#penitence comes in many forms

[bohemian-nights]

The thought of Daemon saying something hurtful to send Nettles away because she refused to leave and allow him to fight Aemond by himself YIKES!

But also the thought that he decides to go fight Aemond as a suicide mission only to be in the middle of the battle and realizing that he wants to live! He can't just die, he HAS to go find her, he has to see of she's OK, he has to try for her he has to live for her. And that's when he takes the desperate leap of faith towards Aemond one last hope to see his Nettles again.

Also to add an extra layer to that if she was pregnant! The angst, the desperation, the yearning.

Yeah, Daemon is just desperate at that point. Nettles is just so persistently stubborn. He doesn’t want her to fake fly off and actually follow him into battle😬

I can definitely see him realizing at the 11th hour that he still has some life in him.

Nettles' execution letter was really a wake-up call. I think Daemon thought that it was his reckoning for all the crap that he’s done(rightfully so). So he makes sure that Nettles isn’t a victim, but he personally resigns himself to the punishment.

Like he goes into battle thinking that this is his last stand, but then reality once again sets in. He realizes that his story doesn’t end here. He’s got someone(s) out there that needs him. It’s not his time(in comes leaping off Caraxes and with hope and a prayer 🙏🏽 ). Very angsty, but poetically beautiful ♥️

[my-insanity-is-an-artform]

It had been a week since The Lamb had been summoned to The Gateway in the aftermath of Shamura’s death.

A week since The One Wh-… since Narinder had ordered them to kneel.

A week since they refused.

A week since they won.

A week since…

Since they had returned to the cult, bloody and victorious over their former patron, only to find him at the centre of a concerned crowd by the Indoctrination Circle.

Comatose.

The Lamb methodically tucked the blanket securely around Narinder’s still form. The only sign of life being the rise and fall of his thin chest. Whether the thinness was a sign of his former role as Death or due to his long imprisonment, the Lamb wasn’t sure but it was something of concern.

As was the gaunt look to his wrist, scarred and furless, with long oozing sores up his forearms.

“Oh, what am I going to do with you?” The Lamb murmured softly as they smoothed out the blanket.

While not entirely sure why Narinder had fallen into a coma, the Lamb suspected it might have been related to the shock of becoming mortal.

The wounds that were so easily shrugged off as a god were fatal to any mortal.

“I don’t know why I spared you. You demanded so much of me and took everything else. Maybe it was pity. Maybe I am just a coward like you said. Or perhaps I’m just tired of all the bloodshed. So many of us have died, mortal and divine and for what?” They soothed another fake wrinkle in the blanket.

They did not regret killing the Bishops. How could they when the four had stolen their entire people from them? The Genocide had started before they had been born and thus any chance of them knowing what it was like to be a Lamb, to know their culture, their heritage, was destroyed before it began. The fanaticism had extended to any who would show a lamb any form of mercy or those who tried to preserve anything of lamb culture.

The zealotry had even begun to affect other species as the number of lambs dwindled. Goats, antelopes, deer, bison, cattle, even llamas, all became rarer towards the end.

Cats, black ones especially, were also affected, being considered an ill omen and too many cats considered themselves allies of lambs to allow such brutality.

And for what?

The prophesised inevitable had finally come to pass. Five became Four became Three became Two became One became…

Nothing.

The Lamb began to gather the old, ichor-stained bandages they had replaced and threw them into a bowl. Cloths they had used to wipe Narinder down followed. The old bedding was thrown by the door, ready to be washed. They refused to allow anyone else care for him with only the healers being allowed to watch over him while they performed their duties away from his bedside.

An act of devotion, penitence and safeguard all rolled into one.

“It’s funny. I thought we’d do all sorts of things once you were free. I wanted to stay by your side. I wanted to show you my favourite fishing spot by the docks and show you where I picked all those camellias in the Darkwood. I wanted to make you my favourite meal.” They were quiet for a moment. “I wanted to know if I meant as much to you as you did to me. Even if I didn’t, I hoped you let me stay. I would’ve given anything, you know, but after everything I’d done for you, after all I had given, you just had to ask for the one thing I couldn’t do.”

The Lamb sat on the floor by the bed and rested their head on the cover, watching his face for even the smallest of reactions.

“If you hadn’t demanded that... If you had found another way… Would you have let me stay?”

Nothing.

Just the rise and fall of the thin chest.

Just as it had been for a week.

Just as it would be for a long time yet.

____________________________

Everyone: Narinder is pissed and tries to assassinate the Lamb when he's indoctrinated.

Me: What if he's comatose tho?

AU where the shock of becoming mortal after being imprisoned for so long causes Narinder's body to be so overwhelmed that he falls into a coma immediately upon arrival to the cult.

The Lamb, while feeling betrayed yet still devoted, decides to personally care for Narinder while he's comatose.

Rumours spread about the mysterious comatose new recruit and how the Lamb spends every moment they aren't caring for the Cult with him.

Some think something happened their leader blames themself for.

Others think it's out of duty and safeguarding since he's technically not been indoctrinated yet.

One very persistent rumour insists that the mystery person is actually the Lamb's lover who was hurt and now they cannot bear to part from his side.

Even when the Mystic Seller commands them to free the Bishops, the Lamb is slow to do so until it offers to help Narinder heal.

With every freed bishop, the stronger Narinder becomes.

Aym and Baal are resurrected and are the only ones allowed to help with Narinder while the Lamb frees the bishops. The only ones they can trust with Narinder.

The Lamb continues to talk to Narinder throughout everything about everything. All of their hopes and fears and plans are laid bare to him. Their feelings too.

(Maybe the bishops also talk to him. Quietly and on the rare moments that the Lamb isn't hovering by his side. Their own form of confessional.)

However, no one has any idea that Narinder can hear every word.

And then he wakes up.

[slutforalastor]

Say It With A Smile, Part 1

You'd always considered yourself an unremarkable sinner. You hadn't done much of anything to really deserve damnation, save for your lack of penitence. In terms of Pascal's wager, you'd gotten the worst outcome. Or at least, what you knew of Hell had made you figure it would be the worst. In reality, there were things about your eternal afterlife that could be worse, although there were many things that could be better, as well.

Trying to get away from the things that could be better, the murder, cannibalism, trafficking, and general malaise of the street, was part of what had attracted you to the Hotel. Sinners might've turned their noses up at the idea of needing to be reformed, but you'd never been much for vice. You had your fun, did your experimenting, but settled into the things that helped you forget, which were fortunate enough to not be things that shortened your life expectancy.

Not that you'd lived a full life. There was little romance to your demise; you'd simply been more focused on your phone than on the bus with the faulty brakes squealing its way down the avenue. It happened so quickly that you were still holding your hand a few inches from your face, but now it was painted a soft, sandy grey, your nails sharpened to points.

But that's the past, and at present, you're stooped outside the door of the towering hotel, the marquee blinking its welcome in bright flashbulbs. The knocker, shaped like a key with one ever-watchful eye, beckons to you. Time to get on with your afterlife. A few raps against the door, and you hear a commotion, several voices clamoring ever closer to the entryway.

The door swings open, the Princess of Hell beaming at you, and some of her entourage piled behind her, trying to see who's come to call. "Oh my Gosh, please tell me you're here to be redeemed!" she squeals, immediately grabbing your hand and yanking you into the foyer. For how impressive it was on the outside, it's even more impressive within. The ceiling goes up higher than you thought possible, a grand staircase standing in symmetry on either side of the welcome area. A demon, winged and catlike, rests his elbow against the bar, talking to a spider-like sinner in a stool, with one of their four hands wrapped around a drinking glass. They're the only ones that haven't made a crowd around you. In your immediate vicinity, so close as to make you wonder if they're going to attempt to assimilate into you, is the Princess, who breathlessly introduces herself as Charlie, and lets you know how exciting it is to have another member, how much you're going to love it here, and the rattled-off names of the other guests and staff, spoken too quickly for you to have any chance of remembering. Another demon, muted gray and deep blue, a red x mark over where one of her eyes should be, pulls you to the side, Charlie continuing to ramble before bursting into a song and dance everyone seems to be ignoring.

"Sorry about Charlie, she's… very happy to have another guest. I'm Vaggie. Let me actually introduce you to the rest of the crew."

Vaggie guides you from demon to colorful demon, letting them introduce themselves, some shaking hands, others offering a raised hand in greeting, and one in particular obsessively dusting the dirt and caked-on blood off your shoes, muttering to herself.

"There's one more somewhere around here, although honestly I wouldn't mind if he didn't-"

"Didn't want to wait a second longer to greet our newest guest?" a crackling voice finished for her, the demon it belonged to forming up from a shadow in the middle of the floor. The cloud of black slowly giving shape to a deer-like man, appointed overwhelmingly in red and smiling overwhelmingly wide.

"Ah, Alastor, I was wondering when you'd join us."

"Come now, my dear, never underestimate the value of making a dramatic entrance," he countered, whirling his staff around his hand before settling it back into place with a decisive tap. He turns his focus to you, his eyes narrowing and his smile developing a few additional angles. "Alastor, just Alastor, so lovely to make your acquaintance." You offer your hand to him to shake, and he gives it a firm squeeze, perhaps a little harder than manners would dictate, releasing it after a single motion. "I'm something of the host around here; although you can't fault Charlie for enthusiasm, it'd take her a whole day just to tell you about the room we're in right now, and a hotel lives and dies by its schedule, you know."

"We'd love to give you a tour," Vaggie offers, Charlie's musical number having just entered the poignant, reflecting chorus.

"'We'? Ahaha, Vaggie, someone needs to make sure Charlie remembers to breathe. I'd be more than happy to get our new guest familiar with the hotel. Follow me, little one." Alastor speaks with such animated confidence that you can't help but do as he asks, letting him lead you up to the stairs and into the deeper recesses of your new home. ----- Also on AO3!

[clocktowerechos]

Factions of the Tyranid Swarms of the Brightest Night AU

"... One would be forgiven for being lulled into a false sense of hope that such foes are merely mindless, ravenous beasts. As the idea they may be something more organized and coordinated is too terrifying to consider..." ~ Unknown Ordo Xenos Inquisitor after first contact report with the Tyranids.

The all-consuming Hive Fleets have made landfall far earlier and with much greater force than in canon. They are not merely vanguards or scouting tendrils, but a vast migration of the Hive Mind's many limbs to sate its voracious apatite. Nobody foresaw their arrival, not the Eldar Farseers, not the Alliance Augurs, not Chaos Prophets, not the Necron and their esoteric, celestial calculus. The Hive Fleets arrived and since then, every angle of the Milky Way has become a vector for their entrance.

It was the Tau who first discovered the division of Swarms within Hive Fleets. Prior to joining the Alliance, they had worked with a team of Eldar on an entirely separate diplomatic research mission before accidently discovering the psycho-pheromonal signals that identify the types of Swarms. From it, scholars across the Alliance have theorized that the Tyranids have formed a super organism-like empire, scouring worlds and "farming" biomass to aid in their endless hunger. It is believed that at the conclusion of their feasting, when the last mortal has been consumed, they will devour their "empire" before moving on to the next, leaving only an empty galaxy and dead space.

Hive Fleets have been identified to possess specialized swarms, each fulfilling a singular role.

Devouring Swarms

They are the frontline of the Hive Mind, insatiable and voracious, they blot out stars with their mass and shower worlds with spores and combat forms. They are what the Tyranids are in canon.

Harvesting Swarms

What might be considered the "civilian economy" of the Tyranids, instead of simply devouring everything in a system, will instead strip all but one planet of life and biomass before dumping it on a singular planet, seeding it with abundant life. They "harvest" at regular intervals, but always leave enough for life to regrow, however twisted or terrified they are.

Survivors rescued from these Harvest or Swarm Worlds are forever scarred with horrific memories of their worlds being converted into bio-mechanical and organic factory farms. Where they were herded by a primordial energy like microbial cattle, and where the sound of chittering teeth and rending claws was always in the back of their minds.

Sprawling Swarms

Fulfilling a sort of logistical or transport role, Sprawling Swarms serve to carry biomass from Harvesting Swarms to Devouring Swarms, ensuring a plentiful stockpile of biomass for new monsters to be birthed from. Since their discovery, it has become a priority for many factions to target these swarms in the hopes of slowing the advance of Devouring Swarms, leading to Sprawling Swarms having the most formidable voidborn organisms of any swarm.

So critical are these Swarm fleets that any naval captain who provide evidence of its destruction can be guaranteed a promotion. And any penitent renegade who provides Alliance authorities with similar proof may be granted forgiveness and redemption should they be willing to join the Imperium and its allies.

Genestealer Cults & Genebloods

The infiltrating vanguard of the Hive Fleets are either formed from Genestealer Patriarchs who gestate in pools of Devouring Swarms, or from the broken individuals on Swarm Worlds. Their minds shattered and twisted by the Hive Mind's suffocating power, they believe the Tyranids to be messengers of a divine truth or star-born saviors. Given over to the profane worship of the Hive Mind, they sometimes form a "clergy" on Swarm Worlds that preach ascension into the light as the Harvesting Swarms come to reap their bounties.

No matter their origin, both Patriarchs and "Ascensionists" are delivered to unvigilant worlds to form cults and secret societies. Sowing the seeds of chaos and unrest with plans generations in the making before plunging the world into anarchy at the eve of the Hive Fleet's arrival. Yet, some manage to break free from the suffocating psychic will of the Hive Mind. Many go mad from the realization of what they are or what they have done, seeing their monstrous kin and children for what they truly are, and remove themselves entirely. However, some may seek to exact vengeance upon the Hive Mind, becoming Unbound Genebloods. Prized for their innate understanding of the Tyranid Hive Mind and ability to detect lurking organisms that stalk the shadows, they are often recruited by the Inquisition to root out their kin.

Just as pyskers must constantly ward off the daemonic whispers in their minds, Genebloods must constantly stave off the predations of the Hive Mind that seeks to enslave them again.

[cor-lapis-candy]

Mmm who else wants to think about perhaps a demon playing priest in a church, mayyybe even with Pantalone being said demon?? And playing said role, instead of joining the harbingers he takes to the church and enjoys the benefits of luring people under his control and wasting them away...

Haa, I just wanna think about him with like a long thin tail and swooping horns okay? And what better place then in a church to put a demon!

This is fully GN or I am pretty sure it is (feel free to correct me, and very obviously religious themed so if you're not down to clown in the priests gown this may not be for you!

He was the preacher, a man on the most holy soapbox calling to save the many that would listen, a true Reverand so the people whispered, the last person you would have thought to be a liar, a sinner, a soul burned in damnation and a thing with fingers dipped black in corruption. Yet here you are, pressed to the central altar, his human glamour cast aside and forgotten as his whip-thin tail curls around your wrists, a once soothing voice rumbling with menace as you try to tug it away, anything to give you room away from this thing.

But that's not how this starts, no. This starts with an offer, a suggestion, it starts with bait.

Your family, oh so new in the capital, called into his halls, offered into listening to the voices of his congregation and how they sing praises to the Tsaritsa, and hymns for the cryo archon, and yet there is one voice that carries the whole crowd. The preacher, a man of smiles and softly falling curled black hair, his robes pressed perfectly and a rosary hanging from his gloved fingers as he walks the rows, voices raising as he passes each pew, each line of people, true devotion made into form and yet when he passes your family, the silent ones amongst so many eager parish members.

"You are always welcome here, I am one of the few always on the grounds. I have nothing but time to spare for my dear lambs, we'll have you singing with us yet..."

He had been swift in pulling you from your family, offering an ear to voice what must be troubling you as you had been so quiet, almost silent in the songs he knew you would know, and offering teaching you how to sing the if you lacked the knowledge.

Always with gentle hands too warm for the chill of the eternal winter.

Those words should have been enough to keep you just cautious enough to stay away from the private lessons, but something in how he spoke made the offer too good to pass over. Thus you were always there, after services, helping, cleaning, singing, ignoring how Pantalone's hands felt pressed against your shoulders as he stood behind you, 'to keep you standing straight' was the reason you had been given.

But each lesson was bleeding further and further away from holy worship, where they had once started as help to light the candles now were spent on your knees before the central altar, hands clasped together, bound in Pantalone's rosary as he wanders the pews tending to those that linger, casting off curiosity with whispers of seeking penitence, emptying the hall before his own hands come to rest over your own, broad chest pressed to your back.

A position you would never think a preacher to take, not so casually.

You could feel the warmth of him seep into you, and yet you still shiver, voice silenced as he hums, a familiar song the same one he had been making you sing day in day out, words woven together in the old tongue, the meaning lost to you, never explained even as you had once begged for in the beginning. You had learned that day, when you had whined for the meaning and his hands had come to cup your face, drawing you close and smiling as you flushed, cooing about sins and attending a confession for the sheer greed for knowledge you had shown.

You would wait till the humming became more pronounced before you joined in, everything so learned and perfected, not a single move out of time, not a single thought of how the candles that had been lit were now so dimmed, no flickering light to cast shadows against the walls, only the feeling of the beads weaving around your fingers and the warmth of Pantalone at your back, or they had been.

Soon the beads are being unwound, placed on the altar as wide palms encircle your waist.

"You are so devoted, so easy to lead and so eager to follow, aren't you? But I wonder if the lamb at my alter is as pure as they seem, unfaltering in the face of sin, ready and strong against all that could damn them..."

"I-"

"Shhh, shh, no words little one, just shh. We will test your voice, your faith, and your dedication to me and our archon divine."

"Reverand?"

You catch it out of the corner of your eye, the shift but it is too late, the once gloved hands were now digging into your waist tipped in black nails, no black claws, fingers just as dark as the gloves he had once worn, they flex and tear into the clothes you had worn to the service.

"Oh no little lamb, you know what comes now, what you must do... But once I'm done, there will be no holy man, nor Acrchon strong enough to save you."

The weight of the man, no, the thing behind you keeps you pinned, knees boxed in by its own, chest pressed to the lip of the altar as it further bends into your space. From the corner of your eye, you can see it, the once welcoming face of the Reverand now morphed, soft black curls hiding the flick and curl of horns, once warm eyes nothing more than ash grey things staring you down.

"Now, now that's no way to look at your Shepard, all I wished for is to guide you and you were so eager for it. Now lest your voice fail you, there is singing to be done, hmm"

No matter the strength you may have had, there was no getting away from this thing that wore the face of the Reverand, mind denying the very idea of it being the same person, but when you push away his thin black tail wraps tighter around your wrists, keeping you pinned with only its tight coil. One of the clawed hands that were still at your waist is quick to move upwards, wrapping around your throat, pressing lightly and making the world spin, your head tipping back against the broad chest behind you.

"That's it, relax little one, I know, I know it's all so scary, but you sing so sweetly for me, now let me guide you once more. After all, I still have so much yet to teach you..."

Even as his grip eases, the hand around your throat holds steady, keeping you bent in an awkward position before the world tilts again and your pressed face down on the altar. Body pinned by strong hands, one on your neck and the other your hip, the tail that had held your wrist slipping away, somewhere unseen.

A voice in the back of your head whispers of dreams, and falsehoods, yet that voice still sounds so much like the thing behind you, so much like him, Pantalone. Who would begrudge you if you listened? If you gave in and let the thing, the man that had lead you so far lead you further?

Even if he was leading you down into the abyss with him and his honeyed words, who could ever think to condemn you if they could not see you, not a single witness to the way you shudder and whine as sharp teeth dig into you neck, as bruises bloom an clothes are shed, as the purity of this churches alter is stained with tears and cum.

Not a single member of the parish would ever see who you bend and buck into the press of their beloved preachers cock, you were his lamb, his lost soul to guide, and if anyone ever thought to ask him of you it would be nothing but a soft smile and penitent words on the sins you were working to repent for. Who would ever come to look behind his stand to the small room tucked away just for him to look for little old you, his dear sweet lamb...

[creature-wizard]

Food for thought...

Christianity is witchcraft. Hear me out. There are many sets or different types of followers and beliefs in Christianity where people assemble to pray

The Latin word for assemble is convenire

Where the word coven comes from coven is not a witch made word, so these different sects of the church are just different covens, and a prayer is just a spell. I mean a spell you call upon your deity or deities for help, and you don't need ingredients for all spells, and some ingredients are used in prayers too.

So basic different groups = covens and prayers = spells so Christians practice witchcraft too...

Every now and then somebody tries to pull this gotcha, but... uhh... it's honestly kind of silly, y'all.

"Witchcraft" as most people understand it to day is a modern construct, much of it influenced by modern speculations of what pre-Christian religion was like in Europe. People like Margaret Murray believed that the conspiracy theories about witches going around during the early modern witch panic were inspired by actual practices of numerous cryptopagans.

Now the thing is, the witch conspiracy theories were shaped by the belief that witches, or more specifically practitioners of malefic magic, were Satan worshipers; and therefore everything they did would be a mockery of Christianity in some way. Witch covens are literally a Christian invention.

Conflating pagans and witches is also a Christian thing. Actual pagans didn't regard themselves as witches. There were, of course, pagans who practiced various forms of folk magic, but the same is also true of Christian societies. It's worth noting that folk magic wasn't really considered witchcraft by Christians most of the time, and actual pagan societies didn't really approve of people they believed to be working malefic magic, just like Christians.

Also, claiming that a prayer is "just a spell" is just plain incorrect. Spells are done to directly affect change in the world somehow. Prayers can be used for this, but that's not their only use. There are also prayers of praise and prayers of penitence. And, idk, is straight-up petitioning a deity really something that qualifies as a "spell"? I tend to think a spell requires some sort of technical work on the part of the practitioner.

So yeah, "Christianity is just witchcraft lol" might sound funny at first, but it's an ignorant and hyperreductive take. Stuff's a lot more complicated than some of you folks realize.

[cheapsweets]

The garrulous Slagzogg

My response to this week’s BestiaryPosting challenge from @maniculum

A little rough this week, but wanted to get it out there (perfect is the enemy of good :p).

Jinhao shark fountain pen with fine, hooded nib, with Monteverde Raven Noir ink, over initial 5.6mm HB pencil sketch.

Process and resoning notes below the cut...

"The Slagzogg marks the watches of the night by its constant cry. No other creature picks up the scent of man as it does.  There are two kinds of Slagzoggs, domestic and wild. Wild Slagzoggs fly high, in a an orderly fashion, signifying those who, far away from earthly things, preserve a rule of virtuous conduct. Domestic Slagzoggs live together in villages, they cackle together all the time and rend each other with their beaks; they signify those who, although they like conventual life, nevertheless find time to gossip and slander. All wild Slagzoggs are grey in colour; I have not seen any that were of mixed colour or white. But among domestic Slagzoggs, there are not only grey but variegated and white ones. Wild Slagzoggs are the colour of ashes, that is to say, those who keep apart from this world wear the modest garb of penitence."

Okay, we know they fly. We know they have beaks. Hence, it's pretty obvious what kind of creature this is...

A pterosaur! Er... Well, there's no mention of feathers (which is probably reasonable...), perhaps I'm just tickled by the thought of medieval domesticated pterosaurs? I probably spent way too much time trying to draw a wattle fence, too. We have a farmer feeding her flock of domesticated miniature azhdarchid pterosaurs, while a few wild slagzoggs fly high overhead, looking down on their cousins below.

I went with azhdarchid pterosaurs since I felt that would be more visually distictive, and fit better in the picture given their more upright and distinctive method of locomotion on the ground. I also love the idea of a slagzogg 'village' cackling (like the one spreading its wings on top of the fence), clacking beaks, preening themselves, and generally making noise!

We also know that 'no other creature picks up the scent of man' as well as the slagzogg... We do know at this point that the bestiary authors love their superlatives almost as much as Pokedex descriptions, but we have no reason to doubt it. So, looking at modern archosaurs with a great sense of smell... Apparently, crocodiles actually have a fairly good sense of smell, but we're looking at birds to work out how best to represent this in a creature with a beak. Now kiwis have nostrils at the end of the beak, vultures also have a great sense of smell (though they completely slipped my mind until I was most of the way through), which left me with petrels... Petrels are diving seabirds with a distinctive 'tubenose' (their nostrils form a tubular nasal passage atop the beak), and use their sense of smell to detect prey (and their colonies) at sea. It's definitely a distinctive look!

What do they use their great sense of smell for (apart from identifying their keepers, one assumes)? Maybe these are truffle hunting pterosaurs? ;)

Actually, my first thought on reading the description was the dog vultures from the Judge Dredd comics (unfortunately I can't find any pictures online), until I re-read the description and noticed the reference to beaks!

This all raises an interesting question about how I (we? I don't want to assume too much) approach these challenges.

I feel like most of the time, I'm trying very hard to approach the prompts with a completely open mind; in many ways, a lot of the fun of these challenges is seeing what designs we come up with compared to the bestiary illustrators, given the same prompts.

Occasionally I'll have a pretty good idea what the creature is meant to be, in which case I will sometimes exercise a form of 'malicious compliance' where I'm either sticking as closely as possible to the description, or more rarely pursuing a parallel direction that I know is not the 'correct' one, in order to avoid drawing anything too close to the animal I believe the prompt is referencing.

Most rarely, I just have a cool idea from the prompt (like the Blisheag) and head off in that direction instead.

Guess which one this is :D

So what I'm also learning here is that I need more practice drawing humans, and drawing pterosaurs!

As an aside, this week I discovered this site;

It's basically a giant repository of links to various images and sites relating to medieval life and culture (so for example, I looked up the links for straw hats to get some medieval straw hat references this week...). There's so many links in here that some of them will inevitably have moved or expired, but it's potentially a really good source of references! I was able to find this image (partway through drafting the drawing) that I ended up taking heavy influence from;

[ceceliaahathaway]

Event: Her Year Absence Dated: 15th of March, 2024 Location: London, Spain, and a confessional.  Characters: Cecelia Hathaway, Adam Carrigan, Eleanor Carrigan, Chelsea Carrigan, Alison Carrigan, and their dog Happy.

11th of December, 2022.

Her teeth sank forcefully into the flesh covering his shoulder blade. With a cry, she clung to the only certainty she had in that moment: he wouldn't let her fall. She convinced herself that her longing for a man had been dormant for too long and it was because of this fact, that she'd had broken her marriage vows in the middle of a changing room in the heart of Harrods. It had nothing to do with dark, expressive eyes, that gleamed at her with a level of intensity she'd never seen before. Or that his olive-toned skin could be both smooth and rough in all the necessary parts. OR that when his mouth met her own, her heart found its way so far into the back of her throat, she couldn't be sure if it was that or his tongue that kept her from forming a sentence in order to tell him, she couldn't do this. Shaking as she hit a wall she knew she'd never come back from; at least not today, Cece pushed her damp, warm and perspiring forehead against his own, "How about you take my number instead..."

12th of December, 2022.

She shrugged out of her cashmere sweater; even that felt tainted right now, as she waited for Father to address her on the other side of the confessional. "Oh, forgive me Father. For I have sinned. It has been 4 months since my last confession." She closed her eyes, once again returning to the Harrods changing room, as she let out a sigh (that had absolutely no place in a confessional booth), before shaking her head and forcing her trembling hands to still, "I have broken the sacred vow of marriage." The tears came hard and fast, as she found it difficult to even think of a penitence worthy of such a crime. But, this was God, as Father told her and there was no sin that he couldn't forgive if a sinner came to him with a truly remorseful heart. She closed her eyes and felt Ayaz' breath against her the nape of her neck and decided, not quite yet. "I'm sorry, Father." At least that part she knew was true. Time, is what she told herself she needed, prayers and time. Clasping her mother's rosary, she stood up and walked outside, her hand fiddling to find her phone and book a ticket to Spain before she'd even stepped back into the cool, crisp London air.

13th of December, 2022.

As the airplane descended towards Spain, the woman felt a mixture of nerves and anticipation knotting in her stomach. Through the small window, she caught glimpses of the rugged coastline and the azure waters below, a stark contrast to the life she was leaving behind. As the wheels touched the runway with a gentle jolt, a sense of liberation washed over her, mingled with the fear of the unknown. Would Adam take one look at her and smell Ayaz on her. She'd washed herself so many times since her skin still felt raw to the touch.

Stepping off the plane into the warm Spanish air, she inhaled deeply, savouring the scent of unfamiliar spices and the tang of the sea. The sunlight danced on her skin, casting a golden glow that seemed to promise a fresh start.

Navigating through the bustling airport, she marvelled at the vibrant energy of her surroundings. The chatter of unfamiliar languages; a reminder to finally learn the southern European language her husband spoke so well, combined with the colourful array of clothing, and the lively rhythm of Spanish music all served as a stark reminder that she was no longer bound by the confines of her old life. This would be her new start.

Did it worry her to leave her Vixens alone. Of course it did. But how was she expected to look after them when could barely look after herself or her own marriage?! They would be okay. She'd monitor things from here. She could manage that and Charlene had been warned.

After collecting her luggage and arriving at the car rental booth, Cece proceeded with a sense of calm familiarity. She had done this countless times before, and today was no different. Approaching the counter with a composed demeanour, she efficiently handled the necessary paperwork with the attendant, her movements precise and confident. "Yes, your latest model..."

Starting the engine with practiced ease, she merged onto the road with a steady hand, the hum of the car's powerful engine a familiar companion. As she navigated the unfamiliar route to her husband's Spanish villa, her mind remained focused, her thoughts occupied with the tasks ahead as she let SIRI guide her through unknown territory.

Driving through the Spanish countryside, she admired the scenic views with a detached appreciation, the beauty of the landscape a mere backdrop to her purposeful journey. Arriving at the gates of the mansion, she keyed in a familiar passcode with a sense of quiet resolve, her expression betraying none of the emotions that churned beneath the surface. Would he be home? Would he sense her fear? Would he tell her to leave?

She pulled up outside of the house. Shaking to the bone, as she climbed out, taking her small (runaway) luggage with her as she walked up to the large antique door and knocked hard. She'd try that first, before she was forced to croak nervously into the intercom speaker.

Fortunately for her, Adam had been crossing the hall and had stilled at the unexpected sound of a guest. Perhaps a friend; or worse, a boyfriend of one of his girls had decided to pay them a visit. Undoing his buttons and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows (an attempt to show a surprisingly amount of muscle that still remained for a man his age), Adam walked over and pulled open the door to see his wife standing there with a suitcase in tow. So, long had he dreamed up this image, he couldn't be sure he hadn''t simply nodded off on top of his desk again, "Cece, darling?" He watched as the blonde in front of him, let out a whimper as she fell against his chest and let out a while string of apologies. "My dear, what has got you so shaken.. come, come..."

He was too good for her. That's what Cece told herself. She did not deserve him, as he carried her upstairs to his bedroom and laid her down on top of the mattress, staying and wiping the hair from out of her eyes. What had she done?! She loved this man. Her whole heart was his. Why had she thrown all of this away just for one good fuck. God, it had been good though. No, NO, NO! She reached up, pulling her husband towards her, as she pushed her mouth to his and started pulling loose his shirt from inside his jeans. She needed this. She needed him. If he'd been there in London, even the Turkish's dark obsidian hues wouldn't have bewitched her. She blocked him out. Her focus now and forever on Adam, as she pulled him inside her and let out a cry of relief.

11th of March, 2024.

As she stood by the poolside, the woman exuded a quiet confidence that spoke volumes of the transformation she had undergone. Her once-short hair now cascaded in soft waves around her shoulders. It had been decades since she'd allowed it to cross over the top of her shoulders. The lines on her face seemed softened, reflecting the peace she had found within herself.

Her marriage, she once thought strained, had blossomed into something stronger and more resilient. There was a warmth in her eyes as she watched her husband across the pool, a silent acknowledgment of the journey they had traveled together to reach this point. Had she told him about Ayaz? No, but she'd justly made up for it. Not once had the Turkish man cross her mind and bed since.

Surrounded by the laughter and chatter of her daughters and their boyfriends, she found joy in witnessing their happiness. As she sipped her drink and mingled with the guests, there was a lightness to her step and a genuine smile playing on her lips. She had weathered the storms of the past and emerged stronger on the other side, embracing each moment with gratitude and grace.

She was ready now. Ready to go back to London. This time with Adam in tow. His business had wrapped up here. Both him, her daughters, and their new partners, and their new dog Happy, would be coming along for the ride. Now, she just needed the company of her Vixens again and her life really would be complete.

17th of March, 2024

She'd arrived early for mass, telling Adam she wanted a moment to catch up with Father Doherty and confession. Settling down inside the confessional, Cece grasped her mother's rosary once again, but this time far less tightly. Today was for just a few venial sins, cursing at someone who'd cut her off earlier, wishing a plague on everyone who thought it was okay to drink red wine with fish and out of a box nonetheless, and the brief thought of wanting to send Happy to a far away farm after he'd chewed up on of her favourite pashminas, she had nothing else weighing her down. "Oh, Lord I am sorry for having sinned against you.." She accepted Father's blessing, before she stepped back outside and hugged, Father who too had emerged. This was far from custom, but Father Doherty and her weren't just Father and patron. "I have missed you dearly, Father." She accepted his arms and fell into his fatherly embrace, before she pulled herself back and wiped a few tears from her face. After accepting his offer to have a more private talk after mass, Cece walked over to Adam who'd she'd just seen walk inside, along with their daughters and their partners, "darling! Darling I've got us our usual pew back."

Weight rested into Adam's warm chest, Cece let out a breath she'd been holding since returning to London. There had been no reason to worry. Everything was going to be just as it once were.

Little did Cece know, someone was in the process of composing an email containing several dozen photos of her and Ayaz just before they'd found themselves in that Harrods changing room together. As the Gregorian choir began to chant, the sender prepared themselves to hit the send button, directing the email towards Cece's and Ayaz' personal inbox. A simple message attached: send money or lose everyone.

[randaccidents]

I dunno if it was mentioned before (if it was then uhhhhh just link the post where it was) but how does Soul copes with Heart situations? Because yes, Mind copes by just keeping himself busy, and trying to find a solution. But I can't recall what Soul do. Does they just helps him? Or something more? :^

evil little grin finally. a Penitence ask. about the worst possible thing >:)))

tbh I was gonna explain this in the Penitence character ref lmao

TW for self harm and suicide attempt (the traditional media depiction way this time) + probably inaccurate depiction pls I am trying dont come after me qwq

(IT KEEPS GETTING LONG I have too many thoughts and some might come out wrong)

So I think I mentioned here that both Perseverance and Penitence take Heart's condition poorly and develop incredibly poor and self destructive coping mechanisms in response. But I never talked about Penitence.

Soul is devastated. There is a trauma to finding what is basically the dead body of your brother and Knowing that its been almost a week since the first mention of Heart being unconscious (even if neither of them knew it at the time). He is their vessel and he is his brother's keeper, and he has failed horrendously at both jobs.

{He has the best understanding of how the three of them operate, but even Soul doesn't know whats wrong. Heart isn't dead. Yet. He doesn't know what to do.}

Outside of crying, he holds it together pretty well the first 10 days honestly, compared to Mind. Soul is a little more focused early on in keeping shit together. He takes on a sort of main caretaker/nurse role, monitoring and observing Heart while also eventually forcing Mind to sleep.

The thing is that sitting silently next to an unconscious body gives him time to think (something Mind has been avoiding ironically). His first coping mechanism is to scrape his memory of loops on loops on loops on loops to find something, anything similar, anything that might help him fix this problem that he has created. Because he created this problem didn't he? He condemned Heart to Apathy.

There is nothing. This is a first in the loops. Both extending the punishment and Heart's condition. The realisation breaks Soul. He has never messed up this badly before, and he is the worst version of himself. The guilt and grief is overwhelming.

On day 10 Mind wakes from a dream and walks in on Soul attempting to hang himself.

The rest of the day is a mess, and they make an Oath together afterwards. Neither of them is allowed to give up unless they both have. [A promise to persevere] {A promise to repent}

For the rest of the AU, Penitence picks up the significantly more destructive coping mechanism of cutting himself on the tines of his trident. {Hebrews 9:22: In fact, the law requires that nearly everything be cleansed with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness.} {Penitence seeks forgiveness more than anything.}

Its his own form of punishment, seeing as Heart can't punish him the way he thinks he deserves. The pain is unwelcome entirely, and does nothing for his thoughts and guilt. Truthfully, the act makes him worse, but punishment is not meant to be nice, and it is penitence and it is repentance. {Repentance, like what he demanded of Heart before leaving him in Apathy. Did repentance help Heart? He is repentant anyway.}

It is a quiet thing, just like how Perseverance's overworking is a quiet thing.

He stops wearing short sleeves and short pants around the house. He wears Heart's hoodie instead. If Perseverance doesnt see he can't be burdened by what he does. [Perseverance knows, knows, knows despite that. The trident drips red. He bandages Penitence daily. He says nothing anyways. He knows this is the price to keep the noose packed away.]

Despite the poor coping mechanism, Penitence does help a lot. He makes sure Heart is comfortable and not freezing his already cold arms off. He cooks and makes sure Perseverance eats and sleeps. He helps monitor and observe and record changes in Heart's condition (even if the record remains "no change" for days).

{When Heart wakes and relapses and wakes and relapses, Penitence takes most of the anger and betrayal and screaming crying accusing that Heart spits at him. He tries his best to shield Perseverance from justified anger by taking it all on himself.}

He scratches at his cuts often. He doesn't allow the cuts to heal. He runs the tines of his trident over any that do. The pain and shakiness of his limbs is a reminder of his crime. He knows this is unsustainable and unhealthy. He can't stop himself, just like how Perseverance can't stop himself either.

Self-blame is one of the worst fates you can inflict on yourself.

[muzzleroars]

Does the angelic ferryman get friends in heaven?, (Besides the characters we know), i believe they deserve nice angel friends.

And do they do in their spare time or for heaven?

Hope you're okay!

ooooh this is interesting...i would think the citizens would be incredibly hesitant about the ferryman's presence, because this has never happened before....but, on the other hand, they were personally elevated by michael....but on the other other hand, this never would have happened under god, right? they must be extraordinarily penitent, they must have earned their forgiveness, but they were in hell. nothing can erase that. i imagine it helps a bit when raphael encourages others to accept them, but michael's reassurance is what makes a true change in their hesitance. his intentions are a bit unclear, as he may just be covering his mistake, but i think michael takes the time to consider all this...and was this not his role as pyschopomp just come way too late? he was there for second chances at the death of a sinner, so he secures the ferryman's place in heaven and once he does...OH well. EVERYONE wants to hear what it's like living in hell. sure some of them go on patrols or whatever but what is it LIKE to be a husk??? what is like LIVING there??? it's a bit...much for the ferryman, even if it's marginally better than their rejection. because of this, i think michael guides them to speak with the late repentant instead.

these souls are those that lived as sinners but were visited upon their death by michael himself to see if they would seek forgiveness, and they accepted his hand. they have been through purgatory, cleansing themselves for hundreds of years for all the time they made god wait, and he believes they will be much less...overwhelming for the ferryman, and may understand them better than the purely virtuous. they accept the ferryman with great rejoicing, and after learning a bit about them, they show them to the great sea of glass. at first, the ferryman isn't sure if they want to be reminded of their time on the river (then ocean) of styx (the souls in heaven forget pain often, their hearts were in the right place), but as they watch the sea, it seems so beautiful that they relent to take a boat out with the others. the weather is clear, far more perfect than any day on earth, and they cut through the water (?) with ease, all the souls around them praising them for the strength of their penitence. that they truly deserve this. when the ferryman eventually insists that can't be so, that michael's made a mistake, they quiet a bit and remind them how much happier god is when a sinner returns to him. how the shepherd and all his friends are so much happier when the one lost sheep is found rather than the 99 of the flock that were always there. michael made no mistake with them. they should be considered a great joy in a time when heaven has seen so little of that. they know what it's like to think you can't deserve this, but they will gladly help the ferryman adjust to their earned rest.

the ferryman practices many of their old hobbies there, with art much easier to pick up considering all heaven provides (they take AWHILE to get used to the ease of their life now) they can make proper idols there, creating the madonna and child to the great amazement of their little group of friends (they tell them all about gabriel's continued kindness, how he is just as good and just as wonderful now even if he fell...and they begin to believe them) i think they make something for michael too, painting him as the psychopomp (a role he much prefers to see depicted, over his defeat of the dragon), and he accepts the gift with a fresh blessing. they branch out into all sorts of art forms after that, though they keep their talents within their small circle. they do enjoy a little bit of teaching, finding it pretty amusing to guide angels in some practical skills even if they'll never use them (they all seem to particularly enjoy knot classes) they have time to read, they have time to worship properly, they have time to reflect...they have the time to find their peace now. their emotions can overtake them now and again, over how much time they lost, over how they can't share heaven with gabriel (or god himself), and how this feels as though it must be a dream that will end. they spend a lot of time out on that sea, watching angels flitting around overhead, seeing the horizon of the sphere stretch out into the distant ruins of the city laid waste. when they see that, they can truly believe they're here, that this is the heaven they came to. it's the compromise for their sin, and they're grateful all over that their time finally came. perfection wouldn't have suited them anyway, and they'll be thankful for all the work their hands can do if those ruins are ever rebuilt

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 27 - SOLE

When it comes to conversation partners, you could do worse than Rhiki! You could also probably do better, though....

(Oof this one was rough! I'm sooo tired and it took me forever to stumble upon an idea for this prompt, which I wouldn't have at all were it not for the help of @avalon821, @akirakirxaa, @elliewiltarwyn, @dragoon-mid-jump, and others! Now I am going to bed... Finally....)

Rating: General Genre: Fluff, nonsense Characters: Ardbert, Z'rhiki Irhi (Warrior of Light) Word Count: 1,164 Content Warnings: None

Ardbert told himself again and again that he should be thankful. He was thankful. He had been on the verge of coming undone, of fading away entirely, when fate had seen fit to pluck him from the precipice’s edge. His curse had been lifted! For the first time in centuries there was someone who could see and hear him, even if it was just the one person. How long had it been since he last heard the sound of his own name? It had been even longer since he had felt the stirrings of genuine hope.

He was thankful, truly. It was just….

She talked so much.

“You know, I keep thinking about dying my hair,” she said as she looked into her inn room’s vanity mirror and re-fastened one of her small braids. “But I can never decide what color. A long time ago I thought about white, but white just seems so played out, doesn’t it? Plus, all of the other Scions have white hair. Have you ever noticed that? Hmmm.... Maybe silver? Red? Or maybe something bright, like teal! But then, if I dyed my hair, do you think I would have to dye the fur on my tail, too? I mean, is it better to pretend it’s natural even though everyone knows it isn’t, or should I just own the fact that I’ve dyed my hair?” When she was satisfied the braid was secure, she turned her head either which way, examining herself before glancing up at him. “You know, I’ve never thought about it, but can you do anything with your hair? I know you don’t have a corporeal form so you probably can’t cut it, but if you wanted to, I don’t know, muss it up or something, could you? Honestly, you should try it! I bet you could look a lot more roguishly handsome if you did something different with your hair!”

Internally, Ardbert sighed.

She was supposed to be his salvation, but occasionally he found himself thinking that she was a little more like purgatory. Penitence for his sins. She talked constantly. Sometimes he thought about concealing his presence, or about abandoning his newfound companion to wander the Crystarium, but he had to admit there was something nice about talking to someone again. Or, rather, being talked to again. Most of their “conversations” amounted to her vocalizing random thoughts that he expected she would have been having anyway in his general direction. She didn’t seem to expect or require much input from him, and he wasn’t sure if she even wanted it. She was, for the most part, content to ramble to herself, with him as a silent spectator. Sometimes he would contribute a few words, or answer a question if he was able, but not often. Perhaps it was for the best: he wasn’t really sure what to talk to her about, and his conversation skills were probably rusty anyway.

“How many different colors of Amaro do you think there are?” She wondered aloud as they passed the rookery. At first he had been worried people might think she was losing her mind, talking to thin air as she was, but most of the Crystarium’s residents didn’t pay her any mind. They seemed to assume that she was merely musing to herself, if they noticed her talking at all. “I don’t mean, like, ‘moss green’ as opposed to ‘swamp algae green’ – I mean actual different colors. Chocobos come in a lot of different colors, though I suppose only a few usually occur naturally. The color of chocobos’ feathers actually depends on their diet, so if you feed them the right grains and vegetables you can make them all sorts of colors! All of the amaro in the Crystarium are dark green, but I saw some red ones in Lakeland. Do you think there are any that have magenta fur? Or pastel blue? Wait, does that stuff count as fur? Or feathers? I’ll have to look more closely the next time I’m on one. It’s very soft, either way!”

She never talked about anything important, of course. Or anything too personal. She didn’t talk about how she was adjusting to life on the First, or how she felt about what the Crystal Exarch had asked of her, or what her plans were for slaying a Lightwarden. It was possible she would be willing to broach such topics if he asked, but she never seemed to bring them up in her running commentary. The closest she came to sharing her deeper thoughts on their situation was complaining – about being tired, or about the aggressive wildlife, or about the Exarch. Mostly, she just chatted about whatever thoughts popped into her head, no matter how inane or frivolous. It could occasionally be entertaining, but at times it could also be annoying. And yet, he still chose to spend most of his time shadowing her. She was the sole person with whom he could communicate, and, under the circumstances, he supposed he couldn’t afford to be too choosy. It wasn’t as if she was terrible company. Just… a little much.

Evening was coming on quickly, and he followed her as she wandered towards the Crystarium’s market district. She languidly perused the different shops and stalls, waiting for something to catch her eye rather than seeking out something specific. Their ambling took them within sight of the Last Stand, which must have made her think of food, because she said: “What do you think I should have for dinner? Any recommendations? I suppose food has probably changed a lot since you were alive, so maybe you’re no better off than I am, but is there anything you remember being good? Specific dishes? Spices? Types of cuisine?”

Oh? She’d paused long enough for him to say something. Come on Ardbert, don’t let this chance go to waste!

“Hmmm… well, it’s a bit hard to remember what things taste like, but Renda-Rae always liked baked megapiranha from the Greatwood.”

She pulled a face. “Bleh! No fish! I’ve eaten as many fish in my life as I’d like to, thank you very much! Unless fish on the First taste and smell completely different…?”

“Probably not,” He couldn’t help but smile a little. “Well, I was always partial to some old-fashioned roast ovim, but I’m sure you’ve had that already. I seem to remember that they used to make some sort of rice dish in Kholusia. It didn’t have fish in it, but the sauce was made from squid ink, of all things. Maybe that sounds mad, but I think I remember being pleasantly surprised by it. It might have had mussels in it, though. What was it called…? Something ‘negre’ I think?”

“Oh! That sounds good!  I don’t mind shellfish – they’re not really fish, you know? I wonder if they still make it! Let’s ask! I’d offer to give you a bite, but something tells me it would go right through you! Get it?!”

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Who is Catherine Théot? .. can you explain her story please ? And what is her connection with robespierre? Because I don't understand her role during the period of robespierre's downfall.

And Thanks a lot.

Catherine Théot was born on March 5 1716, to a peasant family living in Barenton. In a letter written during the revolution, she said that she had been ”given to God from infancy,” and one of her disciples recalled that Théot had stated that, when she was only four years old, ”God had made known to her that he would make an alliance with her.” After having acquired a local reputation for piety, she was sent to Paris by her parish priest, where she was placed under the spiritual direction of Abbé Joseph Grisel. For many years Théot worked as a domestic servant in the Convent of the Miramionnes. At one point she returned to Normandy and sought admission to a convent near her home, but went back to Paris once God told her to, where she would then live out the rest of her austere religious life — taking communion every morning at five o’clock, spending part of each night carrying out penitences she imposed upon herself, and submitting herself to a harch regimen of penitence.

In 1779, Théot was arrested and imprisoned in the Bastille after having come to believe she was the only one who could understand the Scriptures and preaching about it against local priests. Being interrogated, she described herself as ”the virgin who would receive the little Jesus, who would come down from heaven to earth to bring peace to all the earth and to receive all nations.” After six weeks spent in the Bastille, she was moved to a mental hospital, where she remained until 1782. 

Once released, Théot came to live on 20 rue des Rosiers together with the widow Godefroy (Marie Madelaine Amblard), a seamstress who sometimes served as her secretary. A circle began to form around the two that only grew over the following ten years. It was not a secret society in the sense that initiations rites and membership cards were needed, and its sessions consisted only of harmless activities – short sermons by Théot, singing, and readings from the Bible and the missal. In 1793, the wife of one of the people frequenting the circle nevertheless claimed that, within it, Théot was called ”the new Eve, who will redeem the human race,” and that she ”announced the general Happiness and a uniform Religion for all the universe.” The people that came to Théot’s sessions belonged to both the wealthy and poor classes, but most common were artisans, shopkeepers and servants. Women were also more common than men. The circle’s most famous member was the former National Assembly deputy Dom Gerle, who became Théot’s disciple sometime during 1792 and sometimes spoke directly to the group along with the widow Godefroy. Someone else who frequented the circle was none other than Marie-Louise Vaugeois, sister of Robespierre’s host Françoise Duplay, although this didn’t become known until after thermidor.

In 1793, the number of people seen going into Théot’s lodgings proved suspicious for the public prosecutor of the Paris Commune Anaxagoras Chaumette. On January 10,he therefore ordered Théot’s house to be searched, something which was carried out five days later. The file was transmitted to Chaumette on February 10, who, far from closing the case, sought to find out more. Théot and the widow Godefroy were taken in but released soon afterwards, and in June 1793 they moved to the third floor of an apartment on rue de la Contrescrape (today rue Blainville) where they could continue to hold meetings without interference. But less than a year later, May 12 1794, two gendarmes, Jaton and Pidoux, wrote to the Committee of General Security (CGS) to denounce Théot after having asked to be admitted to her circle’s sessions, but, not being known, instead been met with a certain mistrust. The CGS acted quickly, already on the same day it ordered a home visit be made to Théot, participants of her sessions interrogated, and those among them found suspect arrested. Théot was arrested on May 17 along the widow Godefroy, Dom Gerle and twelve others. In the weeks that followed several new arrests were issued against people believed to belong to her ”clique” as well. 

A month later, on June 15, Marc-Guillaume Alexis Vadier, the president of the CGS, read a report regarding Théot to the Convention. In it, Théot’s circle was presented as ”a sect” that was in fact a conspiracy including ”royalists, usurers, fools, egoists, fops, counterrevolutionaries of both sexes” and to which mystics, mesmerists, émigrés, Pitt and Frederick William of Prussia belonged. Vadier wrapped up the report by demanding no clemency for ”scroundel priests” (refractory priests), and ordering Catherine Théot, the widow Godefroy, Dom Gerle and two others brought before the Revolutionary Tribunal. Like with Théot’s arrest, the report was again followed by a wave of new arrests of people believed to have been in associated with her.

However, sometime shortly after Vadier’s report, Robespierre ordered Fouquier-Tinville, the public prosecutor, to leave him the papers concerning the Théot affair and to suspend the investigation of the trial. In his Mémoire de Fouquier-Tinville pour sa défense (1795) Fouquier described the scene as following:

Robespierre told me at the Committee of Public Safety, in the name of said committee, that it was necessary to postpone the Catherine Théot affair. After having observed to him in vain that a decree imposed on me the duty to follow it up and not having been able to make myself heard, I withdrew and went to the General Security Committee where I reported on the facts and my embarrassment, indicating three times "he, he, he, in the name of the Committee of Public Safety, opposes it.” “You mean Robespierre?” replied a member, whom I believe to be Amar or Citizen Vadier. 

The earliest, and perhaps most common interpretation of this affair is that it was a machination of the Committee of General Security in general and Vadier in particular. (for this interpretation, see Albert Mathiez’s L’affair Catherine Théot et le mysticisme chrétien révolutionnaire). They had as their aim to ridicule both Robespierre himself, who many of the committee members were becoming wary of, as well as his deism and Cult of the Supreme Being, which, it is commonly stated, they disliked due to being atheists. This last claim I’m however having a hard time finding any primary source for, but it can nevertheless be observed that Théot’s arrest was ordered just five days after Robespierre had held a speech announcing that ”the French people believe in the existence of the Supreme Being and the immortailty of the soul” and Vadier read his report against Théot just a week after the Festival of the Supreme Being.

Evidence to support this interpretation is first and foremost Vadier’s report. Although he never mentioned Robespierre’s name, or any connection he might have to Théot’s clique in it, he nevertheless managed to cast ridicule on Robespierre’s religious ideas through an exaggerated language, provoking many laughs from the stands.

Another piece that supports this interpretation is Robespierre’s speech on 8 thermidor, where he says the following:

The first attempt the malevolent people made was to seek to debase the great principles that you had proclaimed and to erase the touching memory of the national holiday (the festival of the Supreme Being). Such was the aim of the character and the solemnity which was given to what was called the Catherine Théot affair. Malevolence has taken advantage of the political conspiracy hidden under the name of a few imbecile devotees, and nothing was presented to public attention but a mystical farce and an inexhaustible subject of indecent or childish sarcasm.

On 9 thermidor, Vadier also claimed that a letter (that may or may not actually have existed) proclaiming Robespierre to be the high priest of the new cult had been found under Théot’s matress in order to denounce him, and finally, according to the memoirs of Philarete Chasles, Vadier confirmed in his old age that ridiculing Robespierre had indeed been his intention all along:

[Vadier] continued his story. He told us for the hundredth time how the fools went back to saying mass; how Robespierre himself — the incorruptible! — (and he made this word vibrate with an inimitable southern irony) was going to turn into cagotism; — how the incorruptible aimed at becoming high priest. ”So it was by a terrible chance that it was learned that la petite maman Théot was gathering her little congregation in a Venetian attic; — and that set me to work!… and that made them jump… and…” ”We know it well,” said the honest little Robert Lindet who was growing bored from this. ”You have told us the story one hundred times!” ”Ah! Ah!” continued the voltarian revolutionary, straightening up despite his gout, ”when I gave them my report… you see… fanaticism, he was shot down… He had a long time to get up… and Robespierre! wiped out! finished!… I damaged him!”  And he threw himself into his armchair with an unspeakable joy.

In his account of the affair, Mathiez goes further than what the above pieces tell us, and adds that the CGS had sought Théot out before being informed about her on May 12, no doubt learning about her through the papers gathered when her house had first been searched in early 1793. Mathiez writes that the CGS had been infiltrating the Théot sessions before arresting her, citing the imprisoned Dom Gerle who said that, since a month back, two men that he found suspicious had come to attend Théot’s sessions — men that Mathiez identify as the CGS agents Senar and Heron. Speaking of Gerle, Mathiez also writes that, when his apartment was searched after his arrest, the gendarmes found a note written by Robespierre, certifying Dom Gerle to be a good patriot. But if that is so, they never appeared to have gotten the chance to use it as a weapon against Robespierre.

As for Robespierre’s motivation for acting as he did, Mathiez means he intervened to put a stop to the affair both because it would prove humiliating for him, and because he wished to save people he conceived to just be a harmless group of religious zealots without political importance. Mathiez also argues that Robespierre tried (and failed) to remove Fouquier-Tinville as public prosecutor right after the Théot affair, judging him to be too close with the CGS (Fouquier Tinville et Robespierre (1917)).

In his Points de vue sur l’affaire Catherine Théot (1969), Michel Eude has however concluded that, although it’s clear Vadier & co seized the opportunity to humiliate Robespierre with the affair, it’s also possible they actually saw a real threat in it. This considering the fact similar cases regarding ”fanatical gatherings” had attracted the CGS’s attention already before Théot’s arrest, and would continue to do so after it as well (without there being any indication they saw these plots as being connected to the Théot affair). Since any confabulation, at that time, was considered suspect by definition, Eude argues there is nothing to suggest that the concern of the CGS was feigned in the Théot case. Humiliating Robespierre was just a bonus.

Eude observes that though Vadier’s report invoked laughter in the Convention (as he most likely meant for it to do) it was the cause of just as many applauds, suggesting the affair was taken seriously by the members of the Convention. And Vadier made sure to underline that the gatherings at Théot’s place was ”only a primary school of fanaticism, the real instigators are much higher up.” Something he might not have done if the goal was simply to slander Robespierre.

Eude likewise challanges Mathiez’s idea that Robespierre tried getting rid of Fouquier-Tinville (Robespierre a-t-il voulu faire destituer Fouquier-Tinville ? (1965)) as well as the idea that the reason he imposed a reprieve was because he realized Théot & co were harmless and the affair would prove embarrassing for him. It was instead because he wanted to take it out of the hands of the CGS and let investigation be run by the CPS’s Police Bureau, which was under the thumb of Couthon, Saint-Just and Robespierre personally. Robespierre was already suspicious of many of the CGS members, and felt the investigation conducted by them hadn’t implicated all people actually involved in the conspiracy. This is proven through a letter dated June 26 from Dumas (president of the Revolutionary Tribunal, ally of Robespierre) to Lejeune (president of the police bureau, him too an ally of Robespierre) — ”If citizen Lejeune received from the Committee (of Public Safety) documents relating to the conspiracy under the cloak of fanaticism, especially those which concern declarations and interrogations of arrested peddlers, it is the intention of Robespierre that these documents be given to us during the day.” The next day, Dumas sent Robespierre documents regarding twenty people, half of which concerned the Catherine Théot affair, and the other half the affair of one Pierre-Guillaume Ducy, who had been arrested a month after Théot. Like her, Ducy had come under suspicion for ”fanatical gatherings,” but while the CGS who had arrested him didn’t seem to have believed there was a connection between him and Théot, the letter shows us Robespierre did, and that further research would lead to the head of the joint conspiracy. When Robespierre spoke about the Théot affair the very same day at the Jacobins, he too appeared to treat Vadier’s report seriously, saying that ”a faithful representative made a report whose purpose was to enlighten the people on a new plot. It was about unveiling a deep conspiracy, hidden under a veneer of fanaticism and mysticism,” and only regretting ”the culpable activity taken to diminish the importance of Vadier's report by making it disappear under a cloud of brochures in the style of Father Duchêne, and which are nothing but an indecent parody of this same report.”Finally, on July 1, Lejeune sent Dumas, on behalf of Robespierre, documents relating to Catherine Théot and six of her followers, and, on the 15th, he passed on to him the report of the interrogation that the revolutionary committee of the Social Contract section had subjected a woman "accused of complicity with the Théot woman, known as the Mother of God."

Robespierre, Lejeune and Dumas were all executed before the affair really went anywhere, but it’s possible that, had they remained in charge of it, even more people would have appeared before the Revolutionary Tribunal than Vadier had originally intended (as already stated, Vadier ended his report by ordering the transfer of only five people to the Revolutionary Tribunal). However, thermidor ended up putting a stop to the whole story, and by the spring of 1795, all those arrested as Théot’s disciples had been released from their captivity. The only one who didn’t get out with her life intact was Théot herself, who died in prison on September 1 1794, just a month after Robespierre’s execution.

I don’t know just how essential this affair really is for Robespierre’s downfall, but the fact that Robespierre’s influence was big enough for him to single-handedly (if we’re to believe Fouquier-Tinville’s account) take away an affair from the CGS surely must have concerned the deputies already worried that he was aiming at dictatorship. Robespierre in his turn can’t have improved his opinion on the CGS as a whole from the affair. It can probably also be concluded that, had not the Théot case existed, the resentment of Robespierre’s enemies would have just found other opportunities to manifest itself.

Sources:

Popular Piety in the French Revolution: Catherine Théot (1974) by Clarke Garrett

L’affair Catherine Théot et le mysticisme chrétien révolutionnaire in Contributions à l’histoire religieuse de la Révolution française (1907) by Albert Mathiez

Robespierre et le procès de Catherine Théot (1929) by Albert Mathiez

Fouquier Tinville et Robespierre (1917) by Albert Mathiez

Robespierre a-t-il voulu faire destituer Fouquier-Tinville ?(1965) by Michel Eude

Points de vue sur l’affaire Catherine Théot (1969) by Michel Eude

Rapport de Vadier, au nom des comités de salut public et de sûreté générale, sur la découverte d’une nouvelle conspiration (June 15 1794)

[displacer-beasts]

In Zarbinzet

@lisa-and-shadow and @swindlefingrs. So this takes place when they get to Zarbinzet the first time. Before they split off into seperate groups to deal with the soulstone and Elias.

---

“So, what is the deal with you and the Wanderer?”

They had just reached Zarbinzet and were preparing to head out once more. Donan and Nico would go to prepare the soulstone for Lilith, while Lorath and Neyrelle would hunt down the secret to Elias’ immortality. There were a number of items they would need to gather for their journey through the swamp. 

Nico and Neyrelle had volunteered to collect the supplies. Zarbinzet did not exactly have a bustling marketplace, but as the last bastion of ‘civilization’ before entering the swamp proper, there were a number of merchants selling supplies to whatever travelers were brave enough (or foolish enough) to travel to Hawezar.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lorath gave Donan a sharp look, “Have you noticed anything? Signs that Lilith’s blood is beginning to corrupt him?”

The possibility of it haunted Lorath. In his time he had seen and read numerous accounts of people–good, noble people–corrupted by demonic influence. King Leoric. Aidan the Dark Wanderer. Leah. The history of Sanctuary was in part a history of humanity’s corruption by evil. Nico might end up as just another name on that dark, bloody list.

And yet for all that Lorath watched intently, he could see no sign of it. Other than a few frustrated outbursts, Nico had kept remarkably composed throughout their travels. But between Lilith’s blood, the blessings from all three Prime Evils, and Mephisto apparently appearing to him in the form of a bloodied wolf, it seems almost an inevitability that at some point Nico would falter.

(Lorath knew he needed to ask about the wolf. But, just like talking to Donan about Scosglen, when he tried the words turned to ash in his mouth. He didn’t know what to say, what words could offer meager comfort, had no solutions to offer, nothing that could make a difference. No, better to just focus on stopping Lilith and Elias. Everything else could wait.)

“Oh no, nothing like that. On the contrary, he and Y–” Donan faltered for a moment. 

Lorath’s fingers tightened on his polearm. He could say something now. Anything. I’m sorry about your son. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out at any point these last few decades. Why didn’t you write to me about the soulstone? I would have come. I would have put up with the bloody Cathedral of Light. I would have helped you bear that weight.

He said nothing and Donan continued.

“He and Yorin apparently ran around volunteering their aid to many villagers in Braestaig. And he’s made a name for himself. On my journey here I heard more than one inn talking about the strange Wanderer who cleared out a demon infestation, or found someone’s missing husband, or delivered food to someone’s sick bairn. Truthfully, I thought most of it to be an exaggeration.”

Lorath snorted, “No, he’s been like that the entire time I’ve known him.”

A part of Lorath urged to snap at Nico for it. Wasting time helping a poor villager when, if Lilith and Elias got their way, said villager would just be carrion for their ‘new world’ soon enough. 

And yet. 

When Lorath saw the way Nico threw himself into helping anyone who asked, the way he seemed to care so deeply, his voice turning gentle and soothing even the most terrified child, the way he didn’t make a big show of it like the Knights Penitent did, just as if it were another step on his list. Upgrade his weapons, save a poisoned man on the road, buy a new water canteen, infiltrate a city overrun with cannibals and save a woman. 

There was a hot, feathery tightening in his chest whenever Lorath thought about it. A sensation he resolutely ignored throughout their journey, but which haunted his dreams as much as his nightmares did.

“But you haven’t answered my question, Lorath. What is it with you and the Wanderer?” Donan watched him with eyes far too sharp and knowing. 

Lorath resolutely kept his gaze forward. 

“He was drugged by villagers and fed Lilith’s blood. He was rescued by a lone monk, who sent him to me. I sent him to you. I believe you know the rest of the story.”

“Hmm. And that was the first time you two met?”

Lorath hesitated.

Donan picked up on the hesitation and his gaze grew more intense. “Well?”

“No. We had met before,” Lorath scratched at his beard, “He came to my cabin seeking information about demons, curses. I believe he wanted something that might help the druids at Túr Dúlra. We spoke about the nature of demons, the history of Sanctuary.”

“All that in one night?”

Again, Lorath hesitated, “No, he visited a handful of times.”

Donan raised an eyebrow, “Braving that journey through the mountains multiple times just to ask for history lessons?”

Lorath grit his teeth. He was not going to gossip about his personal life like one of those widows in Kyovashad. He was not going to tell Donan about that first moment of weakness in his cabin, when he had commented about seeking distraction in drink and Nico had joked about better ways to forget. When Lorath had challenged him on it and then took him up on that offered comfort.

It was a moment of weakness that Lorath didn’t intend to repeat.

And he told himself that each time. When that weakness happened again in Ked Bardu. And again after Nico returned from Orbei Monastery, haunted by what he’d seen. And again after Ghuulran. And Mt. Ciro. And after Andariel. And–

Well, Lorath had had decades of experience avoiding his own roiling emotions. He could deal with this complication later. After they stopped Lilith.

“Why don’t you ask him about it then if you’re so bloody curious?”

His attention was caught by movement, and he saw Neyrelle and Nico beginning to approach, carrying bags of supplies. Neyrelle was animatedly saying something, one hand gesturing in the air. Nico walked in step beside her, his ear tilted in her direction to listen, but his eyes carefully scanning the surroundings, one hand resting lightly on his sword. 

He had a tense frown on his face and–paired with his dark kohl-smeared eyes, the tattoo markings on his face and muscled arms, wild hair sticking up, long, curved blades at his side, and a large, wicked-looking crossbow along his back–he looked no different from any of the numerous bandits that plagued Sanctuary. 

Dangerous. 

As they walked the people gave them a wide berth, eyeing the strangers in their midst with suspicion. Perhaps he felt Lorath’s gaze in particular burning into him, because he lifted his head and met Lorath’s eyes.

And oh, how the expression changed. The frown falling away to reveal a grin, eyes shining (too far to see the color at this distance, but Lorath knew it was a deep green, the same vibrant shade as one of the leaves of Glór-an-Fháidha), tense shoulders loosening in relaxation, pace picking up a bit to reach them faster. 

“Hmm, I think I already have my answer.” Donan sounded smug and far too knowing as Lorath jerked his head around to glare at his old friend. He had perhaps been staring. He wasn’t sure what expression was on his face, but whatever it was made Donan’s grin widen in amusement. 

Before he could retort, Neyrelle and Nico reached them.

“Hey! We got some water resistant bags, food that should last even in this humidity, snake venom antidote, plenty of water,” Neyrelle handed a large satchel each to Donan and Lorath, “There’s an oil that, according to one of the merchants, should ‘discourage all but the most persistent of bloodflies’.”

Nico nodded along in agreement. “I got us all some new boots as well. These are coated with a special oil that makes them extra resistant to water. So it should keep our feet dry even in the swamp.”

Neyrelle lifted her foot to show off her new boots, and Nico handed a pair to both Donan and Lorath.

“And here, Lorath,” Nico held out a pair of gloves, “I saw that yours got damaged when we were in the desert.”

Lorath reached out and took the gloves. Turned them over in his hands. They were soft, of excellent quality, dyed a dark grey, simple and not ostentatious at all, with the fingers free just as Lorath preferred. 

In other words, they were perfect.

He looked up to thank him and his breath caught in his throat at the soft look in Nico’s eyes, the smile tugging at his lips. It was a simple, practical gift for a– a– fellow comrade-in-arms and should not have made Lorath’s ears feel as hot as they did. 

Donan coughed loudly. 

Lorath cleared his throat, “Right well. We need to be off. We’ve wasted enough time as is.”

[thereader-radhika]

6- Paazhiyan tholudai Padmanabhan

Ever since Aditha Karikalan went to war, it seemed as if Pazhayarai has lost all its colour and noise. Sembiyan Madevi and Kundavai practically lived in temples. They undertook various austerities and conducted daily poojas. Worry about her brother seemed to have calmed down Kundavai. She no longer looked so smug. Thirumalai annan too started to visit Pazhayarai more frequently. For some reason Nandini couldn't understand, Chola encampments often ended up where he was staying and they requested him to relay messages to the Prime Minister, Ilaya Piratti, etc.

"Anna, why was little Karikalar sent to this war when there are many big warriors?"

"Didn't Perumal conquer three worlds in the form of little Vamanan? Similarly, who knows if little Karikalan won't conquer three realms and crown himself as the king of three worlds!"

Thirumalai couldn't give a satisfactory answer to her questions. How can you compare the omniscient Perumal to a punny prince? Is Karikalan fighting the Pandya mannan's children? Is there an army of children on both sides? Isn't anyone worried about him? Only she, no longer bratty Kundavai and ever penitent Sembiyan Madevi seemed to be upset by all this. Even akka said that war is the destiny of a warrior.

At first, she remembered him in her prayers. She prayed that may he be as strong as Krishna perumal with shankh, chakram and gada. Then Kannan himself started to appear to her in Karikalar's form. What maya is this! Whatever it is! May he be fine. May his weapons be as sharp as perumal's chakram. And it seemed that her prayers were working. Annan often came home with good news.

The problems started in that Margazhi. How can she undertake pavai nombu with Aditha Karikalan appearing before her as Krishnan? No, no. What madness is this! Can she even tell this to anyone? What a disgrace! Akka and Annan will be horrified. Though Kundavai is considerably nice to her now, she will take her head if she comes to know this. "Get a grip on yourself, Nandini", she told herself.

Then Annan came with bad news. Armies from Eezham have come to help the Pandya king. Nandini felt guilty. Did this happen because she didn't pray as well as she used to do? "What if they are rakshasas as in the time of Sriraman?", she hesitantly asked Annan. Akka and Annan roared in laughter. She was furious. "Why are you laughing when his life, I mean the Chola country, is in danger?" Annan consoled her that they are just normal people who always help the Pandya king because he is a friend of the Lankan King, who is again a normal man, not Vibheeshanan.

What's wrong if she prays for Karikalar? Isn't it better that she prays and he wins? Only her Krishnan can know what's in her mind. She won't tell even akka. "This is an agreement between us, Kanna". She placed the special garlands she stringed on her Kannan's neck and lit a few more extra lamps. Kalla kannan winked at her.

One day Kundavai and Sembiyan Madevi donated some jewellery to the womenfolk. She wanted to throw it away when she remembered what happened when she first came here. "Anger is the privilege of rulers and gods, kanne", her mother gently reminded her. But her anger evaporated when she saw the tearful eyes of Kundavai.

"What's the latest news, ilavarasi?", Nandini couldn't stop herself. Kundavai sighed.

"They say that the drohi escaped again".

"Don't worry. Why should we worry? It is their women who should worry about their safety for they have dared to raise their sword against our emperor".

Kundavai held Nandini's hands tightly. They didn't see Sembiyan Madevi looking at them with a strange expression.

Paazhiyan tholudai Padmanabhan - Lord Padmanabhan (Vishnu) with strong, beautiful shoulders

Vamanan - The fifth avatar of Vishnu

Shankh, chakram and gada - Conch, Sudarshana Chakram and Mace, the weapons of Lord Vishnu

Maya - Illusion

Rakshasa - A group of people in Indian epics, can be roughly translated into "demons"

Vibheeshanan - Ramayana character, Ravanan's brother who is made the King of Lanka

Kannan- Lord Krishna

Kanne -Eyes, an expression of affection

Drohi - Traitor, Evil person

[rafent]

𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓

NAME. RAFAL

BODY

HEIGHT: 176cm — 5′ 9

STRENGTH ★★★★☆ ( has the body type of an anchovy, but is illusively strong and wields an axe twice his size. could probably fake out a lot of opponents in arm wrestling. )

DEXTERITY ★★☆☆☆

HEALTH ★★★★☆

ENERGY ★★★☆☆ ( capable of keeping up with others but has limits and isn't ashamed of vocalizing them. loudly. )

BEAUTY ★★★★☆ ( rafal though beautiful doesn't exude any warmth, overshadowed by his own cold and occasionally cruel attitude. 'he's a 10, but-' )

STYLE ★★★★★ ( a rare case of only wearing expensive brands and having a sense of style while doing it. )

HYGIENE ★★★★★ ( clean and neatly preened. makes a conscious effort to look and smell presentable. )

SKILLS

PERCEPTION ★★★★☆ ( insightful towards both his surroundings and his loved ones, critical toward perceived dysfunctions in the world around him. )

COMMUNICATION ★★★☆☆ ( selectively eloquent when it comes to articulating his issues and desires. it depends on the individual he's talking to and the emotional complexity between them. )

PERSUASION ★☆☆☆☆ ( what is that x1. )

MEDIATION ★☆☆☆☆ ( what is that x2. )

LITERACY ★★★★☆ ( one of his oldest likes is reading and he gleaned the recipes for his desserts from books in both gradlon and lythos. )

CREATIVITY ★★★☆☆

COOKING ★★★★★ ( exceptional cook, just super selective in what he makes because his cooking is tailored to his own sweet tooth. what he does make for others tends to be enjoyed, however. )

TECH SAVVY ★☆☆☆☆ ( "what in blazes is this ridiculous contraption, divine one." )

COMBAT ★☆☆☆☆ -> ★★★★☆ ( he once fell behind his siblings in combat prowess, slower and weaker than the majority. powerful as of present, but has a habit of letting it get to his head according to gregory. )

SURVIVAL ★★★★★ ( it takes a special kind of individual to survive centuries in a harsh environment like gradlon and a belligerent, constantly warring alt!elyos. in a rare instance of advice, sombron advised him to deceive others and conceal his strength, so that's what rafal did. )

STEALTH ★★★★☆ ( definitely in his skillset; along with nel and the four winds he traveled the lands covertly or fled battles whenever the need arose. )

STREET SMARTS ★★★☆☆

SEDUCTION ★★★☆☆ ( a good actor plays any part. rafal fears interpersonal intimacy, relying on a mask formed by the defensive mechanisms of cruelty and vitriol to keep his distance. given an opening, toying with feelings of attraction can be another unkind method. )

LUCK ★★★★★ ( lucky to be alive, lucky to have so many willing to accept and support him despite his sins. )

HANDLING ANIMALS ★☆☆☆☆ ( rafal's profile card talent is scaring away animals and i attribute this more to an uncontrollable aura than any conscious intent. )

PACIFYING CHILDREN ★★☆☆☆ ( if the child in question resembles nil then he'll try to behave in a more nurturing way. )

MIND

INTELLIGENCE ★★★☆☆ ( not overly good with numbers or logical deductions and does better with intuition. )

HAPPINESS ★★★☆☆

SPIRITUALITY ★★★☆☆ ( though fell dragons themselves are worshiped, rafal ironically prayed every day for nel during his thousand year penance. )

CONFIDENCE ★★★★☆ ( oozing liquid confidence on most occasions, but does have intermittent insecurities about his wrongdoings and immoral nature. )

HUMOR ★★☆☆☆ ( can take a joke. occasionally. )

ANXIETY ★☆☆☆☆

PATIENCE ★★★★★ ( we're talking about the man who waited for a millennia in a lifeless and otherwise uninhabited world, all without surrendering to insanity or retreating from his own plan. )

PASSION ★★★★★ ( passionate in his goals of penitence sometimes to the point of unnerving intensity. )

NICE ☆☆★☆☆ MEAN ( abrasive and harshly spoken so it's difficult to discern where he stands internally, but he's kinder than how he behaves. bit by bit learning the value in kindness. )

BRAVE ☆☆☆★☆ COWARDLY ( he'll face any opponent that stands before his eyes, but when it comes to facing his innermost desires and letting other people into his heart, that's when he turns tail. rafal, in that respect, runs away. )

PACIFIST ☆☆☆★☆ VIOLENT ( doesn't approve of meaningless violence, but violence itself is still a part of his behavior. )

THOUGHTFUL ☆☆☆★☆ IMPULSIVE ( though capable of apologizing and exercising thoughtfulness, more often than not tends to make quick judgements first. forethought isn't really his thing. )

AGREEABLE ☆★☆☆☆ CONTRARY ( a prickly manner of expression belies rafal's true feelings. he's surprisingly agreeable. find him in a quiet moment and he can be pleasant even as someone who isn't used to peaceful interactions. )

IDEALISTIC ☆☆☆☆★ PRAGMATIC

FRUGAL ☆☆☆☆★ BIG SPENDER ( extremely high maintenance and his favorite pastimes don't come cheap. )

EXTROVERT ☆☆☆★☆ INTROVERT ( introvert-leaning in the sense that he sticks largely to himself and the few people he determines as his loved ones. )

COLLECTED ☆☆★☆☆ WILD ( mostly collected, with just a tiny pinch of wild flavor. . .talking, of course, about someone who gives the most unhinged and gleeful laughter when breaking an enemy. jpn rafal at least is, phew. )

ambitious / possessive / stubborn / jealous / decisive / perfectionist

SOCIAL

CHARISMA ★☆☆☆☆ ( ask him to move a crowd and he won't stir the feet of a single person. )

EMPATHY ★★★★☆ ( empathy is what motivated him to don a false identity in the first place. empathy is why he lived a lie and feared more than anything to impart the truth to those who mattered. )

GENEROSITY ★★☆☆☆

WEALTH ★☆☆☆☆

HONEST  ☆☆☆☆★ DECEPTIVE -> HONEST ☆★☆☆☆ DECEPTIVE ( a changed man, he once deceived others but lives without most pretenses or facades now. )

LEADER   ☆☆★☆☆ FOLLOWER ( neutral. rafal would rather work alone but if anything he's familiar with both following orders and interacting with subordinates. )

POLITE ☆☆☆★☆ RUDE ( rude by consequence and only sometimes by intention as his words are completely unfiltered, often scathing. )

POLITICAL ☆☆☆★☆ INDIFFERENT ( can produce some idea of what a good ruler and government should be; however, he doesn't actively tout his opinions on the matter. )

BELIEFS

HIGHER POWER ★★★☆☆ ( in his darkest hours he did rely on a higher power, both to hasten an awakening and to ease his loneliness by praying to someone, or something, that could possibly answer back. )

FATE/DESTINY ★☆☆☆☆ ( a romantic, intangible concept like fate offered up little meaning to a child who suffered all sorts of horrors and miseries. as an adult he doesn't believe in it, either. )

MAGIC ★★★★★ ( undoubtedly exists. he's been on the receiving end of it. )

SOULMATES ★★★★☆ ( the ideal of a soulmate is equivalent more or less to an other half, a beloved twin. he's found his, of course. )

GOOD AND EVIL ★★★★☆ ( his conceptualization of good and evil is very binary or at least unsympathetic when it comes to himself- showing in how earnestly he condemns his own evils as being deserving of death. )

LUCK ★☆☆☆☆

PRIORITIES

FAMILY ★★★★★ ( nel is his utmost priority. )

FRIENDS ★★★★☆ ( friends matter, too, so far as he's loathe to admit. )

LOVE ★★★★☆ ( has difficulty expressing it but places value in love, showing it through his rare acts of generosity and yearning to receive it from others. )

HOME ★☆☆☆☆ ( rafal is unable to prioritize a world and consequently a home that he himself destroyed. )

HEALTH ★☆☆☆☆ ( inspires worry for his habits of charging ahead on the frontlines and fighting alone. a reckless style that combines overconfidence with disregard for his own safety. )

PRAISE ★☆☆☆☆

JUSTICE ★★★★☆ ( his own version of justice matters; an ear for an ear and an eye for an eye, so to speak. )

TRUTH ★★☆☆☆ ( honoring the truth is less important than protecting himself or maintaining his walls. his lies often have to be called out. )

POWER ★★★★★ ( power is the utmost parameter defining his worth. without it, or losing hold of it, he'd no doubt relapse to some semblance of the destructive ambitions he possessed before. seizing power is worth the reward of living without humiliation, of determining his place in the world without cowing to its dangers. )

FAME ★☆☆☆☆

WEALTH ★★★☆☆ ( wealth is only a tool, but it's a useful tool to make his favorite pastimes happen. as a luxury good enthusiast, curating those vouis lutton and kichael mors collections are expensive. )

OTHERS' OPINIONS ★☆☆☆☆ ( couldn't care less. )

[rabbitcruiser]

Semana Santa Spain

Semana Santa is observed annually in Spain during the week immediately before Easter and this year it takes place from April 2 to 9. Also known as Holy Week, Semana Santa is observed by Catholics to commemorate the Passion of Jesus Christ, his suffering, and death on the cross. Throughout the week, religious brotherhoods and fraternities carry out penance processions through the streets of almost every Spanish city and town. These activities attract visitors from outside Spain and are often advertised in hand guides and international fairs.

History of Semana Santa Spain

Semana Santa commemorates the Passion of Christ, that is, the suffering of Jesus before his crucifixion. The term ‘passion’ derives from the Latin verb ‘patior’ or ‘passus sum,’ meaning to ‘endure,’ ‘suffer,’ or ‘bear.’ In Catholic tradition, this often refers to specific events from the Christian Bible, such as the ‘Triumphant Entry’ of Jesus into Jerusalem. He rode into Jerusalem on the foal of a donkey, and as he did, the people greeted him as the Jewish Messiah, the ‘Son of David.’

When he arrived, he went into the Jerusalem temple and expelled the money changers who were doing business there. Later, Jesus and his disciples shared a meal known as the ‘Last Supper,’ from where Judas Iscariot left to betray Jesus to the religious leaders of Israel. Another important event was Jesus’ prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, where he prayed until his sweat became like drops of blood. Immediately after this, he was arrested and put on trial, then unjustly declared guilty. Jesus was subsequently crucified, but after three days, he rose again.

Religious brotherhoods and fraternities hold penance processions through the streets of Spain during Holy Week. The participants or brothers typically use conical hooded penitent gowns to conceal their faces. They wear shackles on their feet and carry wooden crosses or candles. The ‘pasos,’ which floats with sculptures that depict scenes from the Passion of Christ or the Sorrows of the Virgin Mary, are another fascinating aspect of the processions. Typically, marching bands, or ‘marchas procesionales’ in Spanish, accompany the floats. Holy Week in Spain is more than just a religious celebration; it also draws visitors from worldwide who come to see the processions. Typically, the processions are advertised at significant international fairs, hand guides, and on T.V.

Semana Santa Spain timeline

Eighth Century The Reconquista Begins

During the Reconquista, Christian kingdoms expel Muslim Moors from the Iberian Peninsula.

1478 The Spanish Inquisition is Formed

The Spanish Inquisition is established to combat heresy in Spain.

1521 The Stations of the Cross are Institutionalized

After returning from the Holy Land, the Marques de Tarifa establishes the ‘Via Crucis,’ Stations of the Cross, in Spain.

1851 The State Adopts Catholicism

Catholicism becomes the official state religion of Spain with the signing of the Concordat of 1851.

Semana Santa Spain FAQs

What is Easter called in Spain?

Easter is called ‘Pascua’ in Spain.

What foods are eaten during Semana Santa?

Popular meals eaten during Semana Santa include Torrijas, Potaje de Vigilia, Roscos Fritos, Sopa de Ajo, and Mona de Pascua.

What other countries celebrate Semana Santa?

Mexico, Colombia, El Salvador, Bolivia, Guatemala, Brazil, Ecuador, Paraguay, and others.

Semana Santa Spain Activities

Learn from Christ’s life

Watch a parade

Love others

There are many lessons to learn from the life of the humble Christ. Take a moment to read one of the Gospels and discover what unconditional love means.

Whether or not you’re in Spain, you can take advantage of online platforms to stream one of the parades. Get a feel of the processions and see why it’s such a huge attraction.

While Christ was on earth, he exemplified true and abiding love. This Holy Week, commit to showing love in action, speech, and thought.

5 Amazing Facts About Spain

Spain borders Africa

It’s home to the second most-spoken language

Spain practices a constitutional monarchy

Other languages are spoken

Spain was once a Muslim country

Out of all the European countries, Spain is the only one that shares a border with an African country, which happens to be Morocco.

With over 500 million speakers, Spanish is the second most-spoken language in the world.

Although Spain is a democratic country, it also has a monarch — the current one being King Felipe VI.

Languages other than Spanish spoken in Spain include Celtic, Basque, Occitan, and Catalan.

Between 711 A.D. and 1492, Al-Andalus, as Spain was previously called, was under the control of Islamic Moors from North Africa.

Why We Love Semana Santa Spain

Christ paid the ultimate price

Christ touched many lives

Christ’s followers heal the world

Jesus gave himself as a sacrifice for sins, offering his life and blood. He consented to the worst kind of beating, spitting, and killing, to demonstrate selfless love to everyone who accepts him as Lord.

While on earth, Jesus left footprints in the lives of all who met him. He lifted the oppressed, healed the sick, and raised the dead. Till today, his impact on the world has not diminished.

Jesus set an example for his followers, teaching them to love enemies and do good to all. This peaceful lifestyle can be seen perpetuated by Christ’s followers in our world today, centuries after his ascension to heaven.

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