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out-there-so-it-isnt-just-me · 3 years

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Hey guys...I have an idea if you aren't sad enough yet. I was struck by a painful comparison sort of crossover idea. It would never be canon, but I'm mourning the end of Campaign Two, and I want to be sad and over-dramatic. Essek, but as Eliza from Hamilton in “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.” But, it’s for the entire Mighty Nien. Some of the lyrics are so on point for a poor Essek who will probably outlive all of his friends (Elves still generally live longer than Firbolgs by a good 200 years). Anyway, enjoy.

Every other founding father's story gets told

It occurs to Essek, during one of the many periods without one of the Mighty Nein (the time that he dwells on them the most), how unfair their whole situation is. They saved all of Exandria, and no one knows. They are amazing, and odd, and frustrating, and no one knows. They will die loved deeply, but not widely. He knows they prefer it that way, all things considered. But, everyone else who saves all of Exandria becomes legends, while the people he loves best will be forgotten, remembered only by him.

And that. That sounds unbearable.

So, in-between the times he sees the Mighty Nein, he begins to gather accounts. He writes down stories from those they helped, or simply left an impression on. The people who have met the Mighty Nein have an air about them that he gets good at detecting. They attracted the oddballs and the outcasts. And if they're entirely normal (whatever that means), then they usually get a certain twitch if you ask for stories about interesting strangers. About half the time, a certain blue tiefling pops up in them. He almost has a heart attack when he hears “go fuck yourself,” in Jester’s cheerful voice, when he knows Jester isn’t anywhere near there. He ends up getting the kenku’s story, and the voices of his friends are weaved into it. Essek thinks the Mighty Nein are the best people in the world, in their own rambunctious way. Part of him wants the world to love them as he does, or at least have the option to. Everyone should have a chance to get to know them, even if it's just through tales. The world would be a better place for it.

...And when you're gone, who remembers your name?

Who keeps your flame?

Who tells your story?

Once there is only him and Caduceus left, this becomes a more prominent part of how he spends his time. After...after a long, long period of mourning. He has so much life left to live without most of the people who made it worth living.

I put myself back in the narrative

I stop wasting time on tears

I live another 50(0) years

He stops hiding his past and bears his sins and his story to the world. Essek tells his story so their story can be appreciated to the fullest; his part in their story emphasizes the depth of their compassion and chaos. He tells his story, but not as himself. Essek continues to drift from town to town under a vast number of aliases. Everywhere he goes, he spreads his stories of his friends, some serious, most silly. He disguises himself so he can stay alive to do a little more good, tell a few more stories, to truly live the life his friends wanted for him.

...I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writings

You really do write like you're running out of time.

Eventually, he gets his hands on some of Beau’s journals, Jester’s diaries, and Caleb’s research. Well, he always had the research, but he gets to the point where he can share it with the world. He slowly begins to share and explain their thoughts and personalities with excerpts from those. Maybe he also has letters that he shares parts of (though most of those, those words specifically for him, he keeps to himself, for himself). He wonders if they'd be angry at him for spilling their private thoughts. But neither Beau nor Jester filtered their thoughts very much in the first place, and he keeps anything truly painful out of the public eye. Caleb, well, Caleb was always about sharing his knowledge and research, provided it wasn't dangerous. And they were all dead anyway. One of the last things they told him was to be happy. And talking about his friends, learning more about his friends even after they were long dead, that made him the happiest he'd been in a while. So he hoped they wouldn’t begrudge him this small joy he’d managed to grasp and forgive him, should it be necessary.

I rely on Angelica

While she's alive, we tell your story

She is buried in Trinity Church near you

When I needed her most, she was right on time

Caduceus isn’t particularly interested in being well known or famous, but he never shies away from telling a story about any of his friends. Plus, he thinks it’s a good project for Essek. It's a way to continue to show his love for them and keep them alive in the only way they can be now. When Caduceus eventually passes away, he joins the eight other graves (Veth refused to be buried apart from Yeza) that lay in a tucked-away corner of the Blooming Grove. There is one space left, nestled between where Caleb and Jester lay, but it will be empty for a long time yet.

And I'm still not through

I ask myself, what would you do if you had more time...

...You could have done so much more if you only had time

And when my time is up, have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?

He keeps adding to his tale; he stretches it longer and longer with every shred he can remember. But, even his memory, as long as it is, runs out eventually. And their story finally ends, but he doesn't. He throws himself into activities that remind him of them. He does a lot of gardening ( mostly tea, poisonous plants, and flowers). He teaches children some rudimentary dunamancy in his spare time, for Caleb. He messes around with alchemy a little. Eventually, he publishes the last of the research that he and Caleb worked on together; ones that took him decades to solve by himself. He even finds himself drawing a surprising amount of dicks on random surfaces near the very end.

Oh, can I show you what I'm proudest of?

...I help to raise hundreds of children

I get to see them growing up

The time that doesn’t go towards his now worrying amount of hobbies, he spends doing what he has done since the beginning: caring for the Mighty Nien’s true legacy. He looks after and visits their children. He takes care of descendants of Luc, of Jester and Fjord, of the random teenager that Beau and Yasha seemed to adopt completely on accident, of TJ, of the Clays, and of a lovechild of Kingsley’s that found out who his father was and then somehow found Essek himself to learn about him. In an embarrassing show of sentimentality, Essek always keeps at least one offspring of Caleb's very first cat. There is a very funny story about Caleb thinking the animal was spayed when it was, in fact, not. He visits the different generations every couple of years or so (he has a schedule). The drow makes sure they know the stories of their ancestors, the adventures of the Mighty Nien; he tells them it's all real. He gives them ways to contact him if they’re in danger, or need any kind of help really ( he has funds to spare at this point). Every once in a while, a few of them will get it in their heads to write him yearly updates. It’s nice.

In their eyes, I see you, Alexander

I see you every time

And when my time is up

Have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?

It is strange and painful to see the attitude and mannerisms of the Nein in the descendants who have never met them. It is wonderful too. His stories of the Mighty Nein have become well-known tales that no one can decide how much is truth and how much is fiction (it’s true, it’s all somehow, hilariously true). He preserved them in his own way, in the right way (time travel is something he thinks of with a growing hunger the more years pass between when he last laid eyes on his friends). But in these men, these women, these children, they are truly alive.

One little half-orc girl has Jester’s mischievous eyes and infectious joy. Another halfling man squints just like Veth when she's trying to figure out if someone is bullshitting her. There’s a boy who charmingly bumbles his way through most social encounters, as Fjord did. A firbolg woman who has Caduceus gentle smile. A tiefling girl with all the audacious bravado of Kingsley. A man with eyes just as piercing as Beau’s, and a tongue just as sharp. Even Yasha’s kind and gentle demeanor somehow shines through in one small boy, despite her having no direct descendants. He gets to see these flashes of his friends in those who survive them, and it thrills him as much as it cuts him. (Sometimes, when the current cat has ruined some item of his, the pleased look it wears resembles the quiet glee Caleb exuded after he pulled a successful prank, but he’s pretty sure that’s just fanciful thinking.)

One of the last things Essek does before he dies is fully publish, in print, the entire tale of the Mighty Nein. How they came together, every person they helped along the way. The love, the loss, the kindness, the chaos, every moment he could recall or record was put into this one account (necessarily stretched out into several separate books). There is only one set, and he hands it over to the Library of the Cobalt Soul in Rexxentrum. Then he goes on his lonely way.

Oh, I can't wait to see you again

It's only a matter of time

There are now ten graves, each one as unique as its owner, nestled in a small corner of the Blooming Grove. One grave has the dirt still fresh around it. And somewhere, beyond the Divine Gate, there are cheers and laughs and cries of joy as the Mighty Nien become the Mighty Nine once more.

fin.

It’s my head-canon that by the time Essek dies he’s practically a mythical figure among the select families he looks after. It's to the point that in certain locations ( that have a lot of Nein remnants) he becomes a local legend, the guardian angel of nien (no spelling specified and with no real distinction of what that means), with skin like the night sky who drifts (literally) through towns and helps those who meet a certain requirement, unknown to the general populus. There are rumors that certain people have bestowed upon them a token they could use to call upon the angel’s aid. Of course, the people who have the tokens (sending stones or something similar. IDK how he would get that many wondrous items, but I focus on satisfying narrative not, like, plausibility) know Essek and know that he has died and that the tokens no longer work, but for a while they keep them as heirlooms, to show the love of one drow wizard for the friends he had long, long ago. Eventually, one of Veth’s descendants sells off their set because sending stones are worth A LOT, and the money seemed more practical. They have their stories; those are enough.

And before anyone complains about the Kingsley bit, I felt compelled to add a smidgen of Kingsley content because Essek loves Jester and Jester’s with Fjord and Kingsley is with both of them for years. I’m sure they get to know each other well enough that seeing traits of Kingsley is vaguely nostalgic and warming, even if it lacks the depth and love he feels for everyone else. Also, there’s no convincing me that Molly/Kingsley doesn’t have at least one illegitimate child running around from various trysts, he was basically the Scanlan of this campaign. It goes with the hedonistic vibe he gives off.

Also, is it normal that I completely designed the Nein’s burial site in my head because I did? Like I imagine they’re all spaced out in a circle. It’s almost like a stone gazebo but there’s not really a roof; it’s just a group of nine pillars that support a stone circle. The entrance is the Traveler’s door with dicks around the edge, and each of the nine pillars/supports is designed to look the knowing mistresses staff. The stone circle is covered in carvings of storm clouds and lightning. Wires are strung across the center of the stone circle to form the symbol of the Cobalt Soul. Not that you can see the wires, because vines have been grown all around them. Once you step through the Traveler’s gate, you’ll find yourself on some kind of rough mosaic floor, with depictions of a peacock, a pyramid, a snake, a sun, a moon, and (oddly) a pirate ship. The mosaic is made up of buttons of various materials and shapes. In the center is a saltwater pool/spring (depending on how magical we can get idk) and floating above it is an eternal flame encased in some sort of dunamancy magic that doesn’t actually exist that keeps it floating and eternal. Look I'm running out of ideas.

I can’t imagine what everyone’s grave marker would be, but I’m pretty sure Yasha’s is a simple stone that says "YASHA NYDOORIN: wife of Zuella and Beauregard Lionette," and the place where’s she’s buried is just covered in wildflowers that spread outside of the gazebo to encircle the structure entirely up to the gate. Also, everyone has a stone tarot card by their grave with the picture and designation that Molly gave them. Beyond that grows a weirdly dense thicket of trees and bushes that make finding the Nein's resting place rather hard. It’s said only the descendants of the Nein’s family or those favored by the Wildmother (or Traveler, Or Ioun, or Storm Lord) can find their way to them. And one tree, directly behind Yasha, is dead, struck by lightning who knows how long ago.

And they’re buried in this order: Yeza/Veth, Caleb, Essek, Jester, Ford, Kingsley, Yasha, Beau, Cad. I know there’s a good chance that a) Kingsley would just eff off and die somewhere unknown and b) Cad would probably want to be buried with the rest of his family, but shhh let me dream.

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trendingnewsb · 7 years

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Why I aborted 2 very wanted pregnancies

April held several anniversaries for me. The anniversary of an unrealized due date, the anniversary of an ended pregnancy, the anniversary of my birth40 years ago this year. All three of these dates gave me pause to reflect on the choices Ive made.

Choice. The word feels big and comes up often lately. When faced with my strong-willed 3-and-a-half-year-old son, Ive learned to give him only two choices or else Id lose my mind. On a larger scale, Im considering leaving a career Ive pursued for over two decades and whether or not to add to our family. Such choices are par for the course as we grow and enter new phases in our lives.

But more significantly, Ive been thinking about the right to choose in the debate over abortion, which is not only threatened under the Trump administration, but also often misunderstood. The nuances that can go into making a choice to end a pregnancy are often unseen, unspoken, and never casual.

Unfortunately, my husband and I were faced with this choice. Twice. We terminated two very wanted pregnancies. To put it bluntly, Ive had two abortions.

And as our government tries to strip us of our reproductive rights, I am reminded how lucky I am to have the financial means and to live in a state where laws didnt prevent me from the choices I made. My abortions left me heartbroken, changed, and grief-strickenthat is indisputable. But everyone should be granted those choices. Those are choices Id still make today.

. . .

Itd be easy to peg me as your typical pro-choice advocate. I grew up in a liberal household. Feminism was at the core of my progressive private Los Angeles high school education. I went to a super hippie-dippy college where grades were for eggs, not people. But while I was taught to think critically about various perspectives, I was primarily surrounded by politically and socially like-minded individuals. To be honest, I never questioned whether I was pro-choice. I just was.

Photo via World Cant Wait/Flickr (CC-BY)

And then I visited a Body Worlds exhibit. This particular show featured skeletal muscles, nervous systems, and healthy and diseased organs to demonstrate the complexity of the human body. It also included a wall of 42 embryo and fetuses preserved in a glass case.

These embryos and fetuses were humanized by Body Worlds. I saw their form and I saw their potential. I saw them as life. (Not so dissimilarly as I saw the meat that I no longer ate when I became a vegetarian 10 years prior.) I remember very clearly, standing over a nine-week embryo in a glass case thinking that I believed in choice, but couldnt imagine making such a choice.

Fast forward 10 years.

I became pregnant in the summer of 2011. In September, I went in for the routine 13-week NT scan, the ultrasound that assesses your babys risk of having chromosomal abnormalities. That day, we found out that our babys nuchal fold thickness was outside of the normal range.

We sat with the genetic counselor as we gave our histories (nothing outside of the ordinary) and was given a primer on statistics and chromosomes and karyotypes and various horrifying conditions. At that point, we still didnt know exactly what it all meant for our child.

As we drove home, my husband, through his stifled tears, said to me, We cant think of it as a baby. I remember feeling aggressively defensive at my husbands reality. I had stared at the doctors screen and saw a body. I had stared at my belly and saw it swollen. Of course, it was a baby. That was never a question for me.

Test results confirmed that our baby had a significant chance of having some kind of severe abnormality that could be fatal or would likely cause him to suffer. We consulted doctors, got second opinions, and endured more testing. We were candidly, though not casually, advised by doctors to terminate and try again. And at 14 weeks, thats what we did. We made our choice.

I grieved, I processed, I sat on the couch in therapy and tried to find meaning in my experience. I planted a letter in an olive tree that I had written to our son, explaining to him why we made our decision, and that it was ultimately a decision made out of love.

I became pregnant again, at the beginning of 2012. This babys due date was exactly one year after we terminated the previous pregnancy. I found solace in that kind of synchronicity.

But of course, when I went to my routine 13-week NT scan, I was still anxious.

As I lay on the exam bed, facing a flatscreen monitor with just my name and my estimated due date, the technician asked me, Would you like me to turn the monitor off after you confirm the information is correct?

She was asking if I wanted to see my baby. Without hesitation, I told her to leave it on. I did not take my eyes off him. Here was my baby alive and living inside of me.

Soon, though, my husband and I would be faced with the same godawful, painful decision that we had made just months before.

This time around, my babys NT scan showed that his nuchal fold thickness measured twice the normal size, putting his life at even more risk than our first. My husband and I searched for a medical explanation or any scientific data that could give us an understanding as to why this happened to us not once, but twice. I scoured medical journal articles and reached what felt like the end of the internet looking for affirmations that I could carry my baby to term and not feel like I was putting my child at a significantly abnormal great risk by bringing him into the world.

We sat with the facts, the data, the expert opinions as well as second and third and fourth opinions. I had a CVS, a microarray, a full counsel on recessive testing. We had ultrasounds with specialists at both Cedars-Sinai and UCLA. We reached out to various genetic and prenatal and neonatal specialists. We made it our job to find an answer.

Despite the extensive research on my pregnancies and all of the testing, every doctor we saw was at a loss to explain why this developed with our babies twice and couldnt come up with anything beyond compassionately telling us it was two strokes of bad luck.

We made our choice. Again.

. . .

I think about what our story would have looked like under different circumstances. In another state. With abortion restrictions. With fewer means. Fewer resources. What that trajectory could have looked like in a parallel universe. And it makes me realize that while others might not agree with our choiceand I certainly can understand why some do notit was our choice to make, not our governments. It was philosophical, it was personal, and it was ours.

The Oklahoma House of Representatives passed a billin March that would ban all abortions based on genetic abnormalities. In other words, Oklahoma legislators believe that the agonizing choice that my husband and I made as a couple, both times, should have been theirs to make. Theyd get to make this choice for us even though they would do nothing to support the aftermath of that decision: setting aside funding for his medical care, holding our hands while he underwent a lifetime of treatments, alleviating our pain if he died not long after birth.

In Kentucky, there is only one abortion clinic left in the state. One in 40,400 square miles, and the governor just tried to close it. In that scenario, I think about the big-picture trajectory again: If my husband and I lived in Kentucky and we didnt have a car or have the funds to get to the closest clinic and subsequently had a child with severe and costly life threatening medical issuesa child whom may or may not have been even able to survive after being bornwhere would we all be now?

But in what could be the most damaging legislation given my situation, the Texas Senate just passed two obscenely restrictive bills: One outlawing dilation and evacuation (D&E) procedures, the safest and most effective abortion procedure for women in their second trimester and what doctors used to terminate my second pregnancy; and another called the wrongful birth bill that would make it legally OK for doctors to lie to their patients about fetal abnormalities so they dont get an abortion. Yes, doctors could make the choice to withhold my babys health issues from my husband and me, while we went on in ignorance, unable to have a choice in the future of our family.

The list of laws and states and circumstances that hinder choice goes on and on.

Photo via Shutterstock

While it may seem like what the Republican Party wants to do first and foremost with such restrictive legislation is prevent women from getting abortions, that motive is only secondary. Many studies have shown that women arent going to stop choosing to have abortions under strict lawstheyll find other, unsafe means to terminate their pregnancies that could put their own lives in danger. At its core, these laws are about controlling women and perpetuating feelings of shame and guilt for making choices over their own bodies.

Women have long lived with the burdens of shame; nevertheless, we have persisted. We do not shut down after making the choice to have an abortion. We do not go through with the procedureand never feel again. I have never felt so much pain, anger, sadness, grief, and confusion as I did after choosing to end my pregnancies.

Worse than the pain I felt in their absence, though, would have been not getting to make that choice at all. And to clarify: I understand why others would not make the same choice. But being forced into a life based on a doctors whim or a legislators personal ideology, being robbed of making the best personal choice for my family, would have been a pain I could not endure.

. . .

After that 13-week appointment, I decided to make the most of each day with my son while he was still in my body. We went to the beach. I showed him the ocean and the sand. We ate Indian food, Italian food, Mexican food, Mediterranean food. I read to him. I talked to him. I sang to him. I wrote him letters daily. We listened to a lot of Florence and the Machine. I explained everything that was happening to us as best as I could, as we went into each ultrasound appointment.

After considering and reconsidering all of the information we had collected over five weeks, we made the decision to go in for a D&E the day before my 35th birthday. He was 18 weeks. I woke up on my birthday longing for him and missing him terribly.

While my husband and I grieved together, I felt oddly alone in my experience. Simply put, there was a literal voidinside of me. Unlike my husband, I had pregnancy weight gain and pain and cramping and bleeding and hormonal mood swings that were constant visceral reminders of my baby whose life we chose to end. And so I took the pain pills prescribed with wine every night as I watched countless episodes of TLCsWhat Not to Wear to escape all the pain that was too hard to feel.

Because he was a baby, my baby, we had him cremated. Until we came up with the right spot to place his ashes, I carried him around with me. Some might think it weird or dark or sick, but I couldnt fathom leaving him home alone, and so he came with me in my purse to my appointments, my errands, and my work. We eventually found his spot.

My husband and I eventually tried again seven months later. I quickly became pregnant and gave birth to our son in August 2013.

I would be lying if I said I did not often see his two brothers when I look at him. All three are part of my fabricour son is here because of them. And one day, I plan on telling him about his brothers and our journey. A journey and a family we wouldnt have without choice.