#perhaps he’s a guide to the afterlife for those lost at sea

[capricioussun]

Deep sea Void

as suggested by _ullabug_ on ig

clearer visuals below the cut

[fernthewhimsical]

Fern's (new) introduction to the Gleaming Grove

The Gleaming Grove is the name I use for my personal pantheon. It is a mix of historical, unrecorded, and constructed deities that I have been honouring for a little over a year now. Some of these deities have been in my life for quite a bit longer, some even right from the start.

Through personal interactions with these deities I have gotten to know them beyond what is historically known. This is called UPG, or Unverified Personal Gnosis. So please, keep in mind that these are my personal interpretations of these deities. Also, as I walk this path and learn more about myself and about these deities, the pantheon might change.

Now, allow me to introduce you.

Cernunnos: Horned Hunter – historical and unrecorded Gaulish deity of the forest, of animals and the hunt. He is the leader of the Wild Hunt and the King of the Fae. He is the god of the liminal, the in between. The cycles of nature – death, decay, and life again.

Nehalennia: Wildmother – historical Dutch deity of nature, the sea, harvest. She guides travelers over sea, guiding them with her stars, or with profitable winds. She is the tempest and the storm, but also the cooling breeze on a hot day. She is the deity of agriculture, especially orchards. Her travel over the sea also includes being a psycho-pomp, guiding those who have passed to their afterlife.

Baduhenna: Rootwoman – historical Dutch deity of the forest, magic, and war. They protect the sacred places and fight against any who wishes to take it away. Protects the oppressed and gives them the tools and power to fight against their oppressors, in both weapons and magic.

Elen of the Ways: Wayfarer – historical or constructed deity of roads and pathways, of journeys both physical and spiritual. She guides us with her lit lantern when we are lost. Labyrinths are dedicated to her, especially as a way to travel inward. She protects us when we travel and nudges us in the right direction of where we need to be. An antlered deity carrying a lantern and surrounded by green.

Nemetona: Sanctuary – historical Gaulish deity of sacred spaces. Protector of boundaries. Both the sacred spaces we creating when practicing witchcraft, as the sacred spaces that are our home and our personal boundaries.

Avalon - Lady of Avalon. Goddess of healing, magic, apples, and harvest. Queen of the Fae, keeper and protector of magic.

Hearthlight – unrecorded and constructed deity of home, hearth, and community. Protects the home and hearth, provides and guards warmth and love in the home. Connections and community. Sharing what you have and taking what you need. Perhaps a mantle shared between different deities

Loki: Trickster – historical Norse deity of mischief, change, laughter. God of the outcasts, challenges societal norms and brings necessary change.

Venaris: Lady of Flowers – unrecorded deity of spring, of flowers, love, joy, mirth, and art. Beauty, music, poetry and inspiration. She invites us to dance to the tune of the seasons, to stop and smell the roses, and see the small wonders around us. Is related to Eostre/Ostra and Meda

Liyesa: The Iridescent One – historical and constructed deity of beauty, self love and -acceptance, freedom. She teaches us there is beauty in all of us, and helps us learn to love and accept ourselves as we are. Breaker of Chains, she guides us to break free of the chains society and our own perfectionism throw around us. She grants us second chances should we need them.

Holle: the Veiled Silence – constructed and historical Dutch deity of silence, of winter and of secrets. She is the silence of snowfall. She urges us into contemplation and introspection, and what secrets mean and how to keep them.

Arawn - historical Welsh deity of the Underworld, the wild hunt, loyalty, and honour. King of the Fae and Lord of the Dead. Also called Gwyn.

Ashka: Ashkeeper – unrecorded deity of the dead, graveyards, and memories. Gathers and keeps the memories we have of those who have passed. Keeps the ‘souls’ safe until they are ready to continue to wherever they choose their afterlife to be.

the Morrigan: Crowmother – historical Irish deity of war, magic, and sovereignty. She is connected to Baduhenna both through historical sources and my own interaction with both.

Mona: Moonmother – historical deity of the Moon, magic, the night. Bringer of change and moving through cycles. Mother/sister to Starsister. Void created the stars, Herta (the Earth) and the moon. We gave them life in the form of divinity. Moon came first, and she inspired humans to give her a sister/daughter.

Stēra: Stardancer – unrecorded deity of the stars and the night sky, of navigation and of hope. A light in the dark, a guide to lead us home. She dances across the sky, leaving a trail of stars behind.

Herta/Arda: Greenmother – historical Dutch deity of the Earth, nature, growth, and harvest. Her day was called “Hartjesdag” or “Heart’s Day” and was a day for collecting magical herbs to bless the home.

Gahella: Void/Creation – The emptiness from which anything can be created (chaos in Latin) The depth of space. The Divine Chaosyne. Void is the emptiness that was here before the big bang. The void from which creation springs forth. They are the darkness between the stars that birth the galaxies and starfields. Chaos is needed to keep things from getting stagnant, and is the catalyst for change.

Werda: Wordweaver – unrecorded deity of words, stories, magic. Muse of writing. They spark the inspirational spark and guide the words on paper. They are the keepers of knowledge, both mundane and magical.

Lycke: Lotweaver – unrecorded deity of fate, luck, and the tapestry of life. They weave the threads of life, guide and watch over them. Fate is not set in stone, choices and such will always have an influence on the tapestry.

Klaithe: Craftweaver – unrecorded deity of creativity, artistry, and artisans. The joy of creation for the sake of creation. The inspirational spark that is within all of us. The need to express our true selves in our own ways.

Spirits honoured in my practice: the Good Neighbours, Alven, Merfolk, Dragon, Unicorn. My ancestors of blood and bone, land, heart, spirit, and craft. The spirit of Wolf and Crow.

[Updated March 9 2024]

[birminghams]

lighthouse ━━ 𝐭. 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲

SUMMARY: tommy is home from the war but the battle is far from over.

It’s been six days since he’s been home.

Six agonising nights spent wallowing in the nightmares that claw at your skin, digging and scratching the surface to escape. A flash of white light, the loud echoes of gunfire, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy; his lifeless body buried in the debris, face void of colour.

It’s hard to breathe—

Tommy shifts next to you, reaching out and letting his fingertips drift over your body; he starts with your neck first, tethering you to this single moment wrapped up the sheets with him. He’s stirring from a restless sleep; all marbled bruises and scar tissue that’s only partially healed, leaving small red indents in his skin. It’s hard to see him like this; to think about how it all could have turned out.

“Stop torturing yourself.”

His voice is a welcome distraction.

He doesn’t open his eyes, but he doesn’t need to.

It’s been a vicious cycle ever since he arrived back; survive the day, sleep barely two hours, watch him sleep, feel his pulse racing against your fingertips. Repeat, repeat, repeat. He knows it’s a compulsion by now; like you need to keep track of his breathing, fluctuating heartbeat, the warmth of his body to ensure he makes it through another day.

“It’s not what you think⏤”

“I think I know you better than that.”

The truth of it hits you square in the chest as you take a breath; there’s a scream echoing in your mind. An inhumane screech that tugs at something in your chest, throat raw and hands curled into fists. There’s smoke, thick, black smoke gradually smothering you, a hand wrapped around your throat, a gun pressed to your temple, but all you can see is Tommy, lifeless and bleeding out, at your feet.

“It’s over now,” he says, soft.

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

He stills; wishing that he could somehow erase the moment from your mind. To finally free you from the constant reminders that he’d faced war and ultimately survived. He doesn’t tell you about how he thought he wouldn’t make it. That his life flashed in front of his eyes and he gave in to the darkness. He doesn’t tell you he’s barely holding himself together.

“I’m okay,” he says, softly; “We’re okay.”

A breeze creeps in through the open window, drifting across the room and Tommy wraps his arm tightly around your chest. He thinks about kissing you until you’re breathless. Too blissed out to focus on anything other than his heart beating against yours.

Except he knows you; it won’t work.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him.

He flips you over, body hovering above yours. He’s focusing on every single feature; the small scattering of freckles across the bridge of your nose, the faint scar above your top lip, the slight gap in your teeth but nothing can compare to the hollowness of your eyes. There’s a sadness festering there, a reminder that while the war’s over, there’s another battle he still has to face.

This isn’t you; it’s not you.

Or this isn’t the you he remembers.

There’s something different; something damaged in the cracks of your smile. Something that he may never be able to heal with soft kisses and lingering hugs. There’s something distant in the way you look at him. It’s like this; he’s here with you, but your mind is elsewhere, wandering, worrying, somewhere out of his reach.

“Tommy?”

“I’m right here.”

The sun is beginning to set over the horizon, the slow descent creating shadows out of the orange and yellow hues that swallow up the room. His arm tightens around your hips, anchoring himself to you and this moment, hoping that this isn’t a dream he’ll wake up from.

“Do you love me?”

He thinks: yes. 

It’s a reflex; like a habit.

But there’s a part of him that doesn’t feel right.

Like maybe he’s not here and that perhaps he perished in the back in the tunnels in France. Maybe this is a dream; something to settle his soul before he’s thrown headfirst into the afterlife. He reaches for your wrist, pulling it close and using the pulse as a test so he can be sure he’s here. So he can be sure that this isn’t a figment of his delirious mind. So he can be sure that he’s still alive.

“Do you love me?”

He thinks: of course. 

He always has. Or, at least, he thinks he has.

He remembers the very moment you met. It was raining; Arthur had insisted on a family drinking session in the backroom of The Garrison one Tuesday in a dreary November, and you were outside as he left. A subtle naivety about you called out to him; a ship lost at sea. He’d wanted to be your lighthouse, guiding you back to safety. It turns out that you were his.

“Do you love me?”

He thinks: yes.

He says, “How can I not?”

It’s then that you sink into him. 

It’s the first time in months that he’s had you curled up at his side as you watch the world pass you by. It’s the little things, the simple moments, like this that he misses. He misses the breakfasts in bed, the sound of laughter, the spontaneity of days spent under the warm sun, as rare as they are. He lets his mind wander in the silence. He thinks of Arthur, of John, of everyone who didn’t make it out of the rubble. He thinks of their sacrifice and waits for the guilt to resurface.

Somehow, it always does.

“I feel —”

A pause, then, “Guilty?”

He nods; you feel him move beside you.

It’s like this: Tommy survived. 

But there’s so many that didn’t. 

They gave their lives. Sacrificed their futures so that others could live in a world free from evil, free from pain, free from the past. It’s something to celebrate; to mourn; to remember. Their selflessness means that the world can begin to move on. Can put the paranoia behind them and finally live.

No one talks about how survival is sometimes worse.

No one talks about the nightmares or the insomnia.

Tommy doesn’t tell anyone about the horrors encased in his mind; the way it creeps up on him when he least expects it. That when he closes his eyes, he’s back in France, the rubble underneath his feet.

He doesn’t need to; you already know.

“I love you.”

He smiles, then says, “I know.”

It’s been months since those words have left your mouth.

The last time you told Tommy you loved him, he was stepping onto the train. It felt surreal back then; watching him grin and joke with his brothers even as the world crumbled around them. Even when you thought it might be the last time he ever saw you or you ever saw him. It still feels like a movie; like a recurring dream that neither of you can wake from—you try not to remember the way he didn’t say it back.

“Do you think it’ll get easier?”

He thinks: of course not. How can it?

How can the world right itself that quickly?

If the grief eases, even if it’s only a fraction, then that means the lost lives meant nothing, and that’s not true. It can’t be right. He won’t let it be true. He wakes with the realisation of it wrapped around his throat every morning, a hand clasped against his clammy skin, tightening its grip until he’s struggling for breath.

“I’m not sure I want it to.”

There’s the guilt; then there’s you.

“It’s not your fault, Tommy. It’s not your fault.”

He allows the words to settle into his skin. Breathes them into his aching lungs. He doesn’t tell you he doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t tell you that his heart aches inside his chest. He doesn’t tell you when the nightmares get so dark that he struggles to distinguish between what’s real and what’s not. He doesn’t tell you that he might need some help; that he’s practically screaming out for it. He doesn’t tell you anything that might destroy the carefully curated bubble he’s built around this fragile thing between you. 

He’ll be damned if he lets his mind ruin that.

He’ll be damned if he lets his mind ruin you.

“I love you so much,” he breathes out; a murmur. “It’s—”

A soft kiss against his temple, and then, “I know, Tommy.”

“It’s like I’m drowning in it,” he adds, “Like I’m drowning in you.”

It’s the only truth that makes it past his lips; the only truth that matters. It doesn’t take his demons away. Not even close. But here, wrapped up in your skin, arms wrapped around his shoulders, he feels almost safe. There’s a warmth in his chest, one that lingers and emanates through his entire body as you rock his body to the soft hum that crawls up your throat. 

It’s like this: you’re the lighthouse, and he’s lost at sea.

It’s only a matter of time before your light guides him home. 

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 18

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

THE NEXT MORNING

SIGURD’S CHAMBERS

Eivor pried his eyes open to a slit, immediately squinting in the sunlight that hit his face.

His fingers twitched with movement as his body returned to a state of consciousness, and his dreams vacated the stage that once sat in his mind. A subtle itch tickled the surface of his skin due to the strands of hair that dangled in front of his nose, and out of the corner of his eye, Eivor could see lingering smoke trailing from the dead embers of a torch once set aflame.

It was a calm morning, despite the mournful nature of the clan. A light breeze traveled swiftly throughout the empty halls of the longhouse, and distant chatter could be heard from the villagers who had already risen. It was the start of an ordinary day, and yet, Eivor had no motivation to see it through.

He just couldn’t stop thinking about Thora and Ulfar. 

Even though he managed to distract himself for a while with Sigurd’s company, the pain was inevitably sinking back in, and it felt as if a boulder had planted itself on top of his chest. 

There was no way to fill the new absence stalking his every move; no way he could ever see Thora or Ulfar again. Both of them were gone, and he had been left behind. He was stuck in this realm with nothing but the memories of those he had lost, and the only thing that could help him was the hope of putting Kjotve down for good.

Thankfully, Eivor wasn’t completely alone just yet. 

Resting gently over his hip, the young man felt the weight of Sigurd’s arm pressing down on him like a protective shield, holding him close in a world that was constantly trying to separate them. His breath kissed the back of Eivor’s neck at a steady pace, and a soothing warmth surrounded their bodies due to the blankets barricading them from the cold.

It was surprising to see that Sigurd hadn’t taken his leave, Eivor thought. Part of him had been expecting the prince to vanish like he did on the day of the wedding, and yet, he was here, keeping him company without any worry of judgement. His mind remained buried under dreams of war and mayhem, and his eyelids fluttered with the vivid images that flashed in his head.

He looked to be at peace, despite the turmoil brewing inside him. His expression was devoid of any usual disturbances, and Eivor’s comforting presence only helped to bring him more solace.

In addition to the relief Eivor felt upon seeing Sigurd however, the young man also couldn’t ignore the guilt he carried for taking the prince away from Randvi.

Gods only knew what that woman was going through right now. In a single day, she had lost both her blood-sister and father figure -- and unlike Eivor -- she had to deal with the pain alone.

She didn’t have anyone in her chambers to provide her with company or a shoulder to lean on, and Eivor began to wonder if he should’ve been ashamed of himself for robbing her of that. 

Perhaps it was a mistake to stay with Sigurd for the night. Perhaps he should’ve simply gone to the temple like he planned, and left the prince to his own devices. Maybe then, Randvi wouldn’t be forced to endure all this grief alone.  Eivor may have cherished every moment he spent with Sigurd, but he didn’t wish to do it at the expense of his sister’s well-being.

It was Randvi that Sigurd was supposed to be with, after all. And Eivor couldn’t help but question the morality of what he was doing. 

“...Eivor...?” The older man suddenly murmured, causing the Wolf-Kissed to glance over his shoulder.

He came face-to-face with a pair of heavy-lidded eyes, and smiled faintly upon hearing the man’s words.

“Good morning, love.” Eivor said, rolling onto his side. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

Sigurd chuckled, though it came out more like a grunt due to the sleep that still fogged his mind.

“...You didn’t wake me up. Truth is, I barely slept. My dreams were plagued with nothing but nightmares. I hope you had a better night.”

“I’d be lying if I said I did. All I could think about was Thora and Ulfar. About how they died.”

“I know what you mean. I can’t stop thinking about Dag either. It’s been hours since he first went silent, and yet... his final words refuse to leave me. It’s like he’s still here, berating me for everything I’ve done. Every time I close my eyes, my dreams take me back to the Tears of Ymir. Part of me feels as if I never left.”

Eivor snuggled up in Sigurd’s embrace, bringing himself closer to the other man.

“...We will get through this, love.” He reassured. “I know it wasn’t easy, but you gave us a chance at victory when you slew the traitor. Now, Kjotve has no allies within our walls. He’s completely by himself. And we have his son as a prisoner. We still have hope of winning this war... and it’s thanks to you.”

Sigurd raised a hand to Eivor’s cheek, gently caressing it with the back of his knuckles. 

“I hope you’re right. The last thing I want is for all our sacrifices to be in vain. We can’t accept defeat now. Not when we’re so close.” The prince sat up from the bed, causing his hair to slip from his shoulders. “But for now, let’s simply focus on honoring our dead. There are many farewells that need to be said before we take things further with Gorm, and I’d like to see Dag off on his journey to Hel. He may have been a traitor, but even he doesn’t deserve abandonment in death.”

Eivor’s mood soured at the mention of Dag’s name. In spite of his agreement to granting the man a place at the funeral, he couldn’t help but feel contempt for him after everything he and Gorm did to Thora.

“Do you think Dag would’ve done the same for you?” Eivor questioned.

Sigurd hesitated, not failing to notice the sharpness in his tone.

“I... I honestly don’t know. Did he even love me in the end? Or did he view me as an enemy? A foe that he needed to eliminate?” The prince combed a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. “I’d like to believe that he would stand by my grave in death, but in reality, I suspect he would’ve been the one to send me there.”

Sigurd rose from the bed and reached for his shirt, shaking his head in sorrow. “Gods... how did things go so wrong...?”

He pulled the piece of clothing over his torso, preparing to take his leave.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get dressed. I imagine my father will be awake by now, and I’d like to have a few words with him before we depart. Meet me outside when you’re ready to go. We can walk to the funeral together.”

The younger man followed suit and threw his legs over the edge of the bed, dreading the near-future. He didn’t want to attend the ceremony alone, but he also worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep his composure in the presence of Thora and Ulfar.

“...Alright.” He said plainly. “I’ll find you when I’m ready, Sigurd.”

The prince leaned down and placed a kiss on Eivor’s forehead, bidding him farewell.

“Take care, Eivor. I’ll see you soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~

ONE HOUR LATER

THE DOCKS

Walking along the edge of the ship, Ingrida’s boots quietly thudded against the wooden floor as she tended to the pyres, preparing them for their final departure. She scattered a mixture of herbs and petals at the base of the structures, whispering a series of prayers under her breath.

Her heart ached beyond words to see three of her beloved clan members sharing a ship to the gates of the afterlife. Thora, Ulfar, and Eirik all lay side-by-side in the center of the vessel, decorated with an abundance of gifts that the villagers had left for them. They had axes, shields, food, riches, armor -- every possible boon they could use in the next realm. Their bodies had also been adorned with a handful of sweet-scented flowers, and their hands had been arranged to hold the swords in their grip.

Meanwhile, Dag rested alone in a separate ship docked on the other end of the harbor. His boat had been left barren of any gifts or offerings, and the only attention he received was from scornful villagers who were irked to see his presence at the funeral. His pyre looked about as empty as the frozen sea before them, and it appeared just as cold.

Luckily, despite the animosity the clan held for Dag, Ingrida hadn’t yet forbade herself from saying a prayer for the man. Even though he was directly linked to the death of her son, she still saw it fitting to bless him with one last prayer, as well as the dignity of being sent on a proper vessel. She carried less than no love for the dishonorable traitor, but did not wish to defile his grave, lest she cause Sigurd even more pain.

“Wherever the bridge may guide you,” Ingrida whispered, walking up to Thora, “whatever obstacles you may face, know that your memory has been marked in our clan, sister. Your words, your thoughts, your actions -- they will all continue to live among us even though you have returned to the gods. Your spirit will become as natural as the trees around us, and your name will be shrouded in the honor that was robbed of you in death. May you find peace under Hel’s gaze, and may your axe never thirst for battle. You are free now.”

The woman brought her attention to Eirik, crumbling at the sight of her son.

“Oh, my son...” she murmured, “forgive me. I never thought it would end like this. I never thought it would be me who tended to your pyre. I wanted to watch you grow old. I wanted you to enjoy the life I had given you. I wanted better for--” Ingrida’s voice faltered, causing her to pause briefly, “--you deserved... better than this. You deserved happiness. I only pray that the gods will grant it to you someday, and that we will meet again when death takes us both.” She slid a hand down Eirik’s cheek. “Rest well, my son. Your struggles will not be everlasting.”

Turning to Ulfar, Ingrida cleared her throat and took a deep breath, regaining her composure for one final farewell.

“And my dear friend, Wulfgar,” she said. “I know you were fueled by hatred for many years before you came to us. I know you carried an abundance of regrets. But as the Valkyries guide you to the Hall of Valor, I hope you can find forgiveness for yourself. Even though you were not exempt of flaws, you were one of the best men I had ever the pleasure of meeting. You were a venerable husband to Linnea, and a loving father to many of the children here.” 

She sighed, placing a delicate hand over the hilt of Ulfar’s sword. “I do not know whether you will meet the Christian god or be accepted into the Allfather’s arms, but either way, remember that redemption walks with you, drengr. Your faults have been amended, and your shackles have been broken. May your freedom guide you home.”

Stepping away from the pyres, Ingrida said the last of her prayers and decided to leave the bodies alone for now, admittedly somewhat overwhelmed by the grief that was starting to sink in. For days, she had been focusing on the preparations for this funeral, and yet, nothing could’ve fully braced her for the severity of their losses.

The old völva had overseen multiple burials in the past, but she had never attended one with so many familiar faces. Thora, Ulfar, Eirik -- they were all vital people in her life. She watched them grow, she watched them cry, she watched them change. A part of her soul was attached to the three of them, and now... she had to watch them leave.

It was the hardest farewell she ever had the burden of bidding, and she hoped it would be the last.

“Ingrida?”

The seeress whirled around at the sudden greeting, not realizing that she had company.

“Oh, Eivor,” she said upon seeing her guest’s face. “I didn’t notice you were there.”

The young man approached her, keeping his hands linked in a respectful manner.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” he explained. “I saw that you were saying a prayer for them.”

Ingrida glanced back at the fallen warriors’ bodies, nodding morosely.

“...Indeed. I just finished saying goodbye to Wulfgar.”

Eivor cocked a brow at that. “Wulfgar? You mean... Ulfar?”

Ironically, his question only seemed to garner more confusion from the old woman.

“He never told you?” She asked, clearly surprised.

“Told me what?”

A look of understanding spread across Ingrida’s face. “Forgive me, young cub. I assumed you knew of this already. The two of you were like father and son, so I simply thought...” she shook her head, returning to the topic. “Anyway. Tell me, did Ulfar ever reveal that he originally came from a Saxon family?”

“Yes,” Eivor recalled. “He mentioned that before.”

“Well, his name was Wulfgar before he was adopted by the Norse. He always asked me to refer to him as that in private. It may seem like an odd request, but I think it helped him preserve some semblance of who he once was.”

“I... I never knew that. Ulfar didn’t tell any of us.”

Ingrida gazed at the raider’s lifeless face, tilting her head out of empathy.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He had a dark history before he married Linnea and joined our clan. He probably didn’t want to frighten you.”

Eivor’s curiosity got the best of him. “Can you tell me what he did, exactly?”

The seeress fell silent due to hesitance. “I... don’t think I should, Eivor. I don’t believe it would be my place. If Ulfar felt the need to keep it hidden from you, then perhaps that’s because he meant to take the secret to his grave.”

A hint of disappointment sank into Eivor’s mood, but he respected the secrecy nonetheless.

“...I understand.”

Ingrida offered another possible answer. “If your curiosity is truly piqued though, I’d recommend asking your father. Arngeir is also aware of Ulfar’s past, and he was much closer to him than I. I think he would be more suited to tell the story -- if you are willing to hear it.”

“I am. I’ll ask him about it later. Thank you.”

The woman crossed her arms and took a moment to examine Eivor, suddenly switching the subject when she noticed that he was alone.

“But enough about that. Where is Sigurd?” Ingrida questioned. “I expected him to come here with you.”

The inquisitive spark in Eivor’s eyes dimmed at the observation, and he took a slow glance at the nearby longship.

“He’s paying his respects to Dag.” He said, gesturing to the traitor’s pyre. Ingrida followed his gaze, watching as Sigurd said his goodbyes.

The downhearted prince was currently kneeling in front of the wooden tomb with his head hanging low, and a hand over Dag’s wrist. His face was hidden from the world due to his crouched position, and at the moment, all Ingrida could see was a slight quiver shaking the stillness of his shoulders.

“...His eyes burned bright with the heat of Muspelheim itself...” Ingrida whispered in revelation. “Oh, that poor man. I now understand what my vision meant. I understand what it was trying to say.”

Eivor gave the woman a puzzled look, intrigued by her train of thought.

“What do you mean?”

Ingrida brought her focus back to the young man and closed the distance between them.

“The night before Sigurd arrived, the gods sent me a dream about him. Do you remember? It was just before Freya’s statue fell at the temple.”

Eivor nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

A hint of caution took hold of her tone. “...Dag’s death will only fuel the fire already raging in your prince, Wolf-Kissed. I know I advised you to stay away from Sigurd in the past, but now, I suspect you’ll be the only one capable of pulling him back from the edge. Do not allow him to get lost in the dark. He’ll be leading us into battle not too long from now. Please, do what you can to ensure that his mind stays whole.”

“Of course, Ingrida. I--” he stuttered for a second, hesitant to be completely open, “...you know how I feel about him. I’ll try my best to help him.”

That seemed to bring relief to the seeress. “Thank you, Eivor. We need both of you if we’re going to win this war. Take care of yourselves in the storm to come. We’re almost through the brunt of it.”

Bringing their conversation to an end, Ingrida placed a soft hand on Eivor’s arm and guided him away from the pyres, stepping back onto the docks as the clan gathered for the final farewell. A line of archers had already taken their position at the front of the shoreline and set their arrows aflame, preparing for the upcoming ceremony.

“Come, young cub. It’s time to say goodbye.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Standing just beyond the tide’s reach, Eivor and Sigurd watched the funeral from afar as gusts of icy wind danced throughout the village, causing their capes to billow in the breeze. Specks of snow fluttered from the muted sky hanging above them, and in the distance, Eivor could see a number of dockhands pushing the ships away from the piers.

It almost would’ve been beautiful, if it weren’t for the morbidity of their gathering. The ships glided across the glassy surface like swans in a lake, and their hulls split the sheets of ice blocking their course. Ravens soared alongside the majestic sails as if Odin himself were guiding their departure from Midgard, and within moments, the archers had already prepared their first volley of arrows.

“Aim!” One of the warriors commanded, his voice thundering across the beach. A chain of flames immediately rose into the air, pointing directly towards the clouds.

The ships ventured a bit deeper into the ocean, causing waves of white foam to spurt around them.

“Loose!”

Releasing their grip on the bows, the archers sent a storm of arrows flying into the sky as their fiery tips set the heavens aflame, painting the atmosphere with what looked like a thousand suns. Their reflections bolted across the sea like streaks of ember, and soon after, the ships were engulfed in a cloak of fire.

Little by little, the sparks spread throughout the vessels’ entire structure, igniting everything they could touch. They easily latched onto the fallen warriors who occupied the pyres, and consumed their hollow shells like webs of frost crawling across the ocean.

It was a display fit for the gods themselves. The ships wandered like a pair of beacons shattering the dark, and Eivor could only hope that the divines would accept their new arrivals with open arms. These souls had officially traveled beyond the mortal realm, and now, their threads in the tapestry of fate had been cut.

It was finally time for Eivor to let them go. The very same war that had taken these people in the first place still burned with an unbridled fury, and it wouldn’t be long before they had to confront it once and for all.

The only thing they had to do now was get Gorm to talk. His forked tongue hid behind a guise of feigned ignorance, but Eivor knew better than to believe his twisted claims. 

That man knew where Kjotve was, and he knew how to lure him out of the shadows. His information was the key to winning this war, and neither the Wolf-Kissed nor the Raven Prince would back down until they got what they wanted.

It was their only chance of survival at this point, and the last obstacle blocking their way.

~~~~~~~~~~

LATER THAT DAY

THE DUNGEON

Shoving the barred door open with a firm push, Sigurd ducked under the low frame and slipped into the room, lighting the way with a torch as Eivor followed him from behind. The weathered hinges of the door squeaked sharply in the looming silence, and a soft rattle bounced off the walls as their prisoner struggled in his chains.

Gorm was completely alone down here. Not only had he been deprived of any human contact, but the tight bricks of the dungeon had also sealed out any intruding sunlight. His hands and feet had been tied down by harsh shackles, and a rough cloth had been wrapped securely around his eyes.

Despite Gorm’s recent arrival though, it looked like someone had already visited him. In the flickering glow that radiated from Sigurd’s torch, the prince spotted fresh cuts and bruises littering the prisoner’s skin. Tiny droplets of blood stained the collar of his shirt, and by now, a slick sheen of sweat had formed on the man’s bony chest.

It wouldn’t be difficult to interrogate this man, but that didn’t mean Sigurd would go easy on him.

“Heh,” he said with a chuckle, holding the torch closer to Gorm’s wounds, “looks like someone had a talk with you already. You been having company lately, Kjotvesson? Or were our men just a bit too rough when they dragged you off the longship?”

The prisoner groaned in irritation, recognizing his captor’s voice. “...Gods above. As if my first conversation wasn’t bad enough. Now you’re here too? I’m not going to talk, Sigurd. The jarl couldn’t beat it out of me, and you won’t either.”

“Ah, so it was Arngeir who did this. I should’ve guessed.” The prince paused briefly. “...You’re lucky, you know. Not many people in this world have the same level of patience as our jarl. If it was my daughter you had killed, I would have flayed you alive.”

Gorm scoffed, shifting in his seat. “You? Everyone knows you’re soft, Styrbjornson. You couldn’t even save the jarl’s daughter from being killed. What makes you think you can get me to talk? Just throw your punches and leave me alone. You won’t get anything from me.”

Sigurd knelt down, leaning towards to the man as he spoke. “...We are one step away from winning this fucking war against your father after decades of suffering because of it. This is the closest we’ve ever been to victory in years, and the only thing blocking our path right now... is you. If you think I’m going to walk away after everything we’ve sacrificed, you are sorely mistaken.”

The prince stood up from the floor. “You can either tell me Kjotve’s location, or I can make you scream it. Either way, we’re not leaving this room until you give us what we need.”

Gorm picked up on that. “We?”

Eivor stepped forward, joining Sigurd’s side. “I’m here too, Gorm.”

“Ah, the Raven Prince’s whore. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here. I know you follow Sigurd around like a lost pup, always pining for his attention. Word spreads quickly, you see--”

Sigurd threw a quick jab at Gorm’s cheek, silencing the man in an instant.

“Well you won’t hear anymore about us from now on. Your ally is dead, Gorm. We found him.”

That seemed to instill a sense of alarm in the prisoner. “...Ally?”

“Yes. Dag.” Sigurd clarified. “I know he was aiding you. I know he told you about the assault on your father’s fortress. But he’s dead now. You no longer have any friends here, Kjotvesson. There’s no one who can rescue you.”

The pace of Gorm’s breath quickened at the news, and his jaw clenched in fear.

“...So. What is it you want, exactly?”

“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said? Tell me where Kjotve is, and all this comes to an end. It’s that simple.”

Sigurd reached down, ripping Gorm’s blindfold off with a harsh tug. 

“We’re running out of time...! I’m giving you one last chance to tell us the information we need, but after that--” he yanked out his axe, “--I start hacking.”

Still, the prisoner resisted. “...Y-You wouldn’t. You don’t have the stones.”

The prince smirked. “Don’t I? Let me tell you something, Gorm.” Sigurd raised the axe to the other man’s face, positioning it right underneath his chin. “Just yesterday, this axe was buried in the heart of my brother. I put it there... after he confessed his treachery.”

It didn’t take long for Gorm to put the pieces together. “...Dag was your brother?”

Sigurd nodded slowly. “Not by blood, but that didn’t mean anything to us. We were still family. We still shared a bond. In the end though... he proved to be a danger to our clan, and so, I cut him down in one strike.” His eyes narrowed in rage. “...I was willing to execute a man I had known for all my life, purely for the sake of protecting this clan. He meant the world to me, and yet, I still killed him with my own two hands. What makes you think you stand a chance?”

Gorm scooted back in his seat, plastering himself against the back of the chair in an attempt to get away from the redheaded viking.

“You’re out of your mind, Sigurd.”

“All the more reason for you to give me what I want.”

The prisoner was quiet in response, leading Sigurd to shrug in a casual manner.

“Fine. If that’s how you wish to do things...”

The prince brought the torch’s flame to his axe, heating up the edge until it was red hot.

“W-w-wait!” Gorm exclaimed. “Wait!”

“Having second thoughts, Kjotvesson?”

“I-- look, I can’t tell you!”

Sigurd removed the axe from the fire and grinned, brandishing its scorching blade to the man.

“What’ll your father do? Kill you?”

Eivor laughed lightly, undeniably amused by Gorm’s squirming. “He’ll be lucky if he’s still alive by then.” His tone hardened. “Maybe we should string him up and leave him outside. Give him the same treatment he gave to my sister.”

Gorm shot him a glare. “Oh, you’ll join her soon enough, Wolf-Kissed. Don’t think this is over. Just because you’ve survived this long doesn’t mean--”

Sigurd pressed the axe down on his arm, causing the man to let out an anguished shout.

“Shit!” Gorm yelled, jolting violently in his restraints. The prince removed the blade after a moment and stepped back, leaving a prominent burn on the surface of his skin. 

“If you’re done barking, I’d like to hear what we came for.”

“...You’ve lost your mind, Sigurd...!” The prisoner panted out, still dazed from the pain. “I’ll kill you for this. You and your whole clan!”

The redheaded man grabbed him by the collar, yanking him closer to his face.

“Tell me where Kjotve is! Now. Unless you want me to start slicing.”

Gorm turned away from Sigurd, doing his best to avoid eye contact with him.

“I... can’t!”

“Well, you will. I don’t care what kind of threats your father has made. You will tell us what we need to know, one way or another.”

The prisoner hesitated. “But why should I? You’ll kill me anyway! I’m as good as dead no matter what I do. I may as well keep silent.”

“Because your fate has yet to be determined. Cooperate with us, and perhaps I can grant you a faster death. But if you resist, I’ll have no choice but to keep this going. So save us both the trouble, and just tell me where Kjotve is.”

Gorm trailed off into silence once again, reconsidering his approach. He still appeared reluctant to comply with Sigurd’s demands, but his eyes flicked around the room in a way that made it clear he was slowly changing his mind.

“You... you promise you’ll give me a swift death if I tell you how to find my father? Is that what you’re saying?”

Sigurd looked directly into Gorm’s gaze, taking on a more sincere tone.

“...You have my word.”

The prisoner took the answer to heart and cursed quietly under his breath, frustrated at the dilemma that had been presented to him. He knew he was dead regardless of how the future unfolded, but he wondered if there was a chance he could find mercy in the hands of a proper executioner.

“...Damn it all.” Gorm finally said. “Fine. I’ll... I’ll tell you what you want to know. But you must keep your word.”

Sigurd waited patiently for a response. “Well? Where is he?”

The other man’s head drooped in shame. “...My father is sailing west. To England.”

That took the prince by surprise. “England? What in Hel’s name is Kjotve doing all the way out there?”

“He has allies in that country,” Gorm explained. “And they’re more than just simple raiders. His allies in England are part of something far bigger than you could ever anticipate. They will destroy you if he manages to rally them in time.”

Eivor crossed his arms in thought, suddenly feeling less confident. “...Shit. He must be miles ahead of us by now.”

“Actually, he could still be within your reach. I don’t think my father has officially embarked just yet. He mentioned stopping by an island along the way; to gather food and supplies before making the journey. You could still catch him.”

Sigurd stepped away from Gorm. “Then we need to leave immediately. We can’t allow Kjotve to sail into Saxon waters. If he makes it there, we’ll have lost him for good. There’s no way we could hunt him down in English territory without sparking another war.”

Eivor brought up another subject, slowing the prince down before he could get too far ahead of himself.

“Wait, what do we do about him?” He asked, gesturing to Gorm with a jerk of the head.

Sigurd eyed the prisoner up and down, contemplating how to dispose of the man. When he first set foot in the dungeon, he had originally planned to finish Gorm off with an axe to the chest -- similar to the method he used for Dag -- but now, he was having second thoughts.

“...We’ll let my father decide.” He settled with.

Eivor had to admit, he wasn’t expecting that. “Your father?”

Sigurd took a calming breath, thinking back to his conversation with his lover earlier that day. “He’s right about me, Eivor. I’m too impulsive. If I’m going to inherit the crown someday, I must learn to wield more restraint. Gorm murdered someone from our kingdom, so my father will determine his fate in a trial. Seems only fitting, seeing as how he’s the king.”

The younger man was pleased to see that the prince had taken his advice so seriously.

“A wise choice. We should inform Styrbjorn right away, then. We have no time to lose.”

Gorm jumped back in. “Wait! What if the king doesn’t allow me a quick death like we agreed?”

“I’ll explain to him the deal we made,” Sigurd assured. “My father is a man of honor, despite some of the things he does. He will understand.” He brought his attention back to Eivor, continuing their conversation. “Anyway, could you speak to Arngeir while I find my father? If we’re going to catch Kjotve on time, we’ll need everyone to be prepared. Everyone.”

“Of course. I’ll let him know of the plan.”

“Thank you.” Sigurd walked past the Wolf-Kissed, halting in his tracks to whisper something in the man’s ear. “Meet me on the hill outside the longhouse when you’re finished. There’s something I want to show you.”

Eivor nodded, whispering back to him. “I’ll be there.”

“Then I’ll see you soon, my love. But for now, let’s just focus on preparing for the upcoming battle. This war isn’t going to get any easier in the next few days, but if we’re lucky, it’ll end soon. Kjotve is hiding just beyond the horizon. We can’t let him escape.”

[sir-huffman]

Volume 04: Author’s Notes

TL;DR: A series of author notes that do not relate to the previous three volumes. Basically what Duke was trying to convey, but is really poorly written...Duke doesn’t know anything he’s talking about and is willing to be corrected because he’s an uncultured swine.

Again...this is all headcanon and an explanation of how Duke came to this conclusion.

NOTE: A self indulgent messy headcanon that started because Huffman’s name appears in Vera’s Melancholy.

Volume 01: Vera’s Melancholy - a unanswered love letter

Volume 02: Delphi - the ancient capitol of khanrie’ah

Volume 03: the Founders of Delphi - huffman and the witch of the east

Volume 04: Author’s Notes

Vera’s Melancholy

“I am sorry for depriving you of your childhood,” Ike said to him. “Now go, the youth that you deserve awaits.” “I have witnessed every wonder in the universe for your sake, and this was how my childhood ended.” Sachi summoned every last ounce of his courage as he stood before the girl of his destiny. “I will never reach my youth without you by my side.”

What will her answer be? - Vera’s Melancholy, Volume X

Vera’s Melancholy features four main characters, each an extension of the original founders of Delphi (located in Genshin Impact):

Vera - (meaning faith/truth) is the Witch of the East. She retains her ability of knowing things that she shouldn’t, but of course in the books they are nothing but fantasy.

Sachi - (meaning blissful/fortune) the brace knight Huffman. He was a boy who has a good heart, a bit of a coward, but learned to be strong and brave for those he loves.

Ike - is Apollo, the God of Truth and Prophecy. He was able to bring adventure to these two humans in the book. Making up for the time he could do nothing but sit ideally by.

the Princess - is who the Witch of the East would become. And oracle who is forever bound to Apollo. And as the abyss had changed all that touches it, the Princess in the book is monsterly as well. With hands that eat the eyes of those she conquers and loves...

The book tells about their adventure and the sorry of when “Vera” died...leaving “Sachi” to continue living and guiding their people. He would live up until his death, where “Ike” returns their youth, sending their souls into the afterlife...or so he writes.

the Starry Sky

“I believe on the other side of the Starry Sea is a planet inhabited by gods who can answer all prayers and wishes, and everyone bearing a wish is on a journey to get there. I believe, in our universe, there is a world currently in a war against doomsday, where the noble and elegant souls of fourteen Valkyries burn bright, if only for a brief but magnificent moment…” - Vera from Vera’s Melancholy, Volume I

Delphi (in Vera’s Melancholy) is located in the Andromeda Galaxy

Teyvat (Genshin Impact) is located in the Andromeda Galaxy

Earth (Houkai Impact) is located in the Milky Way

the Andromeda Galaxy is a barred spiral galaxy approximately 2.5 million light-years (770 kiloparsecs) from Earth and the nearest major galaxy to the Milky Way.

Delphi (in the novel) takes place far away from the planet Genshin Impact inhabits. And is nothing but a story book. Perhaps this is a way for Apollo to distance himself from the cruelty of the world...imagining it is far away from the world of Genshin Impact...where his first beloved followers didn’t die because of fate.

Delphi

the Center of Genshin Impact, followers of Apollo, ancient capitol of “Khaenri’ah”

Though the explanation is delayed, you should know that Delphi is the center of Greek mythology. - Author’s Notes from Vera’s Melancholy, Volume X

Apollo - the God of archery, music and dance, truth and prophecy, healing and diseases, the Sun and light, poetry, and more.

However, Apollo is just the name we (the all powerful beings) recognize this god. In fact, he has many names and he answers to all of them. He names this city, in the center of Genshin Impact, after our world’s Delphi, the place ancient Greeks believed to be the center of the world.

The titles Delphi (in Genshin Impact) has many names. Currently it is known as the ancient capitol of Khaenri’ah as that is what the current rendition of the world calls the place. However, it is simple Delphi, center of the planet, followers of the God of Truth and Prophecy...regardless of how many times the planet has been reshaped.

Yggdrasil & Ragnarök

Yggdrasil in Norse cosmology, is an immense and central sacred tree. Around it exists all else, including the Nine Worlds.

In Teyvat, Yggdrasil is known as Irminsul and the nine worlds that is connects are as followed:

Celestia in the high heavens

Delphi Khaenri’ah in the underground

and the rest of Teyvat inbetween (mondstadt, liyue, inazuma, sumeru, fontaine, natlan, snezhnaya)

Ragnarök or Ragnarøkkr (Old Norse for '"Fate of the Gods" and "Twilight of the Gods," respectively')

Simplified (from what Duke can remember) these are the signs of Ragnarok:

Fimbulwinter - during which time three winters will arrive without a summer, and the sun will be useless (the beginning of the world in Teyvat)

Disappearance of the Sun, Moon, and Stars “The stars, the sky... It's all a gigantic hoax. A lie.” - Scaramouche in Where Ancient Stars Align, Unreconciled Stars.

Chaos will Ensue - because the sun, moon, and stars disappear it makes Yggdrasil tremble and chaos happens. (the timeline of this happening may vary...but seemingly this is when the traveler enters the world)

Sons of Muspel (realm of fire) will charge the rainbow bridge - the sound of a horn will wake up the gods and Ragnarök will begin. (note: Odin consuls the severed head of Mímir before going into battle)

The name of this cycle in Teyvet is unknown. But the cycle can be found within the artifacts: Prayers of Springtime, Illumination, Destiny, Wisdom...(click here if you want to see all the artifacts text in one place)

Prayers of Springtime - the beginning where Teyvat was encased in ice, completely devoid of life and waiting for it to melt. This is where the old world ends and the new world begins. (this is when Fimbulwinter would happen)

Prayers of Illumination - when the ice has thawed, the heavenly envoys will descend to the earth making it inhabitable for life for a new and brighter age. And humanity will come forth, asking for answers, descending to the depths of the world, for enlightenment and illumination, to know what the gods wish for them to do.

Prayers of Destiny - when humanity was enlightened, they will live a hundred years of of bounty as it was written in the stars. However, with enlightenment came questions. And they will question the heavenly envoys of what is to come...will it last? But the envoys were silent, and thus humanity will descend to the depths, to know that is to come...to know their destiny.

Prayers of Wisdom - with the knowledge of what is to come, humanity will thrive. They will live and prosper, but question the heavenly gods above. Humanity will question this cycle of eternity, after all is their eternal cycle of death really eternal? So humanity will declare war against the heavens..and humanity will seek refuge to the depths of the world, asking for guidance to appease the angered gods for they have lost once again. (this is when Odin consuls the severed head of Mímir before going into battle)

...covered in ice and frost, repeating the cycle again and awaiting for springtime.

[pittarchives]

Garnering Erroll’s Universe of Things

This post was written by YuHao Chen, graduate student in ethnomusicology, University of Pittsburgh.

On January 2nd, 1977, as he was making his way to the hospital, famed jazz pianist Erroll Garner collapsed in the lobby of his apartment building in Beverly Hills, California. Garner died of lung cancer, a condition that had significantly interfered with his performance career since 1975. His death stirred ripples of attention across the jazz world. Condolences resounded among his admirers. Deeply felt words, especially those from within his intimate circle, were expressed in gravity. Martha Glaser, Garner’s manager who championed his career for nearly three decades, confided later that month to his neighbor Beatrice Glass, “I am too weary to say much—except to thank you.” Gratitude, sorrow, and silence were mortared onto paper-thin records following Garner’s passing.

Image from folder “Erroll Garner Estate,” Erroll Garner Archive, 1942-2010, Box 3, Folder 22, Archives & Special Collections, University of Pittsburgh Library System.

Amidst these heavy, withheld sentiments was a little-known agitation that occurred in Garner’s apartment two days after his death. On January 4th, as his body was being transported under his brother Linton’s supervision from Los Angeles to Pittsburgh, a ruckus broke out surrounding a quotidian collection of items at 815 S. Shenandoah, Apartment 203. They were moved, shuffled, picked over, turned, unsettled for an unknown duration, only to be duly rearranged—at the very end—onto an itemized list. Over the next several months, the inventory would develop in size and detail, forming an initial basis for what would become the Erroll Garner estate.

The preliminary inventory compiled on January 4th, 1977 offers a glimpse into Garner’s habitat during the final hours of his life. Written with two different pens—one taking the initial round of survey, the other specifying the quantities of items and missing details—this document is preserved in the Erroll Garner Archive as a photocopied record, with a subtle folded line cleaving the phrase “1,200 cassette tapes.” This list represents the very first, albeit incomplete, look at the physical environment Garner left behind.

Image from folder “Erroll Garner Estate,” Erroll Garner Archive, 1942-2010, Box 3, Folder 22, Archives & Special Collections, University of Pittsburgh Library System.

While we do not know who penned the inventory, later correspondence from Martha Glaser suggests that the task of handling Garner’s personal belongings and incoming mails was shared among a group of people. For the remainder of 1977, these orphaned objects were looked after by Garner’s neighbor Beatrice Glass, his sister Ruth Garner Moore, realtor Ursula Fox, attorneys Howard E. Lowe and Sidney Horvitz, and Glaser herself, among others.

The cataloging effort continued into April that year. The April 16th inventory, which took three days for two attorneys and Garner’s sister to complete, is a comprehensive documentation of Garner’s California dwelling. Spanning nine neatly typed pages, it enumerates items from all his living quarters: the den (with separate sections on the desk, credenza, and closet), patio, living room, dining room (and cabinets), kitchen, linen closet, hall closet, bedroom, and master bathroom. In addition, there is an inventory of Garner’s wardrobe compiled by his sister. Per Glaser’s request, Ruth also made annotations and underlined watches, rings, clocks, and cameras—possibly to indicate the more expensive items on the list.

As a whole, this litany of things articulates the thickness of life. The five-drawer desk in the den, for example, would surely not have taken up more space than the entire living room. Yet the desk items sprawl over three pages in the inventory; the items from the living room, on the other hand, occupy less than one. Over sixty desk items are recorded, some inconspicuously small (a pair of piano key cuff-links), others delicately light (an autographed photo from Sonny Stitt). Although the inventory does not tell us about the precise spatial arrangement of Garner’s apartment, it provides an array of objects with which we may imagine different possibilities.

Image from folder “Erroll Garner Estate,” Erroll Garner Archive, 1942-2010, Box 3, Folder 22, Archives & Special Collections, University of Pittsburgh Library System.

In a literal sense, the objects included in the January and April inventories were some of the last witnesses and liaisons to Garner’s still living body—they shared the same air before he left the door for the hospital, endured the same physical space and overlapping histories. Garner’s presence is made vivid by the functionality of these items. They bear the traces of his final imprint, like the unattended clay that retains the shape of a long-departed palm.

With Garner’s passing, the stuff around him comes alive. His constellation of things, previously tucked away in the Shenandoah apartment, surfaces in the texture of the catalog. Through changing hands, they are indexed, appraised, negotiated, stored, sold, shipped, unboxed. As Garner’s deceased body made its homeward journey to Pittsburgh on January 4th, his belongings simultaneously took flight, beginning to pulse through various phases of inventory and, for some, preservation.

Glaser took part in orchestrating the afterlife of Garner’s belongings. Through the end of 1980, if not later, she worked scrupulously to handle and breathe new life into these inanimate things. One can only imagine the difficulty of managing the inventories from a distance. As Glaser perused these catalogs in her office in New York—anxiously, perhaps, having neither the luxury of taking her own inventory on site nor the whim of abandoning the objects on the West Coast—she had to rely on her distant collaborators. As much as she might like to look over their shoulders, Glaser’s vision was guided by the ways in which they scanned and parsed Garner’s estate. Through their organizational schema, Garner’s belongings were transformed into a table of contents, to be delivered and presented to Glaser as metadata. What Glaser was reading, in effect, was a finding aid.

After all, what is a finding aid but a catalog of things that were summoned, scrutinized, skipped over, and split? Some of Garner’s belongings were likely sold in estate sales, others stored in the archives, still others permanently lost, only to be found as names in the inventories. And these documents, as archived objects themselves, exist in yet another catalog of items within the Garner Archive. Listing, cataloging, and finding—these are gestures embedded in the very appearance of Garner’s things. Thanks to archival realism, objects can be brought into brief communion through finding aids before coming apart again. The January and April inventories, in particular, provide a frozen frame for delineating an ecology for the Garner Space and the Garner Body, a physical coherence that nonetheless disintegrates into a sea of records the moment we try to retrieve it. Affixed to a finding aid, Garner’s corpus of things cannot help but hide behind its own archival skin, ultimately remaining an index of 1977.

[thatcomesandstaysfire]

You belong among the wildflowers You belong in a boat out at sea Sail away, kill off the hours You belong somewhere you feel free

Run away, find you a lover Go away somewhere all bright and new I have seen no other Who compares with youYou belong among the wildflowers You belong in a boat out at sea You belong with your love on your arm You belong somewhere you feel free

Run away, go find a lover Run away, let your heart be your guide You deserve the deepest of cover You belong in that home by and by

You belong among the wildflowers You belong somewhere close to me Far away from your trouble and worry You belong somewhere you feel free You belong somewhere you feel free

If you wanna read my way-to-long analysis on how this song represents how I imagine Katniss grieving at the end of The Hunger Games series, well, you know what to do...

Ever since the announcement of the prequel for The Hunger Games, I’ve really reconnected with this story that used to mean SO much to me. And it has been a really interesting experience to look at it from the perspective of 21-year-old me as opposed to 13-year-old me. The things that used to resonate with me back that then, were frankly superficial and my appreciation of this series has really deepened now that I have a fancy, nearly fully developed big person brain. With that being said, the one thing that hasn’t changed is how obsessed I still am with these books, to the point where I constantly find things in my everyday life that either relates to a major theme or connects to the characters in some way. Of course, the one aspect of my life that sparks the most inspiration is music (Shout out to @rosegardeninwinter who has only exacerbated this problem with her ever-growing Sounds of Panem playlist.) So I figured I’d try my hand at something that so many of the members of this fandom do so well (far better than me) and present a little analysis of this song that I think relates to Katniss’ story...

At the risk being cheesier than one of Peeta's cheese buns, (I’ve already pushed it too far, haven’t I?) when I heard the opening line of this song, my immediate thought was “Oh, this is Katniss saying goodbye to Rue.” Which I still believe, but the song also delivers lines such as  

“You belong in a boat out at sea Sail away, kill off the hours You belong somewhere you feel free”

Which makes me think about Finnick, for obvious reasons. Broadly speaking, I think this song is what I imagine to be Katniss’ thought process as she comes to terms with/says goodbye to/finds closure for those she lost during the war, particularly Rue, Finnick, Prim, and in a less literal sense Peeta (there may be some overlap with which lyrics apply to which character). 

Firstly, I interpret the “run away” as Katniss encouraging those who have passed to fully be at rest... moving on.

Rue: Obviously ”You belong among the wildflowers” is the line that made me think of all this, to begin with. It immediately made me think of Katniss burying Rue’s body in flowers to honor her, and she said she (at least in the movie) “sees her in the flowers that grow near her house.” I think the connection is pretty straight forward. Rue is safe from harm, buried in her wildflowers where she belongs.   

Finnick: He’s from the fishing district, he’s practically a water creature, and I’m sure in Finnicks version of “Heaven” he would be out at sea. His death would also lead him somewhere he feels free (of the Capitol). The line “killing off the hours” I interpret as Finnick patiently waiting for Annie to join him when her time comes. The lines about belonging with your love could perhaps be Finnick watching over/being with Annie in spirit through their son. 

Prim: The lines about freedom, safety, home, and “the deepest of cover,” could technically apply to any of the names mentioned. However, I think they would be meant specifically for Prim, as those are thing Katniss wanted most for her, its the reason Katniss volunteered in the first place.

I’m not sure if people in the Hunger Games universe have a concept of an afterlife, but, assuming they do believe in an afterlife, I think the specific line about home could be interpreted as her father and Prim reuniting. The line  “Far away from your trouble and worry” is exactly what I think Katniss would tell herself to find some comfort while grieving Prim’s death. It is also very reminiscent of when Katniss thought to herself, “good and safe” as Rue was being taken by the hovercraft out of the arena. 

Peeta: Katniss didn’t lose Peeta to death, but the hijacking did take him from her. She had to mourn the boy she lost, and then, when he began to come back to her, had to reflect what it could mean to open herself up to the possibility of having and then losing him again. In the vein of “coming to terms” I think the line, “You belong among the wildflowers, You belong somewhere close to me” is Katniss officially deciding that being with Peeta is exactly where she belongs. That being together in the meadow (among the wildflowers) with there two kids was inevitable, it would’ve happened anyway.  

I want to leave this on the final reason why I think this song fits so well. I’ve always imagined, if Katniss were to voice her thoughts and feelings through song, they would be in the style of a bluegrass or folk song. Not just for the reason of it originating in Appalachia, but also because bluegrass music is very steady, while also having interludes of improvisation (which I think epitomizes Katniss’ whole vibe). Bluegrass also has a lot of soul and often presents themes like comfort vs struggle, melancholy vs hope, and love and death (and also trains for some reason). 

Well, that's all I got. I hope my thoughts were somewhat coherent. :)   

[livvywrites]

ELDORA’S CREATION & THE BIRTH OF THE SLAEYR

(note: this story will be told as the people of Eldora would tell it… how much of it is true is anyone’s guess)

In the beginning there was only darkness. A span of emptiness; a great well of nothing. But then something shifted, and changed, and out of the darkness walked Death. Behind him came Life; then Hope; Fear; Chaos; and last, came Order. In this realm, they were alone. Not much is known about this time. Only that the gods looked upon their new space and wondered what it was they were supposed to do.

Time held no meaning, then. There was no way to judge how long the gods spent, wandering the empty realm. At some point, they came across Fate, the Weaver of the Threads. But there were no Threads, then, and all she had was an empty Loom.

Things changed, though, when Life found a peculiar patch of Void. She went to investigate it, and from her first step, things began to change. A tree grew, great and tall; with branches fit to drive carriages upon. Life was full of wonder at this strange, new being. Her wonder only grew as the roots dug deeper and deeper. The deeper they dug, the more the earth expanded, and grew. Hills and mountains formed. Rivers, valleys, oceans, and seas. Lakes, and lava beds. It opened like the pages of a story book around her, and the goddess of creation was in awe of the world she created.

And then the tree opened up, and out walked a creature. A creature who looked, in shape, so much like Life and Hope and Fear. Life and the creature spoke, for a long time. About what none can say. Only that this creature was the first life of Eldora. The first nymph. Vitala, we call her.

Soon, though, Life wanted to try her hand at creation once more. Eldora had been birthed by accident, after all—what could she do if she really tried?

And so were born the birds, the deer, the whales, and the fish. The elephants, the horses, the monkeys, and the chickens. Creatures great and small across the realm. Finally, though, she grew tired of the little creatures, the tiny lives she had sparked. She was no less enamored with them… but she wanted to try something different. Something more like Vitala. Wouldn’t it be lovely to have other beings in the realm to speak to? To teach and to learn from in turn?

And so the first races were born.

Every race has their own story of how they came about. Dwarves claim to be hewn from stone. Humans claim the clay. Tauros say they were forged in fire. Halflings claim the dirt, while gnomes have the fanciful claim of birdsong. Solai claim the sun’s rays; the Lurai speak of the moonbeams. Volai say they were grown from a seed, while Surai claim the desert wind. The Elenai say that they do not know, but there are some who say they were birthed by Life herself, from her own flesh and blood.

Life was delighted by these abilities, and so entranced was she that she didn’t pause to wonder where her divine brethren were.

The others were confused at Life’s disappearance, of course, and they went looking—retracing her footsteps as best they could in that wide, borderless realm. It was then that they, too, stepped foot on Eldora. And brought with them their own gifts.

Order brought the concept of time; causing the sun and the moon to move, instead of being stuck in the sky. Chaos brought with him weather and natural disaster. Some legends say a volcano erupted the moment he stepped foot into the realm of Eldora. Fear brought with her the darkness and the fear that keeps us alive. Hope gave us the ability to dream and to wish, and brought with her the stars in the sky.

Death, of course, brought his namesake; and the afterlife that we will rest in. He gave the peoples of the world a natural end, to keep from overpopulating the world.

More and more changes were made, but as time passed, it became clear that the divines couldn’t stay. Their divine auras and influences were too great. It caused too many shifts in the world. Reluctantly, they knew they had to withdrew. But they couldn’t leave their creations without protection.

There has never been an explanation why the Divines thought we needed protection—only that they did. Perhaps they foresaw some terrible tragedy, or perhaps they were kindly, concerned parents who tried to prevent every scraped knee. The people they created were called the Anari.

With the safety of their creations ensured, the divines withdrew. They drew a barrier between Eldora and themselves, and behind that barrier, created the Celestial Realms. Inside the Realms, they created more peoples—people who could withstand their great presences.

Death created his Reapers, the first of which was Elaena. (note: some tales say that Elaena was always there. Others disagree.) Life took the souls of departed nymphs. Hope created her Vanguard, made up of those called the Virtues. Fear chose a solitary speaking companion, the warrior known as Apathy. Chaos created the Infernals. Order created the Ethereal. Sometimes, these beings were sent to the world of Eldora to speak with the priests and the priestesses, to guide heroes and shape champions, but mostly they kept to their realm.

On Eldora, the Anari stood apart. They were more powerful and longer lived than the rest of the races, and many old accounts speak of difficulties between them and the rest of the races. And so, eventually, they isolated themselves. They spoke only to the Elenai, doing their duties as guardians far from the rest of the world… until even their appearances were forgotten.

Most days, the people of Eldora forgot they existed.

Until one day, a baby girl was born with a glowing symbol on her forehead. Not long after her birth, one of Hope’s Vanguard appeared, to announce to all that this girl was the start of the new guardians, to replace the Anari. Obviously the people of Eldora were confused. They sent adventuring parties to all of the known Anarian cities. Most were found empty—but one was wrapped in a great and terrible storm, which bore the marks of Anarian magic.

Scholars from across the world found themselves drawn to the ruins, attempting to understand why the Anari had disappeared, and what had happened to them. Others wished to learn their powerful magics. And, of course, there were those who wished to plunder them too.

The Elenai were questioned—but none of them had answers either. Or, if they did have answers, they never spoke them. The young Slaeyr grew, and it became clear that this time, the guardians weren’t a name for show.

A great and terrible creature plagued the land. It looked like a dragon in shape, but it’s body curled with shadowy tendrils. It plagued villages and cities, razed down forests, clawed and tore at the land. The Circle of Magi; the Knights; and Rangers banned together to form the Syndicate. They did their best to stand against the terrible creature—who called itself Ansai. The Slaeyr woman, joined by others who had been claimed, made an alliance with the dragons of the north, and fought the creature. She slew it, and the people of Eldora celebrated and mourned what was lost.

And when the battle was over, people noticed something else. A new addition to the World Tree, which had long stood on an island protected by the Anari.

The great cities there were empty—but a large dome surrounded the World Tree. Completely impenetrable. Scorch marks marred the land around it—and soon people began to blame the disappearance of the Anari on Ansai, and their bid to save the World Tree from him. However, scholars don’t believe that it could have wiped all of them out—which means there must be some other explanation.

Unfortunately, none is forthcoming.

The Slaeyrs split up into clans, and became a nomadic people, always watching and waiting for danger to return. Some hailed them as heroes. Others waited for them to disappear, as the Anari had. Still yet others didn’t trust their power, or their long lives, and waited for them to betray the people of Eldora.

Unfortunately, those in the latter category might have been right to suspect such treachery…

TAGLIST: @quartzses; @idreamonpaper; @runningonrain; @witchywrite; @queenofsquirrelsstuff; @margaretcroftwrites; @purpleshadows1989; @klywrites; @she-writes-love; @sixstepsaway; @neptune-nereid; @firesidefantasy; @joshuaorrizonte; @waterfallwritings; @languageisbae

okay guys one more before im caught up, then i can stop spamming ur notes

[whitemoonkitteh-blog]

Goddess Freya

💕Freya is the goddess of love in Norse mythology, but she is also associated with sex, lust, beauty, sorcery, fertility, gold, war, and death. 

💕Freya (“Lady”) is one of the preeminent goddesses in Norse mythology.

💕She’s a member of the Vanir tribe of deities, but became an honorary member of the Aesir gods after the Aesir-Vanir War.

💕Freya is the daughter of Njord however her mother is unknown, but could be Nerthus. She has a twin brother named Freyr. Freya is married to the god Odr, but he somehow disappeared but it might be Odin. Her husband Odr in late Old Norse literature is certainly none other than Odin and accordingly Freya is ultimately identical with Odin’s wife Frigg. She has two children with Odr, their names are Hnoss and Gersemi.

💕Some of the weekdays in Norse mythology originate from some of the gods and goddesses, and Freya might be associated with the day friday, but there are conflicting sources so it could also be the goddess Frigg.

💕Freya is famous for her fondness of love, fertility, beauty, and fine material possessions because of these predilections she’s considered to be something of the “party girl” of the Aesir. In one of the Eddic poems for example, Loki accuses Freya (probably accurately) of having slept with all of the gods and elves including her brother.

💕She’s certainly a passionate seeker after pleasures and thrills, but she’s a lot more than only that. Freya is the archetype of the völva, a professional or semiprofessional practitioner of seidr the most organized form of Norse magick. It was she who first brought this art to the gods and by extension to humans as well.

💕Given her expertise in controlling and manipulating the desires, health, and prosperity of others she’s a being whose knowledge and power are almost without equal.

💕Freya presides over the afterlife realm Folkvangr. According to one Old Norse poem, she chooses half of the warriors slain in battle to dwell there.

💕Seidr is a form of pre-Christian Norse magick and shamanism concerned with discerning destiny and altering its course by re-weaving part of its web. This power could potentially be put to any use imaginable and examples that cover virtually the entire range of the human condition can be found in Old Norse literature.

💕In the Viking Age, the völva was an itinerant seeress and sorceress who traveled from town to town performing commissioned acts of seidr in exchange for lodging, food, and often other forms of compensation as well. Like other northern Eurasian shamans, her social status was highly ambiguous. She was by turns exalted, feared, longed for, propitiated, celebrated, and scorned.

💕Freya’s occupying this role amongst the gods is stated directly in the Ynglinga Saga, and indirect hints are dropped elsewhere in the Eddas and sagas. For example, in one tale we’re informed that Freya possesses falcon plumes that allow their bearer to shift his or her shape into that of a falcon.

💕While the late Old Norse literary sources that form the basis of our current knowledge of pre-Christian Germanic religion present Freya and Frigg as being at least nominally distinct goddesses, the similarities between them run deep. Their differences, however, are superficial and can be satisfactorily explained by consulting the history and evolution of the common Germanic goddess whom the Norse were in the process of splitting into Freya and Frigg sometime shortly before the conversion of Scandinavia and Iceland to Christianity (around the year 1000 CE).

💕Freya and Frigg are similarly accused of infidelity to their (apparently common) husband. Alongside the several mentions of Freya’s loose sexual practices can be placed the words of the medieval Danish historian Saxo Grammaticus, who relates that Frigg slept with a slave on at least one occasion. In Lokasenna and the Ynglinga Saga, Odin was once exiled from Asgard, leaving his brothers Vili and Ve in command. In addition to presiding over the realm, they also regularly slept with Frigg until Odin’s return. Many scholars have tried to differentiate between Freya and Frigg by asserting that the former is more promiscuous and less steadfast than the latter, but these tales suggest otherwise.

💕Her emblem is the necklace Brisingamen.

💕Hers is the magic of reading runes, trancing, and casting spells. She is said to have taught Seidr to Odin.

💕She owns a falcon cloak, takes dove form, rides in a chariot drawn by two cats, or rides a boar.

💕As leader of the Valkyries, she takes half those slain in battle and is traditionally associated with death and sexuality.

💕She weeps tears of gold, which become amber, called "Freya's Tears". A kenning for amber. When she could not find her husband Odr, Freya shed tears of gold. The tears that hit trees turned into amber.

💕Freya is incredibly beautiful and she has many admirers, not just among the gods and goddesses but also among the dwarves and giants. She loves jewelry and other fine materials and she has quite often used her beauty to get the jewelry she desires. A big passion for poems and loves to sit and listen to songs for many hours. 

💕Freya is living in Asgard (the home of the gods), the name of her house is Sessrumnir and it is located by the field Folkvangr which means “field of the host”, “people field”, or “army field”. It is a place where half of the people who die in a battle go for the afterlife, while Odin will receive the other half. Freya is always given the first choice among the brave warriors, after she had picked the ones she wanted, the rest were sent to Odin.

💕Freya loves to travel and she would sometimes take a ride in her chariot. She is often depicted riding her golden chariot through the skies, the chariot pulled by two large blue cats who were a gift from the Norse god Thor. She was also able to fly by using her cloak of falcon feathers, which she willingly loaned out to the other gods and goddesses in Asgard, when they needed to fly to one of the worlds in a hurry. Freya also has a boar named Hildisvini “battle swine” which she rides when she is not using her cat-drawn chariot. It is also said to be Freya’s human lover, ottar in disguise, and that is the reason why Loki consistently accuses her of being immoral by riding her lover in public.

💕Freya chastised Thor soundly one morning for awakening her from her beauty sleep with his boisterous and noisy preparations to "go fishing" for a sea dragon. While he was on the way to his fishing spot, Thor kept hearing lovely song-like noises that seemed to be lulling him to sleep. Stopping to investigate the source of the odd sounds, he found them coming from a nest of mewing blue kittens being tended by a tomcat. The sound that Thor had heard was the male cat singing to the kittens, "sleep, sleep, my dear little ones". Thor suggested (in forceful terms) that the cat stop singing the lullaby and the cat sassed him back, suggesting that Thor had no idea how difficult it was for a single-parent male to rear his children and asking if he knew any women who would be willing to take them in. Immediately Freya came to mind and Thor agreed to take them to her. Like all cats, this one was not quick to show appreciation and added that being blue,  they were very unique cats and deserved an especially fine home. Thor took offense at the comment and thundered back at the cat who, not the least impressed, bared his claws and then turned into a bird and flew away. Kindly Freya was enchanted with Thor's present and did the kittens honor by letting them accompany her on her daily rounds across the sky.

💕She was also called upon to comfort those who were dying, to ease their transition into Valhalla ("the otherworld"), serving as a guide and companion on the journey to Valhalla for many Viking heroes who had died nobly.

💕When Freya and the Valkyries rode forth on their missions, their armor caused the eerily beautiful flickering light that we know as the Aurora Borealis or Northern Lights.

💕Freya and Odr were wed, but soon after their wedding Odr disappeared and all feared that he was dead, perhaps killed by the ruling deities for disobeying their orders. Freya was distraught and cried tears of gold, but refused to accept that he was dead. Putting on a magical cloak made of falcon feathers that allows the wearer to fly across vast distances very quickly, she rose into the sky and searched all over the earth for him.

💕Indeed, Odr had not died but had been banished and lost at sea. When Freya found him he had already degenerated into a sea monster. Hideous as he appeared, Freya stayed by his side and comforted him. When someone stumbled upon the sea monster and killed him, Freya was enraged and threatened to take her revenge for the slaying the most noble of the gods.  Fortunately it all worked out as Odr was admitted to Valhalla even though he had not died in battle, and was allowed to have conjugal visits from Freya so that the two were never separated by his death.

💕Usually depicted as a strawberry blonde with stunning blue eyes, none could resist her. To make matters even worse, she possessed apparel that made her irresistible to men. A magickal necklace reputedly made of amber and rubies that was called a "Brisings" or "Brisingamen".

💕Freya had left it a bit late to leave her friend's house to start home. The sun set, and it began to snow. Soon she was becoming disoriented and frost-bitten. Luckily she was found by four dwarves who rescued her and took her to their home. The dwarves were named "North, South, East, and West". Freya volunteered to pay them for their hospitality and the four dwarves cheerfully agreed saying that they would like to be repaid by having her sleep with each of them for one night. Freya wasn't at all interested and promptly declined. Until she saw the incredibly beautiful necklace that they had just made. She had to have it and offered to return after the storm and pay for it in gold. They may have been dwarves, but they weren't stupid. They told her it was not for sale at any price, but countered with an offer that they would be delighted to simply give it to her if she were willing to pay their price for her room and board during the storm. When Freya returned home after the storm subsided, she was wearing the stunning "Necklace of Desire", "Brisingamen", or "The Necklace of the Brisings".

💕The goddess Freya's passions were abundant, vigorous, and unrestrained.  Clothed or not, she is usually shown in sensual poses.

💕Freya is associated with all female animals, especially domestic animals in heat or giving birth. She has several specific animal associations, as well, each of which illuminate some aspect of her power.

💕One of Freya's titles is "Mare of the Vanir", giving her a connection with horses and emphasizing her role as a fertility goddess.

[xanawrites]

Onyx Queen

A snippet of a story I am not sure I will ever finish. Maybe if there is any interest.

A growing cloud of black sludge blotted out the sun and Rashida’s hope. Wafting from the palace, shifting shapes and building dread confirmed in no uncertain terms that Suleiman perished.  Sulphur hung thick in the air, thick on her tongue and in her lungs, provoking a coughing fit. A coughing fit that ended with her regurgitating whatever it was she had last eaten. It didn’t taste as good coming back up. Behind her, the crew laughed. “Lookey-here! Our captain’s gotten herself so used to a queen’s life, she lost her sea legs!” Wiping chunks from her chin, she joined them in a self-deprecating chuckle. A pathetic gesture that didn’t try to deny their jests. It was better they thought that, she decided. Better that though she was soft from her time as ruler, soft enough the rocking of the sea could bring up her lunch. Better than having to admit the truth to them. Better than having to admit the truth to herself, better than to have to prepare herself for another loss. All alone this time. As long as she didn’t acknowledge it, the hope couldn’t hurt her. In her chambers, her son was still sleeping. Well, Suleiman’s son. Her husband’s son, and therefore hers too, even if not in blood. He took after his father, with dark hair and eyes on a dusky bronze complexion. Never had his resemblance hurt as much as it did in this moment, bringing forward the weight of their loss. I miss him. The first of many instances of missing him, she suspected.  Seeking comfort, she dug through her things until she came upon the journal he kept. His words had stolen her heart, turned a political marriage into a fulfilling romantic one. It didn't feel as if he was so far away while his words lived on. She was hardly a page in before she was smiling, with tears rolling down her cheeks. “How’s the Onyx Queen holding up?” Her first mate, Shamila call as she joined her in her chambers. The sun and sea air had done the woman many favors, as her golden complexion seemed to glow even in the dark of the cabin. A red bandana just managed to hold back the mass of dark curls springing from her head, demanding to have her presence felt. Strong muscles and curves from sailing half her life continued this trend of taking up rightfully earned space. Rashida met her question with a glare. “Don’t call me that. I was supposed to be there, by his side. Instead, I am fleeing, like an animal with my tail tucked between my legs.” Shamila turned her gaze toward Harmah, who stirred but did not wake. “And what would have happened to his son had you stayed?” “Someone else could have carried him to safety. We had a hundred loyal and capable retainers who would have been honored to do so.” “Perhaps you are right. But what of hope? Who would have carried that?” Rashida scoffed, arms crossed over her chest.“You think I still have hope?” “You were the first one to believe the demons could be stopped. You created this, all of this, because of that hope. Despite everything else, you kept on, that hope the only thing guiding you.”

“All I’ve built is ash now. A grand pyre to see my husband to the afterlife, and the knowledge that even together we could not overcome.” Rashida curled into herself, fighting back the onslaught of grief.

Shamila stared in silence. Then she sat beside her, trailing calloused fingers over Rashida’s cheek. When she finally spoke up, her voice was gentle,  “If you truly believed there was no hope, you wouldn’t have obeyed his dying wish.” "I wasn’t going to deny his last request." "When have you ever obeyed him before now? When have you ever obeyed anything but your own desires? Don’t say it was because you loved him because love never made you compliant before." There was a defeated smirked on Rashida face, as she knew there wasn’t any arguing with Shamila. Her first mate really had known her too well. Still, she’d be damned if she didn’t get the last word, “I still say he was being selfish.” “I don’t disagree. But, consider this. Suleiman gave everything for his people, everything for his country. In the face of that sacrifice, wasn’t he due one small mercy? That he shouldn’t have to watch his beloved perish as he did? That he could go to heaven, knowing you and Harmah survived?” Rashida sighed, hating that Shamila made so much sense. Hating it, and yet wishing it were true. Wishing that her husband had known some peace in those final moments, knowing she was safe. There were a few moments of comfortable silence before she turned her attention back to her son.

“What am I going to tell Harmah?” She lamented, watching the child sleep, jealous of his peaceful ignorance. “That his father is a hero? Isn’t that what any six-year-old would want?” her first mate suggested, shrugging. “I’m sure any child would prefer a living father to the ghost of a hero,” Rashida challenged, unwilling or unable to hide her bitterness. By the gods, she'd make the demons pay in blood for this. “What he needs is a parent. A mother, if his father is gone. Not a vengeful widow.” Shamila advised, sensing her unspoken anger.

[siren-dragon]

His Final Fantasy (Ardyn Izunia x OC) drabble

Hey everyone, I wrote a small little drabble featuring a headcanon idea from @pascha-chan about an Ardyn afterlife scene. So this is for you @pascha-chan, since you are so sweet and amazing; and I hope you like it! :D

Also a shout out to @rosecoloredkay for helping me with descriptions. Here we go! ^_^

He felt as if he were trapped within that thrice-damned prison once more.

It took every inch of will power Ardyn possessed to bow to the younger king. A final gesture of respect he thought the boy- no, the man deserved. As the Scourge continued to consume his flesh, its host finally submitting at last, Ardyn watched the King of Light summon their brethren. He felt every slice, every blow of their blessed steel batter his already broken body. When at last the final strike was dealt, Ardyn grinned as he begun to fade into the nothingness.

It was finally over….

To be honest, Ardyn never knew what he wanted to await him upon his death. He did try to imagine what the world beyond the mortal realm appeared to be; and if those he had lost were waiting for him. Though as time marched onward and left him unchanged, he abandoned such fantasies. After all, what good was dreaming of such reverie’s while immortality clung to him like an iron shackle. Immortal Accursed indeed….

Though he never thought he’d awaken to the scent of flowers.

Slowly opening his eyes, Ardyn frowned; glaring up at the evening sky as the moon and stars illuminated the field of sylleblossoms he was lying in. No! Why did the sky remain shrouded in darkness? Did the prophecy fail? Does all of Eos remain cursed by the daemons after everything he had done!?-

Wait….was that….was that music?

A soft humming, almost like the tinkling of bells, drifted across the gentle breeze along with the sound of….was that water?

Slowly Ardyn rose to his feet, the field of sylleblossoms stretching far and just along the horizon; the ocean. It appeared as if he had awoken within Galdin Quay; though not the modern resort that had overtaken the beach, but the Galdin Quay of his past. Gone were the obnoxious tourists and ambient tropical music, allowing the calming sound of waves to echo all around. He watched the black water crash against the shore before the music began again. Like a moth to a flame the magenta-haired king hurried after the sound, each step bringing him closer and closer to the ocean.

As he walked he watched the sky begin to lighten, the sky holding streaks of blue, pink, and indigo as he approached the water; allowing him to see a tall silhouette walking along the sand.

No…it wasn’t possible…..

The figure stopped, ending the melodious tune, they were humming and spun about. Even in the pale light of the early morning, Ardyn could still make out the features he remembered from so long ago. Long brown hair, darker than the finest chocolates, cascaded down sun-kissed skin in an elegant braid tossed over her left shoulder. She wore a gown of ivory that swayed in the breeze, revealing her bare feet and the anklet resting around her right foot. And he stared into those beautiful eyes; eyes of brilliant blue and purple that shinned brighter than the flames of the Meteor.

A hushed silence fell between the two, only to be broken by the crash of water along the shore. Ardyn stared in disbelief at the sight of his long dead wife, unsure if such a vision was real or a cruel fabrication. Was she truly here? Was she-

“Took you long enough! You sure know how to keep a girl waiting, Ardyn.” She teased, her violet eyes sparkling playfully.

Ardyn blinked in surprise before a smile pulled across his lips. There was no mistake, it was her….his Stella.

“What can I say? I am worth the wait, my dear,” he chuckled.

She smiled, lifting a hand to his face and brushing his stubble. Ardyn leaned into her touch; sighing softly at the warmth of her skin.

“I will say that the beard looks good on you. Though it does make you appear rather old.”

“For a 2000-year-old man, I believe I am holding up alright.”

Stella laughed, taking hold of her hand and guiding him toward the shore. “Well then old man, will you be open to a little walk along the shore?”

“Of course.”

Together they strolled across the sands slowly, admiring the view of the ocean. The sight took him back to that day, so long ago where he knelt before the woman beside him and asked her to be his wife. It seemed almost too good to be true; seeing her here once more. Was….Was this even real? Was it all simply a lie spun about by his own longing and sense of loneliness?…

“I’ve something for you,” Stella spoke, a bright grin spread across her face with hands clasped behind her back.

Ardyn blinked, her voice pulling him from his thoughts. “Oh? And what might that be?”

She brought her hands forward, showing a pair of sky-blue ice cream popsicles. “Did you think I’d forget about your insatiable sweet tooth? It’s a new flavor I thought you’d enjoy: sea-salt ice cream!”

“Sea salt? Well, you always did like odd things.”

“That is why I married you,” she laughed.

Slowly Ardyn took hold of a single popsicle, the frozen sweet dripping upon his hand. He could already smell the salt coming from the ice cream- or was it the ocean? - before taking a bite. The tang of sea salt danced across his tongue before the gentle sweetness of the sugar followed suit, a strange blend of flavor that complimented each other perfectly. Glancing to his left, he watched his lovely Stella stare out into the ocean, ice cream in hand as the horizon slowly began to brighten. How was such a vision even possible? After all he had done, did the gods truly grant him such a blessing? Or perhaps it was all a mere mockery for the Fallen King-

“What troubles you?” Stella asked curiously.

He froze, her words a Thunder spell through his entire body. Ardyn stared down at the sand beneath his feet, unable to meet her gaze. “What makes you think something would be ailing me?”

“Ardyn, I know you better than you think I do. It does not take much to see that something has been plaguing your mind. So…what troubles you, my love?”

Ardyn turned to face her, tears threatening to fall from his golden eyes. “…Are you real? Is this place, all of it, truly what lies beyond? Am I with you now, so close that I can feel the heat radiating off your flesh; or is it all some cruel illusion? While I soon awaken in that cold, throne-room alone once more?” His voice growing more hysterical by the second.

Stella watched him with an unreadable expression, her eyes never leaving his own. Ardyn panted heavily as if he had run across all Lucis and back as he waited for her answer. Did he break his own illusion? Was it time to finally wake up again?…

Calmly Stella took a step forward, now only inches away from his own body, before allowing her lips to meet his own. It was as if a floodgate had been released and Ardyn allowed the tears to fall as he kissed the love of his life once more. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the scent of sylleblossoms and vanilla as her own arms curled around his neck. It felt as if an eternity had passed when they finally separated, a cheeky smirk pulled across Stella’s now swollen lips.

“I do hope I was rather convincing,” she teased playfully.

He laughed, tears flowing freely down his face as he embraced her tightly. “More than you know. My beautiful Star….I’ve missed you, so much…..”

“And I you. My sweet Ardyn, you have been through so much pain and strife. But now you may rest at last, my brave King.”

Stella took hold of his hand once more and pulled him toward the sand, tucking her legs beneath her as she gestured for him to join her. Ardyn soon sat beside her, tossing the ice cream before laying his head against her lap. Her hands weaved through the strands of his wine-colored hair, causing Ardyn to sigh softly. “…I love you.” He spoke as he gazed upward at her, golden eyes meeting indigo.

She smiled before placing a kiss against his forehead. “I know. Now go to sleep, you silly man.”

He chuckled before turning toward the ocean, watching the sun rise over the horizon and bringing forth a new dawn. Stella began humming softly once more as his eyes began to close, her music causing a relaxed smile to appear on his face. A rest….sounded truly marvelous.

[duskwind-grove-2]

An Awakening

Previously: https://duskwind-grove-2.tumblr.com/post/181989298556/noble-intentmassacre-at-stonecairne-lake

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Death gripped the spirit of the shattered form of Dral’than the Murloc Lord… Once he had been a master of arcanic power. A highborne master of magic and might that few would have been able to best in battle. The court knew of him, though he primarily kept to himself, save for when he felt the desire to travel to Zin’Azshari for a festival, that he might catch sight of his beloved Queen. These memories flitted through his mind before he remembered that terrible, horrific day. A day where the sky rained with fire. The demons marched through the city, and her people found themselves trapped as the world itself shattered about them… And then they were enveloped by the sea.

He could remember the water filling his lungs. He could remember as he strained against the weight of the water above him. Flailing as he felt himself pulled deeper and deeper against the waves. He tried to cast a spell, but it shattered. He tried to find his way upward, but it failed. But then he saw a radiant, great light and tears filled his eyes as he caught sight of his queen. They had lost. They had all lost. The darkness took him once more.

Then his eyes opened. Air entered his lungs. And the agony began. Slowly his form shook and changed and reshaped itself… His once proud vissage transformed itself into the sight of a monster. Row after row of teeth grew in his jaws… And his gaze looked around the black sea. A burning, red eye gazed upon them like the sun itself, and he laughed when he saw her. His queen… His goddess. He would serve her once more.

This would only be his first death it seemed…

His form writhed against the black abyss as it devoured him. His failure had made it clear that he would not have a peaceful afterlife. He would not witness eternity, he would simply be devoured. He would experience agony for the rest of his existence before he passed on into the void.

Then he saw it. An emerald light in the darkness. An ethereal hand reaching out, and a voice calling towards him… He would take it. His queen had not yet abandoned him! As he reached for the hand, he recalled his first experiments in the void. Year, after year, after year of delving into their master’s secrets. None could compare with the power of the old ones on Azeroth. Even the foul titan keepers were merely ants compared to the true rulers of Azeroth. He could hear the black abyss of the stars in their words. He could feel their heart beating as one with the heart of this world, he followed the whispers. Letting them guide him through secrets thought lost to time and history. He devoured knowledge in a way that only a few would manage to compare to… He grew, and he grew, and he grew, until his spirit was a writhing serpent that might reach into the sky and devour whatever he pleased. But that was in the past, and the void was punishing him… So he would take this hand. He would not leave himself damned for the rest of his days. Then he opened his eyes, yet he did not breathe. The night sky hung overhead, and a robed figure stood off to the side. He would pull his hand away, a bony, rotted thing, born of magics fouler than any of the might that the legion might have managed… “Rise…” The figure told me. And I obeyed. Just as I had obeyed my queen’s orders to come here in the first place. Just as I had obeyed her so long ago. “Bow.” The figure told me… And so the naga did. A brief revelation crossed the creature’s mind. “You brought me back asssss undead.” The figure would stare at me and lower his cowl… His face was a bony mask. “Silence…” He said. And I fell silent. The newly raised naga tried his best to use what power he had to fight against this foul being. This usurper. But it could not. It tried my best to face this being and curse at him, that he might return to my queen… But he could not. The figure waved his hand and stated calmly “I grant you my power. I grant you my staff. Enact your vengeance against those who slew you.” He planted a rod into the ground, thrumming with power that caused the very earth to die about it. A grin crossed the creature’s toothy maw. That was at least something they could agree on. I made my way to the water’s edge staff in hand. The serpent slowly buried himself in the water, and made his way down the creeks of the land. He knew of many ‘threats’ that were befalling this land. Perhaps some of them would serve the plan he was crafting well.

[entergamingxp]

You can play demos of 13 upcoming indie games, including System Shock, on Steam tomorrow • Eurogamer.net

Tomorrow marks the return of the annual Game Awards and, as part of the accompanying festivities, it’ll be possible to play demos of 13 upcoming indie games, including the long-awaited System Shock remake, Skatebird, Carrion, and more.

The Steam-based event, officially known as The Game Festival, begins tomorrow, 12th December, at 6pm in the UK/10 am PT, and all demos will be available on Valve’s platform for 48 hours before they’re whisked away forever – even if you have them installed.

Hopefully 48 hours will be enough to get through everything, as there’s a load of interesting stuff on offer, including The Game Bakers’ co-operative love story Haven, Nightdive Studios’ much-delayed System Shock remake, Sundered developer Thuder Lotus’ “cozy game about dying” Spiritfarer, be-the-monster 2D horror Carrion, and more.

The complete list, as currently announced, can be found below – and I’ve included a trailer and Steam description for each, which will perhaps assist in finding the titles of most interest to you.

Incidentally, the Game Awards itself kicks off at 1.30am on Friday, 13th December in the UK. It’ll be livestreamed on Twitch, Mixer, YouTube, Steam, and Facebook, and we’ll be giving it the full coverage treatment here on Eurogamer, likely with hysterical, caffeine-addled glee.

Acid Knife (Powerhoof)

“Battle Death Centipedes in the melting psychedelic void. Slower, more intentional side-scrolling combat, with an emphasis on positioning and improvisation.”

Carrion (Phobia/Devolver)

“Carrion is a reverse horror game in which you assume the role of an amorphous creature of unknown origins, stalking and consuming those that imprisoned you.”

Chicory: A Colourful Tale (Greg Lobanov)

“You’re a dog wielding a magic brush! Use painting powers to explore, solve puzzles and make friends in this top-town adventure game. From creators on Wandersong + Celeste.”

The Drifter (Powerhoof)

“A Pulp Adventure Thriller – A drifter, murdered, finds himself alive again seconds before his death. Struggling to maintain his sanity, can he unravel the conspiracy surrounding his condition and those hunting him?”

Eastward (Pixpil/Chucklefish)

“In a beautifully-detailed and charming post-apocalyptic world, a miner discovers a mysterious little girl named Sam deep underground in a secret facility… Journey through decaying cities, encountering strange creatures and even stranger people along the way!”

Haven (The Game Bakers)

“They escaped to a lost planet to be together. An intimate RPG adventure about love and freedom. To play solo or with a special someone.”

Heavenly Bodies (2pt Interactive)

“Wrangle the hands and arms of a 1970s space cosmonaut and push, pull and twist your way through an increasingly precarious range of physically-simulated stellar scenarios, where without gravity, nothing is still, nothing is secure, and nothing is simple.”

Moving Out (SMG Studio/Devm Games/Team17)

“Become a certified removals master in this action, puzzle, physics based moving simulator that brings new meaning to ‘couch co-op'”.

Röki (Polygon Treehouse/United Label)

“Röki is an adventure game inspired by Scandinavian folklore; a dark contemporary fairy tale underpinned by a touching narrative, alluring art style, ancient puzzles and atmospheric exploration.”

Skatebird (Glass Bottom Games)

“Grind on bendy straws, kick-flip over staplers, and carve killer lines through cardboard and sticky tape parks. Above all else, skate birds try their best!”

Spiritfarer (Thunder Lotus)

“Spiritfarer is a cozy management game about dying. As ferrymaster to the deceased, build a boat to explore the world, care for your spirit friends, and guide them across mystical seas to finally release them into the afterlife. What will you leave behind?”

System Shock (Nightdive Studios)

“After two decades, Nightdive Studios is rebooting and re-imagining the original System Shock. We will keep the new game true to the classic experience, keeping all the things you loved while giving today’s gamers the modern look and feel expected from a great game.”

Wooden Nickel (Brain&Brain)

“Step inside the curiosities of an Old West newspaper to explore a frontier town. Meet the locals, wander the desert, make choices that shape each morning’s paper in a growing spread of possibilities.”

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2019/12/you-can-play-demos-of-13-upcoming-indie-games-including-system-shock-on-steam-tomorrow-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=you-can-play-demos-of-13-upcoming-indie-games-including-system-shock-on-steam-tomorrow-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net