold, each quake relaying how clearly upset you were to be ensnared in this situation. If he ordered them to let you go, what would you do? Attack him the moment you were given leeway, or would you crumble to your knees in despair?

Musing on it piqued his interest. Hunched over before him, you looked so insignificant. Shuddering as you glowered up at him, he could tell you were on the brink of collapse but were doing your very best to hide your feebleness from him.

Your animosity was palpable, the kind that only comes when someone is pushed far past their limit. Your home, your family, your friends, his men must have taken it all from you. And now that you were captured, the torment you faced was sure to be dragged on, only guaranteed to end with your gruesome and painful death.

Zenos wondered if you realized how lucky you were to have survived to this point. Like a phoenix, you had risen from the ash of your past life, born into a new life of combat and strife, forged by the hells of war. The situation that was forced upon you was a truly wonderful breeding ground, an opportunity to mold you into something extraordinary.

But was it enough? You certainly had the look of a mad dog about you, but to show the true colors of a feral beast you would require more time. You needed more experiences to break you, rebuild you into a seething vessel of hatred, an avatar of merciless revenge.

If the process didn’t destroy you, how much more interesting would you become?

A slow smile crept across his lips.

There was a woman next you, older than you by at least two decades. Her manic eyes kept flicking to you, her chapped hands violently wringing the tattered rags that once resembled a dress. She seemed worried for you, and judging by the way your eyes darted to her every so often, softening with each quick gaze, it was fair to say she was someone important to you. Was she your mother, or perhaps an aunt? She was too old to be a sibling, but too young to be a grandparent. Maybe just a kind older woman you took a shine to? It mattered not, her end would happen regardless of her relations.

Zenos lifted his hand languidly, stopping once it had pointed to the woman beside you. She grew pale as he singled her out, her knees knocking so hard he was surprised she still stood. His hand swept over the remaining people, indiscriminately landing on two other elderly captives. An intense wave of unease spread throughout you, accented by the intense quiet that fell over the small crowd.

His lips parted, the words spilling out in a bored admonishment, “These three are past their prime and have no further use in this world.”

You froze, your face twisting into a look of unadultered dread. You knew what was coming next.

“Kill them.”

Without further fanfare, the soldiers nearest each of the chosen drew their weapons and fired. Three bodies fell with a uniformed ‘thud’ to the ground. Fresh blood streaked across your cheek as your companion made her way to the ground. Screams erupted around you, broken and gasping for their stolen loved ones.

Though your mouth had fallen open in shock, no sound spilled out.

The look of anguish the spread across your face was so appealing that he almost considered praising you for it. Cold, agonized distress suited you just as much as bitter rage.

With a flick of his wrist, he continued doling out fates. “The two on the end look sturdy enough to be soldiers, the three in the middle can be tasked with menial labor, and that one over there I am sure can find work in the pleasure quarters.”

“And what of this one, sir?”

The guard holding you gave you a rough jostle, seeming to bring you to your senses. Your eyes traveled slowly from the body at your feet to Zenos himself, the heartbreak you were suffering flickering out as it was once more replaced with thrumming anger. You gritted your teeth, eyebrows cinching as your chest began to rise and fall with erratic breaths. You were doing all you could to keep yourself together, but the final thread holding you was stretching so thin…

Zenos took a step towards you, the motion putting you on alert. You must have been ready for a death order, trying to make peace with the fact that this is how it would all end for you. With another step he was upon you, his regal form hulking before you. Your eyes fixated on his concealed face, a tempest of emotions swirling within them.  

His hand reached out towards you, and though your eyes sparked with a look of apprehension, you remained still. He latched on to your chin, giving a small pleased hum as he felt your flesh quiver in his hold. Upon contact, your face twisted into a look of sheer disgust which he found quite amusing.

You winced as he jerked your head this way and that, assessing the different angles of your face. Even covered in grime you were lovely, surely in more peaceful times you were sought after amongst the rabble to wed. His eyes flicked over your body, taking in each curve and valley viewable to him, the cuts and bruises that littered your skin only made you look that much more appealing.

“This one will serve me directly.”

Your eyes widened, a moment of silence spreading amongst the soldiers as they cast each other sideways glances. “My lord, are you sure,” the man holding you finally broke the silence, “This one is… Well, they are a bit unruly sir.”

He held back a laugh at the blush that passed your cheeks, affronted by the soldier’s choice of words. He guessed unruly was not how you would choose to be described in this situation.

“I can see that,” Zenos spoke plainly, releasing your chin from his grasp, “However a new personal servant is needed since one has recently passed of old age. This woman is lively and can handle the strains of the job. She will be trained in the role, broken down as many times as it takes till she understands her place.” He turned his back towards you and began his departure, his dull tone calling back over his shoulder, “If she can’t adjust to the position I will kill her myself.”

“Then do it.”

He stopped in his tracks, your shaky words the first time he had the pleasure of hearing your voice.  

“I’d rather die than serve you.”

Your voice warbled, but your message was loud and clear. It was a declaration you wanted people to hear. Was it to try and inspire your fellow man that lined up beside you, maybe place an ounce of fight back into the shackled and broken? Perhaps it was an attempt to boost confidence in yourself? Maybe it was simply an act of rage-filled defiance towards the man who personally led the charge which slaughtered your kin, their blood still freshly smeared across your hands and chest.  

It struck him then that you looked beautiful like that, scowling and full of fury, soaked in the blood of your loved ones and enemies alike. It surprised him that a mere pest could hold such radiance, his attraction to you stupefying as he turned towards you, your crazed eyes boring straight through his mask, locking with his own.

“Silence,” the guard holding you gave you a violent shake, “How dare trash like you address Lord Zenos that way, you impudent-“

“Enough.”

Zenos lifted his hand, the sharp command causing both you and the guard to instantly still, your eyes quickly casting to the ground in dismay. He could practically hear your thoughts as he made his way back towards you. Surely this was your now end, there was no way the crown Prince of the empire would let such insolence stand. You would be made an example of, another death to add to the killing field.

The thought annoyed him. Why were you so eager to die when you showed such promise?

He towered before you, his armored hand once more latching to your chin, forcibly tilting your head until he held your watery, conflicted gaze. He could feel you vibrate with anxiety in his hold, your jaw clenched so tight your face had turned red.

“What is it about the battlefield that makes people like you want to throw them self into deaths embrace so carelessly, I wonder? Is it lack of faith, or the overwhelming fear of the odds being stacked against you? Is it the heartbreak over having your loved one cut down before you? Maybe you are just tired of the inadequacy, of being so powerless before true might?”

Your face morphed into a look of disdain, a fresh tear sliding down your cheek carved a clear path through the filth that had accumulated on you.

“Don’t you find it a waste? All that potential building up inside of you, mounting with each hopeless assault against your people… I can see it in your eyes. The hunger to strike me down right where I stand,” he tightened his grip, causing you to cringe, “It’s an admirable quality to have, even for a cur such as yourself.”

Abruptly he pulled away, your head lulling forward from the lack of support. Zenos turned on his heel, stepping away to carry on with the next order of business.

“You have your orders,” He called briskly over his shoulder, “Make sure they are carried out with haste.”

The soldiers nodded, immediately falling into action as Zenos began his departure. He glanced once more over his shoulder as you were dragged away. With the wind no longer in your sails you were much more malleable, putting up little to no fuss as the soldiers ushered you to your fate.

The boredom he had long been suffering from started to diminish as he considered the future. A smirk ghosted his lips as he turned forward, a low hum accentuating his hurried footsteps.

“Who knew such an intriguing find would be buried within this rubbish,” he spoke in barely above a whisper, the words intended for no one but himself, “I am quite interested in what you will become, my little whelp.”

[kuroneko1815]

The Lady of Ghosts

This is only the temporary title but here it is, a rough draft ficlet of Penelope as a medium/psychic who is raised and taught by spirits.

Penelope was never alone. Well… physically, yes, she was. But the ghosts counted too. Penelope had long been taught how to act as though she didn’t see the ghosts. They were far too troublesome and even if, at one point, her people had once been responsible for helping these spirits move on, it had changed with the hunt of the mages.

She was the one in her family with the greatest abilities and they theorized the greatest magic. Everyone awaited her awakening. The magic largely fading from their people as they hid and begged and prayed to a goddess that had long since died. The goddess hadn’t come to save them and now Penelope was physically alone. She had lost most of her family to an attack on their caravan, then her mother had passed on a few weeks ago. Her rotting corpse still in the house, she had learned to live with the smell.

But now there was this man, this Great Lord, holding out a hand to her. Her family was quiet, waiting to see what she would choose. Death on the streets or survive in the treacherous world of the nobles? She hesitated before she finally took his hand on the promise of her mother’s burial.

Her ghosts follow her to the Duchy, to the people who look at her with anger simmering under their skin, resentment and disgust clear in their eyes. Did she make a mistake? Maybe, but now she needed to survive.

A pink haired woman wanders around the house, this ghost is sad as she trails her children. There are other ghosts too, all of them older forms of the portraits in the gallery.

She’s well fed, well dressed, and warm but she’s never felt so unhappy. She smiles and calls the Duke, father. She hopes one day she can say it with all the love and sincerity it deserves. She calls the Duke’s sons as brothers and her eyes trail to her long dead cousins, older and protective of the only girl in their generation. She thinks she understands the resentment when her gaze lands on them.

Not too long after she arrives, another ghost joins but this one is different. This little girl with pink hair who her mother sobs at, is trapped in mirrors, unable to touch one another but still able to converse. Penelope knows Yvonne Eckart is dead.

In the dead of the night, she goes to the mirror in her room and speaks to her. The resentment on the girl’s face fades away the longer they talk and she finds out that her death was unnatural. The ancient enemy stirs and now possesses her body. Yvonne cannot move on while her body still wanders.

The mother and daughter spend the rest of their days observing those they’ve left behind and Penelope is bombarded with interesting tales from the ghosts of the Duchy.

Their disgust at a commoner joining the illustrious house is gone in the face of a fascinating living who can speak with them and hear them.

They make it a bit harder to focus on the tutors her new father hires for her but it also makes the lessons more interesting and easier. She breezes through every lesson with the advices from the previous Duchesses, the lectures and history lessons from the previous Dukes, and she discovers new paths that had been unused for so long with Yvonne and her mother at her side.

Her ghosts though, they wander around, keeping an eye out for Yvonne’s body. Wants to use this chance to spy on the enemy who had never been able to see or sense the spirits. She feels lonelier with the numbers decreasing but mother is there by her side so she calms herself.

Yvonne leads her to the attic and she stays there, watching the fireworks with Yvonne in silence. Then Reynold storms in and she takes his abusive words, lets her new brother rant and rave at the unfairness of her presence. Half an ear is spent listening to Yvonne’s tale of that night.

When her brother loses steam. Her hands reach out to his and pulls him to sit by her and lets him lean on her shoulder. She wishes she could share her gift with him, just this once so that he could see Yvonne inside the pocket mirror beside him.

-

-

Her first introduction to Society is at the Palace. There are many who sneer at her when her new family isn’t looking but she pays it no mind. She sees a blonde woman glaring at the Empress. Her jewels are expensive but the style of her dress is years out of fashion. The ghost of Duchess Evelyn Eckart, her father’s late wife, approaches the woman, the former Empress and mother to the Crown Prince in polite courtesy.

The conversation flows easily and she disregards the few ghosts that have gone to attend the event. The Empress follows the Duchess to her and she gives a strained smile when the Empress introduces herself.

She hadn’t known back then that the Empress had glanced at her with a look of calm approval and beyond that, the calculating gleam of the woman that had won a reluctant prince the throne.

That was the day her lessons began in earnest and she had unknowingly allowed herself to be molded into the Empress’ revenge. Every advice given, every lecture she had received from that day on was to lead her to the Crown Prince’s path and to the Emperor’s throne with him.

But for now, she listened to the woman’s plight with understanding and pity, missing the way the ghosts around her had shared a knowing look of acceptance as they joined in on her education.

So this story is just an idea for now. I just really needed to write it down somewhere. But basically, the Empress’ revenge is the downfall of the new Empress and her son. And to place her son, her beloved child on the throne. She’s angry that her son had been a child when he was sent to the frontlines and wants to make them pay for it, for the assassination attempts as well. The other ghosts are just bored and they’ve taken a liking to Penelope who talks to them when she’s alone and who always listens to their stories so they’ve decided to help her out. The nice thing about this is that Penelope now has quite a lot of spies she can use.

[cathodeflowers]

On The Tragic Demise Of The Submersible Titan, of OceanGate Inc.

If you were a simple dude who lived two thousand years ago and in your bitterness, or your naïveté, you disparaged Caesar, your fellows would have reminded you that he is just a man, flesh, bone and a bit of spirit, like you, he too has to die, and in the end, not all the might of the Roman Empire could stop it's citizens from going hungry, Caesar himself couldn't even dream of crossing the Mediterranean in a straight line, let alone dive into it.

The crew of the OceanGate, two billionaires among them, are either men like Caesar or they are Illustrated men, if they are like Caesar then they should have known better, that they're driftwood carried by an unseen tide, that the spirit is but a gasp of air and never the same air, in witnessing the mighty Titan who in its cheap luster promised the glory of the depths as seen trough a porthole located next to an improvised bathroom, they should have exercised... Restraint.

If on the other hand they're Illustrious men born in an age when man is a god but for the wisdom then these billionaires could have stopped hunger, and they could have crossed the Mediterranean in a straight line like Caesar never could, and with the same might they may have built a proper submarine, a Titan, who could indeed pierce trough the hubris of yesterday's generations if only to witness its slowly decaying corpse.

Alas, billionaires as they were, the men who boarded the Titan in its final voyage were neither of these, and this, my friends, is why the submarine imploding is so fucking funny.

[reylokisses]

My second viewing of 65 was as brilliant as the first one 🤩 I noticed some details the second time around that didn’t occur to me the first time:

*Spoilers for 65*

• I loved the Star Wars Easter egg during the beach scene. In her first appearance, Nevine wears her hair in space buns. 🥰 It is fitting that the daughter of Kylo Ren shares her illustrious grandmother’s hairstyle!

• I loved how Mills was the one to initiate his and Koa’s first hug. After Koa saved him from the sinking sand, Mills was the one to show emotion, to be vulnerable and need comfort. The filmmakers didn’t have to do it this way; they could have shown Mills rescuing Koa and have her hug him in gratitude. It was so sweet!

• Koa’s biodad might have been one of the corpses that Mills saw in the bog when he first exited the ship 😔

• I love how the movie has more female characters than male. Mills is the only man in the film apart from Koa’s nameless, deceased bio-father, and anonymous male corpses.

• I loved how Mills was essentially space-Paterson, basically driving a bus but between planets, instead of a soldier or anything like that.

• I wish the flower scene had been longer 🌸

I can’t wait to get the DVD! 😆