#praying to the tomb for no typos

[civetside]

harrow indirectly feels the warmth of another women for the first time (idk i thought it was really funny last night at 3 am so here we are)

[nedlittle]

as someone who only just finished gideon the ninth last sunday & finally understands the hype & hasn't finished the other books, PLEASE release the 11 pages of notes

your wish is my command, here are my notes verbatim typed from my tiny notebook (typos notwithstanding. i fixed those so i don't look stupid)

ACT I

P. 29 - before the duel, Harrow presents herself “emptied like a quiver” prefiguring the necromancer/cavalier dynamic and the fact that they will grow to need each other. The king & lionheart of it all…

P. 54 - Gideon tells Harrow: “Your heart is a party for ten thousand nails.” and I SCREAMED 

P. 73: [paragraph describing Ianthe and Coronabeth in luxurious detail] “The boy just looked like a bit of a dick.” lesbianism

P. 76 - “He didn’t look healthy; he looked like a collection of lemons in a sack.” Why is this so evocative

SO funny that Harrow is like Griddle. You hog you need to do this correctly. Wear the damn face paint. And then it’s just a weird Ninth House thing. I love space Catholicism these bitches so deranged

Cannot read the “I pray the tomb stays locked forever. I pray the rock is never rolled away” prayer without it being to the tune of ‘No Children’

ACT II

P. 110 - “Coronabeth Tridentarius, Princess of Ida, took her hand and roguishly kissed the backs of Gideon’s knuckles.” I know there’s a whole essay on chivalry and gender on Tor but I guess I just want to say that there’s a really interesting subversion of the medieval lady/champion dynamic going on. Coronabeth kisses Gideon’s knuckles. Dulcinea has Gideon physically show off but Gideon, bound by her promise to Harrow, cannot talk and thus any typical structures for wooing are inverted. By her silence she is rendered as cool and unbreachable as a maiden in a tower

Something something Gideon’s physical body and her personhood always being someone else’s property.

All of Jeannemary’s dialogue with Magnus being parenthesized and in a smaller type is such a fun little touch

P. 125-6 - “[...] but she had fed her entire life into the meat grinder of hope.” Fuck me!

P. 128 - “She had never seen Harrowhark Nonagesimus’s naked face.” Harrow having to perform being Reverend Daughter not only her role but the entire house in the shape of a girl

[Angela Carter voice] a girl who is both death and the maiden

 P. 151 - “You could have died today.” "you could finish me right now, if you liked. You might even win."......hot.

Every single one of Gideon’s silly nicknames for Harrow is perfect.

P. 152 - “She smiled again–slower than before, just as terrible, just as strange.” Okay Galadriel

P. 161 has the first time Gideon calls Harrow by her first name. By the end of the act it will be three times. Harrow has yet to say hers.

“P. 163 - “You can control my body. You can read my thoughts.” I believe this is what the kids call foreshadowing for book 2

Also on that page: “But first, Griddle, I’m afraid I have to pass out.” I love her.

Verbatim annotation from p. 167: ‘SHE’S NEVER HAD A DESERT :(‘ 

I know that they’re not friends but [John Darnielle voice]: people say friends don’t destroy each other what do they know about friends

Ianthe’s “I don’t live alternative histories” god I am so excited for her to be awful

The dynamic kind of reminds me of Sweet Smell of Success (1957) which features a similarly nasty yet reliant dynamic but it ends Far Worse. Very much we need each other to be a cohesive whole but that doesn’t mean we have to be nice

IT WAS THEIR ANNIVERSARY!!! NO

ACT III

I will be surprised if Dulcinea survives and also does not end up being marginally evil.

Not to sound like it’s 2014 and I just discovered all-female casts but I’m really into both the 2nd and 9th being the only ones with both necro + cav being women. I know it’s a basic thing and that there isn’t

a ton about the Second House yet but having the representatives of “The Emperor’s Strength” both be girls…nice

Naberius die challenge!

P. 200 - “He wouldn’t have let anything happen to Abigail [...] She hated heights. She never would have risked falling.” I am howling like a shot wolf.

First of all, Gideon being affected by Magnus’s death because he was nice to her without any ulterior motives: OUCH. Second, “we are all the sons and daughters that the House of the Ninth possess.” The Twelfth Night of it all…the performance of it all. (“I am all the daughters of my father’s house and all the brothers too.” 2.4)

The Harrow who lives in my head has a mullet

UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES WILL I EVER DESIRE YOUR JUICE

The First time Harrow calls Gideon by her name is p. 228

The choice of ‘spawned’ to refer to Harrow’s birth feels deliberate and I’m sure I’ll find out why later. Also the Scandalous Nudity being her face rather than her body when they’re both bare…it’s about living around and under the foot of someone your whole life but never being allowed to know them

P. 234 - Gideon can’t even say Harrow’s name aloud to anyone else…I wish to die! Swiftly!

P. 246 - Gideon has a hot bath for the first time (yay!) and wonders “whether water could get inside of you and make you sick.” God the Ninth House really is living in Vampire Times. Aristotle, you there?

The way all the different houses approach necromancy and the necro/cav dynamic is SO interesting! Cam’s line on p. 235 about the Eight “breed[ing] batteries” absolutely chilled me. Also the juxtaposition between the Eighth using cavaliers as an energy source vs Ianthe, absolute freak, taking a chunk out of Babs. The physical body vs the energy which propels it. Then contrasting that with pairs like Magnus & Abigail (rip) and Cam & Pal who mentally and emotionally rely on each other instead. It isn’t parasitic. KING AND LIONHEART! GO CRAZY AAH! GO STUPID AAH!

I am using all of my meager brain cells to formulate a thought about Camilla and Marta’s fight that isn’t just. wrow. women. OK. The description is short and brutal like the fight itself. The line about Cam fighting like a grease fire works so well my blood was in my EARS! When she dislocated Marta’s arm my own arm jerked back in shock. Fully almost yeeted the book

Yay for Pal also getting a hot moment. One man <3

“Harrow “rose to the occasion like an evening star”....DEATH FIRST TO VULTURES AND SCAVENGERS…I love her something awful. 

My highlighter ran out on p. 275 because I highlighted basically the whole page. The girls HUG!! Gideon lifts Harrow off the ground! Unsure if I should tag myself as ‘midnight hagette’ or Harrow’s utter lesbian brain death. At “It feels like forever” I genuinely screamed into my hands. God they’re it. THEY’RE IT.

P. 284 - “Gideon wanted her longsword and she wanted Harrow.” yeah me too

P. 285 - Jeannemary: “I hated [Isaac] when we were little, he wasn’t at all what I wanted.” ough the parallels

I know that naming a character ‘Isaac’ in your space opera about traumatized Catholics is sort of like naming a character ‘sacrifice’ and yet it’s still so gut wrenching! I love and I hate when characters fall victim to the prophecies within their names

Speaking of Biblical etymology, I see you Judith Deuteros. Please decapitate a dude

I knew about the Sex Pal joke and still guffawed

CHAPTERS 26-34

The description of Isaac’s body as a “broken sieve” really upset me and also harkens back to Harrow being empty as a quiver. The necromancer’s body as something which exists to be filled by energy and power, but also something so vulnerable as to demand the physical protection and occasional energy of its cavalier

P. 292 - “When [Dulcinea] breathed it sounded like custard sloshing around an air conditioner.” Absolutely Fucking Wretched!!!

P. 294 - “Mostly cancer and just a little bit of women.” each House really is fucked up in new and exciting ways

Gideon’s nightmare of finding Jeannemary’s severed limbs in her bed really kneecaps you. It’s giving Bluebeard. It’s giving Robber Bridegroom. It’s giving cavaliers as expendable physical forms, and that kind of body horror hasn’t quite been present aside from the avulsion room which wasn’t so bad

P. 331 - “What would you do if you discovered Camilla was a murderer?” "Help her bury the body." G O D

This entire page kills me. For some reason the one year difference and the choice to say “I’ve known her as long as she’s lived” like Harrow’s life is contingent on Gideon’s. One flesh one end B I T C H ! !

Also on that page: “She nearly killed me half a dozen times growing up, but I always knew why.” ok cool!

WAS NOT READY FOR THIS REVELATION???

I have run out of insightful commentary but Harrow wanting “prey, rival, and audience all wrapped up in one.” vs Gideon being “hungry for the Reverend Daughter’s preoccupation”. Don’t you think they’re the same thing? Love and attention? They’re both watching and being watched. Portrait of a Lady on Fire shit

I think Harrow and Cam should hold hands if only because they’d both hate it

Tamsyn loves a prophetic name. I thought she’d subverted it with Protisilaus but nope. Dead all along. First to die

Ianthe’s head pun…what is wrong with her

P. 352 - genuinely don’t have anything of substance to say about the pool scene but “I am exactly two hundred sons and daughters of my House, Griddle–I am the whole generation of the Ninth.” All this PLUS Harrow piloting her parents to keep the Ninth functioning. Christ.

P. 355 - “I am tired of being two hundred corpses.” ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch

Incredibly normal that Harrow’s parents were like hello our ten-year-old war crime daughter time for our group suicide! Here, I’ll tie your noose :) normal family!

I haven’t quite the familiarity with Antigone to say there’s an Antigone parallel somewhere but hmm

Cannot talk about the rest of this scene. I can barely look at it. YOU ARE MY ONLY FRIEND! I AM UNDONE WITHOUT YOU!! 

Oh to have your only friend Gideon Nav kiss you on the forehead

I love you 4’11” teenage saint war crime necrophiliac 

Gideon choosing to sleep in the cavalier bed. It’s about devotion as both a contract and an active choice. ‘I Will Follow You Into the Dark’ shit. I’m sick

P. 371 - “Dead as space, though accurately, that’s been true for a very, very long time.” I know this refers to Teacher but also stars themselves transmit light for millennia after they burn out. The cosmos itself as a haunted house

Why does the Emperor have a cohort anyway? What enemies are there that an army is necessary to grind children through? I need to know more about this

Cannot articulate this but Ianthe having to be a true necromancer and eating Babs to become a lyctor IS feminist not just because it’s such an overcome male power trip moment but also because it seems that In Media we can only have female villains if they’re tormented and redeemed by the end, they aren’t allowed to be deranged little freaks like this. She’s the damn joker!

REST IN PISS BABS. Again, genuinely progressive that Ianthe eats him and absorbs his perfect cavalier training; then, when she cannot keep it up she turns into a SKIN SHIELD?? [John Darnielle voice] come unhinged! Get revenge!

You’re really eased into the body horror and then Act IV is like hey kid you’re going to experience body horrors beyond your comprehension.

CHAPTERS 35-END 

Thinking about 8-year-old Palamedes writing to 15-year-old Dulcinea about how he’s determined to cure her. Also interesting to think that something so mundane as cancer still exists in this world where people are regularly getting bodied by skeletons

Oh, re: Pal, I forgot to highlight this but there’s a line a few (?) chapters back where he surveys his work and sees that it’s good which is directly from god creating the universe

P. 400 - “[Gideon’s] brain was full of sweet fuck all.” yeah girl me too

Every single man in this book has died. Feminism but also Palamedes my friend :(

“Tell Camilla–oh never mind, she knows what to do.” Doctor Who vibes (sorry) “If you see Rose, tell her…tell her…oh, she knows.”

P. 406 - “Camilla Hect off the leash was like light moving across water. She punched her knives into the Lyctor’s guard over and over and over. Cytherea met them ably, but such was Camilla’s speed and perfect hate that she could only hope to block the thunderstorm of blows; she could not even begin to push back against them.” The wording here feels so deliberately Homeric! It’s her aristeia!

It doesn’t mention this in the after matter, but I am choosing to believe Cam was named after Camilla in the Aeneid. She HAS to be!!

I understand why people scream at Marvel movies now but the more apt comparison for Gideon & her two-hander is the re-forging of Anduril. I can hear the score

P. 412 - “I need to be inside you.” NOW IS NOT THE TIME HARROW!!

P. 414 - “Did you behold me, Griddle?” she got yeeted by a vertebrae string because she was too busy beholding you, Harrow!

Rosary-whip made of knuckles. What a great time to be ex-Catholic. This is so hot of her

Camilla Hect aroace icon. Send tweet.

A climactic boss fight where all 5 characters are women…wrow

FUCK YEAH DISMEMBERMENT!!

P. 429 - “All you have to do is live.” Harrow begging Gideon to do the one thing she thought was impossible as a child

Oh these bitches in LOVE

I love “undeserved” forgiveness

[holds Harrowhark Nonagesimus] you do not have to be good you do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves

I’m sorry I have zero thoughts I’m just saying ROMANCE ROMANCE ROMANCE ROMANCE ROMANCE ROMANCE over and over and over again in my head

“First flower of my House” is the most romantic shit I’ve ever heard get it OUT of my face. That is not something you come up with on the spot…

The cruelest thing anyone has ever done to Harrow in her life is willingly die for her…

P. 436 - “They were cheek to cheek: Gideon’s arm and Harrow’s arm entwined, holding the sword aloft, letting the steel catch the light.” No THIS is the most romantic shit

Harrow/Pal lavender marriage of the century lmao

Gideon & Harrow 🤝 Gimli & Legolas

Quoting the verses of the Book of Ruth that’s commonly used at weddings

Hey at least I successfully guessed that Dulcinea would be evil & dead by the end. I love being right

IN SUMMARY: DEATH DYING SUFFERING ROMANCE PAIN

[scotianostra]

On 7th June 1329 Robert the Bruce died at his manor near Cardross, Dumbarton.  

The Bruce “house” was more likely a fortified property and although it is long gone historians say it was a piece of land called Pillanflatt, which lay between the extreme south end of modern Renton and what is now Dalmoak farmsteading.

The Bruce spent the last 3 years of his life. He hunted in the area with hawks, and seemingly kept a lion in a cage, which, as historian Dr I. M. M. MacPhail once wrote, was “armorially appropriate“ for the King of Scotland. A plaque was commissioned and unveiled at the old medieval churchyard of Cardross, in Levengrove Park, Dumbarton, on the 1st September, 2001, it reads;

ROBERTUS DEI GRATIA REX SCOTORUM THIS PLAQUE WAS PLACED HERE TO COMMEMORATE THE SEPULTURE HERE WITHIN THE RUINED BOUNDS OF SAINT SERF'S PARISH CHURCH, LITTLE KIRKTON, OF THE EMBALMED VISCERA FROM THE BODY OF KING ROBERT 'THE BRUCE'

ON OR ABOUT THE THIRD WEEK OF JUNE 1329. THE DYING MONARCH REQUESTED THAT HIS HEART BE TAKEN TO JERUSALEM BY A KNIGHT TEMPLAR IN FULFILMENT OF A SACRED VOW HE HAD MADE EARLIER IN HIS REIGN TO GO ON A CRUSADE TO THE HOLY LAND IN PALESTINE.

ON THE SAME DAY AND AT THE HOUR APPOINTED FOR THE ENTOMBMENT OF THE KING IN DUNFERMLINE ABBEY, A SIMULTANEOUS SERVICE OF SEPULTURE WAS CONDUCTED WITHIN THE PRECINCTS OF THIS VENERABLE EDIFICE. 

I think most of you will know that The Bruce’s heart never made it to The Holy Land, the ever-restless Douglas stopped to support Spain’s Alfonso XI in his campaign against the Moors and was killed in battle. According to legend, he threw the casket holding Bruce’s heart ahead of him before entering the fray, declaring, 

“Lead on brave heart, I’ll follow thee.” 

Bruce’s heart was ultimately retrieved and interred at Melrose Abbey, while the rest of his body was laid to rest in the royal mausoleum at Dunfermline Abbey. The king’s epitaph declared Bruce 

'Here lies the unconquered Robert, blessed king. Who reads his deeds lives again all the battles he fought. By his integrity he brought to freedom the kingdom of the Scots; now he dwells in Heaven's heights.' .”

The brass effigy placed over the burial site in 1889, gifted to the abbey church by the Bruces of Elgin. Only part of Bruce was buried at Dunfermline. His entrails were buried at Cardross. The appeal of being buried in so many different places was that the religious communities in those places would pray and say masses for his soul following his death, interceding to God to reduce Bruce's time in Purgatory. During the course of his long and dramatic career, Bruce had committed some whopping sins in pursuit of his ambitions, so he could probably do with all the help he could get!  Bruce himselh chose Dunfermline, some say as early as 1314, as his last resting place, due to it’s connection with previous Scottish monarchs, he is said to have wanted to be with his 'royal ancestors' St Margaret, Malcolm III, Edgar, Alexander I, David I and Alexander III. It was also the ancient capital of Scotland, only last month was it officially elevated to that of City status.

Following his death in the west, Bruce's body was proceeded eastwards to Dunfermline, making stops at Dunipace and Cambuskenneth (and possibly Culross). Some 8,000 lbs of wax candles were burned in the abbey as the king's body was processed into the choir in a canopied hearse made of imported Baltic wood. The procession of mourners was led by the king's grandson Robert the Steward - who would have been about thirteen at the time - perhaps because the king's five year old son was deemed too young. The only source to offer a date for Bruce's funeral is Jean Froissart's Croniques, which implausibly states that this took place on 7th November 1327, - Ha! Spot the discrepancy with the date?  Precisely one year and seven months before his death! It shows even those old chroniclers got things wrong, or perhaps it was what we call now a typo.

During his life, King Robert paid for an ornate tomb to be built for him at Dunfermline, ordering marble from as far afield as Italy.  Unfortunately, the ornate tomb was destroyed during the Reformation and the exact site of Bruce's burial site was lost.  A skeleton was uncovered in 1818 was initially believed to be King Robert's primarily because the sternum had been cut open, strongly suggesting the heart had been removed, and had clearly been buried in a privileged position within the abbey church.

However, Dr Michael Penman of the University of Stirling has recently raised doubts about this conclusion. Firstly, separate heart burials were not uncommon in medieval Scotland (although they had become less common by the time of Bruce's death), so the fact that the heart had apparently been removed is not necessarily unusual. Furthermore, while we would expect Bruce to enjoy a prominent position within the abbey church, the space directly in front of the altar would more likely have been reserved for King David I, who had founded the abbey and whose mother St Margaret was buried directly behind the altar. In fact, Bruce was probably buried in the Lady Chapel in the north transept of the abbey church. This is where his nephew Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, his sister Christian, and his great-grandson Robert Stewart, Duke of Albany chose to be buried, their decision likely based on a desire to be buried close to King Robert.

In November 1819 the skeleton was put on display to the public before being re-interred where it had been found in a coffin engraved with the phrase 'ROBERT BRUCE, 1329, 1819'. In 1889 the Bruces of Elgin paid for a brass effigy to be placed over the spot where the skeleton had been buried. Several casts were made of the skull, if you’ve visited the Abbey you will have no doubt seen one of them at the tomb, this leads me to point out that if it is King David’s remains, well all those reconstructions of how Robert would have looked are also actually how David may have looked!  But it may still be oor Robert, acording to the article below it’s a 50% chance. 

Pics are the tomb at Dunfermline and a depiction of how the original may have looked, the third pic is the plaque at Cardross.

 https://www.thecourier.co.uk/fp/news/fife/1856128/bruce-tombskeleton-of-robert-the-bruce-may-actually-be-king-david-i/

[felassan]

So the Chantry is kinda all pervasive amongst humans in Thedas, but it's only been going for ~1000 years, what do we know of pre/non Andrastian religion amongst humans and other folk?

oohh, great question

Some of this stuff is more like philosophy or religion-adjacent, but it’s worth going into on the subject of the query.

(Note: terms like “shaman” and “animism” are coming from in-universe sources/quotes)

The dwarves don’t worship a god, but they venerate The Stone and have been doing so for over 2000 years. They believe themselves to be the Children of the Stone, which they refer to as “she”. She shelters them, supports them and offers them the most priceless gifts of the earth. Most non-surface dwarves really don’t want to lose their connection to the Stone, their innate Stone-sense. They also practise something akin to ancestor worship. Worthy dwarves are thought to return to the Stone’s embrace in death and become Ancestors. The Ancestors guide the dwarves and speak with the voice of the Provings. Genetivi writes that “for guidance in spiritual matters”, the dwarves turn to their Ancestors. Dwarves may ask the Ancestors to guard or protect them or their loved ones. They also seek to honor and follow in the footsteps of their Paragons. Paragons are believed to have joined with the Stone in life and are essentially elite role models. They’re elected by the Assembly after a great invention, act of valor or other notable action or trait, mostly posthumously. Paragons are set above the ancestors and even kings. If living a Paragon has ‘living Ancestor’ status. There’s some overlap in these concepts; dwarves are said to practise living ancestor worship by way of naming Paragons.

The dwarves of Kal-Sharok have lived for many years in isolation and consequently some of their religious and associated practises have somewhat diverged. They don’t recognize the Paragons of Orzammar, and their own Paragons are selected based on promised deeds, as opposed to ones already undertaken. The Sha-Brytol defend and revere the Titans. They later come to both love and fear Valta due to her restored Titan-connection. Meanwhile, some Surface dwarves still cleave to the Stone. Others are Andrastian or non-religious. Brother Burkel in DAO was an Andrastian Surface dwarf who wished to open a Chantry in Orzammar. I wonder if dwarven beliefs before their sundering from the Titans were centered around the Titans, as their beliefs now are around the Stone (which is like, the same thing, but also not).

The big-Q Qunari follow the Qun. “Qunari” means “People of the Qun”. The Qun is a school of thought and set of teachings based on the writings and philosophies of its founder, Ashkaari Koslun, in the Tome of Koslun. “The Qun” is the philosophical text Koslun wrote, and it’s noted to be “a philosophy” which “does not allow for the existence of religions”. Qunari society is essentially based on the Qun. Notably, it’s not an atheistic belief system (“not” isn’t a typo here, I think it’s something DG once said. not sure how this fits together). Humans, elves and dwarves can convert to and embrace the Qun, whereupon they become known as Viddathari - like Tallis, or Gatt. It’s possible for Viddathari to become Arishok, Arigena or Ariqun. The Ariqun is the leader of the Qunari priesthood and Tamassrans and the Ben-Hassrath are branches of it. Members of the horned race born outside of the Qun - who have never known it - are considered Vashoth (grey - Genetivi’s interview with a Vashoth goat herder is insightful here), and Qunari of any race who intentionally leave or abandon the Qun are Tal-Vashoth (true grey). To be Tal-Vashoth is to rebel against the Qun’s principles.

Many Rivaini people have converted to the Qun, especially in Kont-aar, which is a Qunari settlement on the mainland. Many native Seherons have also converted to the Qun. City Elves are notably likely to convert due to their unfair lot and mistreatment in human society. The original native inhabitants of Par Vollen, the Fex, have been assimilated into the Qun. Before that, the Fex were probably the “people of Par Vollen” who built the vast cities and great distinctive pyramids on the island which are now ruins. These pyramids don’t seem to be tombs, and due to their design may be scientific in purpose (observatories). They could instead potentially have been of religious significance. Those people used to have temples, upon which they made stylized painted carvings depicting tall horned figures in positions of authority and respect: “What were these horned figures to the ancients of Par Vollen? Priests, ritualistically crowned? Heroes? Gods, perhaps? We may never know the truth. But when the Qunari arrived from the sea, horned and carrying the word of the Qun, perhaps instead of conquerors, the people of Par Vollen saw an old legend returning to them.” This seems to be the reason why the Fex were assimilated so easily and without resistance.

Before the foundation of the Qun, the people who preceded the Qunari - “kossith” isn’t quite right as a term for them, for several reasons - prayed to animist gods. World of Thedas says “they were wild then, devoted to a chaos that kept them from greatness”. When “the Qun became law, the temples kossith built to honor their animist gods were destroyed, and their priests were reeducated or driven into exile”.

The main elven religion can probably be roughly split into three categories: the ancient religion, in which the Evanuris were worshipped as god-kings by ancient elves in Elvhenan and which probably still has some relevance for the few remaning ancient elves today (see Abelas and co); the modern Dalish faith, involving the Dalish elves’ conception of the pantheon as the Creators and how they relate that to their way of life; and those among the City Elves who still keep to the old ways or seem to adhere to both them and Andrastianism, and more broadly speaking, the City Elves’ practising of those cultural rituals that they do remember, and of their own unique traditions. The deities are Mythal, Elgar’nan, June, Andruil, Sylaise, Dirthamen, Falon’Din, Ghilan’nain and sometimes Fen’Harel. A lot has been said on elfy stuff of this kind, so I won’t get much into it. 

Notably, Ameridan, an elf from the Dales (as in the historical Dalish kingdom), revered both the elven pantheon and the Maker. For him, was this syncretism? In the Dales historically, each elven ‘Creator’ god had a High Keeper and a temple. In the modern day most City Elves are Andrastian, although Andrastianism for several reasons is more distant as a concept to many City Elves compared to how it is for the average human. Some City Elves seem to believe in the Creators or in a combination of both the Creators and the Maker - the Widower in the Hinterlands and his spouse for example kept to the old ways as they could, and he can say to the Inquisitor “Falon’Din guide your steps - or the Maker, as you like”.

There is also still elven worship of the Forgotten Ones, the other half of the elven pantheon. Named Forgotten Ones are Daern’thal, Anaris, Geldauran and sometimes Fen’Harel, but there are others. In the time of the Dales, worship of these beings was persecuted, but secret worship of these gods did continue through til the modern day. “Some fear that these dark beings are less forgotten than most believe, and that a terrible few have strayed deeply into darkness in their quest for vengeance against the shemlen. If these are true and secretive cults do indeed hide among the elves, then such lost souls have torn out their hearts and forsaken all that it means to be Dalish in return for the keys to a twisted and terrible strength”. The elves in the Tirashan are implied to follow gods other than the traditional Dalish Creators, and to wear brilliant crimson vallaslin of these gods. In The Last Court they set upon Seraultine soldiers, and instead of calling out to the Creators for aid, they were calling out to no gods the soldiers had ever heard of before, “offering us up. Like pigs on a platter.” It’s probable that the gods these elves worship are the Forgotten Ones, and it could be that sacrifice is part of their belief system (though it should be noted the recounting of that event was told by a human they’d attacked [bias, fear?]).

The Scaled Ones (a reptilian underground race) seem to have/have had their own religion. Details are thin, but they’ve been observed practising at a golden altar fashioned in the shape of a fire. “On the tip of each flame hung the corpses of those we’d lost. [...] They’d been drained of blood, leaving only bone wrapped in grey skin. A robed Scaled One stood before the altar. Its voice was different from the others: softer, almost feminine. It chanted and raised a basin of blood towards the altar. The other Scaled Ones bowed low. The robed Scaled One produced fire from its palm and mouth and ignited the blood.”

Humanity is very varied. In Andrastianism, you have the main big split, which is the Imperial / ‘black’ Chantry in Tevinter vs the southern / ‘white’ Chantry. Some of the differences between the two variants are covered here. You also have various Andrastian... splinter groups, off-shoots, or cults. This isn’t surprising given that Andrastianism itself was originally a cult known as the Cult of the Maker. After what happened to Andraste, there were many cults, and the Cult of the Maker was oppressed. It just ended up happening to get lucky and became the one which subsumed or supplanted most of the others in the end, thanks to Kordillus. The mainstream Chantry today considers all such alternative practises and beliefs heretical. Many of these beliefs however pre-date the Chantry.

The Inquisitor can encounter the Blades of Hessarian cult. They believe that they serve Andraste and were chosen to bring her judgement upon the weak and corrupt, and that they originate from Trefir, who was a slave of the Archon that Andraste supposedly met.

My favorite offshoot: the Cult of [the] Masked Andraste, in Serault. They worship a huntress-aspect of Andraste unique to Serault, and their sigil is the bow. Their shrine to Masked Andraste stands in the Applewoods,  where she’s depicted with a bow. This cult is neither entirely permitted nor entirely forbidden. Yayy, heterodoxy! They hold secret woodland rites linked to nature, so that “The Masked Andraste will quench its hunger”, and their leader is none other than the Elegant Abbess of the Abbey of the Bans.

The Order of Fiery Promise’s adherents are called Promisers. They believe that the end of the world is coming and also that it’s necessary. They once tried to destroy all Astrariums in order to fulfill their destiny, and they want Thedas to be cleansed with fire to that it can be reborn as a paradise. They’ve resurfaced several times throughout history, and originate in a time long ago when several cults dedicated to Andraste were each trying to become ‘The One’.

The Hero of Ferelden encounters the Disciples of Andraste, led by Father Kolgrim, father of the Haven Chantry. Originally pledged to keep the Temple of Sacred Ashes, by 9:30 they believed a High dragon to be Andraste reincarnated and cared for its eggs and dragonlings. This cult preceded the Chantry and kept itself well-hidden until the modern day. Its leader figures were men. They no longer revere the Maker and instead revere Andraste herself. In DAI, Tamar is a surviving member of this cult.

The Daughters of Song were wiped out by Emperor Drakon during his crusade. They were a hedonistic cult comprised of both women and men whose hedonism was their way of celebrating Andraste’s holy union with the Maker. Their stronghold was in an Orlesian village.

Related to this stuff, there was also the Empty Ones, who are fascinating but harder to classify. They were a small and short-lived cult based out of Nevarra which worshipped the Blight itself and by extension darkspawn. Their belief was that the Blight was the Maker’s tool by which he intended to end all creation, as the world was beyond redemption. They saw the darkspawn as his prophets and wanted to return to the Void. They were wiped out in the Second Blight.

Within the mainstream southern Chantry, mention can also be made of Nevarran practises and beliefs, which are like.. gothic Andrastianism with some distinctive features and bells on? They hold ancestral pageants and don’t burn their dead like other Andrastians. They have a unique relationship with magic and death, unique beliefs about what happens to dead souls and how that interacts with spirits and the Fade, and a unique preoccupation with mummification, necromancy and crypts. The Mortalitasi perform mysterious macabre rites and are often rumored to be a death cult.

Outside of Andrastianism, in Tevinter, worship of the Old Gods occurred thousands of years ago and still persists in secret parts of Tevinter society today. The Old Gods are Dumat, Lusacan, Razikale, Toth, Urthemiel, Andoral and Zazikel. It’s speculated that there may have been an eigthth Old God who was struck from the records. In the days of the ancient Imperium, most citizens worshipped them, and there were associated temples and holidays, and a High Priest and priesthood of each. The true nature of the Old Gods is unknown - demons, spirits, Great dragons, something else? - but they’re the sleeping dragon-shaped beings that become Archdemons if the darkspawn find and Taint them. They used to communicate directly with their worshippers and the influence of Old God worship on Tevinter society is still evident today with how their culture views dragons as the ultimate symbol of power and how dragons are featured heavily in much of their art, architecture, etc. There are still some Old God cults in more modern times:

the Blood Band is an Old God cult led by Fallstick. They hate templars and don’t view blood magic as being inherently evil.

the Last Moon are/were a cult dedicated to Lusacan. Early in the Dragon Age, they abducted and ritualistically murdered several people. Their goal at that time was to cause the start of a terrible battle, in order to cover Thedas in “a night that will never end” (Lusacan being the Dragon of Night). 

Magister Aurelian Titus also led a cult. Titus wanted to return all of the Imperium to the worship of the Old Gods. He tried to use the Dreamer abilities of himself and his cult, bolstered by the Magrallen artifact, in order to brainwash Thedosians. He had a vision of a restored Tevinter where slaves knew their place and the Chant of Light and the Qun were both purged from peoples’ minds. He said “The old gods. The dragon gods. We shall become them”.

there’s also a tale of a group of Old God cultists who departed mainland Thedas on a trio of ships in the late Storm Age to try and reach the mysterious uninhabited land of Amaranth, across the eastern ocean. Their expedition was supposedly never heard from again

The Venatori are also arguably a cult, although not precisely of the Old Gods exactly but of one of the original High Priests of the Old Gods, the Conductor, who we know as Corypheus. They’re the nationalist supremacists that we all.. know and don’t love. They see/saw Corypheus as the Elder One and a deity, essentially, and want to restore the glory of Tevinter. They revered him and believed he’d turn them into god-kings when he became a proper god. Although routed by the Inquisitor in DAI, they’re not gone. Venatori remnant loyalists crop up in Tevinter Nights. One prominent loyalist tries to release a demon sealed under Minrathous in a ritual attempt to bring about “Minrathous’ return”. It was thought that the demon is so powerful that only a god (like Corypheus) could summon it. There’s more on what they’ve recently been up to here (TN spoilers for lots of things, not just the Venatori, at link).

In the universe there have also been several dragon cults throughout history. This isn’t surprising given the prevalence of dragons in the setting and the Imperium’s Old God worship. After the First Blight, many desperate Imperial citizens turned to the worship of real dragons to replace the Old Gods (who had failed them). “A dragon, after all, was a god-figure that they could see: It was there, as real as the Archdemon itself.” Old God worship was as widespread as the Imperium, and so this sort of belief could have easily spread. There are however also reports of dragon cults in places which never worshipped the Old Gods or heard of them. Members of a dragon cult live in the same lair as a High dragon, defending its young. In exchange the dragon lets them kill some of them and drink their blood, which confers benefits on them like increased strength (sounds like Reaver abilities, basically). Scholars aren’t sure how these mutually beneficial relationships begin. Nevarran dragon hunters reported mad rants and tales of godhood from such cultists. Kolgrim’s Disciples of Andraste Andrastian-offshoot cult (see above) is one such dragon cult. Interestingly, it’s a cool example of intersection and socio-religious crossover/spectrum-type stuff (? don’t know how to explain what I mean here in words) like we see in our world. It’s like a Venn diagram or something that goes: Old God worship -> dragon cults -> Kolgrim’s Andrastian dragon cult -> Andrastianism.

Now, Andrastianism and Old God worship aside, in Rivain, the people are pantheists who believe in something called the Natural Order. Rivaini royalty is officially Andrastian, but the Chantry doesn’t have much authority in the country outside of the capital. In the Natural Order, it’s held that the universe and their god are the same. Rivaini people also traditionally place great value on their seers. These wise women are elders and hedge mages that communicate with spirits and allow themselves to be possessed, which reminds me of a similar practise seen in the Avvar. These traditions date back millennia. 

The Avvar still worship the old gods of the Alamarri. Their pantheon includes Sigfrost, Uvolla, Imhar the Clever, the Lady of the Skies, Korth the Mountain Father, Hakkon Wintersbreath, Rilla of the Fireside, Bjorn Reed-beard and dozens of animal gods never revealed to outsiders. Codex entries refer to worship of the Lady of the Skies as “the Avvar Sky Cult” and “the Cult of the Sky”. The Avvarian pantheon is complex, including both legendary mortals who ‘ascended’ to the heavens and spirits. It varies somewhat between groups, as each group has its own legendary heroes, but they all follow the main three (Korth, the Lady, Hakkon). They believe in an afterlife and that some people are destined to be reborn. Avvar shamans are mages called augurs. Augurs are believed to interface between their clan and the spirits, receive counsel from the spirits, conduct rites so that spirits can speak through them, appease some and deal with other troublesome ones. They also interpret omens. Like Rivaini seers they at times allow themselves to be possessed.

The Jaws of Hakkon were a cult of Avvar who had eschewed all the other gods in the Avvar pantheon in favor solely of Hakkon. Adherents are called Hakkonites. They first formed during the Second Blight, when they summoned their spirit-god Hakkon and bound him in the form of a dragon, wanting him to cause destruction in the lowlands for not helping during the Blight. They resurfaced in the Dragon Age when Gurd Harofsen forswore the other gods, having been enraged at the other gods for allowing the Blight to affect his hold and at lowlanders for refusing to aid the Avvar. The Inquisitor routes this second attempt to set the dragon on the lowlands.

Said category of “Alamarri” refers to the following human tribes: Avvar, Clayne (the precursors of modern Fereldans), and the Chasind. When the Alamarri tribes crossed the Frostback Mountains and settled in the lands that would eventually become known as Ferelden, they were fleeing something. Alamarri tribal legend says they were running from a “shadow goddess” (a demon?), but modern scholars believe they were fleeing some kind of natural disaster.

The Chasind Wilders today, like the Avvar, are also not Andrastian. They worship animist gods that an Andrastian refers to as “brutal” (likely biased). Their communities are led by shamans. The Chasind celebrate and respect the Witches of the Wilds, in particular Flemeth. They fashion some of their weapons in the shapes of animals in order to confuse their gods; if they happen to kill someone beloved by their gods, they might blame these ‘animals’ instead. They also traditionally personify the seasons as female warriors, bearing the typical attributes of renewal and death, and having animal heads. “Winter is of note for its brutality, as it is tied to their rumored custom of killing those who flee battle.” The gods the Chasind worship may or may not be the same ones as the Avvarian gods. Or maybe there’s overlap.

The Agadi live far to the south beyond the Chasind. The Chasind word for them, Agadi, means “exile”. Genetivi was harshly corrected by the Chasind when he asked if these people were Chasind. He concludes that they were expelled from the forests by the Chasind and have since splintered off into their own culture in the sunless lands. Bad blood lingers between them and the Chasind. Since they seem to have split off from the Chasind, it’s possible that these people worship the same gods as the Chasind, perhaps with some differing customs, or else their culture has diverged far enough that they have their own completely distinct belief system and deities.  

The indigenous Seherons who haven’t converted to the Qun appear to have their own beliefs. Their legends speak of their heroes who “learned at the feet of elves”. The Fog Warriors, who are native Seherons, have Fog Dancers who recite their legends of old and keep the songs of their people alive. They talk of an ancient calamity known as the “Curse of Nahar”. It’s not a stretch to say they likely have their own religion.

Elsewhere in modern known Thedas, we have no real idea about the religious beliefs of the following groups:

The Orth people: they practise facial scarification, perhaps this practise is partially religious in basis (like Dalish vallaslin)

Historically, the pre-Chantry religion of the Clayne would have either been the Avvarian faith or something similar to it. The Planasene were a farming tribe that formed the basis of most of humanity in Nevarra and the Free Marches. They had a strong culture of animist worship. The Neromenian tribes originally worshipped fallen heroes reborn as dragons. When the Old Gods taught the Dreamers of these tribes magic, these Dreamers became the priests and kings of their people. Through those Dreamers as their leaders, they began to worship the Dreamers’ gods, also as dragons. This seems to be the origin of Old God Worship (Tevinter being an offshoot of the Neromenians which eventually absorbed them and Qarinus to form the Imperium). Also, early peoples such as the Neromenians had a fascination with all objects in the sky, the Sun and Moon especially. The people of Barindur perished after their High King turned away an envoy from the High Priest of the Old God Dumat; legends say that the priest called upon his god to punish the King, and after some months Barindur was lost (after being encased following volcanic eruption is the mundane explanation). From this we could possibly infer either that the Barindur people worshipped the Old Gods and then rejected them or that they rejected them from the outset, and in either scenario were punished by them for this (or believed to be).

We have no real idea about the religious beliefs of the following historical groups:

The Daefads

The Inghirsh

The Yothandi

The Ciriane 

Outside of modern Thedas, today, there’s very little to no cause to believe that the Chant of Light has reached the following groups (due to the fact that serious attempts at exploration beyond the known world has usually been thwarted by Blights, Qunari dreadnoughts, pirates etc), and in turn very little to nothing is known about their religious beliefs:

The Parladians: their witches cast powerful spells like cloaking magic. The Rivaini peoples’ origins are the island chains in the Boeric ocean, and the Parladian witches are reminiscent of Rivaini seers. Going by this and the fact that Rivaini people have been practising their beliefs involving the seers for millennia, it’s not a stretch to wonder if the Parladian religion is similar to Rivaini beliefs (pantheism, the Natural Order etc)

The Voshai: we know that they’re reverent somehow towards dwarves and that dwarves hold a place of profound power of some kind in their society

The Executors: we know they’re concerned about one god-like figure at least, the Dread Wolf

That’s everything I can think of rn ◕‿◕

(didn’t get too much into the specific details of each belief system because especially in the major cases you could easily write whole other posts on each one)

[tackyink]

Still holding onto the hope of running out of steam soon so I can work on other fics. In any case, this has a title now. It’s Degrees of Separation.

I hate this chapter solely because in my mind it was supposed to be one, then it got long and turned into two awkward chapters, and by splitting them I was left with this thing in which nothing happens. Why would you want to read this? I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to read it, even though I did. Repeatedly. To edit out all the typos I’m sure I’ve left in. I’m going to put a Golden Sun stream on the background, play Animal Crossing and drown my frustration in Coca Cola. It’s been a long week.

One last detour before Sabaody. Alex is bored, the Heart Pirates reenter the scene, and Law has an “if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions” moment.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

— — — — — — — —

Chapter 3

There was a storm.

Alex didn’t know if it was related to the Aqua Laguna that the ship had set out to avoid or it was simply one of the Grand Line’s meteorological whims, but two days after departure, the noon sky went so dark it was like a moonless night had come down early, the winds picked up, and the waves started to beat against the ship’s hull in an uneven rhythm.

The crew was all over the place, trying to steer the ship and reef the sails as they ushered the passengers inside to keep them from falling overboard. Alex had been caught in bad weather travelling before, but never to this extent. She had a hard time thinking of anything scarier than being at the mercy of a windy sea. Nowhere to run, nothing to do except wait and pray that the waters would take pity on you and let you live another day. Alex wasn’t the praying sort, so while she waited below deck with a group of people as scared as she was, if not more, she couldn’t even do that.

The nervous chatter of the passengers and the parents’ attempts to console their children were muffled by the deafening sounds of the wind, the waves, the creaking wood, and the crew’s rushed footsteps on the deck.

Alex stood the entire time in front of a porthole in the dining hall where they had gathered. It helped with the seasickness from the violent rocking of ship, it was better than to look at the other people, and, ironically, storms were her favorite kind of weather. She wondered what would be worse if they sunk, getting caught on deck and risking being swallowed by the ocean, or waiting for the insides of the ship to become a water tomb. For a long time, or at least it seemed like it, that was the main thought that repeated in her mind, until the possibility of dying felt so remote that she wasn’t even registering. Like when you picked a word and turned it around in your mouth and mind so many times that it lost all meaning. Of course she couldn’t die there. She had never done so before, so why start now?

It was absurd, but it helped. And it turned out to be right, too.

After a while, the storm subsided, and an hour later, the crew let them out on deck again. The ship wasn’t intact, but they hadn’t lost anybody, and that was as much as one could ask for when dealing with an angry sea.

In the end, there was only one major inconvenience: due to the damage, the ship had to change its course in order to dock somewhere safe to undergo repairs.

❦

Her hair had gotten longer to the point of annoyance. The tips brushed her shoulders already; long enough to get in her face whenever it wanted, but too short to tie it in a decent ponytail. Sure, she could have done it anyway, but she was vain and would have rather dealt with the hassle than solve the problem in an aesthetically suboptimal way.

The sunspots on the left side of her face were getting more noticeable, as were the dark circles under her eyes and the shy wrinkles that were attempting to come out. For someone who could spend so much time picking her appearance apart in front of a mirror, she didn’t look particularly healthy or well put together. She supposed that was part of the appeal, in a masochistic way: to find as many faults as she could, and invent some if needed.

Applying concealer under her eyes and red lipstick just for the sake of having some color on her face, she thought she needed to find herself a headband and a healthier pastime posthaste. Porta Bella was a quaint town, but there wasn’t much in the way of entertainment, and she’d had only her thoughts for company for too long.

She had been stuck there for two weeks. After narrowly avoiding disaster, the ship had been moored in the harbor for several days, and by the time it was fit enough to sail, the captain decided to go back to Water 7 to have proper repairs done. The passengers had been given the choice to remain in Porta Bella and find another ship, or to return to Water 7 with the crew. Going back wasn’t an option for Alex when Sabaody was so close that it felt like she could have seen it if she climbed on a tall tree, she didn’t trust a half-baked repair job to keep her safe, and, most importantly, someone had tried to kill Iceburg and Enies Lobby had kind of blown up in the following days of her departure from Water 7.

She didn’t want to think that the tracksuit shipwright had something to do with it, but the conspiracy theorist in her told her that it was totally his fault. That nose? Could totally be used as a murder weapon and nobody would be none the wiser.

The few passengers aside from Alex who had decided to stay in Porta Bella were already gone, leaving the inn she was staying at delightfully empty, but also making her wonder if she had messed up by not taking the first random ship that would let her sail away from there.

The island was small, so much so that Porta Bella was the only town in it, and much of it was empty. For many years there had been a migratory tendency pushing young people from nearby islands to the Sabaody Archipelago, and this one seemed to have fallen victim to it, too. The moderately long recording time of the Log Pose didn’t play in its favor, either. Five days and a half was a long time to wait when the Red Line was only a couple of days away, so not many ships stopped there. An abandoned watchtower in the outskirts of town was the only other notable location.

She left her inn room that morning, picking up a tea to go, and hoping that a good slap of early morning breeze in the face would wake her up.

Every day since she arrived, she went to the port to look for any newly arrived ships and talk to the sailors. Every time, if there was a new one at all, she was told that there were reports of increased slaver activity in those waters, and that they were headed anywhere but the Sabaody Archipelago until Marine HQ got its shit together and stopped the kidnapping crews sailing rampant. Given that the Marines must have been scrambling to recover from the loss of Enies Lobby, nobody thought they were going to get on the case anytime soon.

These series of unfortunate coincidences didn’t surprise her. Her life was often comprised of really small strokes of bad luck that were nothing more than inconvenience on their own, but that added up to really grate on her nerves. This was business as usual, so she just had to keep trying. The temporary finish line was only a stone’s throw away.

Not that human trafficking stopped at any point of the year, but she hadn’t taken into account the seasonal opening of the archipelago’s biggest auction. Thinking that not even the schedule of the Human Auctioning House had changed during her time away gave her a twisted sense of familiarity. That son of a bitch kept finding novel ways to fuck her over without even being aware of her existence. It had to be a gift, for sure.

As she walked to the half empty docks, she hoped that that was the day she lucked out. She had already decided that, if she couldn’t find a direct ship to Sabaody in the following three days, she’d take the roundabout way and sail to a bigger island with, hopefully, a wider variety of ships. She would go completely broke in the process (and there she found the thing that was as terrifying as being caught in a storm at open sea), but one had to crack eggs to make an omelette.

Ten minutes and an empty cup of tea into her stroll, she stopped in front the single newly arrived ship and thought that maybe she hadn’t lucked out, but that sure as hell life was full of weird coincidences. Because there were few submarines sailing the Grand Line, even fewer painted yellow, and she guessed that only one with that particular Jolly Roger plastered on it. Her wish of seeing it up close had been granted when she least expected it, and it didn’t disappoint. It had a curious design, half ship and half submarine. A shipmarine.

Feeling revitalized by the pun, she craned her neck and got on her tiptoes to accomplish nothing at all. She couldn’t see any of the pirates on the deck, at least from where she was standing, and what else was she supposed to do, walk closer to find a friendly face and say hi like a functioning human being would? Yeah, no. She simply stood there and stared like a creep.

The paint job of the thing was hypnotic, and she didn’t mean it as a compliment. It looked like the idea of a man who thought the peak of design was making his vehicle look like a wasp with a decal of the word ‘DEATH’ instead of stripes to look extra edgy. And okay, they were pirates, pirates killed people, it was something that came with the job – but plastering it over the ship like that was a little heavy handed, and she didn’t have any doubts as to which guy with matching tattoos had come up with those brilliant design choices. Come to think of it, wasn’t there a song about a yellow submarine? The one from those singers her mom liked when she was young… Maybe the captain was a fan, too. Maybe they sung it on board. She laughed at the thought.

It didn’t leave her indifferent, that was for sure, and that could count as a compliment, since she had seen a ton of ships throughout her life. Props to Trafalgar Law for standing out among the crowd.

If the pirates weren’t around at the moment, it had to mean they were inside of the ship or already out in town. It was early still, but she was sure it was a matter of time until she ran into them – the town was pretty small, around a hundred, counting sailors, on a good day, news travelled fast, and these guys didn’t dress unassumingly.

With that in mind, she kept an eye out for familiar faces and resumed her unfruitful rounds around the port. Another day, another set of rejections. She tossed her paper cup in a trash can and made her way to the coffee shop where she always had the second tea of the day, sometimes even the third, if she was feeling particularly down about her current predicament.

She placed her order at the counter and waited for it. The owner, a balding middle aged man whose name she didn’t know but who had started to get chatty after she showed up a few days in a row, tried to strike up a conversation while he heated the water. “Did you hear? A pirate crew arrived in town last night.”

Alex wasn’t much for conversation in the mornings, and usually her replies to his attempts were rather apathetic, but the owner had struck gold with this particular topic. “I just saw the ship,” she repeated. “Have they done anything?”

“Not yet,” he replied with the clear implication that they soon would. “But it’s a Supernova’s crew, from what I’ve heard. Their captain’s a scary guy – how do they call him…?”

She had mixed feelings about that. She’d seen scary first hand, and in her experience it came in the shape of kidnapping crews, bubble helmets, or suits and fedoras. And ultimately, it was the fedoras’ fault she was in that coffee shop in the first place.

“Surgeon of Death,” she replied. There was no doubt that with that price on his head he was a walking danger, but after their first encounter, she had a feeling he was more the selective type than the let’s wreck everything in our path kind of guy. Not that his list of attributed crimes would lead anybody to think that. “Do you have trouble with pirates often? Being close to Sabaody and all.”

“Sometimes, but they usually go to more interesting places. It used to be as easy as calling the garrison to get rid of ‘em, but with Marineford so close it’s no wonder no one wants to be here any longer.”

“There used to be Marines here?”

“Yes, at the watchtower in the outskirts, but they left after some of the rooftop caved in. Building’s condemned now. A pity, ‘cause the watchtower’s been there forever, and they’ve let it fall apart.”

“That’s a shame,” she said. “How old’s the tower?”

The water started boiling then, and he turned around to remove it from the fire and make her drink. “Tale goes that it’s old as the stone entrance, but who knows,” he said with his back turned to her. “It’s not like we have any experts to come check.” He slid her the drink over the counter. “In case, try to avoid those guys. A woman traveling alone is an easy target for criminals.”

“Yes, I know,” she replied, putting a few belis in the counter and taking the cup by the handle. “Thanks.”

She chose to sit on the terrace, next to the railing that separated it from the sidewalk, to have a good view of the street. She was in a sort of commercial district, if a main street with a dozen of shops could be called that. Most people who stopped at the island had to pass by sooner or later, so it was the busiest place in town. Not so early, though. It wasn’t opening hours yet.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched like a hawk the man who was monopolizing the only issue of the World Economic Journal and snatched it as soon as he got up to leave, so fast that it turned the heads of the other two people on the terrace.

News of the assault of Enies Lobby had been filling pages for a week already, and that day wasn’t an exception. The Straw Hat Pirates had done the unthinkable, and while in other circumstances Alex might have been watching the situation with amusement from afar, she was also pretty annoyed at them, because their stunt no doubt played into the poor supervision in the waters near Sabaody. On the other hand, she hoped that this also meant that neither Marines nor Cipher Pol would be very invested in finding her in the near future if she ended up a suspect.

She was also a little worried about Iceburg’s condition, but the newspapers hadn’t reported his death, so she had to assume he had recovered from the attempt on his life.

She skimmed over the usual columns prattling about the lack of security at sea and how worrying it was that a whole new generation of rookies with astronomical bounties were about to set foot in the Sabaody Archipelago at the same time. She didn’t think having a handful extra menaces sailing around mattered anymore, considering the state of the world at large, but the pearl-clutching sold newspapers, and she wondered about her sense of self-preservation when she realized with disappointment that, at the rate she was moving, she was going to miss the Supernova meetup in Sabaody. Her curiosity was going to bite her in the ass one day, she thought, before remembering that it already had, and that was the exact reason she was in her current position.

She skim read a few pages looking for interesting headlines, getting to the less important news that didn’t warrant spreads, editorials and pictures that took up half the page, and paled when she read the contents of an unassuming text box.

An unfortunate accident in the island of Harlun had blown up the local library while it was undergoing renovations. Nobody had been hurt, said the write-up, but the building had been destroyed in the ensuing fire and an investigation was still ongoing to determine what had happened. At least she guessed that the last part of the article said so, because she choked on her tea as she read it and spit some of it on the paper, making the ink run.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. Well, it technically could be, but no way she was buying that. The real question was if they’d be able to link the Poneglyph to her, and considering she that she was the person who spent the most time in the archive and she had conveniently left right before construction work took place, she had a pretty good chance to win that lottery. Oh, God, what if her coworkers mentioned that she used to go to the archive on Sundays, alone?

Her first impulse was to bang her head on the table and hide it between her arms, but the surface was sticky, so she ended up regretting it immediately. Instead, she put her elbows on the table, and covered her face with her hands. Her heart was beating loudly and her mind was running wild thinking of possible courses of action. She was on a timer. Getting to Sabaody as soon as possible was a necessity now. If there was a place she could hide, ironically, it was there.

“I see life’s treating you well.”

Alex’s heart tried to leap out of her mouth when she heard someone talk to her from so up close, but one of the perks of being born with a stick up her ass was that she only tensed up when she was startled, so she saved herself the embarrassment of yelping or jumping on her chair. She removed the hands from her face to look at the person, and the sight of a spotted furry hat and a yellow and black hoodie punched her in the eyes.

“Oh, hello,” she said, feeling more relaxed when she realized it was the Surgeon of Death leaning against the balustrade, not law enforcement. Her life had taken a turn for the surreal in a very short time, had it not?

His smirk faltered. “You aren’t surprised?”

“Saw your ship,” she said with some difficulty, and she drank some tea to swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat. Of all the times for him to appear... “Town’s small, we had to run into each other.”

“Hm.”

If she exerted a bit of imagination, she’d say he looked a bit disappointed. Why would he? No idea, but it was funny to think he was, and she was in dire need of funny.

He asked, “What are you doing here? This is far from your island.”

Farther than he knew, she almost said, but that was a can of worms and not relevant in the situation at hand. Feeling too overwhelmed to give long explanations, she handed him the newspaper open by the page she’d been reading. Talking could happen once she arranged her own thoughts, and only then.

“That’s…” He took it from her hands and read for a few seconds. An inscrutable expression gradually morphed into a look of pure indignation. “What’s the meaning of this?”

She was taken aback by the unexpected display of emotion. It was odd to see him react so strongly to something that didn’t concern him. “It isn’t that surprising, considering—”

“How is it not?” He retorted, annoyed. “Sora can’t lose against these weaklings!”

She stared at him in confusion. “What?” she blurted out, realizing afterwards that he was talking about the comic strip at the bottom of the page. And to be fair, she was going to tell him to look further up when the meaning of his words sunk in, but then she was the one leaning over the railing to look at the paper he was holding. “Wait, really? That’s impossible!”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

Upon reading the message under the strip, she complained, “On break until next month?” She sat back on the chair, mumbling, “I don’t even know if I’ll be alive next month,” before taking a sip of tea.

“Summer vacation cliffhanger,” he replied. “And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“Read the news above.”

He looked at the paper again, and his eyes widened the smallest fraction as recognition dawned. That reaction was more appropriate. “Do you think it was…?”

“I’m sure of it. It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Are you wanted now?”

“I don’t know. They have reason to suspect I knew it was there.” And she added with a bit of humor that she wasn’t really feeling, “If I get a bounty, I’ll say it was your fault.”

“I don’t think that’s going to do you any service.” A smirk returned to grace his features as he passed her the newspaper back. He was clearly amused by her misfortune, and that was the only good thing that had come out of it. “What do you plan to do?”

Alex let out a long exhale through her nose. She wanted to say that there was no plan, but there always was. Planning was something she did obsessively. “I need to get to Sabaody as soon as possible.” It was the only option. She could have elaborated, but again, she didn’t feel like it. Too early, too stunned to talk about serious stuff. Reality hadn’t fully sunk in. “You’re on Sora’s side? Really?”

He frowned at her. He did a lot of frowning, she thought. He was going to get wrinkles young. “Of course I am.”

“But he’s a Marine,” she said, a smile growing on her face despite herself. “Aren’t you one of the bad guys?”

“The Germa are vile,” he retorted, and perhaps realizing he was getting too much into the conversation, he went back to the other, much less fun topic. “Sabaody’s going to be full of Marines in no time, though.”

She was internally screaming, but it came out as a drawn out sigh. “Thanks to you, no doubt.”

“The merit isn’t all mine.”

“I know. You lot have been all over the news for weeks.” He looked awfully self-satisfied when she said that. “I guess you’ll be heading straight there after this place?”

“That’s the plan if there aren’t any stops in between. By the way, do you know how long until the Log Pose sets?”

“Five days, ten hours and twenty-six minutes,” she said blandly, repeating the number she had been told by several people when she first arrived to Porta Bella. It made her miserable, so of course she wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon.

“And the seconds?”

It took her way longer than necessary to realize he was messing with her. “Oh, fuck off.” She returned her attention to the newspaper so she didn’t have to look at his stupid face while he thought he was so funny. “Fishman Island’s right around the corner. Try not to drown.”

“We have a submarine.” He sounded amused still. Alex couldn’t tell if annoying her gave him that much joy or if he was having an exceptionally good day. He was pretty cranky for a while back in Duster Town, but now that she recalled, his mood seemed to improve every time he got one over her. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

“Regular submarines can’t reach Fishman Island.”

He frowned again. “Why not?”

“It’s too deep. They can’t endure the water pressure.”

She could sense the levity from moments ago was gone by the way his jaw set. “But we heard ships can traverse the Red Line through an underwater route.”

“That’s why you go to Sabaody first.” She was exerting a considerable effort to give these really boring explanations that no one was going to thank her for. “You find yourself a good coating engineer to put a resin bubble around your ship and that’ll protect it.”

He seemed to study this new information from several angles before he spoke. “That’s good to know.”

“You’re welcome.”

He gave her a pointed look, but didn’t say anything about the jab. “Is it easy to find one?”

“There’s an entire section of the archipelago dedicated to it. It’s going to cost you, though. And depending on who you choose, there’ll be a waiting list.”

“Really?”

“Good coating engineers are few and far in between, and nobody wants to find out someone did a half-assed job on their sheep five kilometers underwater.”

“That’s…” He made a meditative pause. “…Reasonable.”

“I thought you were going to say something completely different.”

“It sucks too.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. Her life would be so much easier if one didn’t have to jump through thirty hoops to cross that chunk of rock. “In a hurry to get to the New World?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to, either, because she was busy contemplating a new idea that had sprung in her mind. One that she’d rather avoid if she had other options left, and she wouldn’t know until a few days passed, but... this coincidence could prove to be useful yet.

“What?” He looked at her with suspicion.

“Nothing.” And just to get on his nerves a little, she added. “Yet.”

He fixed his gaze on her face, most likely gauging her intentions. Alex was incapable of looking at people in the eye, but she was good at faking it and not flinching under pressure, so she stared back.

“Do I want to ask?”

“I don’t know. Follow your instincts.”

To her surprise, he dropped it and took a step back from the railing. “I need to go back to the sub and see if the others are up already.”

Good. “For someone with a target so big on you, you wander a lot without them.”

“I like taking walks alone,” he said, like he didn’t think much of it. Like he could not fathom how he of all people could possibly be in danger from anybody else. “See you around?”

Was that a wish, a threat, or a pleasantry? “Without a doubt,” she replied, not bothering to hide the tedium in her voice. Damn empty town and damn slavers. “This town isn’t big enough for the two of us.”

She could have sworn he smiled a little at that, but Law shoved his hands in his pockets and made his leave too fast to see.

He was far enough that he wouldn’t hear her if she spoke in a normal volume when she remembered something important, so she resorted to raising her voice before the Heart crew did something they could regret. “Go to the Old Brewery if you don’t want to die! The Silver Fountain serves piss for drinks!”

He turned to look at her with the same curiosity back when she’d told him weapons weren’t allowed in the library, but this time he nodded in acknowledgement before making his exit.

The other customers on the terrace stared at her warily, but honestly, she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad for them even when the owner immediately came out to ask if she was okay and if the scary surgeon had said anything bad to her. At least something interesting was happening.

❦

Alex had a love-hate relationship with heights.

She inevitably got queasy when she was somewhere high up that didn’t have barriers or anything she could hold onto, but that didn’t stop her from going up there, anyway. It was like a very stupid magnetic pull that one day would end with her skull split open.

(It was the wind and the view. She knew that. It was also one of the few options she had to feel taller than most people.

But mostly the wind.)

The stone arch at the entrance of the town that gave Porta Bella its name was surrounded by the remains of a stone wall. First century, she guessed by the roughness of the stone blocks and the bit of mortar she scraped from between when she inspected it for the first time. It was easily over two meters, and only because the topmost part had fallen off. The blocks that hadn’t been taken away for use in newer constructions were still next to the wall, inviting anyone who’d dare to step on them to use them to climb.

She knew she wasn’t the only idiot who had felt the temptation, because the stone was worn from use. She’d also seen kids running at the top of the wall and no one had tried to stop them, and there were worse ways to channel all the nervous energy she had from reading that newspaper article.

She wasn’t a very proficient climber, but the blocks were positioned in such a way that getting to the top was easy as pie. No doubts someone had moved them for that exact purpose. When she was high enough, she threw a leg over the wall, then the other one, and sat facing the harbor.

The wind was nice up there.

She wouldn’t stand on the wall for all the money in the world and getting down was going to be an ordeal, but that was a problem for the Alex of the future.

That day had woken up to four ships in the harbor, counting the pirates’ submarine. Two would go away at the end of the week. The third was leaving that night. No vessels on the horizon.

She sighed. If the pirates were on an adventure, they sure had the shittiest of lucks docking only in the most boring islands the sea could offer.

With nothing better to do at the moment, and trying to delay as much as possible the moment she’d regret climbing that high, she moved towards the shadow of the arch without lifting her butt from the stone and rested her back against it.

She was at a loss. Sailing further away from the Sabaody Archipelago was counterproductive, but so was staying in the same island for too long, since she had no means of protecting herself if something happened. Then again, if she ended up broke before she got to Sabaody, she’d have to stay in whatever island she was to earn money to keep travelling.

All the options sucked. Maybe she needed to sleep on it to see what the lesser evil was. She had, after all, a few days to make a decision.

She looked at the sea, tinted dark green by her sunglasses, in what she assumed was Sabaody’s direction. So close, yet so far away. The skies were clear and the water calm, and though there weren’t any sailors to be found in the harbor, she could see the shadow of a couple of fishing boats in the distance. Wasn’t there a song that went like that? I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay, wastin' time…

She hummed, looking at nowhere in particular and letting her thoughts drift with the waves.

❦

She knew better than to cut through the lawless areas alone when it was getting late, so she had no one else to fault when she split from her group of classmates after spending their free day in Sabaody Park. It was only her and her stupid pride that didn’t allow her to admit that she didn’t think this was a great idea and that she didn’t want to go back to her room alone.

She broke into a sprint as soon as she heard the smallest rustle behind her, and that advantage proved to be essential, because someone started chasing after her. It sounded like more than one person, but she didn’t have time to look or tell how many sets of footsteps were behind her – she just ran like her life depended on it in the direction of the bridge that connected to the next grove, hoping that there would be other people there, and then—

—then she saw an open bar, a lone building in an even lonelier grove.

She rushed inside it, gasping for air so hard that she couldn’t speak, no matter how much she tried to explain to the bartender why she had barged in like that.

It wasn’t necessary.

“Don’t worry, dear, they’ve been hanging around these parts for a while,” she said, leading her to a chair with a gentle hair. “You’re safe here.” Her warm black eyes turned to someone else, and though Alex had trouble focusing on what was going on, she saw an old man with long white hair. “Why don’t you go take out the trash, Ray? They’ve driven off my clientele enough.”

“Sure,” the man replied, getting up from his stool and going outside.

Alex thought it was a horrible idea to send an old man to fight off a kidnapping crew, but that was because she didn’t know these people yet.

“Don’t worry about him. Here,” the woman gave her a glass of water. “Name’s Shakky. Rest all you need.”

❦

Footsteps approached. She shut up immediately.

“I like that song.”

Singing helped when she had too much anxious energy. It was probably related to breathing control. She had stopped anxiety attacks in the making like that sometimes.

It didn’t help at all when someone had been listening in and she hadn’t noticed.

“Oh. Thanks. Um, hi.”

“Hi,” Bepo said smiling. “I heard from Captain you were here.”

Even though she was sitting on top of the wall, Bepo’s head went past it. If he stood on his tiptoes, he could have rested his head on her legs. On one hand, it was a little aggravating that she had to climb so high up only to be marginally taller than him. On the other, Alex was filled with the urge to scratch his ears.

“Yeah, I’m stuck waiting for a ship,” she told him. “Ideally, you wouldn’t have found me here.”

“Oh? Where are you going?”

“Sabaody.”

“Isn’t that very close? How come you haven’t found a ship?”

“There’s kidnapping crews infesting the waters. You know what those are?”

“Uh… isn’t it in the name?”

Alex blinked. “Right. Don’t mind me.”

He fell into thought for a few seconds. “Why are they kidnapping people?”

“To sell. They get auctioned in the archipelago.”

Bepo frowned. “I see.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” she said, smiling for his sake. “Nothing’s going to happen to your crew. You’re strong.”

He beamed with pride. “Yeah, we are! We’ve been training for years to come here!”

Alex mirrored his expression without thinking. “Your Captain said you’ve been friends since you were kids. Did you—”

“Bepo!” Someone called out. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, sorry!” Bepo said, turning around to see the newcomer. “I was catching up…”

A woman with curly hair and a severe expression walked up to them, hands on her hips, and she looked a little confused when she laid eyes on Alex. She was struggling to place her. “Have we seen each other…?”

“On passing. I’m the Duster Town dumbass that opened the library for your Captain.”

“Oh, yeah, now that you mention it—” The confusion was back. “Isn’t this place a little too far from there?”

“I’m running away from justice.” She didn’t offer further explanation.

Bepo didn’t need it. “So are we!”

A barely contained laugh made it past the woman’s lips. “Oh well, if you’re a fellow criminal…” She extended a hand towards Alex. “Name’s Ikkaku. What did you do, keep too many books past the return date?”

“I wish.” She shook her hand. “Alex.”

“So that’s your name?” Bepo asked.

She turned her attention towards the bear. “I never told you?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Wow, I am rude,” she said to herself. “Anyway, hope you’re ready to take it easy, because you have five long days ahead of you.”

Ikkaku groaned. “I don’t mind, but some of the guys get so jittery after a couple days on land. I don’t suppose there’s a very active nightlife in this place?”

“Actually, there are two taverns in the entire town.”

“Oh, that sounds like something to keep ‘em busy.”

“I don’t think you want to go to one of them, though.” She wondered if the captain was going to pass the message or they would come to regret their choices. “There’s also an abandoned Marine outpost right outside of town, if they don’t want to be drunk 24/7.”

“Might be worth checking out, but I’m pretty sure they’ll take the ale.”

“Can’t blame them.” She was tempted to drown her sorrows in alcohol, and she barely ever drank.

She took a look around the desolate harbor, the small houses and the half-fallen wall with a disappointed look. “Well…” she began, “Bepo, we need you for the crates. He’s been waiting and he’s cranky enough already after—”

“Ah! Sorry!” He said, bowing at her and looking more upset than the comment would suggest. Maybe they didn’t treat him as well in the sub as she had assumed. When he turned to Alex, he also bowed repeatedly. “I’m really sorry, but I need to go!”

“Sure, no problem!” she said, making an effort to sound lively. She felt so fake when she did that. So customer servicey. “See you!”

As the pirates left, she tried to look at them in a different light. While it wasn’t too difficult to believe they would be mistreating the mink of the crew, even if they hadn’t been unkind while she was watching. He seemed shy. Maybe that was all there was to it? But the reaction seemed a little extreme. She would pay closer attention from then on.

❦

Her privileged observation point let Alex see a lot of things that day. She saw more of the crew coming and going, though they didn’t seem to recognize her, she watched one of the docked ships depart, and she met a cat that tried to get food from her, but after a good back scratch realized she didn’t have anything else to offer and walked away, leaving a lonesome Alex staring at the hand she’d used to pet it, wondering how many parasites it had come in contact with.

She immediately went back to the inn to wash her hands and get dinner.

The rest of the evening was spent looking at her Poneglyph folder and her mostly blank notebook. She had carried with her the transcript of the stone and copied some documentation from the library that could prove useful in deciphering it, but she wasn’t making any headway yet. Very little was known about the ancient language, even less was published, and she wasn’t a cryptographer. So far, she had identified what she thought were punctuation signs separating sentences and one of the names in the text.

In her years working in Harlun, she had seen centuries old coins from a currency before belis, and some of them had the legend around the rim written in different languages. Meaning, she knew how to write the name of the island in that ancient language. That was about it. She had a feeling the script wasn’t pure phonetic, either, and that wasn’t something she could attempt to tackle without cross-referencing.

Porta Bella was a nice place to spend a short vacation, sure, but it was impossible to find any books that might help. She had tried. The local bookstore only carried best sellers, and she would have bought that vampire novel that was getting so popular if money wasn’t so tight and she had space in her bag, but as things were, she had to fight frustration and boredom alone.

She had to face the fact that she wasn’t going to do anything useful that night, either. She took off her reading glasses, thinking that trying to sleep sounded like the best idea. Maybe next morning she’d finally have some good luck and find a ship that wouldn’t carry her too far from the Red Line.

❦

Too early for words, and wearing a flannel shirt as a jacket because it had gotten windy, she strode out of the inn with her paper cup and a new challenge. She had thought herself immune to monotony before this, but she had clearly overestimated her brain’s capability to get distracted by anything.

Instead of walking to the docks following the main road, like every morning, she made for the wall again. Stepping on the fallen rock, she reached up with her left hand to the top of the wall and placed the paper cup as far as she could from her, and then she climbed up like the previous day. Well, she tried to, because for some reason early in the morning she didn’t have a lot of hand strength, and she felt a stabbing pain in one of her knees when she stretched her leg to reach the wall.

It took two tries and the fear of having lost her first morning tea, but she got where she wanted.

Cross-legged, she sat on the wall and took sips of her drink while inspecting the docks. No new ships in sight. That time there was someone walking on one of the submarine’s decks, but she couldn’t make out their face, and she didn’t know most of the crew anyway.

The wind had driven all the clouds away, and the dark shadow on the horizon reminded her of how close she had been to getting to the New World before she had to reconsider the entire strategy.

She was about to sigh, but she sensed someone near her vicinity even before she heard the crunch of gravel, so she kept it to herself and looked over her shoulder.

That silly hat was becoming a familiar sight. Trafalgar Law looked up at her from a reasonable distance, having just noticed her. Please don’t get any closer, please—

He changed course and went towards Alex, who didn’t bother to hide how little she appreciated the company less than an hour after waking up.

“Morning walk?” she asked, or grunted, depending on who you asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, annoyingly awake. “What are you doing there?”

“Wasting time.”

Someone with a little more tact, or at least who cared about having it, would have taken a hint and left, but this was not the case. “I want to hear more about Sabaody.”

Oh, she wasn’t nearly awake enough for this, but she made an effort to not be outright rude. “Okay,” she relented. “But you ask me questions, I don’t want to think.”

That was good enough for him, it seemed. With irritating ease, and without having to step on the fallen stone, he boosted himself up against the wall and climbed it in a matter of seconds.

Something caught his attention when he looked up, and he stood up on the stone like the concepts of acrophobia and losing one’s balance were but a faraway ping in his radar. Alex’s mood was souring by the second, granted, a likely thing to happen at that hour. It wasn’t personal.

“Is that…?”

She turned to look in the same direction he was.

“Yeah. Red Line.”

“I didn’t think it was so close.”

“It’s a few days away still. It’s just that big.” She thought of the times she’d been at the base. It was impossible to see the top from its bottom. And, considering what lay up there, perhaps it was for the better. “You saw it from the other side, I guess?” North Blue was adjacent to the New World. In a sense, both of them were from the same side of the Line. How weird to think that they had anything in common.

“Yeah. We entered the Grand Line through Reverse Mountain.”

Expected, but incomprehensible to her unless he had a death wish. “Ships sink there every day. What do you want so bad that you’d risk that?”

“Wasn’t I the one asking the questions?” he shot back.

She gave him a deadpan look, then looked at the cup between her hands. It wasn’t doing much to drive away the numbness of her fingers. How many people had gone out to sea since the Great Age of Piracy began and failed because they bit more than they could chew? And they weren’t the only ones dying. For every decent man that got a ship and called himself a captain, there were ten whose only interest was pillaging villages and getting rich. Was that massive chain reaction what Gold Roger had intended with its final speech? Had it been a final fuck you to world order, or was there something else behind it?

She had contradicting thoughts about it. Roger’s last words had unarguably made the world worse, but…

Well.

The guy had been a badass. Even she wasn’t immune to seeing that. With every new pirate crew that sailed to Reverse Mountain to test its fortune, he kept proving how much bigger than life he had been. Twenty years down the line, he had become as much of a legend as the tales of gods from islands in the sky. The kind of legacy a regular person only dreams of having.

He said, I will never die.

He had been more right than he knew.

She looked at Trafalgar with renewed curiosity. “Are you trying to become Pirate King too?”

He didn’t give a clear answer, despite how easy of a question it was. “What if I am?”

It wasn’t a no. A straight yes would get many pirates laughed out of town even in a place like the Grand Line. There wasn’t a lot of room for romantic ideas of piracy when civilians lived in fear of black flags showing up one day at the port and taking away everything they had.

“Just curious.” She wasn’t feeling articulate enough to explain where she was going to herself, much less him. “Nothing wrong with dreaming big.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt like she had called herself out. Where was she going? After Sabaody, after crossing the Red Line, after getting to her hometown? Those were only checkpoints. But where was her purpose? Inside the bag she had in her room at the inn, or somewhere else?

An awkward silence stretched along with the horizon. For some reason, he decided not to press her for answers and sat down. A small mercy for Alex’s neck.

“After the Log Pose sets, it will point to Fishman Island. How do we get to Sabaody first?”

It was a relief to be able to give an answer she didn’t have to think about. “It should be visible when you’re close enough to the Red Line. It looks like a random cluster of trees popped up in the middle of the ocean.”

“That’s it? Is it safe to dock anywhere?”

“Mostly. The archipelago is made up of 80 groves. 60 to 69 house a Marine garrison, and that’s where the ferries to Marineford and Mary Geoise leave from, so you don’t want to be there. Other than that…” She had to strain to remember the range of numbers. “20 to 29 is the only lawless area open to sea, so you know Marines won’t go there, but since no one’s keeping watch, the competition might try to sabotage you. I don’t know, I never had to worry about that sort of thing.”

“I’m not afraid of other crews,” he said with that devil may care attitude that got pirates killed left and right. “We haven’t come this far without knowing how to defend our ship.”

She wasn’t going to argue his point. “I’m just saying what I know. You do you.” But she took note to keep her opinions to herself, lest he had the urge to express how full of himself he was again.

He looked at her like he was trying to figure out what sort of hidden meaning her noncommittal response held, but little did he know that behind the sleepy façade her prevailing thought was it’s too early for this shit.

“You said you spent some time in the archipelago.” It wasn’t worded like a question, but it was a way to probe for info. She supposed that she would have wanted to know the credentials of her sources, had she been in his position.

She hummed. “I lived there a few years.”

Taking a sip from the cup, she returned her attention towards the outline in the horizon. It had been a constant part of the scenery back then, always peeking out from behind the trees and buildings of the groves closest to the shore. A grim reminder, on one hand, of those who lived above the peasants, but at the same time, Sabaody had been… fun. There was always something happening. Moderately dangerous, but always entertaining. She had forgotten how that felt after the years of routine in Duster Town.

A question brought her out of her thoughts. “Are you from this area?”

“Oh, no,” she said, surprised that he had even entertained the idea. “No, I got a scholarship to study in one of the World Government’s academies. I’m from the other side of the Red Line.”

“From the New World?” He said with surprise, and mulled over this new piece of information until it fit satisfactorily in whatever picture of her he had constructed in his mind. “So that’s where the accent’s from.”

It was unexpected comment after unexpected comment. “Excuse me?” she replied in an incredulous tone. “You are the one with a heavy accent.”

Now it was him who got caught off guard. “That’s not true,” he retorted. He looked like he was trying to determine if she was pulling his leg.

“Yes it is,” she insisted. “Everybody has an accent. You and your crew have that typical northern one that sounds like you’re about to shank the person you’re saying hello to.”

For a moment, she thought he had offended him to the point of silence. Just for a moment, because he didn’t take long to counter with, “You sound like you’re trying to whisper through a megaphone.”

She snorted with laughter as soon as the words sunk in. It was true that she spoke in a low voice most of the time. “If that isn’t the best description of Dressrosan I’ve heard—”

She felt an immediate change in atmosphere, like an electric current shooting through the air, and shut up as a precaution.

Trafalgar has tensed up all of a sudden and was staring at her like she had grown a second head, like she was trying to set her on fire with a glare, or both. “What did you say?”

She found herself tensing up in return, even though she didn’t know what she had done. But when a dangerous guy scowled at you like that, survival instincts kicked in. Goodbye sleepiness, and welcome life danger. “Um… Dressrosan?” She eyed him warily. “My mother tongue?”

His eyes grew wider, but other than that, his expression didn’t change much. “You’re from Dressrosa?”

She suddenly understood. It wasn’t the first time she got odd reactions when she said where she was from, but it had been a while. “Oh, right.” She sighed. “You’ve heard of the whole Doflamingo thing.”

Or… maybe she was wrong. He seemed a little out of it, like he was looking past her at… who knew what was in his head.

After a few seconds without a reply, she deemed it safe to speak. “Did I say anything wrong?”

“…No. I was just surprised.” After that, he seemed to go back to normal, though his voice sounded a little strained. He was still tense. “It’s a long way there.”

Suspicious. Did he know someone from there? “It’s not so much the distance as having the Red Line in the way. Getting permission to cross it takes time.” And she figured that she had run out of it.

“How’s the country?” He asked in a way that tried to sound casual, and maybe, maybe would have worked if he hadn’t made clear already that he had a particular interest in it. “Being ruled by pirates and all.”

She made a disgruntled sound. She had signed up to answer questions about the Sabaody Archipelago, not Dressrosa. There was a reason why she hadn’t been home in ages. “It’s doing fine. Better than fine, in fact. Economy is booming. People are happy.” She delivered each sentence in a quick, clipped tone. “It pisses me off.”

“Why?”

Because she always had to be the odd one out, she thought. And this guy wasn’t getting the message that she didn’t want to talk about it. “Doflamingo doesn’t deserve that kind of credit. He and his crew should go back to the hole they crawled out of.”

He huffed. “North Blue’s had enough of him already.”

Animosity was dripping from his words, and that made her feel a little less displeased and a lot more interested in what he had to say. He could’ve seen firsthand the repercussions of Doflamingo’s actions there.

“That’s true.” She didn’t know much about the specifics, but there was a reason the North Blue was considered the most dangerous out of the four cardinal seas. “I guess he did a number there before he moved onto the Grand Line.”

“You don’t sound very fond of him either.”

Look at that, a flat out admission of having feelings about someone.

“He’s scum,” she said with more venom than she had meant to. “He dethroned the king only to take over himself, reinstated gladiator fights to death, and he has a trafficking empire. The Human Auctioning House in Sabaody displays his Jolly Roger openly. But he’s a Warlord. As long as money keeps flowing and the Celestial Dragons can buy new pets, nobody seems to care.”

“And you do? You say your country’s doing well.”

She didn’t know whether to reply honestly or not. He was trying to dig deeper than she was comfortable with answering, but she was on a roll already. “Dressrosa used to be a very poor country. I’m not blaming the people who have a better life now, but I don’t think you can build anything stable from corruption. Someone will topple Doflamingo one day, and the country will go down with him.” Her tone was increasingly becoming more determined. “And when the time comes, I hope they get rid of kings once and for all.”

“You lost me at that last part.”

“Monarchy is an obsolete form of government. How’s the world going to get rid of the Celestial Dragons if we can’t even get rid of the pests at home?”

He stared at her blankly, and that was when she realized she had talked too much and looked away from him. Ah, to be a life form capable of fusing with granite and dying in the spot…

She heard a short, muffled laugh, and glanced at him. Great, a pirate making fun of her was exactly what she needed to start her day.

“Can’t say I took you for an anarchist.” He was smirking.

“What part of ‘fuck the government’ was unclear?” she replied, still avoiding to look at him. “The more time you spend near Mary Geoise, the more you realize everything has to burn down. Then there are the Marines.” A lost cause. “It’s even their combined fault that I’m stuck here.”

“What do you mean?” He sounded relaxed again. It was like he hadn’t been acting like a weirdo through the entire conversation about Dressrosa. “Aren’t you just waiting for a ship?”

She took a long breath in preparation to give the same explanation she’d been getting every time she spoke to a newly arrived sailor. “Kidnapping crews are infesting the waters ahead. Normal ships don’t want to go near Sabaody because there’s going to be a human auction next week. Marines aren’t helping because the government benefits from the slave trade, and I assume the Enies Lobby debacle has hit them hard. I already told Bepo you don’t have to worry about it, though. They only attack pirates if they think they’re weaklings.” And trying to change the subject to something that didn’t force her to wallow in her misery, she asked, “How much was it already, Mr. Supernova?”

He looked awfully satisfied with his title. “It’s not Trafalgar anymore?”

“I’ve always liked stars.” And speaking of Bepo, she remembered something from their conversation the day before. “By the way, I don’t think I introduced myself. I’m—”

“Bepo told me. I like Librarian-ya better.”

She had an urge to fling what was left of her tea at him, but she held back at the expense of looking away and letting a strained smile show. Not worth the loss of beverage. It wasn’t going to stop him from being an early morning smartass.

The silence that ensued this time didn’t feel as uncomfortable as before, but that bar was so low, it might as well have been underground.

[superman86to99]

Action Comics #687 (June 1993)

REIGN OF THE SUPERMEN BEGINS! Introducing the Last Son of Krypton, aka “Visor Superman” -- or re-introducing, to be more precise, since we’ve already seen him before. When he was Superman, I mean. Obviously.

Anyway, the issue starts with a huge electrical storm in Antarctica -- there’s some shit brewing inside Superman’s Fortress of Solitude (which should be extra lonely since he died). Supes’ floating robot servants are zipping around a big ball of light, from which emerges a very confused, very naked energy being.

Our amnesiac streaker asks the robots to turn on the news, and as he watches the coverage of Superman’s death, he realizes what’s going on: he’s Superman, and his robots have spirited him back as some sort of glowy ghost! He despairs for a second, but then he realizes he could just go to Metropolis, find his corpse, possess himself, and go back to life... so he does exactly that (spooking an old lady who nabbed flowers from his tomb in the process).

However, such a dramatic experience has clearly changed Superman. He can now shoot energy blasts. His vision is impaired (probably from looking at energy blasts all day), so he needs a rad visor to see. He seems colder and more connected to his Kryptonian heritage (which apparently saved his ass, so it’s understandable). Also, seeing what has happened to Metropolis since his death (crime went up like 1%) makes him decide to become more violent and tougher on evil-doers. So is born his new superheroic identity: The Last Son of Krypton!

(He’s also way clumsier, like a bull in a china shop... or a blind man with energy blasts, I guess.)

After having his robot servants sew him a cool new cape, the Last Son makes his debut by murdering a laundromat rapist and throwing a mugger off a roof (as seen in the teasers at the end of Adventures #500). As this necromanced Superman makes his mark on Metropolis, Lois Lane understandably wants a word with the guy, given that they were engaged before he died and all.

The Last Son acts cold towards Lois, but as she presses him, he seems to soften. He says he knows who she is, and that she was important to Clark Kent... but Clark’s dead, lady. Get over it already.

So, Superman’s back, I guess! Whelp, this storyline was way shorter than I thought.

Plotline-Watch:

As also teased in Adventures #500, Superman’s example has inspired habitual drunkard Bibbo Bibbowski to put on an “S" logo t-shirt, some red boxers over his pants, and some star-spangled sneakers (Superman wore sneakers, right?) and go out to help people in any way he can. At the very least, he’s putting all that unlicensed merch he bought from that guy at the funeral to good use.

It’s not immediately clear, but this issue actually marks the return of a long-running, fan favorite character first introduced during the George Perez era: Marty, the unlucky Antarctic researcher who had his base destroyed by a giant bug and then got possessed by a certain Kryptonian artifact! Also his co-worker Steve, but who cares about him. Screw Steve.

One of the things that feeds the Last Son’s delus-- er, perception of reality is that nutty Superman Cult that resurfaced after his death. They’re telling people he’ll rise as a messiah and strike down crime, so he’s like, “yes, of course, that’s what’s happening”.

Don Sparrow notes: “The Last Son rescuing the plane (which seems to change sizes, looking huge as Superman carries it in the sky, then tiny when he’s standing next to it) is a great callback to Man of Steel #1, with Superman and Lois’ first meetcute, making this sad occasion all the more painful -- if it’s reminding US of that happy meeting, think how familiar it must feel to poor Lois.” He’s right!

There’s also an amusing scene featuring Supergirl and her loverboy Lex Luthor Jr., but that’s covered in Don’s section after the jump...

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

We begin with a die-cut cover, with Guice’s unique S-shield, which, when opens, reveals our Clint Eastwood Superman, with a distracting colouring error, which makes the Last Son’s already too-long neck look all the more prominent.  Still, a nice portrait of this cold character, with unique cloud and colouring effects. [Max: Don is talking about this variant cover... or is this the original and the one above the variant? Has my whole life been a lie?]

Within the story, we get our first look at the Last Son of Krypton, who, after a “battle” has been reduced to Kirby dot-laden energy in a humanoid shape.  Without getting too spoilery, I love the care that is taken here, both to establish that this really might be Superman’s energy after his battle with Doomsday, and also how it lines up perfectly (in particular, visually) with what is eventually revealed to be the truth about this character.  Even the detail of the character looking at recent events—and importantly not waiting for the fortress robots’ report—before he concludes what has happened goes so far in convincing us that this is really Superman.  It’s neat seeing famous panels by Jurgens re-drawn by Guice and Rodier on page 4.

Page 7 and 8 has some great sleight of hand as the last time we see the energy being is when he touches “the body”.  After this, the character we see now has the famous s-curl, and seems in every way (aside from the all-black costume) to be the body in the coffin returned to life, having merged with the spirit/energy character we’ve been following.  Cleverly, though, and it’s only a detail I noticed the second time around, we never see the inside of the coffin in all these scenes in the tomb, as the Last Son’s figure obscures it from view.  For that matter, we don’t see much of him, or if he’s holding anything, beside the cape.  Ahem.

The interval with Bibbo is great stuff, and even with his beer gut, he cuts a pretty inspiring figure on that last panel of page 10.  Along with Steel, he seems to “get” what Superman should be about better than some of the contenders to the title. [Max: Nice Everlast product placement, too.]

PANEL OF THE WEEK:  I keep forgetting about this feature, but this issue’s champ is the bottom of page 12, where the Superman cultists reflect in the Last Son’s visor in a super cool way, spurring him to action.  Awesome.

More good artwork as the Last Son dons the Superman shield and stops a laundromat attacker, particularly that POV panel where Superman shoves the mugger through a brick wall.            

The super-feats montage, as seen through TV reports brings to mind the first Superman movie, particularly since the Last Son foils both a boat getaway (no word on whether they tried using a crowbar on him) and also a robbery-by-window-entry, with far more violent results than in the movie.  

The scene of Supergirl ignoring security to enter Luthor’s office is a comical one—leg-tackling a superheroine would have to be one of their weirdest days at the office ever. The light shading on Supergirl’s legs make them seem very realistic.  After seeing Supergirl’s shorts for the first time a few weeks back, they become something of a regular thing from this point on, as exemplified on page 18.

[Max: Incidentally, perhaps it was something about the Spanish translation, but when I read this issue as a kid, I thought that when the guy said “it was a good job” he obviously meant he got to look under Supergirl’s skirt.]

Some great artwork at the end, as the Last Son never looks more like Clark than on that last page as he talks about “Clark Kent’s double life”.  

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

When reading this issue, I absolutely 100% thought that this was the real Superman.  It appears very much as though this is the body come to life, though there are a few giveaways, like the Last Son’s stilted language, and that he refers to his “own” body as “the“ body.  Some great, doubly meaningful dialogue when he’s reveling in his powers in the fortress, saying both that Kryptonian technology “has given me new life” and, in a separate thought, that “this glorious regeneration matrix has insured (a typo which should be ‘ensured’) that the heart of Krypton’s last son keeps beating.”  Good stuff here. [Max: Nonsense. It’s Superman. Fake news.]

That Miami beach sign in Antarctica is pretty funny.

GODWATCH: More moving Bibbo stuff, as he prays a message through God to Superman, asking permission/explaining his turn as a vigilante.  Hard not to get a lump in your throat when he says “we tried an’ we tried. I guess God needed ya more.”  Then later, after a difficult encounter with the Last Son, Lois mutters “Dear God in Heaven” at the double realization that this really might be the real Superman, and if he is, he’s not the same person he used to be.

I kind of wish there was more of a payoff with Lex’s security guards after they failed to stop Supergirl. Firing or otherwise humiliating them would have been a nice way to remind us what a harsh man Lex can be.   

When exactly did the Last Son see hell? [Max: Maybe he was talking about network news?]  Still, a cool line, and very in keeping with these comics threatening to have Superman “go Image” by being cold and calculating.

[civetside]

i was gonna wait until actual valentine's day to post this but im impatient so whatever!!!!!!!!!! look under this funny cut for an extra secret sex joke

[civetside]

howdy tombies here's an astronaut AU i thought would be funny, we taking the space part of lesbian necromancers in space and we making that the main thing