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anghraine · 4 years

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pro patria, chapters 22-28

“You have to think this through,” he added. I appreciated the concern, but there wasn’t much left to think about at this point. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find my sister,” I told him. Dead or alive, shackled or escaped: I would find her, no matter what I had to do.

title: pro patria (22-28/?) stuff that happens: Althea begins her investigation of Falcon Company's loss.

verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Captain Tervelan, Sergeant Bigsby; Logan Thackeray, others; Althea & Deborah, Althea & Logan, Bigsby & Deborah chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21

TWENTY-TWO 1 Another lieutenant felt the need to inform me, “I expected someone … more impressive.” “Impressive?” I repeated, nettled despite my best intentions. “In what way?” “Well,” he said, “bigger, maybe—definitely taller.” I scowled. Both lieutenants had a good few inches on me, as did Faren and Anise, while Logan had to bend his head down every time he spoke to me. I did not appreciate the reminder. 2 “And with rays of light shooting out from your head,” he added, and I immediately calmed. An idiot, clearly. “Sorry to disappoint,” I said. Making my way across the courtyard and up the stairs without further interruption, I eyed Captain Tervelan. He was an average-sized man with a thin, worn, sharp-featured face, like a skritt’s. Maybe that was unfair to the skritt, since the face seemed designed around a sneer—but, I reminded myself, people couldn’t help how they looked. “You must be the hero Thackeray warned me about,” said Tervelan. 3 Warned? I felt sure that Logan would have said nothing of the kind. Maybe this ass could help how he looked. But he’d been Deborah’s commander, so I stayed silent and expressionless. “He says you’re investigating the Falcons—that true?” “Yes,” I replied evenly, “Captain Thackeray said you’d help me. Have you heard anything about centaurs taking prisoners?” 4 A flicker of … not sympathy, but something other than contempt, crossed his face. But it vanished as soon as it appeared. Tervelan only scoffed, not even bothering to muffle the sound. “Thackeray’s been swaddled in the royal court for too long,” he said. “He’s forgotten how rough it is out here. You’ve wasted a trip.” I would decide that. 5 “Falcon Company is long gone,” Tervelan went on, shaking his head. “May Grenth have mercy on their souls. Go home, kid.” Kid? I thought incredulously. I’d never particularly embraced my title, but I was the hero of Shaemoor; I was, at the very least, an adventurer who’d won battles throughout Queensdale, without a scratch to show for it. Tervelan said, “You’re in over—” And below us, one of the lieutenants hollered, “Centaurs!” 6 “Get the monks inside! To arms!” Of course those godsdamned centaurs would complicate my only chance of discovering what they’d done to Deborah—to all of Falcon Company. Tervelan received the news impassively. “C’mon, hero,” he said. “You’re about to learn what it’s like outside the city gates.” Apparently none of them understood basic geography. 7 I raced ahead of Tervelan towards the gate; despite his superior size, he made no attempt to pass by, instead running a little behind me. Maybe he was a coward as well as an ass. Either way, we all managed to hold our ground, even though the centaurs had somehow acquired rifles, forcing us to constantly dodge and run out of the way. At last, a much larger centaur galloped into the fray, and Tervelan grabbed my arm. “That’s their leader,” he hissed. “Let’s see what he wants.” Death and destruction, I would have said, but the centaur swept us all with a look of utter disdain, and shouted— “Bring out the hero!”

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1) Logan had to bend his head down every time he spoke to me: an exaggeration, but not by much; this is Althea with Logan.

2) a thin, worn, sharp-featured face, like a skritt’s: skritt are an acquisitive, rat-like species.

------------------------------------------------------------- TWENTY-THREE 1 Even for a centaur, this one thought highly of himself. “I am Hruud the Reaver,” he bellowed, “pillager of human lands! I will kill any human who claims to be stronger than I!” I looked at his heavy frame, muscled in both legs and chest, and made no such claim. Why bother? I was neither tall nor muscular, even for a human; I had the strength for running between waypoints, and dodging and casting spells in battle, and that was about it. But I didn’t need strength to win. 2 “Let me see this great hero of Shaemoor I’ve heard has come to die beneath my hooves!” He swept another disdainful glance over us, clearly not realizing I was his enemy. I wouldn’t have expected him to recognize me, or any centaur to recognize me, but if he’d heard about my presence so soon, one of them must have been able to identify me on sight—unless— “I wonder how he found out you were here,” muttered Tervelan, echoing my own thoughts. “That’s unfortunate.” Unfortunate was one word for it. With a curl of his lip, he said, “You can sneak out the back, if you like.” 3 I ignored that, except to add it to the list of reasons I disliked him. “I challenge you, Hero of Shaemoor!” yelled Hruud. “Reveal yourself!” With a sigh, I stepped forward. Unless he turned out to be a good deal cleverer than he looked, I’d defeated dozens just like him. This was nothing but a waste of my time and the Seraph’s. Really, who had told him about me? 4 Deciding that I might as well get it over with, I sprang into battle. Tervelan called after me, “Make it a good fight! I better see some fancy moves!” I cared far more about the lives of the innocent people here than putting on a show. But if he wanted one, he’d get it; with a slash of my hand, I duplicated myself into clones, two distracting Hruud by dancing around his blows, while the rest of us concentrated our power into beams of magic, shot straight at his chest. Much more reassuringly, the abbey’s priests and priestesses cried out prayers for me. “Balthazar is with you!” 5 “Slay this vermin!” shouted another abbey brother, while the centaurs at Hruud’s back chorused cheers and insults. “That’s no Seraph!” one of them called out, laughing. “None of Tervelan’s soldiers are brave enough to face our champion!” Right, so now I’d gotten more respect from Tervelan’s enemies than Tervelan himself—and since when did centaurs call humans by name? Regardless, Balthazar plainly was on my side; Hruud never landed a hit on me, and the moment I exploded my clones turned out to be precisely the right one, the flash of light dazing him long enough for me to build more, and grind him down further, while he struggled to lift his weapon. Behind us, a woman—a sister of the abbey—raised her voice. “In the name of all Six Gods, tear his wretched heart out!” 6 I didn’t quite tear his heart out, but I did irradiate his body with aether until his heart stopped beating. Hruud collapsed in a tangle of hooves and limbs, his soldiers fleeing into a barely-organized retreat. That was good enough for the residents of the monastery, who burst into excited chatter as soon as they found themselves safe. I breezed past Tervelan and his lieutenants to reach out my hand to Sister Melea, the woman I’d heard in the battle. “Kormir bless you,” she said, tracing a flickering hexagon above my palm. I’d only meant to clasp her hand in gratitude, or perhaps slight apology, not to demand a blessing: least of all one from Kormir herself. But if Kormir and Balthazar both guided my steps, surely that meant I was on the right path—didn’t it? 7 “I’m fortunate,” I assured Melea. “Balthazar was watching over me—I just couldn’t let them hurt the monks.” “Your courage is inspiring,” she replied, her eyes bright. “I’m going to name one of our beers after your deeds. What should we call it?” I glanced over at Tervelan, and smiled. “Hero’s Hops,” I said.

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1) exploded my clones: this is less violent than it sounds like; clones are illusionary duplicates of yourself that will attack your enemies but can be voluntarily shattered for various effects, not ... uh, actual people.

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TWENTY-FOUR 1 “Not bad for a city scab,” said Captain Tervelan. To my satisfaction, the dismissive words didn’t quite conceal an unsettled expression. He shook it off, tone dropping to something like civility. “I’m beginning to think you’re as competent as they say you are. So tell me—what are your plans?” I set my jaw, the euphoria of battle receding into the frustration I’d felt before. “I plan to find out what happened to Falcon Company.” 2 Tervelan shook his head, a thin and unconvincing layer of sympathy lying over his voice. “What happened to the Screaming Falcons was a tragedy, but this is a fool’s errand.” Turning sharply on his heel, he gestured for me to follow him back up the stairs, to the higher levels where Seraph stood guard. When we were alone, his gaze shifted to the sight beyond the monastery’s walls: the thick forest and hills, and paths carved through both by humans and centaurs alike. At last, he said, “I can’t spare good soldiers for a personal vendetta; I need them to handle these centaurs.” Personal vendetta? That could only mean Deborah—and that could only mean that he knew who I really was. 3 My dismay must have shown in my expression. Tervelan gave a low chuckle. “Your name isn’t a secret, Lady Althea. Neither is your face.” “My face,” I said blankly. Any number of people hadn’t known me until I spoke to them, or until some third party pointed me out. “Even the centaurs recognized you,” said Tervelan, “when you came here and put us all in danger.” 4 “I—” “And Sergeant Fairchild was fond of her family,” he added, silencing anything else I might have said. “She carried a miniature of you all with her—perhaps you recall? We never found it, afterwards.” Abruptly, I did remember: years ago, an Asura mechanic had shown up in Divinity’s Reach, making pictures with some boxy contraption, and my father had paid exorbitantly for a little picture of all four of us. Deborah had taken it when she joined the Seraph; though I was much younger in the picture, perhaps fourteen, I might well be recognizable to a close eye. I didn’t doubt that Captain Tervelan had a close eye. 5 “Let me help,” I urged him, unable to think of any better solution. “If we get done quickly, maybe your soldiers can help me afterward.” If Kormir and Balthazar really guided me, it would happen. Tervelan studied the landscape for another moment. Then he jerked back so abruptly that he nearly hit me. “Fine,” he said. “Rendezvous with my squad at the centaur camp over the hill.” 6 That seemed almost too easy. “You take out the herd, and we’ll see,” he said, fixing me with a cold stare. “No promises, though, hero. My duty here comes first.” “I’ll do it,” I promised, sparing a silent prayer to the gods. “Don’t worry, captain. I’ll be back soon.” 7 I talked to Tervelan once more before I left; he just brusquely told me to get to the centaur camp. In what passed for reassurance with him, he added, “My soldiers are waiting for you.” However, I found no such thing. Instead, a single soldier skulked nearby, one who stared in obvious horror as I approached. “You’re my back-up?” he hissed. “Has the captain lost his mind? I expected an entire squad!” TWENTY-FIVE 1 “Stinking centaurs—can’t ever kill enough of them,” he muttered to himself. Then he stuck out his hand. “I’m Sergeant Bigsby.” I nodded. “And I’m—” “The hero of Shaemoor,” said Bigsby. “We heard you’d be coming.” 2 I couldn’t tell what he thought about it. Without a pause, he went on, “Where are the others? Captain Tervelan said he was sending a unit to help me with the assault on the centaur camp.” “That’s what he told me, too,” I said tightly. Gods, I was an idiot. Oh, this wasn’t proof; I could think of half a dozen benign explanations. But I didn’t believe any of them. 3 Bigsby looked unsure, either of me or Tervelan. “I’m not sure two of us can do this by ourselves,” he said. “Maybe we should go back to the monastery?” I set my jaw. Idiot or not, I hadn’t come this far to turn back now—and I’d had worse fights. “I have to do this,” I insisted. “I need information about my sister, and he’s got it.” 4 Bigsby caught his breath, eyes going wide. “You’re Althea Fairchild?” he exclaimed. Odd. My name evidently had meaning for him beyond the simple fact of its existence, yet he hadn’t realized that it belonged to the hero of Shaemoor, even though Tervelan had said people knew— Oh, of course Tervelan had lied about literally everything. Bigsby lowered his voice even as he seized my hand, shaking it enthusiastically. “I should have recognized you!” 5 I couldn’t think why he should have recognized me, or how he might have done it; I certainly had no memory of meeting him. In fairness, I met a lot of people. “You look just like your sister,” he explained. I blinked at him, genuinely taken aback. Nobody had ever said such a thing to me; Deborah was blonde and round-faced, her frame leaner and considerably shorter than mine—we used to joke that it was a miracle they’d found a uniform small enough for her. Bigsby gestured vaguely at the upper half of his face. “Around the eyes,” he said. 6 That was fair, I supposed; our eyes did have the same shape and colour, but nobody else had ever paid attention to that little resemblance. “She was a damn good soldier,” said Bigsby, voice choked. “But you know that.” I focused back on him, vastly more interested in Deborah’s career than her appearance. “You knew my sister?” “Yes,” he answered, “I was stationed here a few months before … well, you know.” I was not going to cry. 7 Bigsby closed his eyes for a lingering moment, taking regular, deep breaths until his voice evened out. “She helped me figure out how to be a good Seraph.” That sounded like Debs: as different as we were, she’d always done her best to guide me, from wrapping her fingers around my tiny hands as I took my first steps to explaining our legacy as Ascalonians as she turned from the luxuries of our manors and the Ministry. “That’s why you’re here, right?” he pressed. “Because of the rumours?” Wait, what? I could only echo, “Rumours?” TWENTY-SIX 1 “What rumours?” I demanded, not even trying for caution. I couldn’t, not after so long, when I’d come so far. Bigsby seemed nearly as eager. “Nobody ever knew how the centaurs found out the Falcons’ patrol route,” he said. “There’ve always been questions about why the company was sent out alone.” I’d never thought of that; until Shaemoor, I didn’t know enough to consider it odd. But now I did. 2 “Nothing official, though,” Bigsby added quickly. “Just beer talk.” It’d have to be, wouldn’t it? I turned my gaze to a tree just behind him, forcing down my creeping fears and suspicions. In the moment, none of those helped us. “If I clean out these centaurs,” I said, “maybe Captain Tervelan will tell me what really happened.” At this point, it seemed a slim maybe—but I had to try. 3 “If this is for Debs,” Bigsby said, then broke off and cleared his throat. “If this is for Debs, I’d be a mighty poor friend to leave you here alone. I guess I’m in it, too.” I clapped his shoulder, smiling. He’d never fought alongside me, even in practice, never acquired any first-hand knowledge at all; he wouldn’t know anything from Deborah, either, since I couldn’t have beaten a training dummy back then. He was walking into a fight he doubted we could win for Deborah, for their friendship. Whether she lived or not, I was glad she’d had a friend like him. 4 We snuck into the camp without much difficulty, found it empty, and started methodically destroying supplies. If they were near enough to respond, we’d get them herded into the cave; if they weren’t, well, they’d have a lot less equipment. It was a fairly easy fight, in truth. I’d taken on worse ones, and usually by myself. With Bigsby, there was hardly any trouble at all; despite wasting energy on hollering insults, he turned out to be a good man to have at my back. Nothing like Logan or Anise, of course, but competent and efficient. And when I saw the cages, I needed someone at my back. 5 After dodging around the last centaur’s spear and slicing its head off, Bigsby stopped to catch his breath. He pointed at one of the cages. “You might find prisoners’ belongings inside that cage near the tent. Check it out; I’ll cover you.” I darted towards the cage, forcing myself to be cautious with the battered and decayed belongings scattered around the cage. It didn’t look like the centaurs had ever bothered to investigate them, just tossed them aside like trash. It was just like them—and lucky for us. 6 Beneath quite a lot of genuine trash, and a tattered and stained cloak, I found it: something better than either of us could have dreamed of. It was a soldier’s journal, emblazoned with a falcon. I carefully opened it, paging through depressingly mundane entries, until they came to an abrupt stop halfway through. On the right-hand page, someone had scrawled out Survivors, following the title with a list of names. Perhaps twelve or fifteen. I scanned downwards, telling myself that I was counting, determining our losses at the time— My hand closed over the chain at my collar, twisting until my fingers chilled, but I kept going. 7 Lann Black, Corp Val Gayan, Sgt Deborah Fairchild, Sgt— Deborah. Deborah! She was alive, or had been. But it was possible as it had never been before. Of course I’d never sensed her spirit at the grave, or anywhere else; even as we strained for some connection, she might very well have drawn breath. Drawn breath in slave pens, but—alive! TWENTY-SEVEN 1 On the left-hand page, the unknown soldier had scratched out in fading ink: Set up for centaur attack. Must have been Tervelan. Don’t know why. I drew a sharp breath. It didn’t come as a surprise; not really. But proof was something else—proof that a captain of the Seraph, one of Logan’s equals, had betrayed his command and his queen beyond anything Zamon might have imagined. Betrayal really could come from anywhere. 2 I shoved the little journal into my pouch, making my way back to Bigsby. We seemed to have cleaned out the entire den; at least, we neither saw nor heard any hint of anyone else, though he stayed on guard as he looked at the bodies in wonder. Shakily, he said, “The only reason I followed you in there was because you’re you.” I managed a faint smile. “I didn’t even think we’d survive, but you were great! Hey, what did you find?” I told him about the journal and the list of survivors. 3 Bigsby’s face lit up, then darkened into a puzzled frown. “I thought Captain Tervelan said there were no survivors.” Glancing around at the bloody bodies, shattered equipment, and cages, I clenched my jaw. Under my skin, my whole body seemed to be twitching. “Tervelan may be lying to cover his tracks,” I said, and finished telling him about the final entry. His eyes went wide, his mouth open; he looked like a slapped child. “I … I don’t know what to think.” 4 “Tervelan, a traitor?” Bigsby said doubtfully. Then his eyes widened still further. “You don’t think he sent us out here alone to die, do you?” I very definitely thought so, and had suspected it before. I just nodded, trying to approximate reluctance. In a quiet voice, he said, “He hasn’t been happy with me lately.” So Tervelan had deliberately selected Bigsby as an acceptable sacrifice for trapping me, or worse, found it a convenient opportunity to eliminate a sergeant he disliked—either way, he was utter scum. 5 “It’s a distinct possibility,” I said, keeping my tone firm. “But don’t worry, Bigsby—we’ll get to the bottom of this together.” He took a deep breath (which he looked like he’d needed) and burst out, “By all the gods, these animals will pay!” “The centaurs will get theirs in time,” I promised. Deliberately, I relaxed my fists, softened my voice. “Now, I need to have a little talk with Captain Tervelan.” Bigsby looked alarmed all over again. 6 I couldn’t actually confront Tervelan at the monastery, it turned out; Bigsby told me that Tervelan had left to wipe out a small group of ettins before they became a large one, though he would return shortly. “He didn’t mention any ettins to me—that’s funny,” I said. “The man’s sounding shadier and shadier.” And I really wouldn’t have thought there was much shade left to add. Bigsby all but vibrated with anxiety. “What are you going to do?” 7 “You have to think this through,” he added. I appreciated the concern, but there wasn’t much left to think about at this point. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find my sister,” I told him. Dead or alive, shackled or escaped: I would find her, no matter what I had to do. Bigsby, rather than being intimidated, seemed to find this sympathetic and reasonable. He gave a brisk nod. “All right.” TWENTY-EIGHT 1 “The way I see it,” said Bigsby, “you have two options.” I waited for him to finish, though more as a matter of form. There was exactly one option: surrounding Tervelan in clones and putting our swords at his throat until he talked—and if he thought to escape, we’d encase him in aether. “Tell your friend, Captain Thackeray, what we suspect,” Bigsby went on, “but then Tervelan might get away.” I faltered; I’d forgotten about Logan’s role in this, as captain and as friend. In the few months we’d known each other, he’d somehow become the closest thing I had to an older sibling, with Deborah gone and Faren perpetually adolescent. She might not be gone after all; soon I might be able to count myself a little sister in blood as well as name; but still, I couldn’t leave him out of it. 2 Bigsby said, “Or we could confront Tervelan directly—without backup.” Uh, no. We could beat him in a fair fight, but this was Tervelan; it wouldn’t be fair, and I didn’t mean to get Bigsby killed (or maybe even myself) after all this. And I was here on Logan’s behalf, even if I had license to follow my own objectives and represent him however I liked. He needed to know that a traitor walked among the Seraph, ready to throw away the lives of the men and women under his command. He particularly needed to know it was a captain, one he knew and had trusted, if he was to protect the queen and Kryta. “I have to tell Captain Thackeray what’s going on out here,” I said. 3 Duty aside, I’d seen the monastery bristling with Tervelan’s soldiers and the grateful clerics they protected. It’d be good to have Logan at my side when I confronted Tervelan. And I didn’t even need to manufacture an explanation for leaving; Tervelan’s sudden ettin-hunt, though undoubtedly meant to protect himself, had bought us time. “I’ll be waiting,” said Bigsby, holding out his hand. He paused. “Deborah was a good soldier. I guess it runs in your family.” 4 I smiled, truly gratified, and shook the offered hand. “Thanks, Bigsby,” I told him. “You’re a good soldier.” After a hesitation, I added, “My sister taught you well.” Bigsby chewed on his lip, eyes so bright that I knew he must be just holding off tears. Well, I understood dignity. I shook his hand one last time, said my last farewell, cast my signet, and took off running for the nearest waypoint. 5 I had barely stumbled out of the palace waypoint and paid my fees when I took up running again, heedless of the glances I received from fellow nobles (along with anyone who happened to be in my path). Without hesitation, I banged on the door to Seraph Headquarters. Thankfully, the guard recognized me on sight and escorted me to Logan without difficulty. Everything, I thought, was so much easier in Divinity’s Reach. “Althea?” he said, his glance little short of astonished. I could feel my entire face flushed with all my running about, and my clothes had to be sweaty and perhaps even dirty. For once, I didn’t care. 6 I quickly pulled him aside, which was to say, I tugged at his armour and he followed along, looking concerned. “What—” “Captain,” I said urgently, “I’m afraid I have bad news. Tervelan is a traitor; he sent me into centaur territory, promising back-up, but then he never actually sent anyone. He meant for us to die there.” Logan’s eyes widened. “That’s outrageous!” 7 It hadn’t crossed my mind that he might doubt me; I was still collecting myself when he went on, “He’s a Seraph captain.” A little uncertainly, Logan added, “You’re sure it wasn’t just a misunderstanding?” “I’m sure,” I said, reassured, and told him what I had found. “Tervelan didn’t want me investigating these deaths, to the point where he nearly got me killed—I know he’s hiding something, captain.” Logan stared down at me, searching my face. Then, his usual resolve returned to his own face, and he clasped my shoulder. “All right.”

#ascalonian grudgeblog #ascalonian grudgefic #anghraine's gaming #anghraine's fic #althea fairchild #sergeant bigsby #hruud #logan thackeray #sister melea #captain tervelan #guild wars 2 #pro patria

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lubay-nue · 5 years

Text

Reto PlayList 7

Notas del cap:

Para esta versión / capitulo / oneshot todos los countryhumans son mujeres ¬u¬ y todas tienen cabello XD para hacerlas más bonitas que los countrys barones XD… y bueno indiscutiblemente, esta canción únicamente puedo pensarla para USA… me gusta para otros countrys también pero no se… siento que le queda a todas luces a ella o a el XD a USA para que me entiendan XD

Aquí la canción:

youtube

¡A leer!

Canción 7 “A quien le importa”

Resumen:

Muchas copas, un karaoke… un montón de mujeres empoderadas…

Una canción cantada desde el corazón…

USA

-¡Noche de peda!- grito Jamaica con tarro de cerveza por encima de su cabeza, gritando alegremente y dando giros para que su falda se moviera al mismo capaz, México ríe divertida observando como ahora, al karaoke donde habían acabado yendo, se están juntando Colombia y Venezuela para elegir la siguiente canción luego de que su hermana Ecuador terminara casi afónica de estar cantando a todo pulmón, la tricolor ríe divertida hasta que escucha el golpe de un vidrio grueso sobre la mesa; pega un pequeño brinco, desviando su mirada de sus hermanas latinas para notar a sus demás invitadas a aquella noche de fiestas… Inglaterra, Rusia, Kazajistán, Alemania, ONU también había llegado, Francia, Italia (estas últimas discutiendo sobre algo que no le queda claro) y de entre todas, quien llama su atención únicamente, es la chica que ha golpeado la mesa con el tarro de cerveza…

Su vecina del norte, USA, se encuentra con su frente pegada a la mesa; se le ve bastante pasada de copas y a su lado derecho, Canadá, viéndola con nervios y pidiéndole tímidamente que deje de beber, pero es tarde; la chica ha mandado a pedir otro tarro de cerveza

-Okey… ¿A quién le toca la siguiente canción?- pregunta con fuerza Brasil girando la mirada para ver a las demás… claramente, los countrys ajenos a la fiesta y los karaokes se han puesto en negativa, ni siquiera Rusia que estaba algo mas ebria había aceptado… México, viendo la poca disposición de las demás se levanta emocionada de su asiento, aunque, antes que ella, suena otra voz

-¡I can!- grita con fuerza, todos giran a ver a USA, la chica tiene todo el cabello en la cara… tipo una versión rubia de la niña del aro; todos la miran sorprendido, Brasil sonríe y le hace entrega del micrófono que, ante la sorpresa de todos, toma; cuando USA mira la pantalla, apartando sus largos cabellos grafilados y rubios de su rostro, encuentra una melodía empalagosa que termina por hacerla poner una mueca de desagrado, seguido de eso, comienza a manipular la maquina hasta que encuentra una que le agrada; luego de ponerla y, al estar esperando a que la melodía y en especial, la letra comience; da la media vuelta dando la mirada a todas las que se encuentran en la habitación

Sus ojos azules se desvían desde su derecha a su izquierda, viendo primero a México, quien, entre un gesto confundido, también la mira con cierto ápice de preocupación… tal vez es porque la americana ya estaba tan ebria que estaba tambaleándose… sus ojos azules dejaron de prestarle atención para seguir escudriñando a las demás que se encontraban en la misma habitación que ella; instintivamente y sin desearlo… su mirada se poso directamente en su colonizadora, Uk quien, además de ver a Inglaterra, la miraba a ella de un modo inquisidor y desaprobatorio que solo le hizo hervir la sangre en enfado…

El micrófono paso a estar cercas de sus labios, ella tomo aire y siguió desviando su mirada hacia su izquierda viendo a su hermana Canadá quien le miraba igual que México, con un aire de preocupación; no dijo nada… la música comenzó a sonar con un aire tecno que hacía mucho que ya no escuchaba… claro, la canción había pasado sus buenas épocas, ya no estaba de moda… y aun así, creyó en ese momento que la describía a la perfección… igual que la primera vez…

O tal vez haya sido que recordó, al leer el nombre de la canción, que esta se la dedico México diciéndole que la letra le recordaba mucho a ella… quien sabe, su cabeza le da vueltas, aunque la letra de la misma se aparece en palabras en su boca, sus pulmones se llenan aun mas de aire y mira desafiante a su colonizadora, como si quisiera atravesarla con la mirada y culparla de todo lo malo que le había hecho cuando fue su colonia… aun cuando ya no había razones para volver a abrir la herida… solo quería…

Solo quería que aceptaran que ella era así…

-La gente me señala, me apunta con el dedo- cantó, cerrando sus ojos, moviéndose como recuerda que vio a la chica de la melodía, cerrando sus ojos, colocándose de perfil, dando énfasis a cada palabra, haciendo llegar al resto que reía, que ella estaba hablando, que todo el mundo debía callar y debía de prestarle atención

-Susurra a mis espaldas, y a mí me importa un bledo- al decir aquello, específicamente se fijo en su colonizadora que afilo unos momentos la mirada en enfado… y eso le hizo sentir mejor, superior, divertida… imponente

-¿Qué más me da? ¿Si soy distinta a ellos? No soy de nadie, no tengo dueño- gruñe, recordando como Canadá tenía una mejor relación con su colonizadora, pero siendo, al final, USA la chica problemática que siempre se negó a ser sumisa y débil como en su momento fue México quien, por cierto, la miraba con cierto ápice de sorpresa como emoción cada vez mas latente al escuchar la fuerza que imprimía en sus palabras, en sus melodías…

No eran berridos, no eran gritos molestos, no era un simple insulto para aquellos que quisieran tomarlo como tal, solo era USA, borracha tal vez, pero pavoneándose de ser ella, de poder tener su propia identidad, aun si no es algo ancestral, aun si no es algo que tenga raíces fuertes como con los demás… era simplemente USA, cantando que era ella y que no le importaba lo demás o lo que la gente pensara de ella

Era algo que México gustaba de la americana… que no era una chica que se dejara influenciar a la primera por los demás…

-Yo sé que me critican, me consta que me odian, la envida les corroe, mi vida les agobia- México rió, USA de verdad estaba algo ebria, pero le sorprendía que tuviera perfecta pronunciación, que pudiera bailar, cantar y mirar a todos como insectos como si el tener alcohol en su sangre no fuera algo siquiera de importancia y le hizo reír aun mas, cuando USA se pavoneo de aquella “envidia” de los demás… es verdad, que al ser una potencia, a muchos daba envidia, pero estaba segura que tal vez, no era el tipo de envidia que USA pesaba o que ellos llegaban a tener… aun así, hasta México admitía que a veces, solo a veces, por las noches, tal vez, llego a sentir tantita envidia hacia ella

-¿Por qué será? Yo no tengo la culpa, mis circunstancias les insulta- se quejo, poniendo una mano en su frente cual víctima, esto solo hizo reír a varias latinas, a Uk la hizo mostrar ahora un gesto claramente molesto y con desagrado; aun así, se quedo en el lugar, escuchando el grito de guerra de su colonia, como, aun después de todo la seguía desafiando, demostrándole que era más que nadie, que había salido del mismo infierno para tomar los cielos como su reino, que no sería una chica que se doblegara ante nadie otra vez…

Uk se dijo internamente que había hecho bien al haberla criado

-Mi~ destino es el que yo~ decido; el que yo~ elijo para mi~- canto cada vez más fuerte, apuntando específicamente a Uk quien, con un leve tic en el ojo, la mira cual mujer molesta, como si fuera poca cosa, esto solo hacer enervar mas a USA quien, con voz fuerte, con un pisotón de tacón en su lugar, eleva una pierna a la mesa viendo a su colonizadora y luego, a las demás que, tan sorprendidas están, que solo miran embobadas como canta USA cual guerrera determinada

-¡¿A quién le importa?! Lo que yo haga, ¿A quién le importa? Lo que yo diga; yo soy así, así seguiré… Nunca cambiare~- dijo determinada, con un aire calmado cuando vio que México sonreía divertida y que comenzaba a aplaudirle, dándole ánimos para que siguiera demostrando lo que sentía, lo que difícilmente salía de esa chica de frías murallas internas, la chica que no se dejaba doblegar ante nadie y que ahora, movía su melea dorada demostrando superioridad y un calor que parecía lava quemando en su corazón

-¡¿A quién le importa? Lo que yo haga ¿A quién le importa? Lo que yo diga; yo soy así, así seguiré… Nunca cambiaree~- volvió a cantar, siendo agradecida cuando comenzó a sonar un violín como acompañamiento, USA baja un momento la mirada dejando que todo su cabello caiga a su frente, se apoya sobre su pierna elevada en la mesa y respira necesitada de recuperar aire… ¿Hacia cuanto que no gritaba con todas sus fuerzas? Se siente genial, pero aun quiere mas

-¡Animo preciosa!- escucho el grito de México animándola, obligando a USA a elevar su mirada sorprendida a la chica de negros cabellos que, entre pequeños saltos, parecía animarla como un fan anima a su ídolo… el corazón de USA palpito con fuerza, sus mejillas se calentaron suavemente y su mirada brillo en emoción… alguien la estaba apoyando

-¡C´mon sister! ¡Sing!- animo igual de emocionada Canadá y seguida de ella, las demás latinas la apoyaron, siendo, prácticamente seguida al instante por Brasil quien comenzó a chiflar con fuerza para captar su atención, USA sonrió, sus ojos brillaron en emoción, alegría y esperanza

Bajo su pierna, su pose se enderezó; removió su cabello hacia atrás con un movimiento elegante y con energías renovadas y los aplausos de los pertenecientes del continente americano; su pecho se inflo con aire necesario, su cuerpo se posiciono y la música, así como sus palabras volvieron determinados a seguir demostrando su propio poder…

-Quizás la culpa es mía, por no seguir la norma- se dijo, subiendo la mirada al techo… si, recordar como había sido de sádica e inhumana Uk con ella, había sido un infierno que no desea volver a pasar y siempre se preguntó, justamente… ¿Es que acaso ella no era normal? Luego, su mirada se desvía a México y sonríe divertida… bueno, ellas dos eran un par de chicas problema, guerreas que no se dejaron hacer a imagen y semejanza de sus colonizadoras… tal vez era algo del continente ser aguerridos…

-Ya es demasiado tarde, para cambiar ahora…- se dijo, mas a ella, que a aquellos que la escuchaban; volvió a bajar su mirada, determinada, viendo a su colonizadora que ahora solo mostraba un rostro frio, carente de expresión mas allá de estar analizando a quien cantaba con fuerza, apoyada por las demás… incluso por alguien tan educada y discreta como Canadá

-¡No te dejes!- USA rio cuando alcanzo a escuchar entre sus palabras, la voz de alguien dándole aun mas ánimos; ella solo pudo reír por poco tiempo y seguir cantando, con fuerza, con valentía, con determinación… pero en especial, con ese sentimiento de que no estaba sola en ese lugar ni en ese momento

-Me mantendré, firme en mis condiciones, reforzare mis posiciones- volvió a cantar, esta vez, entre los ánimos de las demás, comenzó a escuchar mas chiflidos a su persona, así como algunas otras comenzando a replicar sus palabras cual coro, lo cual, solo pudo emocionar más a su corazón y cantar con todas sus fuerzas… con toda la pasión en su corazón

-Mi~ destino es el que yo~ decido; el que yo~ elijo para mi~- al ir cantando, pudo ver como las latinas se ponían en pie y que, entre saltos, sacaban sus teléfonos para alumbrar como su fueran velas, se abrazaron entre ellas causándole gracia y siguieron coreándola bajito para no opacarla, pero también con mucho sentimiento, correspondiendo al grito de guerra de la americana

-¡¿A quién le importa?! Lo que yo haga ¡¿A quién le importa?! Lo que yo diga, yo soy así, así seguiré… nunca cambiareeeeeee~- había sido su clímax… ahora, guiada por la música y los coros, se permite soltar el aire en sus pulmones en un fuerte grito de guerra, un grito que demuestra su libertad y lo que hay en sus corazón

=¡¿A quién le importa?! Lo que yo haga= corearon las chicas con fuerza, siendo México quien más energía le pusiera… a ella era fácil contagiarla con fuertes sentimientos y en estos momentos, estaba inconscientemente correspondiendo a la fiereza de USA en pos de ella y de su propia fuerza

-¿A quién le importa? Lo que yo diga, yo soy así, así seguiré… nunca cambiareeeeeee~- cada vez, con más fuerza, USA continua replicando el coro con fuerza, las chicas continúan coreando… hay un pequeño violín corto que permite a todas tomar un poco mas de aire por poco tiempo, USA no está nada cansada, ahora ella también comienza a dar pequeños saltos

-Yo soy así, así seguiré~ así seguireeeeeeeeeee~- se deja hacer hacia atrás al tiempo que su voz suena con fuerza siendo ayudada por los coros de las demás; todos saltan, incluso las más tranquilas aplauden, otras apenas pueden seguir por apenas el ritmo ayudadas de la pantalla que va mostrando la letra, USA y las demás cantan con fuerza, como si estuvieran a mitad de un concierto

=¡¿A quién le importa?! Lo que yo haga ¿A quién le importa? Lo que yo diga= cantaron con fuerza las demás, ahora, también algunas otras, contagiadas por la fuerza de las latinas; USA canta con fuerza, tomando aire y deteniendo sus saltos, viendo unos segundos a su colonizadora, solo para tomar aire, alejando lentamente el micrófono de su boca para no crear un eco mal hecho, vuelve a cantar con fuerza, rectificándole a su colonizadora lo que la otra no pudo quitarle

-Yo soy así, así seguiré (así, así, así, así)- canto USA con fuerza, siendo coreada en todo momento por México y Canadá al tiempo que las demás lo hacían de un modo un poco más bajo, USA volvió la mirada a Uk y, con el pecho bien alzado, le restregó…

-¡NUNCA CAMBIAREEEEEEEEEEE~- esta vez, de vedad había expulsado hasta el último suspiro de aire, expresándose, cantando victoria, gritando que había ganado, que jamás lograron domarla, jamás fue el reflejo que quería ver Uk… siempre fue ella y Uk no pudo con ello

Uk sonrió suavemente, derrotada, con sus ojos cerrados y, siendo la ultima que no iba animando la canción, termina aceptando su “derrota” con una sonrisa de satisfacción y comenzando a aplaudirle a su colonia que, entre la emoción deja de verla para cantar junto a las demás olvidando sus alrededores, solo disfrutando del momento junto a las demás, cual niña pequeña

=¡¿A quién le importa?= corearon las chicas antes de que USA también se recuperara y pudiera seguir junto a ellas

-Lo que yo haga ¿A quién le importa? Lo que yo diga; yo soy así, así seguiré…- grito con fuerza, otras corearon a tiempos diferentes creando un aire increíble e intenso, todos se veían llenos de energía, todos coreaban, otras aplaudían, incluso Rusia sonriera divertida y emocionada junto a Kazajistán, Uk solo miraba a su colonia rodeada de las demás que le coreaban, sonrió enternecida por esa niña berrinchuda y aguerrida, ahora convertida en toda una potencia que desde hacía mucho, la había superado y dejado muy atrás…

-¡NUNCA CAMBIAREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE~- acabo la melodía con gritos y aplausos de todas las demás, México y algunas otras chiflaban con fuerza, USA daba saltos como si hubiera ganado una guerra táctica y por fin, de un modo lento, el ambiente fue calmándose para darle paso a la siguiente melodía y a la siguiente participante en el karaoke

----------------

-¡Hasta mañana!- gritaba México hacia sus espaldas viendo como cada country se iba por su lado hacia sus habitaciones del hotel, Canadá iba tan ebria que Uk había tenido que dejarla en su habitación y ahora, era solo México quien casi arrastraba a la rubia por los pasillos hasta entrar a la habitación de la latina tricolor; después de todo, en algún punto, México tal vez perdió las cosas de la chica… o tal vez las tenia Canadá?

Ya sería algo de qué preocuparse mañana junto a la resaca. Entro a su habitación de hotel y dejo con cuidado a USA quien, estaba más dormida que despierta, soltando pequeños quejidos de dolor que cambiaron a una suave melodía que le recordó el show que armaron en el karaoke con tal canción

México sonríe divertida y aparta un mechón de cabello del rostro de la chica que refunfuña suavemente y se gira para comenzar a dormir, México, con una sonrisa enternecida quita los zapatos de USA y la arropa, dándole un beso en la frente y viéndola con cariño, pasando su mano por su mejilla en una amable caricia

-Honestamente… no pensé que aun recordaras la canción que te dedique… me haces feliz con tan poquito maldita- dijo, quitándose sus zapatos, lanzándolos a quien sabe donde… ni siquiera se cepillaría; simplemente se dejo caer al lado de USA en la cama, arropándose y cayendo rápidamente en el sueño placentero…

Lo más seguro es que mañana no pararía de escuchar los gritos de USA exigiendo saber dónde estaba su bolso con sus pertenencias…

Notas finales:

Ok ¿Qué quieren que les diga? Me volví a escuchar esta canción y pum… de pronto me imagine a una USA toda empoderada XD pero ebria XD… no sé, se me hizo súper lindo XD… ahora, explicaciones irrelevantes pero es para dar contexto al momento…

Datos extras:

*Obviamente todas aquí son mujeres

*Acababan de llegar de una junta con ONU (que obviamente también es chica) y hasta a ella invitaron a la peda

*En realidad… era simplemente salir a cotorrear sin tanto alcohol de por medio, pero bueno… se les pasaron las copas XD… la idea original era nada mas ir a pasarla bien a un karaoke que estaba cercas

*A su modo, todas disfrutaron esa noche

*Errr… la idea del Karaoke es mas como japonesa… de esas donde cada grupo está en habitaciones diferentes y aisladas para que unos no interfieran con otros… de ese tipo más… privado

*Si, la resaca del día siguiente fue un infierno para todas, en especial para México quien tuvo que soportar los reclamos de USA quien no encontraba su bolsa con sus cosas de importancia

*Si… Canadá tenía la maleta de ambas sin haberse percatado

*Después de ese día a USA no pararon de molestarla con sobrenombres por la canción toda épica de la cual, muy convenientemente, USA no recuerda completa

*Solo hay insinuaciones de USA x México (en realidad es un México x USA) pero nada más… aquí es... como esas amigas súper unidas que una termina enamorándose de la otra pero aun ni se da cuenta y obviamente la otra aun no siente nada por la primera… en este caso, a México le toca ser la primera que se va enamorando

*USA puede lucir fiera y aguerrida, pero también es un pinches terrón de azúcar súper adorable… se le considera tsundere por palabras de Japón XD

*Y bueno… tenía ganas de hacerla cantar con fuerza pero que no pareciera la villana del cuento XD ¿lo logre?

Ok, habiendo acabado esto… me les retiro a continuar escribiendo “un ataque al corazón” para poder publicarlo pronto XD por mientras, ya saben

¿Les ha gustado?

Que tengan lindo día

¡Comenten!

¿¿Les gustaría apoyarme con alguno de estos???

Ko-fi

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sepublic · 5 years

Text

Levato

An archipelago of displaced boulders and mountain fragments, partially submerged in a sea of quicksand (named the Maw of Ketar, after the Spirit of Stone) after being displaced by the Great Cataclysm. According to local folklore, there once was a mountain named Levato, but it was shattered by the Great Cataclysm, its fragments landing in the Maw of Ketar and only partly sinking.

Due to their location amidst a sea of quicksand, which the too-dense Skull Spiders cannot cross without sinking, the inhabitants of the Region of Sand have made their home amidst the seemingly hostile place that has granted them salvation. Often forced to hole into their shelters from sandstorms, the Levatans have made their homes by carving them from the face of the rock they stand upon, or else building them atop or from the side of the Fragments using wood, clay, or metal. To expand upon the ‘landmass’, additional wooden floors and bridges have been added, slowly linking the Levato Fragments together.

The hostile sandstorms have made architects design the homes to be ready to seal themselves against the sand, and giant canopies are set up to provide shade and shelter from the scorching sun. Water and food is either brought in by the Gukko Airforce, or else harvested from the Mahi herds and Cactus Farms, situated in their hollowed-out Fragments. To alleviate themselves, some Levatans, usually members of the Levatan Patrol frequently exposed to the sun, wear special cooling systems that circulate cold water around their bodies. Otherwise, every one typically invests in the same attire consisting of eyewear, headwear, and a cloak of some sort, although Kolhii players will typically strip to lighter uniforms.

In order to survive, the Levatan Patrol is occasionally tasked with journeying beyond the safety of the Maw of Ketar to the more dangerous sands where Skull Spiders sometimes bury themselves in entire hordes, ready to spring up and ambush victims. These patrols usually seek materials exclusive to the Region of Stone, in order to use them, give them to the other Mega-Villages for use, or else sell for an additional profit; Levatans are particularly infamous for their haggling ability.

This skill is dwarfed by two other main interests as well- The arts, and Kolhii. Due to its aridity and scorching heat, the Region of Stone is lacking in the natural beauty that most of the other Regions have, so to make it worth enjoying, the Levatans have personally taken it upon themselves to take the abundance of stone and clay that they have an access to, and fashion it into sculptures, pieces of art, and other luxuries to sell or otherwise show off, such as in the Sculpture Field, reserved for only the most esteemed and appreciated creations. Many a Levatan is skilled in carving, particularly with stone, as many efforts are made to expand the Levato Fragments and form more settlements from them. A popular form of art expression is Graffiti, a heavily-stylized carving and/or painting, usually put into the sides of the fragments or buildings. The legality of this graffiti is occasionally disputed, with each generation’s Protector of Stone having varying attitudes regarding it.

Aside from the Levato Fragments’ many sculptures, most of which are carved into the Fragments themselves (with one of Ketar, hoping to earn her favor), the Levatans also value the sport of Kolhii. Kolhii is a popular sport across all of Okoto with varying origins, the most popular theory being that it was invented by Kodan, a desert-dwelling Okotan from the Creation Age. Although all sports are popular, there is an almost fanatical love of Kolhii, with official teams competing with one another for glory and even prizes. Chief Onewa has ordained local Kolhii tournaments so as to boost morale, and one fragment has been hollowed out to hold a main Kolhii arena, with there being discussion of a tournament hosting teams from all across Okoto. Of course, this will lead to an issue of regional differences in the rules. Every now and then, fans of certain Kolhii teams will clash, forcing Onewa and Nilkuu to step in.

The Levatans are led by Chief Onewa, former Protector of Stone until old age and injuries forced him to retire. He was once an abrasive youth with a snarky attitude; Now, Onewa is an abrasive elder with a snarky attitude, and a bit more wisdom and experience. Thankfully, Onewa is fair, listening to the Levatans’ words, and he frequently corroborates with Nilkuu, Protector of Stone, and the Levatan Patrol. The Levatans have an official Public Department, the members who are tasked with various roles by Onewa.

Many Okotans live upon the Levato Fragments. One of them is Bour, Head of the Public Department. Once a humble bricklayer and still one, Bour oversees construction projects and inspects the buildings and huts atop the Levato Fragments for stability and durability. His career leads him to frequently work with the Levatan Patrol regarding defense, as well as protocol for sandstorms and Skull Spider attacks, and he consults his aide Kamen on the lasting ability of the Levato Fragments. Lately he’s been hoping to add an additional Fragment to the Maw of Ketar, hauled in from elsewhere in the Motara Desert, but he is a perfectionist and refuses to begin until he has worked out every detail with Hewkii, Onewa, Nilkuu, and Kamen.

Kamen is Bour’s Aide in the Public Department. Kamen plays a particularly vital role both functionally and culturally, testing the durability and lasting ability of buildings and constructs, as well as preserving art pieces by covering them with protective canvases during Sandstorms, as well as cleaning them. Kamen is just a tad OCD, but his occupation doesn’t bother him, but rather gives him some form of relief and release. He also believes that there is an inherent beauty in something’s ability to last, which seems to have translated to himself as well; Kamen may LOOK young, but he’s actually nearing his late forties.

Epena is the Quarry Master, and frequently collaborates with the Public Department and Levatan Patrol, gathering resources required for certain projects- Resources in the desert, resources that the Gukko Airforce can’t procure for them. Working with the Levatan Patrol and Gukko Airforce, Epena has mapped out the Region of Stone and identified key spots where ores and other materials can be mined, such as cave entrances, or grounds dug up by Kikanalo herds. Epena is also a bit of an aspiring historian and archaeologist, hoping to explore lost temples and cities buried in the sands of the Motara Desert- Alas, until the Skull Spider threat is dealt with, such expeditions are but a luxury no one can afford, as Harvali discovered. If the spare time allows it, everyone is on board, and no Skull Spiders are in sight, Epena will lead mining expeditions for precious gems as well to sell, and boasts a few rings and jewelry of her own, courtesy of Tawahi smiths and Marn miners.

Golyo is the local Mahi Herder. A particularly useful and unique feature of Mahi is that they require surprisingly little land despite being a herd species. Thus, whilst not as tasty or tender as the Mukau, Mahi goats are bred in a hollowed-out Fragment atop a base of soil imported from the Region of Jungle, tended to carefully by other members of the Public Department. Golyo, the wizened old man, overlooks the Mahi herds, and spends much of his time alone with them- In this alone time, Golyo likes to tell stories of his time as a member of the Levatan Patrol, until Skull Spiders tore out his legs. He is patient, and likes to spend his time looking out over the herds, watching them- But sometimes he falls asleep, but thankfully nobody notices.

Kivi is a carver in her spare time, but mainly her profession is tending to the Cactus Farms, from which the Levatans get the majority of their drinking water, and making sure the Mahi herd soil is fertile. Kivi is very particular on the conditions of the farms, being a bit of a botanist with knowledge from Orkahm of the Region of Jungle. A timid soul who can’t handle the bloodshed of Skull Spiders, Kivi offers her own support in a form of a bar, dubbed Kivi’s Oasis, where she sells drinks and smoothies using water, plants imported from the Vuata Maca, as well as ice from Kokoro. Levatan Patrol members and veterans get discounts on her refreshing drinks and smoothies, and Patrol members returning from a mission get a free drink each! Kivi also has a bit of a crush on Podu, the local game hunter, and dreams of riding with him toward a Motaran Sunset.

Podu is the local outcast and loner. Never quite a part of the group since childhood, Podu now makes his living as the game hunter, travelling out on his boat beyond the Maw of Ketar to hunt, hoping to acquire Nui Jaga stingers, which are made from precious ivory, and other luxuries, as well as more exotic meats. Due to the risky, self-centered nature of his profession, Onewa has warned him that the Levatan Patrol isn’t necessarily accountable for him, and that when he goes out, he does so on his own risk. Podu is fine- He isn’t too concerned, really, about living. He mainly hunts so he can feel like he’s not just prey for the Skull Spiders, but his own predator, and aside from the trophies he keeps in his hut, he makes sure not to waste anything from his kill.

Melea is a bit of a local hermit. A kindly, older woman, rumor has it that she and Nilkuu were associated in the past, but in what way is uncertain. Now, Melea lives away from the Maw of Ketar, a risky status; Instead, she lives in the ruins of a partially submerged tower, one carved from a sturdy ore that the Skull Spiders can’t pierce. Like Podu, she goes out every now and then to hunt, and is very efficient and skilled in survival tactics. Outsiders believe that she had a falling out of sorts with the Levatans as a whole, but the details remain obscure.

Oda is the younger sister of Ako, a member of the Levatan Patrol. Frequently brought little gifts found by Ako amidst the ruins from the Creation Age, Oda has since made a living making leather cords, beads, necklaces, and other little trinkets to sell, helping support her sister.

Amongst the Levatans, a group of volunteers has formed a militia dubbed the Levatan Patrol. Commanded by Nilkuu, and directed by Onewa, the Levatan Patrol is responsible for defending Levato from the Skull Spiders, as well as setting up defenses against them, mapping out the Motara Desert, searching for lost Okotan technologies, and keeping an eye out for other threats. Members of the Levatan Patrol are usually organized into escorts, each of which mans a vehicle of some sort- Usually Creation Age vessels, or those modeled after them, such as the Sand Surfers, boats designed to travel along Quicksand, spider-like walkers, and the Sand Stalkers, a peculiar species of animal that can traverse across quicksand. The Levatan Patrol has weaponized their quicksand, firing globs of it at Skull Spiders to incapacitate and mobilize them- Sometimes, if Skull Spiders are still stuck, they can be safely captured and be either sent off to Kiniga to be studied, or else sent to Tawahi to be harvested and processed for their materials.

Hewkii is the lieutenant of the Levatan Patrol, acting as right-hand man to Nilkuu. A Kolhii champion with an unprecedented record, he seems to have everything. Possessing a sense of fair sportsmanship, as well as teambuilding and strategy, all from his Kolhii childhood, Hewkii frequently directs the Levatan Patrol in their missions of scouting out the Motara Desert, searching for Skull Spiders that may have hidden themselves in the sands, keeping a look-out, etc. Hewkii likes to lead team-building exercises in which the Levatan Patrol tries to ‘invade’ the Levato Fragments, directing his group to weaknesses in the defense, as part of a lesson to Bour and the others about hiding weak points. Wielding a modified kolhii staff with a retractable blade, Hewkii is able to translate his lithe, fast style of Kolhii playing to the battlefield.

Hafu is a member of the Levatan Patrol, and Master Carver. In his spare time, he is known across Okoto for his amazingly-detailed works, most of which depict… himself. Despite his narcissism, Hafu still takes requests and commissions, and is willing to give free lessons to others, considering those more important than his current projects. And despite his inflated ego, Hafu has a strong sense of honor, refusing to escape from a battle unless everyone else is ahead of him- Of course, he makes sure everyone will tell his tale if he DOES die, but that’s not important. Hafu’s skill with stone makes him good at setting natural traps amongst the rocky face of the Region of Stone, exploiting weak points in the stone. Sometimes while on patrol, Hafu will also carve his likeness into a stone face, or carve the words ‘Hafu was here’. This latter hobby was particularly funny to him, until one day he returned to the sight of a carving and found a response from an unknown author; ‘I’m here too’. All of the other Patrol members swear they never carved such a response as a prank, and Hafu has been deeply disturbed ever since.

Piatra is a member of the Levatan Patrol, tasked with looking through her telescope for signs of buried Skull Spiders, and for keeping watch of sandstorms- Piatra has a bit of an intuition for when a sandstorm is coming, an intuition that has proved reliable. Covered in a headscarf, Piatra wears one of many painted masks made for her by Gadjati, having a collection of them. She is a bit of an art connoisseur herself, enjoying exhibits, and has made graffiti before.

Gadjati is a carver, but most professionally a painter, and member of the Levatan Patrol. Gadjati gathers his paints from various ingredients delivered to him by the Gukko Airforce, or from materials found in the Motara Desert. He likes to use the sights he sees while on his dayly and nightly patrols to inspire his own personal paintings, and suffers from the occasional PTSD involving Skull Spiders, which killed his entire family and even briefly possessed him. Sometimes at night he’ll be haunted by nightmares of them, wake in a cold sweat, pace around his hut, and proceed to paint the terrifying visions he’s seen of the Skull Spiders. Unlike his other pieces, Gadjati has refused to show them off. On a lesser note, Gadjati has lately been consulting Kamen on preserving his painted graffiti, which he places on stone surfaces. Kamen has suggested he stick to paper canvas, a suggestion that offends him.

Pekka is a Levatan Patrol member with a mask, goggles, breathing apparatus, and cloak a little too big for him. A little on the snarky side, with a touch of sass and a sense of humor, his main task is dealing with buried Skull Spiders, manning the Quicksand cannon, and burying mines that can be used to destroy incoming hordes. Pekka has a bit of a rock collection, composed of various stones that have caught his eye while patrolling the Motara Desert, and he displays his collection in his home. He even has a pedestal displaying his current Favorite Rock (as of now, an Amethyst) and his comrades like to make rock jokes about him.

Ako is a scavenger amongst the Levatan Patrol, and rumor has it that she’s a relative to the hermit Melea in some way- But she doesn’t like to talk about it. Instead, she busies himself working with the Gukko Airforce and other Levatan Patrol scouts in finding ruins from the Creation Age, hoping to find tools and technology buried within the sands that can be used against the Skull Spiders. Her proudest find? The spider-walker she uses in her patrols. She has a younger sister, Oda, whom she will occasionally bring unique but functionless finds from her patrols in the ruins of the Region of Stone.

Dekar is a quiet, masked Levatan with a large rice-hat perpetually covering him in shade, taller than most, and wearing a mask and cloak that covers most of himself. Not much of a talker, he is dedicated to his job and constantly wary of the desert, treating every patch of sand as a potential Skull Spider hiding place. He is also a bit of a skeptic regarding the more spiritual side of Okoto and is wary of Ako’s finds, being a bit paranoid of Creation Age technology, and he hopes that Okoto can defeat the Skull Spider threat without ever relearning how to create Masks of Power, as that was what led to the Great Cataclysm in the first place. Dekar is frequently armed with a reloading crossbow, custom-made by himself.

Ally once explored a ruins with Ako, and after fighting off a Skull Spider encounter, he came out with the fruits of his conquest- A suit of antique, Okotan armor. After incorporating the armor into his clothing, Ally has since been a fan of the antique, reading about Okoto’s history through books brought in by the Gukko Airforce. Every now and then, he uses his role as a Levatan Patrol member, scouting out ruins, to find cool little artifacts to either keep, or sell at his store. Sometimes he’ll auction something off to an Okotan trader, and Kokkan and Tuuli have butted heads over a copper, ceremonial mask he once found. Otherwise, his role mostly consists of providing and replenishing water stores to his fellow Patrol members. And before you ask, yes, there are many jokes about how Ally is an ‘ally’ you can count on.

Defilak stands out the most amongst the Levatan Patrol. The youngest at fourteen, she was once found by Nilkuu in the Region of Jungle, after her parents had been possessed by Skull Spiders and dragged off. With Nilkuu acting as a new parental figure and guardian of sorts, Defilak moved to Levato with him and has since been a member of the Levatan Patrol, desiring vengeance against the Skull Spiders. Jokingly referred to as Bingzak by the others due to an unknown incident, Defilak nevertheless still struggles with her trauma and has taken to collecting tropies from destroyed Skull Spiders, as a way of ‘getting back’ at them. A Macan trader once offered her a sum for the trophies, but she immediately refused.

#bionicle #bionicle g2 #Bionicle RaE #onewa #hewkii #nilkuu #hafu #motara #skull spiders #worldbuilding #lore #fanon #dekar #defilak #okoto

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talk-of-tyria · 6 years

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Kryta - Queensdale - Eldvin Monastery Sister Melea: I fear for my life every time I leave the monastery. Brother Gellan: Why is that? Sister Melea: Centaurs. Such godless creatures. They have no moral compass whatsoever.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #kryta #queensdale #human

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razieltwelve · 6 years

Text

Alone (Final Effect)

There is no worse feeling than to look up at the stars, to behold the vast, endless expanse of space, and to know that you are completely alone.

X X X

Archaeus looked at his family. There weren’t many of them left. The clan wars had seen to that. Instead, of his fifteen siblings, now only four remained. They all looked at him, their snouts drooping in sorrow as he climbed into his makeshift craft.

“Do you have to go?” Melea asked. His youngest sister was still barely more than a child. “Brother, do you have to go?”

“Yes.” He took a deep breath, and his gaze drifted to the horizon. Where once there had been a limitless vista of towering trees, there was now only smouldering rubble. It was yet another reminder of the mistakes his people had made. “I… I do not know if it will work, but there has to be something beyond… beyond this.” He gestured vaguely at the blasted ruins of their homeland. “And there have to be other people out there… just… other people who can help us. There have to be.”

“And if there aren’t?” Jedeus asked. He was the oldest of the siblings, the most pragmatic and down to earth. “If your craft fails or if it succeeds and you find only the emptiness of space, what then?”

“Then there is no hope… and I am no worse off than before.” Archaeus shook his head and scratched at the place where a laser blast had singed his fur only a week ago. “We are dying, brother. Our world is dying. We’ve tried to save it, and we’ve failed. If there is no one out there that can help us… maybe… maybe it’s our destiny to die.”

“Then go,” Jedeus asked. “And may the spirits of our ancestors be with you. I doubt you’ll succeed, but I will pray that you do.”

“Thank you.”

Archaeus climbed into his craft. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

X X X

The craft that Archaeus had built was the first of its kind in his people’s history. They had sought the stars once, but internecine strife and greed had robbed them of that destiny. Instead, his people had revived ancient grudges, and the glorious dreams of exploration had dwindled and died in the fires of vengeance.

With painstaking care, Archaeus had researched the long lost science of rocketry and extended the fledgling science of hyperspace physics until he had, at long last, developed a functional hyperdrive. Well, he hoped it was functional. If it wasn’t, he wouldn’t live long enough to regret his mistakes.

As his craft blasted into the air, the force of the acceleration threw Archaeus back into his chair. His fur stood on end, and his fingers and toes clutched at the chair in a combination of excitement and panic. As the craft broke free of his planet’s gravity, he leaned forward. His fingers flew over the keys of the console, and he braced himself as the craft’s hyperdrive began to activate.

There was a great whirring sound, and the boundless blackness of space gave way to a radiant corridor of light and thunder.

X X X

When Archaeus regained consciousness, his craft was floating in an empty void. He peered outside the windows and checked the instruments, but there was nothing around him. With a heavy heart, he slumped into his chair. The hyperdrive had worked. It must have. But something had to have gone wrong with the navigation systems. It should have brought him to the closest start, not dropped him in this… this void.

Worse, his checks had revealed that the hyperdrive had suffered catastrophic failure. There was no going back. And now, a series of flashing lights revealed the true extent of his predicament. His supplies of air had been damaged, and the power unit of the craft had been overloaded. He had, if he was lucky, perhaps another three or four days of air and power, maybe less.

A grim smile crossed his lips. He was going to die out here, alone, with nothing but empty space for company. It was almost poetic, really. Still, he would do his best to survive. He couldn’t see any way he could make it through, but he had to try.

X X X

Three days passed. Three days of failure. One by one, he shut down the ship’s non-essential functions to preserve what little power remained. He moved only when he had to, and he did his best to slip into the meditative state his people used to sleep away the long, bitter winter months.

He sat down in his chair, and he closed his eyes for the last time. Hopefully, he would pass peacefully, not wake gasping for air that wouldn’t come.

X X X

Archaeus was jolted back to wakefulness as his whole craft shook. He stumbled to his feet, and his eyes widened as something cut through the hull not far away. Was… was this a dream? This was no asteroid striking his hull, no meteorite thumping into him. It sounded like a cutting tool of some kind, and that meant that somebody else must be here -

A section of the hull fell away, and he found himself staring at massive armoured figures. They had two arms and two legs, but they were far, far taller than him, and they walked completely upright as well, instead of scampering on all fours.

Light filled the craft, along with fresh, clean air, and Archaeus fell to his knees as the realisation swept through him. Someone had found him. He wasn’t alone. His people weren’t alone. Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes as he glimpsed a ship through the window, a ship so vast it could not possibly be real, and yet, there it was.

Without thinking, he crawled toward the closest of the figures and threw himself at their feet.

“Please!” he begged. “Please, help me!”

X X X

Paprika Dia-Farron stared at the possum-like creature clinging onto the boots of her power armour like its life depended on it. This was not what she’d expected. “Do any of you know what it’s saying?”

“Negative,” Arezia murmured. The Asari was fresh out of university, so it had taken some finagling to get her assigned to this exploratory expedition. However, she was one of Paprika’s favourite students, and the Dia-Farron had a lot of pull in the Grand Empire Alliance. “The sounds don’t correlate to anything on file, and I’m not sensing any telepathy, at least nothing my species can interact with.”

“Well, that kind of sucks.” Paprika glanced at Avalanche. “You getting anything?”

The Nabaat shook his head. “It’s not telepathic. I can try to read its mind if you like.”

“Hmmm…” Paprika rubbed her chin. “We’re in a bit of a hurry. Arezia, would you be alright handling things?”

Arezia nodded. “Leave it to me.”

A few minutes later, and Arezia was sharing her newfound understanding of the creature’s language with the rest of the team via Avalanche’s telepathy.

“So…” Paprika said, her translator speaking for her as she gently picked the creature up. “Your name is Archaeus?”

The creature’s eyes widened. “You speak my language!”

“Sort of. It’s a long story.” Paprika grinned, her faceplate turning transparent so Archaeus could see her face. Honestly, the data coming through the gauntlets of her power armour indicated that he would be exceedingly cuddly if she were to handle him with her bare hands, but safety first. “You mind explaining a few things for us?”

“I… yes.” Archaeus looked about furtively. “But, please, you must help my people!”

X X X

Jedeus gaped at the massive… thing floating in the air over the battlefield.

“Cease combat immediately!” a voice boomed. “Or we will fire upon you!”

When nobody made any attempt stop fighting, there was a blinding flash of light, and a beam of pure heat raced across the battlefield. When the beam receded, it had melted a trench roughly ten yards across, one mile deep, and several miles long across the battlefield.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

People started throwing down their weapons.

#final effect #fanfiction

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imakemywings · 6 years

Note

❝ You will hear from me again. ❞

So since no fandom was specified I pulled from the book I’m reading right now which is The Mists of Avalon, a book on the Arthurian legends. Here we have Morgaine (Morgan le Fay) causing a bit of trouble for Queen Gwenhwyfar (Guinevere).

Takes place after the move to Camelot, prior to the events of Beltane with Arthur, Lancelet and Gwenhwyfar

Content warnings for period-typical sexism and anti-pagan sentiment.

Morgaine, as usual, refrained from remark from among theladies. She sat carding her wool with her narrow, dark eyes distant. It seemedto Gwenhwyfar that Morgaine often inhabited a plane of her own making, separateand apart from everyone else. Though she regularly tried to draw Morgaine intothe conversations, and would always succeed for a while, the woman inevitablydrifted back into some distant place. Maybe she was off in the fairy realm,dancing jigs and singing songs.

“Morgaine,you seem weary with the wool,” Gwenhwyfar remarked, her stitching sitting stillin her lap. “Perhaps you would like to spin for a change?”

“No,this is fine,” Morgaine said, shaking her head. She would gladly card wool allday to avoid having to spin—such a loathsome task. And although she had greattalent with sewing, she had no mind to that either. Igraine had started her tooyoung, she thought, and now she’d grown sick of it long before her hair beganto gray.

“Yourwork is so fine, I can’t think why you avoid it so,” Elaine said. “Would that Icould spin as well as you, Morgaine!” A smile passed the shorter woman’s lips,but Gwenhwyfar did not see it reach her eyes.

“Youcould play for us,” Meleas suggested. “The air’s grown warm in here, and itmakes my head cloudy. Music would cheer us all!”

Gwenhwyfarfrowned, but Morgaine was well aware of what Gwenhwyfar thought about women whoplayed instruments and danced. Unbound by the restrictions of decent folk,Morgaine remained consecrated to the heathens of Avalon, in spite of all Gwenhwyfar’sefforts. The ladies were always cheered with music, and Gwenhwyfar would notcall Kevin the harper—she had not done so since their last days at Caerleon,when she had lashed out so terribly. She trusted her apologies had beenconveyed by Lancelet, but she could not bear to look upon Kevin’s twisted face,nor speak to him unless obliged, since that day. If they would not have Kevin,Morgaine was the only one among them who could play decently.

“I couldgive it a try,” Elaine offered.

“Ohplease, no,” Meleas objected. “Let Morgaine do it. She sings well, for awoman.” She glanced at Gwenhwyfar. The queen nodded her head, the frown stillquirking her mouth down. Even so, Gwenhwyfar’s loveliness seemed to shine aboutthe room, as though she glowed. Arthur’s perfect bride, Morgaine thought withsome biting. Ah, but it wasn’t just to be bitter to Gwenhwyfar—it wasn’t as ifshe had had any say in the matter, though Morgaine felt certain it was Gwenhwyfarwho had coerced Arthur to take down the banner of Pendragon over his men. Theyoung woman had grown more Christian with every passing year, and it disdainedMorgaine to see how she dismissed the rites of Avalon.

“If itpleases the queen.” Morgaine lifted her gaze to Gwenhwyfar’s, and she feltthose dark eyes pin her down. Morgaine’s piercing gaze always seemed to lookstraight to the heart of her, and Gwenhwyfar, at times, felt terribly certainthat she had no secrets from Morgaine. And she was so close to Lancelet—perhapsshe had no need of fairy magics, perhaps Lancelet had told her himself!

Nervously,Gwenhwyfar flicked a hand in affirmation, her mind overcome with these worries.As ill as it boded having Morgaine at court, Gwenhwyfar could never countenanceto send her away. Morgaine had always been a faithful friend, even if herpresence stirred Gwenhwyfar’s jealousy, and offended her Christiansensibilities. Moreover, Morgaine was Arthur’s treasured sister, last of hisdirect kin, and Gwenhwyfar did not fancy to see who would win if she made himchoose between them. She breathed deeply, and tried to focus on her stitching,but now her mind was in a flurry, and once more curiosity over where Morgainehad been in the years she had been away ate at the edges of Gwenhwyfar’s mind.Morgaine had said nothing, breathed not a word, and Gwenhwyfar knew no onewould break the former priestess’ iron will. If Morgaine wished not to speak,she would not speak, not under pain of death or purgatory (not that she believedin such a thing).

Morgainereturned to the room with her harp, and settled on her seat. Her deft fingersplucked the strings, and there Gwenhwyfar’s eyes settled as she continued hersteady breathing to calm herself. Her father would have scolded her, forgetting so worked up over nothing, but somehow this thought did not bring Gwenhwyfarstrength of mind, but only multiplied her anxiety by half. She banished thelate petty king from her mind and watched Morgaine tune the strings of the harpbefore she began to strum out a tune.

Her voicebegan low and soft, too quiet and drawn out for Gwenhwyfar to make out thewords. Her head bowed over the harp, but the pins in her hair held steady—shenever allowed a loose bun or sloppy braid to pass unremedied. When they firstmet, Gwenhwyfar had remarked to Lancelet that he was nothing like his cousinMorgaine. She recalled she’d made some remark about the fairy people, andshifted uneasily—she seemed to remember it had been rather insulting. Morgainewould have long-forgotten by now though—they had been so young then. Nowthough, she could see the similarities in their coloring, though Morgaine hadnone of Lancelet’s beauty. There was an imposing severity to Morgaine’sfeatures that denied the chance for beauty, with her heavy brow and unfaircomplexion, the sturdiness of her jaw and the sharpness of her cheekbones. Gwenhwyfarwondered, on a sudden impulse, if Morgaine had ever wished to be beautiful. Sheseemed so far above such things, but she was a woman too, and had once been agirl. Oh, but Morgaine would never confide such things to Gwenhwyfar—she knewwell that Morgaine thought her childish and empty-headed.

It wasunseemly for a woman to make music, but Morgaine’s voice was deserving ofArthur’s praise. She had a deep voice for a woman, smooth and rich, and Gwenhwyfarforgot the stitching in her hands. They all seemed to, contrary to Meleas’ thoughtthey would be more productive with music. The only busy hands in the room wereMorgaine’s—all the other ladies had fallen still.

Morgainehad been trained to play in Avalon, Gwenhwyfar knew. Why had she left? Gwenhwyfarknew it was not because she had seen the light and chosen to return to hermother’s Christianity—Morgaine, she feared, would ever been an untamed pagan.So why then, had she abandoned Avalon’s shores? Out of love for Arthur, to beat his court? Had she perhaps quarreled with the Lady of the Lake? Or did shelinger with some other, more nefarious purpose? And what else had they taughther there—what did a pagan priestess’ training entail? Gwenhwyfar had wonderedbefore. She knew the priestesses were expected to attend the Beltane celebrations,and partake in the Great Marriage, when necessary. Was she trained for that? Hadsomeone once shown her what to do, and what had she thought of it? The image ofMorgaine around a Beltane fire, the yellow-orange of the firelight against hernaked body beating at the moonlight draped over her, and the hands of someunknown man, grasping at her—

Gwenhwyfar’s cheeks burned like afirebrand, and she leaped to her feet.

“That’s enough,” she said. “Look,you’ve all forgotten your work so quickly!” She set her stitching aside andstrode to the door to open it. “Here, Meleas, if the air troubles you we willopen the door. And let’s have no more of that, thank you, Morgaine.”

“As my lady wishes,” Morgainereplied, setting the harp aside. She resumed her carding silently, but Gwenhwyfarfelt chastised nevertheless, and she wanted to demand answers of hersister-in-law, but she knew she would only seem foolish. So she picked herstitching up and resumed, telling herself it was idle hands that led to suchwicked thoughts.

***

“Arthur would compete in thetournament, I think, but I told him it was not fair,” Gwenhwyfar said as shepinned up her hair. “What man would knock his king off his horse?”

“I have seen Lancelet do it,”Morgaine replied mildly, watching Gwenhwyfar’s dainty fingers painstakinglywork over her braids. “Gawaine as well, though he did give his apologiesafterwards.” The High Queen’s soft face pinched as she struggled with an unrulylock of hair, and Morgaine stepped forward. “Let me help, my lady.”

Gwenhwyfar lowered her hands,allowing Morgaine to take over. She had the queen hand over her hairbrush, andcarefully combed through the long golden locks. What beautiful babies she wouldmake with Arthur, Morgaine thought. If only that seemed to be in the cards forher, though Morgaine doubted not that Gwenhwyfar would raise any child to be asfearful of the world as she was. That would never do for one to be the HighKing—he would have to be fostered elsewhere.

The queen’s soft locks fell silkyand wavy through Morgaine’s hands, like spun gold. Little and ugly, like the fairy people. How many years had goneby since Gwenhwyfar’s offhanded remark, whispered to Lancelet? And would thosewords ring in Morgaine’s head forever? The brush came to a halt, and she simplyran her fingers through Gwenhwyfar’s hair. They had been little more thanchildren then, was there really anything to be got from such an insult? You only let it bother you because you seethe truth of it, Morgaine’s mind told her. Hearing it come from Gwenhwyfarhurt all the more, for she was the very picture of a queen, the greatest beautyin all Britain, and next to her shining visage, Morgaine was little more than adour mule, fit for breeding maybe, but never to be admired. But that was no faultof Gwenhwyfar’s, and Morgaine did not truly hold the old comment against her—sheonly wished she could dismiss it as a jealous falsehood.

She went on brushing Gwenhwyfar’shair long past when the tangles were gone, and Gwenhwyfar did not protest. Whenshe was done, she set the brush down, and began braiding Gwenhwyfar’s hair witha surprisingly gentle touch. Morgaine seemed at times so callous that Gwenhwyfarwondered if a wife’s gentleness was in her at all, but not once did she yank Gwenhwyfar’shair or pull a braid too tight. Even Gwenhwyfar’s own step-mother had not donethe job so neatly.

“Who do you think will win?” Gwenhwyfarasked faintly.

“Lancelet, of course,” Morgainereplied. “There is no competition while he is on the field, the others all knowit.”

“He is a fine knight. Worthy ofbeing the High King’s Companion.”

“Worthy of being queen’s champion?”Morgaine’s voice was so quiet that Gwenhwyfar could not tell if she meant forher to hear it at all, or if it had been a statement, or a question.

“There is no one worthier in allBritain,” she declared loyally. Morgaine’s hands dropped from her hair.

“There you are, my queen. I hope itpleases you well.” She stepped back from Gwenhwyfar’s stool.

“Thank you, sister-in-law,” Gwenhwyfarsaid, turning around to face Morgaine. “You are so talented with your hands, Ifeel there’s nothing you could not master.” Morgaine smiled again, in that waythat did not reach her eyes, and Gwenhwyfar felt the woman was further awayfrom her than Gwenhwyfar would ever know.

For some reason, now, it threw herinto a fit of frustration. How could Morgaine stand there and weave her fingersthrough Gwenhwyfar’s hair, and speak softly to her, and be a thousand milesaway? Did Morgaine too, consider her unworthy of being queen, barren as shewas? Tears pricked her eyes. Why was it that this awful woman could make herfeel so inadequate? Even Lancelet desiresher! screamed a voice in Gwenhwyfar’s head. Had he been with her already?They were both unwed, and Morgaine bound by no Christian vows of chastity orrestraint. Gwenhwyfar vowed then that she would keep Morgaine fast by her sideduring Beltane—she would not see Morgaine out at the fires with the otherheathens, being handled and impregnated by persons unknown. By hook or bycrook, Morgaine would stay in Camelot this year! “You may go, I will finish onmy own,” she said, surprised by the coldness in her voice.

Judging by Morgaine’s silent pause,she too, was taken aback, but she bowed her head and gracefully took her leave,letting Gwenhwyfar shed her few childish tears in peace. Was there no one inall Britain who cared for her happiness, for her person? She was used to Arthurfavoring war and ruling over her, but it stung so much harsher from Morgaine.In a fit, she hurled her hairbrush across the room, where it struck the wallwith a crack, and Gwenhwyfar gasped. Oh, if she had broken it—! What a foolish,wrathful thing to do! She jumped up and hurried to the wall, where she wasrelieved to find only a small fracture in the decorative backing of the brush.

Stupid child! she scolded herselffiercely. Get that witch-woman from yourhead, and behave as a queen ought!

***

Somemonths past Gwenhwyfar’s loss of temper in her chambers, she cornered Morgainein the kitchens, where she had come to oversee the brewing of beer for a comingfeast. The queen burst through the door in a flurry of skirts and swishing ofher veil. She ordered the cook-staff out, and turned her feebly heated gaze onMorgaine.

“Tellme true Morgaine!” she cried, throwing an accusing finger at Morgaine. “Andtell me now! What spell have you cast on me? I will have it from you! You, mydear sister-in-law, to wield your pagan magics against me, when I have been sogood to you! I know you have done, I know, you have put these sinful thoughtsin my head, you have turned my mind to you and I cannot get you out! Have younot seen me suffer enough for my failure to bring about a child? Has Lanceletspoken to you of my wickedness? To be so cruel to me, sister-in-law, I neverthought—!”

“Myqueen, lower your voice,” Morgaine urged with wide eyes, interrupting Gwenhwyfar’shysteria, reaching out to her as she approached.

“Don’ttouch me!” Gwenhwyfar shrieked. “And don’t tell me to calm down! I know youhave meddled, Morgaine! I have heard of your wickedness, but I never thoughtyou would bring such things into this house! Arthur is a good Christian, as arewe all, and I will not have you casting the horrors of Avalon upon us!”

“I’vecast no magics!” Morgaine snapped, her sour expression wrinkled in disgust.“I’ve been no more to Avalon since Arthur was crowned, and I have no need ofany magic to deal with those at Camelot. If your thoughts are not to yourliking, Gwenhwyfar, that is your doing!”

“Howdare you!” Gwenhwyfar flung herself at Morgaine, desperation driving her wild.It was Morgaine, it had to be, there was no other sense for what had become ofher! Was it not enough that she desired her husband’s right-hand man? No, itcould not be that of her own well, she had also set her eyes upon his cousin!Morgaine was a woman, and moreover, a pagan. If these thoughts were of Gwenhwyfar’sown making, she was damned. No, she must believe it was some devilish crueltyof Morgaine’s—she must have had it from Lancelet, whilst in his bed, and so shehad decided to punish Gwenhwyfar, for being untrue to her brother!

Gwenhwyfar’sweak blows were of little more consequence to Morgaine than the flailing fistsof a newborn babe, but her clawing nails would be unpleasant. Their sleeveswhirled about them as Morgaine fought to get ahold of the mad queen’s wrists.

“Gwenhwyfar!”

“You haveruined me!” Gwenhwyfar screeched. “Even as Lancelet fades from my mind, so Isee your face! Morgaine, you wicked, cursed woman!” Morgaine grunted as thequeen’s weight crashed into her, her fingers grabbing for Morgaine’s jewels andhair, and, it seemed, whatever else she could get ahold of. Morgaine nearly hadthe best of her, but Gwenhwyfar went on thrashing, with no mind to how she wasbrawling like a common peasant, and when their lips met, it was much the same. Gwenhwyfar’shands ceased their violent scratching, and Morgaine’s fingers closed around herdelicate wrists like vices. She pressed against Gwenhwyfar’s lips, movinghungrily against hers. She maneuvered them to pin Gwenhwyfar’s wrists to thecountertop, and hopefully have the chance to calm her down, but Gwenhwyfar’sknees spread and she arched up, and Morgaine realized with a shock that Gwenhwyfar,perhaps, imagined Morgaine intended to ravish her, here in the kitchen.

Whenshe pulled back from the kiss, Gwenhwyfar was sobbing, her sweet mouth twistedup in a grimace, her body open and willing even in her mind’s conflict. Shetried to speak, but could not, and Morgaine’s grasp on the queen loosened.

“My lady…”she began in a soft, low voice, and Gwenhwyfar jerked free, steadying herselfon her feet. She reached out without thinking, to wipe one of Gwenhwyfar’scheeks, but she grabbed Morgaine’s hand roughly, and leaned down to kiss heragain, needy, almost begging.

“Morgaine,”she whispered. “What cruelty could you wish up on me? Have I not been good toyou? Do you not love me well?” Morgaine’s back was stiff, and a shudder wentthrough her as Gwenhwyfar’s soft, full lips pressed against her thin ones. Onehand flew uncertainly to Gwenhwyfar’s waist, trying to keep them steady, and itwas as if she had reminded Gwenhwyfar that she had hands—the queen grabbed ather waist, her hands sliding then lower, and Morgaine thought of Lancelet’sfumbling, childish caresses, and how he had humiliated her with his refusal totreat her as a woman, how he had shamed the Goddess with his cowardice.

Shesurged forward, thrusting Gwenhwyfar back against the counter, and felt thequeen’s willowy form tremble against her. There was more bite in Gwenhwyfar’skiss than she had ever gotten from Lancelet—more fire than she had had fromArthur. It burned in Morgaine’s gut, and one hand grabbed at the queen’sbreast, dumbfounded by her own audacity, and distantly she remembered her timein fairy country, and the maidens there, and half-recollected memories of whatshe had done with them…

No,they couldn’t do this here—no, the servants were doubtless waiting about tohear what business the queen had with the king’s sister, and it was filthy inhere with flour and grease, the smell of brewing beer permeating the air—no, ifshe would have Gwenhwyfar, she would have her as the Goddess was meant to betreated—

“Youwill hear from me again,” she told Gwenhwyfar hoarsely, fiercely, with a tonethat one simply did not use with a queen, and an insolent fire in her eyes. Gwenhwyfarswallowed, atremble like a leaf in the breeze, and watched Morgaine stalk fromthe kitchen, wondering what sort of spells were afoot in Camelot, and whatMorgaine intended to say to her next.

#the mists of avalon #mists of avalon #arthurian legends #morgwen #morgan le fay #arthurian mythology #rocky writes #I tried to make this accessible to people unfamiliar with the book #not sure how well I succeded #Anonymous #gwenhwyfar/morgaine #guinevere/morgan

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meleawritingintlv · 3 years

Text

Writing Exercise I – Week Six

Melea Huon-Dumentat

Dr. Dara Barnat

2120.0128.02

17.11.2021

Writing About Childhood

This is an interesting thing for me to write about because of the unique perspective I have when it comes to the concept of “home” and I need to establish some background before I can go into my response. I grew up as the child of an American diplomat, and loudly sing the praises of my mother’s incredible, still ongoing, career. Her work though brought with it the responsibility of having to move every 2 to 3 years. Added background to what defines my concept of home is that this has been my mother’s only career, so the only life I have ever known, but same goes for her sister, so my cousins on my mother’s side have only ever known this life too, all of my mother’s life long friends are in this job/life, and the added layer that while my mother is fully American, my father is French.

Moving every 2 to 3 years, is all I have ever known, and honestly, I am not sure that itch that happens every 2 years I stay in one place will ever go away. I have lived in many countries and so many places have been my home that it is hard to pick just one, so I will pick my favourites and explain why their part of the abstract picture that defines home for me.

First, and foremost, home is where my family is. Although my parents divorced when I was 18, they are the best co-parents and are still very much a part of each other lives, we even still holiday together, so at the end of the day, wherever my family is united is always home to me, no matter if my parents are married to one another or not.

Niamey, Niger is one my favourite homes. I lived there for three years, from ages 3 to 6 and a half, and I might be biased but it was such a wonderful place to grow up. The city has modernized much more than when I lived there, but I recall fondly sunshine soaked birthdays and holidays, the stars that would sparkle every night due to non-existent light pollution (and I had horrid habit as a child of sneaking out of my bedroom at night to look at the stars, much to my parents’ anxiety I am sure). I remember loving rainy season because I loved running around our garden as rain thundered so strongly around, Aisha our nanny always tried to get me to use an umbrella but I always stubbornly would let go of it in favour of the rain. Our backyard was always full of curiosities through my childhood eyes, we had a pool but since my sister couldn’t swim we’d fill a bucket in the yard with water, we had bunnies as pets and their babies had the softest fur, and the neighbour had a peacock, who’d get lonely when his owner was away and would spend the days in our garden for company.

Managua, Nicaragua is another of my favourite homes. The direct opposite of Niamey as I was no longer a child when I lived here but an adult. My parents moved there when I was 17 and away at boarding school in America. Although I lived at boarding school, I considered Managua home. It was also the country they decided to get divorced, my father moving back to France, and after 12 grueling years in school, where I chose to spend part of my gap year (which extended into years but that’s a different story), and it’s where I feel I started to come into my own as an adult, and it does not hurt that Nicaragua is a beautiful hidden gem of a country. I learnt how to drive there (an experience in itself), started to think about what I wanted to do with my future in regards to university and a future job, bonded closely with the people who worked in our home in a different way as I was no longer a child but an adult, met some eccentric millionaires who have become good friends to myself and my family, lost our first family pets but also adopted the most adorable and beloved first family dog, celebrated incredible achievements for my mother (head of her own section, 25 years in service, and entry into the Senior Foreign service) and also recognised and mourned the fact that this would be our last overseas assignment as my mother started to consider retiring after our next post in Washington (although she retired and then went back to work in the end, though not overseas, which I should have seen coming).

Tel-Aviv has nestled itself into my heart as well, in an unexpected way. Perhaps its due to the fact that the pandemic has caused me not to be able to leave for two years, but this city has cemented itself someplace in my heart. I have made wonderful friends, battled bureaucracy, grown as a person (in part because of the pandemic), had to struggle and thrive without my family physically there, and changed so much here. Though I do not think I want to live here long term, it would be nice to live here and continue to call it one of my homes for a bit after I graduate.

And finally, the question that is always asked of me, as someone who is both French and American, is which one I like more and consider home. Although it was my mother’s job as a diplomat that allowed me the privilege of living in so many countries, I have to say my true home is in France. I spent almost every summer split between America (the DC area in particular and France) and although as a child I loved the novelty of America, my memories of France are stronger. I associate France with where my home is and where my heart lies. When I think of home as a physical place the first things that come to mind are the flowers that were in my grandmother’s garden, and the sound of the cicadas that are constant in the summers in the South of France; the wind and the grey skies of Bretagne; of my godson with his beautiful curls and infectious laughter living in the city of Paris; and I realise that although my family is where my home is, France, with all its experiences, memories, and people so dear to me, are also what I consider home to be, but home is not a specific building and a childhood bedroom to me, but a collection of life lived.

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dfroza · 3 years

Text

“the time had come to rethink everything.”

because it matters what we think and believe, and what we write and speak. and in Today’s reading we see how God our heavenly Father was heard speaking from Heaven at the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan river. for God speaks as creative Voice. and we have the ability to speak in the same manner, from the space of the heart, even to hold the power of Light (Spirit) transforming the heart itself, to be reborn in the image of the Son, and to be baptized as well.

we have to choose to be in eternal Love.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is chapter 3 in the book of Luke that shares the True story of this metamorphosis:

Our story continues 15 years after Tiberius Caesar had begun his reign over the empire. Pilate was governor of Judea, Herod ruled Galilee, his brother Philip ruled Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruled Abilene.

In Jerusalem Annas and Caiaphas were high priests in the temple. And in those days, out in the wilderness, John (son of Zacharias) received a message from God.

John brought this divine message to all those who came to the Jordan River. He preached that people should be ritually cleansed through baptism as an expression of changed lives for the forgiveness of sins. As Isaiah the prophet had said,

A solitary voice is calling:

“Go into the wilderness;

prepare the road for the Eternal One’s journey.

In the desert, repair and straighten

every mile of our True God’s highway.

Every low place will be lifted

and every high mountain,

every hill will be humbled;

The crooked road will be straightened out

and rough places ironed out smooth;

Then the radiant glory of the Eternal One will be revealed.

All flesh together will take it in.”

In fulfillment of those words, crowds streamed out from the villages and towns to be baptized by John at the Jordan.

John the Baptist: You bunch of venomous snakes! Who told you that you could escape God’s coming wrath? Don’t just talk of turning to God; you’d better bear the authentic fruit of a changed life. Don’t take pride in your religious heritage, saying, “We have Abraham for our father!” Listen—God could turn these rocks into children of Abraham!

God wants you to bear fruit! If you don’t produce good fruit, then you’ll be chopped down like a fruitless tree and made into firewood. God’s ax is taking aim and ready to swing!

People: What shall we do to perform works from changed lives?

John the Baptist: The person who has two shirts must share with the person who has none. And the person with food must share with the one in need.

Some tax collectors were among those in the crowd seeking baptism.

Tax Collectors: Teacher, what kind of fruit is God looking for from us?

John the Baptist: Stop overcharging people. Only collect what you must turn over to the Romans.

Soldiers: What about us? What should we do to show true change?

John the Baptist: Don’t extort money from people by throwing around your power or making false accusations, and be content with your pay.

John’s bold message seized public attention, and many began wondering if John might himself be the Anointed One promised by God.

John the Baptist: I baptize you with water, but One is coming—One far more powerful than I, One whose sandals I am not worthy to untie—who will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. He is coming like a farmer at harvesttime, tools in hand to separate the wheat from the chaff. He will burn the chaff with unquenchable fire, and He will gather the genuine wheat into His barn.

He preached with many other provocative figures of speech and so conveyed God’s message to the people—the time had come to rethink everything. But John’s public preaching ended when he confronted Herod, the ruler of Galilee, for his many corrupt deeds, including taking Herodias, the ruler’s sister-in-law, as his own wife. Herod responded by throwing John into prison.

But before John’s imprisonment, when he was still preaching and ritually cleansing through baptism the people in the Jordan River, Jesus also came to him to be baptized. As Jesus prayed, the heavens opened, and the Holy Spirit came upon Him in a physical manifestation that resembled a dove. A voice echoed out from heaven.

Voice from Heaven: You are My Son, the Son I love, and in You I take great pleasure.

At this, the launch of Jesus’ ministry, Jesus was about 30 years old.

He was assumed to be the son of Joseph, the son of Eli, the son of Matthat, the son of Levi, the son of Melchi, the son of Jannai, the son of Joseph, the son of Mattathias, the son of Amos, the son of Nahum, the son of Hesli, the son of Naggai, the son of Maath, the son of Mattathias, the son of Semein, the son of Josech, the son of Joda, the son of Joanan, the son of Rhesa, the son of Zerubbabel, the son of Shealtiel, the son of Neri, the son of Melchi, the son of Addi, the son of Cosam, the son of Elmadam, the son of Er, the son of Joshua, the son of Eliezer, the son of Jorim, the son of Matthat, the son of Levi, the son of Simeon, the son of Judah, the son of Joseph, the son of Jonam, the son of Eliakim, the son of Melea, the son of Menna, the son of Mattatha, the son of Nathan, the son of David, the son of Jesse, the son of Obed, the son of Boaz, the son of Salmon, the son of Nahshon, the son of Amminadab, the son of Admin, the son of Ram, the son of Hezron, the son of Perez, the son of Judah, the son of Jacob, the son of Isaac, the son of Abraham, the son of Terah, the son of Nahor, the son of Serug, the son of Reu, the son of Peleg, the son of Heber, the son of Shelah, the son of Cainan, the son of Arphaxad, the son of Shem, the son of Noah, the son of Lamech, the son of Methuselah, the son of Enoch, the son of Jared, the son of Mahalaleel, the son of Cainan, the son of Enosh, the son of Seth, the son of Adam, the son of God.

The Book of Luke, Chapter 3 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 11th chapter of the book of Job that documents Zophar’s address to Job:

Finally, Job’s third friend, Zophar the Naamathite, spoke to Job.

Zophar: Shall such a great volume of words remain unanswered

and a long-winded man be so easily acquitted?

Shall your empty prattle silence people,

and when you mock, shall no one shame you?

You’ve told us, “I have a clear understanding of things,

and I am innocent in Your eyes, O Lord.”

Ah, but I wish God would speak,

that He would address you openly, so I will argue for Him.

I wish He would show you the secrets of great wisdom—

for the two sides of sound wisdom are both found in His mercy and justice.

Know this: God forgets some of your guilt.

Can you see to the unseen side of God,

or explore the limits of the Highest One’s knowledge?

Higher than the heavens—what can you do to reach it?

Deeper than the realm of the dead—what can you know of it?

Its farthest reaches exceed the ends of the earth;

its breadth spans far beyond the sea.

If He passes by, as is His routine, and throws you into prison,

and calls you to testify about what you’ve done, who can challenge Him?

He recognizes worthless people without integrity,

so do you really think when He sees wrongdoing He doesn’t examine it?

As they say, “The empty-headed will become clever

in the day the colt of a wild donkey is born human!”

If you will focus your intentions in His direction

and open your hands and reach for Him,

Where you have guilt on your hands,

if you will send it far away and not tolerate sin in your tents,

Then you will lift up a face clean of all stains;

you will hold your head high, secure, and free of fear.

You will forget all of these troubles of yours;

they will pass beneath your memory like a drop of water that has just flowed away.

Life will become brighter than high noon;

darkness will give way to morning.

Once again, you’ll trust in the presence of hope;

you’ll scan the horizon and sleep safely.

You will lie down, and no one will terrorize you,

and many will long to be in your good graces.

But the eyes of the wicked will grow dark as they lose hope;

they’ll find no escape, and in despair,

they’ll long only to breathe their last dying breath.

The Book of Job, Chapter 11 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Sunday, April 18 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

April 18, 2021

The First Day of the Week

“And upon the first day of the week, when the disciples came together to break bread, Paul preached unto them, ready to depart on the morrow; and continued his speech until midnight.” (Acts 20:7)

Given the fact that everything about God’s Word was specifically inspired by its Author, it is appropriate that this important phrase, “the first day of the week,” occurs exactly eight times in the Bible. The first six of these (Matthew 28:1; Mark 16:2, 9; Luke 24:1; John 20:1, 19) all stress the fact that it was on this day that the greatest event in history (since the creation) had taken place. The creation of the universe had taken place on the first day of the week, and now its Creator had conquered sin and death itself on that day. In the Bible, of course, the number “seven” represents completeness, so “eight” represents a new beginning—a new creation, a resurrection.

The last two references tell us just how the early Christians remembered this day. Our text verse tells us this was a day on which the disciples assembled together, had a preaching service, and then “broke bread.” This was not a special assembly called just for Paul, for he had already been waiting there x days (see the previous verse). This was about 25 years after the resurrection itself, and the Jewish believers were evidently still observing the seventh day as a rest day, but then they also observed the first day of the week as the time to commemorate the Lord’s death in “breaking of bread” to celebrate His resurrection and especially to hear the preaching of His Word. The final reference tells us one other vital thing they did: “Upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him” (1 Corinthians 16:2). The first day of the week should always be a time of remembering Him in these joyful ways, for He is our living Lord and Savior. HMM

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bulletjournalbear · 6 years

Photo

This is my latest spread I’ve been working on, October 2019, but I haven’t found a way I want the weekly spreads to look. Hopefully I’ll find out soon!

(Flamingo drawing done by my sister!)

- Melea, 4/12/18

#bulletjournal #bujo #bulletjournalspo #bulletjournallove #journal #journaling #journalspo #flamingo #neon #neon light #neon sign #drawing #draw #calendar #october #monthlyspread #star

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the-record-obituaries · 6 years

Text

August 8, 2018

Kelly Michael Black, age 56

Kelly Michael Black, age 56, of Hamptonville, passed away Sunday, August 5, 2018 at Wake Forest Baptist Health-Wilkes Regional. He was born July 22, 1962 in Salisbury to Donnie A. and Edna Lucille Riley Black. Kelly attended Sweet Home Baptist Church and enjoyed driving race cars. He was preceded in death by his father.

Surviving are his wife, Tonya Felts Black; son, Stephen Michael Black of Statesville; daughter, Stephanie Black of Statesville; step daughters, Makayla Nichols and husband Seth Taylor of Colorado Springs, Colorado, Tymber Felts, Gabriella Lankford and Emily Felts all of Hamptonville; his mother, Edna Lucille Riley of Statesville; brother, John Black and wife Vickie of Hiddenite; sisters, Donna Denning and husband David of Salisbury, Melea Maltba and husband Mike of Kannapolis; and three grandchildren.

Funeral service will be held 3:00 p.m. Saturday, August 11, 2018 at Miller Funeral Chapel with Rev. Chris Meade officiating. The family will receive friends at Miller Funeral Service from 1:00 until 3:00 on Saturday, prior to the service. In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to the family to help with medical expenses. Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements. Online condolences may be made to www.millerfuneralservice.com

Andy Shore, 77

Mr. Andy Lee Shore, age 77 of Millers Creek passed away Thursday, August 2, 2018 at his home.

Funeral service was held August 7, at Pilgrim Baptist Church with Pastor Derek Kilby, Rev. Mike Hamby, Rev. Rex Eldreth and Rev. Billy Shepherd officiating. Entombment with Military Honors by Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 1142 Honor Guard was in Mountlawn Memorial Park.

Mr. Shore was born July 21, 1941 in Cabarrus County to Anderson Daley (Andy) Shore and Pauline West Shore. He served in the Army National Guard. His career included employment at Bernhardt Industries, Truck Driver for Lovette Egg, Carolina Mirror, as an owner operator for Crete Carriers and retired from Roadway Trucking with over 2.5 million miles accident free. Mr. Shore was a member of Pilgrim Baptist Church.

He was preceded in death by his parents.

Mr. Shore is survived by his wife of 54 years; Linda Shepherd Shore of the home, a daughter; Jodi Shore and fiancée Richard Roberts of Moravian Falls, two sons; Andy David Shore and wife Tara of Wilkesboro and Zeb Lee Shore of Wilkesboro, two grandchildren; Brett Shore and Ty Russell, two sisters; Sue Phillips of Hickory and Judy Winkler and husband Jerry of New Port Richey, FL and several nieces and nephews.

Flowers will be accepted or memorials may be made to the Donor's Choice. m

William Hulcher, 65

Mr. William Franklin Hulcher, 65, of Wilkesboro, passed away on Tuesday, August 2, 2018.

William was born on May 30, 1953 in Wilkes County to Charles Butler Hulcher and Adelene Jones Hulcher.

William is preceded in death by his parents.

William is survived by his sons, William Charles Hulcher of the home, Christopher Scott Hamblen of Hillsborough; brother, Charles "Buddy" Hulcher of Wilkesboro; mother of his children, Lynn Kilby Hulcher; grandchildren, Chloe and Levi Hamblen.

The Family conducted a memorial service August 4, at the Mount Lawn Mausoleum in North Wilkesboro.

Pastor Christopher Hamblen will be officiating.

In lieu of flowers donations may be given to St. Jude Children's Hospital, 262 Thomas Place Memphis, TN 38105.

Adams Funeral Home of Wilkes has the honor of serving the Hulcher Family.

Nancy Joyce

Nancy Fulmer Joyce departed this world on August 1st following a courageous three-year battle with plasma cell leukemia. During that fight, she maintained her famous sense of humor, laughing loud and often, never whining about her fate.

Nancy grew up in the Syracuse, NY area. She was a lifelong learner furthering her education and receiving various degrees from Elmira College, Syracuse University, UNC-Chapel Hill, Appalachian State University and UNC-Greensboro where she earned her Doctorate Degree. She worked in the Wilkes County Schools for more than 30 years as a teacher (receiving a "Teacher of the Year" award), psychologist, administrator, and school principal (receiving a "Principal of the Year" award). After a short hiatus, she hung out her shingle and practiced psychology. Her focus throughout her career was on "the child", whose cause she always championed.

She was active in the community, served on various boards, volunteered at Hospice, and was a member and past president of the North Wilkesboro Rotary Club. She was a faithful member of St. John's Catholic Church and taught Sunday School and served as a lector for many years. During her illness, in the comfort of her sunroom, she was grateful to share religious thoughts, while drinking Irish tea, with Sister Janis McQuade, SSJ. She played bridge, drank wine and giggled with her buds to the end.

Mostly, she loved her family- husband Dennis, sons Pat and Sean, her sisters, brothers and all other kith and kin. But she was wildly, deliriously happy to spend time with her beloved grandchildren, Connor, Ansley, and Emmett- Pat and Nikki's brood. It is beyond a shadow of any reasonable doubt, Pat can attest, that she treated her grandkids far better, nicer, kinder and gentler than she did her own sons ("poor babies") and her wonderful husband.

A Mass of Christian Burial was August 6th with Father John Hanic presiding. In lieu of flowers, please consider making a gift to The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society in honor of Nancy F. Joyce, P.O. Box 98018, Washington, DC 20090-8018. Their website is: www.lls.org

Brenda Johnson 63

Mrs. Brenda Lee Church Johnson age 63 of Purlear, passed away Wednesday, August 1st, 2018 at her home.

Funeral services were held August 3rd, at Pilgrim Baptist Church with Pastor Derek Kilby and Rev. Scott Church officiating. Burialwasin the church cemetery.

Mrs. Johnson was born June 2, 1955 in Wilkes County to R.G. and Nellie Church. She was retired from Dr. Michael Blackwell's office. Mrs. Johnson was a member of Pilgrim Baptist Church.

She was preceded in death by her father; R.G. Church.

Mrs. Johnson is survived by her husband; Randy Johnson of the home, a daughter; Melonie Kilby and husband Derek of Purlear, her mother and stepfather; Nellie Church Parsons and husband Buck Parsons of Wilkesboro, a granddaughter; Aerobella Rayne Kilby of Purlear, a sister; Angela Church Cook and husband Vance of Mooresville, a brother; Barry Church of Ferguson, father-in-law; Howard Johnson and sister-in-law Pat Farrington.

In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to the ALS Association Gift Processing Center PO Box 37022, Boone IA 50037 or Pilgrim Baptist Church PO Box 1517 Millers Creek, NC 28651.

Robert Bumgarner, 80

Robert Taft Bumgarner, age 80, of Wilkesboro, NC, passed away on Wednesday, August 1, 2018, surrounded by his family.

Born November 4, 1937, Bob was the beloved son of the late David Taft Bumgarner and Margaret Cloninger Bumgarner of Lenoir; husband of Pinkie Bumgarner of Wilkesboro; father of Mark D. (Aimee) Bumgarner of Weaverville and Tracy N. Bumgarner of Lenoir, step-father of Robin M. Metz of Wilkesboro and brother of Betty B. (Bill) Williams of Lenoir. He is survived also by five grandchildren: Sara H. Huskins, Matthew R. Huskins, Kathryn M. Bumgarner, Andrew B. Bumgarner and Benjamin D. Bumgarner; two step-grandsons, Chandler B. Metz and Quinton D. Metz; a niece and nephew, a great-niece, and many special friends.

A memorial service celebrating Bob's life will be held at 1:30pm on August 11, at the First United Methodist Church of North Wilkesboro, located at 401 6th Street, with Dr. Tim Roberts and Reverend Ted Henry presiding. Friends may visit with the family after the service in the church's Family Life Center.

In lieu of flowers, memorial donations may be made to the First United Methodist Church of North Wilkesboro PO Box 1145 North Wilkesboro, NC 28697.

Dinah Brady, 54

Dinah Kay Brady, age 54, of Hays, passed away Wednesday, August 1, 2018 at Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center. She was born September 2, 1963 in Wilkes County to Ralph and Flossie Stanley Prevette. Mrs. Brady was preceded in death by her parents.

Surviving are her sons, Ty Brady and fiancée Melinda Pruitt of Millers Creek, Michael Church and wife Ella of Hays; grandchildren, Diamon and Layken Church, ghrandchildren Austin Gilbert and Collin Gilbert

Funeral service was held August 4, at Miller Funeral Chapel. Burial followed in New Light # 1 Baptist Church Cemetery. Flowers will be accepted.

Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements.

Allen (Buster) Bailey

Allen (Buster) Bailey, son of the late Robert and Addie Bailey, was born January 20, 1952 in North Wilkesboro, North Carolina. He departed this earthly life on Tuesday, July 31, 2018 at Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center, Winston Salem, North Carolina. Buster graduated from Wilkes Central High School, North Wilkesboro, North Carolina. He attended Wilkes Community College. He served four years in the United States Navy and retired from the United States National Guard after twenty-one years. Buster was employed at Lowes Distribution Plant in Statesville, North Carolina. He was a member of Union Grove Baptist Church where he served on the Trustee and Finance Committees. He also served on the Usher Board and was a faithful member of the Missionary Board.

He is survived by his loving wife and soul mate of thirty-two years; Lorraine W. Bailey, as well as two brothers, Robert Bailey (Jewell) of Statesville, William M. Bailey of Winston Salem; five sisters, Barbara B. Armstrong of Boonville, Addie Cockeran of North Wilkesboro, Tenia B. Potts (John) of Charlotte, Cathy Martin (Nelson) of North Wilkesboro and Sandra Bailey of North Wilkesboro; two sisters-in-law, Della Coles (C.L.) of Reston, Virginia and Tola Bailey of North Wilkesboro; brother-in-law, Ray Walker (Kay) of Roaring River. He is also survived by a host of nieces, nephews, family and friends. He was preceded in death by his two brothers, Doug Bailey and Harold Dean Bailey; two brothers-in-law, Paul Cockeran and Bill Armstrong; and three sisters-in-law, Pearl Bailey, Marcia J. Bailey and Greta Bailey.

Funeral service was held August 4, at Union Grove Baptist Church on Old 60 with Rev. Brent Bailey, Rev. Casey Walker, Rev. John A. Speaks and Rev. Karl Payne officiating. Burial with full military honors followed in the Church Cemetery. Flowers will be accepted.

Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements.

Mike Church 58

Mr. Mike Church Sr., 58 of Roaring River, passed away on July 29, 2018.

Mike was born on February 22, 1960 in Baltimore Maryland to Will Newton Church and Alice Francis Mitchell Church.

Mike is preceded in death by his, wife, Josephine Julie Palmer Church; parents, Will and Alice Church; brother, Dennis Lee Church; sister, Darlene Church Bowman.

Mike is survived by his sons, Michael Church and wife, Amanda of Asheboro, Joseph Church of Roaring River; daughter, Athena Noblitt of North Wilkesboro; five sisters, Judy Mathis and husband Dean of Texas, Dale Garris and husband Bobby of Hays, Nova Owsley and husband Ed of Tennessee, Debbie Royal and husband, Alan of Elkin, Violet Wolf also ofElkin; brother, Will Church and wife, Marla of Roaring River; five grandchildren, Destiney Cox, Greylyn Cox, Christian Church, Camry Church and Candice Church.

A private family celebration of life will be held at a later date.

In lieu of flowers memorial donations may be given to Adams Funeral Home of Wilkes, P.O. Box 396 Mo.Falls, NC 28654.

Adams Funeral Home of Wilkes has the honor of serving the Church Family

Edward Bowers, 87

Edward Bowers, age 87, of Hays, passed away Saturday, July 28, 2018 at his home. Edward was born May 23, 1931 in Wilkes County to William and Augusta Spicer Bowers. He graduated from Appalachian Teachers College. He was also a dedicated member of Bethel Baptist Church and a Sunday School Teacher. Edward enjoyed working outdoors, loved basketball and baseball. Mr. Bowers was preceded in death by his parents; his wife, Virginia Louise Rhodes Bowers; Sister, Anna Lou Gambill and brothers, Claude Bowers, Ralph Bowers, Walter Bowers and George Bowers.

Surviving are his daughter, Sharon Alexander and husband Chuck of Taylorsville; son, Michael Bowers and wife Kendra of Kernersville; grandchildren, Bobby Alexander and Connor Alexander both of Taylorsville, Ethan Bowers, Kenly Bowers, and Kalen Bowers all of Kernersville; and sister, Pauline Wooten and husband Sanford of Yadkinville.

Funeral service was held August 1, at Bethel Baptist Church with Pastor Donnie Shumate officiating. Burial followed in the church cemetery. Flowers will be accepted or memorials may be made to Bethel Baptist Church, PO Box 379, Hays, NC 28635.

Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements.

Doris Hollar, 87

Mrs. Doris Blevins Hollar, age 87 of Murrells Inlet, SC, formally of Wilkesboro, passed away Tuesday, July 31, 2018 at Hope Arbor Assisted Living in Murrells Inlet.

Funeral services were held August 4, at Baptist Home Baptist Church with Rev. David Jones and Rev. Sherrill Wellborn officiating. Burial was in Mountlawn Memorial Park.

Mrs. Hollar was born February 21, 1931 in Wilkes County to William Hannon Minton and Alma Delaney Higgins Minton. She was a homemaker and a member of Baptist Home Baptist Church in North Wilkesboro.

In addition to her parents, she was preceded in death by her husband, Clyde Hillary Blevins.

Mrs. Hollar is survived by a daughter; Cathy Blevins Ellis and husband Tommy of Fancy Gap, VA, two sons; Ricky D. Blevins and wife Lisa of Murrells Inlet SC and Timothy C. Blevins and wife Michele of Holly Springs NC, four grandchildren; Jennifer E. Greene, Jerry T. Ellis, Mackenzie Finch and Michele Turner, four great grandchildren; Hope G. Farmer, Bowen Greene, Hailee Ellis and Cooper Ellis, a great-great grandchild; Maximus Farmer, a sister; Georgia Wyatt of North Wilkesboro and a brother; Max Minton of Wilkesboro.

Flowers will be accepted or memorials may be made to Alzheimer's Association Western Carolina Chapter 4600 Park Road, Suite 250 Charlotte, NC 28209.

Irene Johnson, 86

Mrs. Irene Bauguess Johnson, age 86 of Wilkesboro, passed away Tuesday, July 31, 2018 at Westwood Hills Nursing and Rehabilitation Center.

Funeral services were held August 4, at Reins Sturdivant Funeral Home Chapel with Rev. Robert Duncan and Rev. Bud Shepherd officiating. Burial was in Scenic Memorial Gardens. .

Mrs. Johnson was born October 6, 1931 in Wilkes County to Thomas Sherman Bauguess and Mattie Jane Spicer Bauguess.

She was preceded in death by her parents.

Mrs. Johnson is survived by four sisters; Nancy Shepherd of North Wilkesboro, Ruby Faulk of Winston Salem, Nell Deacon of Ferguson and Rose Mary Hoffay of High Point, a brother; James Clinton Bauguess of Traphill and three grandchildren.

Donald Warfield, 80

Mr. Donald Eugene Warfield, age 80 of Wilkesboro, passed away Monday, July 30, 2018 at his home.

Funeral services were held August 3rd, at Reins Sturdivant Chapel with Rev. Charles Edwards officiating. Burial with Funeral Honors by Marine Corps League Brushy Mtn. Detachment 1187 were in Scenic Memorial Gardens. Donald was born August 22, 1937 in Baltimore, MD to Carroll and Mildred Sibley Warfield. He was a retired truck driver with Batesville Casket Company and was a member of Fishing Creek Baptist Church. Mr. Warfield was a Sargeant in the United States Marines, having served at the end of the Korean War. Since his tour in the Marines, he was a member of the Brushy Mountain Marine Corps League Detachment 1187 where he served as the Pay Master.

In addition to his parents, he was preceded in death by his wife; Agnes MaryLee Call Warfield.

He is survived by three daughters; Dana Sublett and husband Robert of Oakland, MD, Donna Kidwell of Wilkesboro and Dina Koveski of Spotsylvania, VA, two sons; Donald Warfield and wife Lisa, and Dale Warfield and wife Bonnie, all of Arbutus, MD, twelve grandchildren; Jeanne Nichols, Jason Izzett, Jayme Daniell, Kevin Cavey, Rebecca Warfield, Elizabeth Warfield, Dale A. Warfield, Derrick Warfield, Donald Warfield, II, Dale Marie Brown, Katy Koveski and Taylor Koveski, ten great grandchildren; Madalyn Nichols, Molly Nichols, Matthew Nichols, Colin Cavey, Piper Cavey, Reese Warfield, Lydia Warfield, Eliza Brown, Madison Warfield and Adalyn Warfield, a stepdaughter; Mary Jane Lagtis and husband Jim of MD and a stepson; Johnny Call of Wilkesboro.

In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to the Marine Corps League Brushy Mtn. Detachment 1187 343 Parsonsville Road, Purlear NC 28665.

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talk-of-tyria · 6 years

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Kryta - Queensdale - Eldvin Monastery Abbey Brother: Here's a hint: apple peels. A couple [of] handfuls in the keg give a light, fruity tone. Now ask no more! Sister Melea: I wasn't asking. Abbey Brother: Good, good. Because my lips are airtight.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #kryta #queensdale #human

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bulletjournalbear · 6 years

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I know that July 2019 is VERY far ahead, but I believe this is the best spread in my bullet journal. I had a lot of fun creating it and I am super excited to use it!

(And if you’re wondering, my sister helped draw the alien and let me have the car drawing.)

-Melea, 4/11/18

#bulletjournal #bulletjournalspo #bulletjournallove #bujo #bujo spread #my bujo #july #calendar #alien #cat #drawing #draw #doodle #doodles #comic #journal #journaling #doodling #believe

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dfroza · 4 years

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A point of change.

(of metamorphosis)

is what baptism points to. rebirth. renewing the heart & mind.

this is the True message of grace that is being offered to us by our Creator, and we see its genesis in Today’s reading from chapter 3 in the ancient book of Luke that points to the True illumination of the Son:

A powerful message from God came to John, Zechariah’s son, when he was living out in the lonely wilderness. This prophetic commission came to John during the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, son of Caesar. Pontius Pilate was governor over Judea at that time. Antipas, son of Herod, was governor over Galilee, Herod’s brother Philip was over the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias was over Abilene. This happened during the days of two high priests, Annas and Caiaphas.

John went preaching and baptizing throughout the Jordan Valley. He persuaded people to turn away from their sins and turn to God for the freedom of forgiveness.

This was to fulfill what was written in the book of the prophet Isaiah:

“Listen! You will hear a thunderous voice in the lonely wilderness telling you to wake up and get your heart ready for the coming of the Lord Jehovah. Every twisted thing in your lives must be made straight. Every dark way must be brought to the light. Wrongs righted. Injustices removed. Every heart of pride will be humbled low before him. Every deception will be exposed and replaced by the truth so that everyone everywhere will be ready to see the Life of God!”

John kept preaching to the many crowds who came out to be baptized, “You are nothing but the offspring of poisonous snakes, full of deception! Have you been warned to repent before the coming wrath of God? Then turn away from your sins, turn to God, and prove it by a changed life. Don’t think for a moment that it’s enough to simply be the favored descendants of Abraham. That’s not enough to save you. I’m telling you, God could make more sons of Abraham out of stones if he chose to!

“Even now God’s axe of judgment is poised to chop down your barren tree right down to its roots! And every tree that does not produce good fruit will be leveled and thrown into the fire.”

The crowd kept asking him, “What then are we supposed to do?”

John told them, “Give food to the hungry, clothe the poor, and bless the needy.”

Even the despised tax collectors came to John to be baptized, and they asked him, “What are we to do to prove our hearts have changed?”

“Be honest,” he replied. “Don’t demand more taxes than what you are required to collect.”

“And us?” asked some soldiers. “What about us?”

John answered them, “Be content with what you earn. Never extort money or terrify others by threats of violence or be guilty of accusing the innocent.”

During those days, everyone was gripped with messianic expectations, believing the Messiah could come at any moment, and many began to wonder if John might be the Christ.

But John made it clear by telling them, “There is one coming who is mightier than I. He is supreme. In fact, I’m not worthy of even being his slave. I can only baptize you in this river, but he will baptize you into the Spirit of holiness and into his raging fire. He has in his hands a winnowing fork to clean up his threshing floor! He will separate the wheat from the chaff. The wheat he will gather into his barn, but he will burn the chaff in a fire that no one can ever put out!”

John used many similar warnings as he preached the good news and prepared the people. He even publicly rebuked Antipas, son of Herod, the governor of Galilee, for the many wicked things he had done. He fearlessly reprimanded him for seducing and marrying his sister-in-law, Herodias.

Adding to his many other sins, Herod had John seized and locked up in prison.

One day Jesus came to be baptized along with all the others. As he was consumed with the spirit of prayer, the heavenly realm ripped open above him and the Holy Spirit descended from heaven in the visible, tangible form of a dove and landed on him. Then God’s audible voice was heard, saying, “My Son, you are my beloved one. Through you I am fulfilled.”

[The Ancestry of Jesus Christ]

Jesus, assumed to be Joseph’s son, was about thirty years old when he began his ministry. Here are the names of Mary’s ancestors, from her father traced all the way back to Adam:

Eli, Matthat, Levi, Melki, Jannai, Joseph, Mattathias, Amos, Nahum, Esli, Naggai, Maath, Mattathias, Semein, Josech, Joda, Joanan, Rhesa, Zerubbabel, Shealtiel, Neri, Melchi, Addi, Cosam, Elmadam, Er, Joshua, Eliezer, Jorim, Matthat, Levi, Simeon, Judah, Joseph, Jonam, Eliakim, Melea, Menna, Mattatha, Nathan, David, Jesse, Obed, Boaz, Salmon, Nahshon, Amminadab, Admin, Arni, Hezron, Perez, Judah, Jacob, Isaac, Abraham, Terah, Nahor, Serug, Reu, Peleg, Eber, Shelah, Kenan, Arphaxad, Shem, Noah, Lamech, Methuselah, Enoch, Jared, Mahalaleel, Cainan, Enos, Seth, and Adam, who was created by God.

The Book of Luke, Chapter 3 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the closing chapter in the book of Deuteronomy:

Moses climbed up from the plains of Moab to the top of Mount Nebo, to the peak at Mount Pisgah on the east side of the Jordan River across from Jericho. The Eternal showed him the whole land that would be Israel’s territory: Gilead as far as Dan, all of Naphtali, the territory of Ephraim and Manasseh, all of Judah’s territory to the Mediterranean Sea in the west, the southern desert, and the basin in the valley of Jericho, the “city of palms,” as far as Zoar.

Eternal One (to Moses): This is the land I promised to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob when I told them, “I’ll give it to your descendants.” I’ve let you see it, even though you won’t be going into it.

So Moses, the Eternal’s servant, died there in the land of Moab, just as the Eternal had said. He buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, opposite Beth-peor, but to this day no one knows where his grave is. Moses was 120 years old when he died, but his eyesight hadn’t failed and his strength hadn’t diminished. The children of Israel stayed in the plains of Moab and mourned for Moses for 30 days, until the grieving period was over.

Now Joshua (Nun’s son) was filled with a spirit of wisdom because Moses had laid his hands on this successor. The children of Israel obeyed Joshua, and they did what the Eternal had commanded Moses. Since then there’s never been another prophet in Israel like Moses. The Eternal knew him face-to-face! No one has ever done anything like the amazing things the Eternal sent Moses to do in the land of Egypt to demonstrate His reality and power to Pharaoh and his servants and his whole country. And no one has shown such great power or done such terrifying things as everyone in Israel saw Moses do.

The Book of Deuteronomy, Chapter 34 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Saturday, August 1 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

Today’s message by the ICR

August 1, 2020

Those Whom God Calls Fools

“Do ye thus requite the LORD, O foolish people and unwise? is not he thy father that hath bought thee? hath he not made thee, and established thee?” (Deuteronomy 32:6)

This rebuke was by Moses as he warned the people of God just before their entrance into the Promised Land. It contains the first use of the Hebrew nabal (translated “fool” or “foolish”) in the Bible. Here it is applied to God’s chosen people after they had been redeemed out of Egyptian slavery by God. This implies that the most foolish of all people are those who have known about God and His great salvation and yet have turned away from His Word.

Paul writes in similar scathing terms of those who had known of God’s great deliverance of their fathers from the evil world before the Flood and yet then abandoned Him for idolatry. “When they knew God,...their foolish heart was darkened. Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools” (Romans 1:21-22).

David used the same word about those who decide they can explain things without God, just as many intellectuals in modern America do. “The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God.…Have the workers of iniquity no knowledge? who eat up my people as they eat bread: they have not called upon God” (Psalm 53:1, 4).

Even prophets and preachers can become fools if they follow their own wisdom instead of God’s Word. “Thus saith the Lord GOD; woe unto the foolish prophets, that follow their own spirit, and have seen nothing!” (Ezekiel 13:3).

Jesus rebuked even those He dearly loved because they were surprised and discouraged when He was crucified. “O fools,” He said, because they had been “slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken” (Luke 24:25). God help us to maintain believing hearts, not foolish hearts, as we serve Him! HMM

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dfroza · 5 years

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A baptism of the heart and body

is the pure seed of the Spirit that is (already inside) and gently waiting to be clearly chosen by those who have already been first chosen by Love to be in Love

A point of cleansing made in the paired chapters of the Testaments for Today in Luke 3 and Daniel 6

from the ancient book of Luke:

In Jerusalem Annas and Caiaphas were high priests in the temple. And in those days, out in the wilderness, John (son of Zacharias) received a message from God.

A solitary voice is calling:

“Go into the wilderness;

prepare the road for the Eternal One’s journey.

In the desert, repair and straighten

every mile of our True God’s highway