#tomb of kha

[nowoolallowed]

Tunic with multicolored borders - Museo Egizio Collection

Inventory Number: S. 8530 New Kingdom, Dynasty 18, 1425–1353 BCE Location Information: Deir el Medina / tomb of Kha (TT8)

[spiritsdancinginthenight]

Egyptian alabaster jars for the “seven sacred oils", from the Tomb of Kha (TT8), Deir el-Medina, c. 1425–1353 B.C. Museo Egizio. S. 8441. S. 8445

[23-tiny-wishes]

Multi-coloured glass cosmetic jar of Meryt (TT8). The lid is decorated with two small duck heads.

S. 8480. Image courtesy of Museo Egizio, Turin. CC-BY 2.0

[egypt-museum]

Book of the Dead of Kha

The deceased Kha and his wife Merit worship Osiris, Lord of the Underworld and Judge of the Dead.

The deceased needed all the help he or she could get on his or her long journey to the afterlife, a place full of evil creatures, ferocious animals, magical portals and lakes of fire. The Book of the Dead, which were sort of guides written on papyrus for Egyptians’ afterlife, contain formulas that should be recited to activate the power of magical amulets.

New Kingdom, 18th Dynasty, ca. 1386-1349 BC. From tomb of Kha (TT8), Deir el-Medina, Thebes. Now in the Egyptian Museum, Turin. S. 8316/03 = S.8438

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[clementineskesh]

Transcript:

Tartarus 5: Gas Mining Lonn: Resorts Helaine Delta: Duplicate of Helaine Gamma Thulsa: Standard Spread Xenacip: Lost Contact. Lost Portcullis Repair Team Bhopal Kha: Pact Occupied Maine: Lumber, Spice Bishamonten: Arms Manufacturing Carjel: Standard Spread Isfahan: Standard Spread Yoca: Standard Spread KX 93-39: Black Hole Research Lab Dul-Kaw: Established via Nidean Art grant Darre: Tomb Sector Ecou: Refugee Camps Edino: Quarantined Sector Skarnoc: Debris Fields Hilde: Gas Mining Por: Standard Spread Nova Melides: Abandoned Divine Clash Worlds Palamedes 8: Regional Refueling Depot Castax 8: Stratus Research Facility Ashlen: Standard Spread

Altar. Brighton. Crown. Gift-3. Moonlock. Seneschal. Skein. Thyrsus. Volition. The Brink. 

The Twilight Mirage and its neighbouring system, where the three rings of the stellar combustor whip in tight rotations around the bulging sun. 

Palisade. Itself a destination.

Oh, how could you? 

Sweaty and solemn and workaday too, because on Palisade most people don't have time to practice dying, to imagine their own funerals or the memorial services broadcast on Orion airwaves, the little statuettes, the plaques, the pins that turn misery into messaging. 

But that doesn't mean they aren't scared on Palisade. In Sinder Karst. In Joyous Guard. In Carhaix. On the Isle of The Broken Key. In City City. On New Oath. In the Crown of Glass. 

And they're scared on the Blue Channel too, but they're moving. Launching now, headed up, putting the world behind them, but drawing it closer at the same time. Fingers on their own triggers, fingers wrapped together, reaching, touching, grasping, in the dark.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Nothing Is Lost

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None, allusions to past assaults but nothing graphic

A/N: Badr makes another appearance! (I plan on checking this over in the morning when I have more energy to check for mistakes)

Taglist: @drinkingwithkhonshu

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Chapter 6:

Trust Issues

You felt like you were going insane. Clinically, literally, justifiably insane. Your freaky dreams where you were sure you were dying? Cakewalk. The dreams where you were actually seeing whoever it was you were in the point of view as? Yeah, no. This was all too weird for you. Far too weird.

So… After one too many nights of reliving the dream as the woman named “Merit” you poured yourself into hours and hours of research. You first did a search of the name, plus some contextual keywords to assist with the search. How you instinctively knew how to spell it is beyond you, but you did it.

Apparently, “Merit” in ancient Egyptian meant “beloved, beautiful” or “loved/treasured one”. And the first thing to pop up beneath the translation was the results of a discovered tomb in Egypt.

You’d hoped that somehow, this was tied to that. Maybe you were dreaming up something you’d read in a passing article while scrolling through Facebook, or even MySpace back in the day, and merely forgot about it, your exhausted subconscious dreaming up these scenarios to somehow distract you from your already demanding waking life…

So, you watched all the documentaries surrounding Merit and her husband, Kha.

You read as many articles and absorbed as much information as your brain could retain, but…

It just didn’t feel right. The Merit of your dreams was not this Merit. They had a wonderful life, Kha being a royal tomb builder, Merit being the dutiful and loving wife and mother.

The Merit of your dreams was young, knowledgeable. You haven’t seen many details of her life, but somehow you knew this woman and the one in your dreams were not one in the same.

It provided illuminating information on ancient Egyptian culture, burial practices, as well as insight into people who weren’t “all powerful” pharaohs or priests. They seemed so… normal. Even by modern standards.

The way their stories were told in the motifs and reliefs in their tomb, even to someone untrained in the field of Egyptology, anybody with a brain between their ears could see just how much love they held for one another.

It made you oddly nostalgic.

You yourself gave dating a try, but it never worked out for you. That and the dating pool was full of horny pricks who merely wanted to pump and dump you, anyways. And you weren’t one for casual flings.

You made that decision when the first and last one night stand was horrendously disappointing and lasted all of half an hour.

Ah, but the love between Kha and Merit was one most strived for, no?

Maybe you’d get lucky and find that, but not any time soon. Not with all the crazy bullshit you’ve got going on in your life, right now. Not while you were so convinced you were losing your proverbial marbles because of your crazy dreams.

All you could do right now is focus on your dreams, what Jezebel told you…

And why the flying hell you were dreaming about being a lovesick noblewoman in ancient Egypt.

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You’d been free of work for three days. You were absolutely going mad, with nothing to do to occupy your nights than binge-watching shows on streaming platforms, reading more useless articles that didn’t pertain to your dreams, or sit on the roof of your building in abject, confused silence.

As well, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched, either. Everywhere you went, you felt eyes on you. It made you shudder with uneasiness.

But the world doesn’t stop for you just because you’re uncomfortable, and you knew that. Your dreams certainly didn’t stop for it.

You sighed as you leaned back in the old desk chair, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your palms.

You lifted your gaze and turned to look outside the library window. The sun was hidden well beyond the tall buildings of the city, the slivers of sky you could make out dusting pink and purple hues. Looking back down at the corner of the screen, you finally take in what time it was. 6pm.

God, you pissed away seven hours doing research. Educational–yet pointless–research.

You leaned forward with a hefty groan and rested your face in the palms of your hands. You were still no closer to getting any details on this woman you’re dreaming up.

But what if she wasn’t even real? What if this woman was, as you’ve been worried, a figment of your imagination, dreamed up to give you some form of respite from your dreary, overloaded day-to-day life? It made sense, in a way, for your psyche to dream up a distraction to keep yourself from falling into a pit of perpetual exhaustion and despair.

But at the same time, the idea didn’t sit right with you. Why would this “distraction” start out with horrible, sleep-robbing nightmares or blood and abject horror? Why would it include such vividly-detailed scenarios that you can almost remember frame-by-frame?

Ugh. It was practically psychological torture brought on by your own subconcious.

You were shaken from your thoughts when you heard a deep voice come from the table across from you; “Pulling an all-nighter?”

Your eyes opened and you lifted your gaze until your eyes were locked with a man. He looked to be in his mid-thirties at his oldest, perhaps. His skin was dark, almost a shade of burnt toffee, and piercing eyes bore into you from behind small, round glasses. He wore dark gray trousers with a button-up yellow dress shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, revealing visible veins and muscular forearms.

This man, despite his calm look, exuded an unmistakable air that told you he could be a threat if crossed. Something about him seemed familiar, but you just couldn’t–

“Miss..?” He asked you, a brow raising.

“Uh–” You blinked and shook your head. “I, uh… No, I’m just… doing research.”

“Ah. A student, then?” He asked, tilting his head, his voice still so cool it may as well have been a glacier floating in Antarctica. His face was just as equally calm and placid.

Was this guy a librarian or..?

“No.” You say simply, shrugging. “It’s for… personal reasons. But I’m not getting anywhere.”

“Hm, perhaps I can help. What topic are you trying to research for? I imagine since it’s for personal reasons you can afford to make a few mistakes in researching here and there.” He offered.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your ankles and folding your arms over your chest as you stared at him with distrust.

“No offense,” You began. “But I don’t know you. And besides, I’m kind of doing research on archaeology. Sort of. I’m not looking up sports statistics.”

Finally, his stone-like demeanor cracks and a short chuckle escapes him in a huff. “Ah, of course. I have forgotten my manners. I am Yehya Badr.”

Your eyebrow quirked up ever so slightly and you were still rather hesitant to give out too many personal details. So… you give him a false name as you lean over the table to offer him an outstretched hand. Or. Well… the name was almost false.

You think.

“Merit.”

His eyes got imperceptibly larger, but their change is just enough that it didn’t go unnoticed by you as he takes your hand and gives it a firm shake.

“Interesting.”

“Is it?” You say, releasing his hand to sit back down.

“Yes, it’s a name originating from Egypt.” He says to you, calmly speaking as he walks around the table, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, his shoulders squared and chin up as he strides over to you.

“It can mean a number of things, actually. The most settled upon is “beloved”. Your parents must have liked the name very much. It is very uncommon nowadays.”

You were instantly surprised as he sat down next to you. He takes a glance at the monitor and the research you’d accumulated in the different tabs. “Ah, so you’re trying to… research the historical significance of your name?” He hummed.

“Sort of.” Your mouth twisted as you chose your next words very carefully. “I’m also just a bit of an archaeology nerd. If I could afford it, I’d go to school… But research is as close to it as I can get, at the moment. How do you know what my name means?”

He flashed a smile, his teeth standing out in stark contrast to his darkened lips. “I grew up in Luxor. It’s hard not to grow up in a place like that and not know about ancient Egypt, and the archaeological knowledge gathered there. I also spent many years during school in the museum. It was a quiet place, and history can be a very quiet and enamoring companion when you’re smothered by the hustle and bustle of people every day.”

“Oh. Well that’s… convenient.” You admitted to him, shifting your eyes back to the computer.

“Mhmm.” He hummed.

“So… like, what made you want to stop to talk to me?” You tilted your head at him, scrutinizing him curiously.

He seemed to take no mind to your suspicious looks, merely offering a polite smile to you in return.

“You looked distressed, and in my medical opinion–just on a pure glance alone–you are exhausted.” He replied.

“That doesn’t explain it, though.” You pointed out.

He chuckled again and his dark, obsidian eyes locked with yours. “It doesn’t, does it?”

“Nope.” You looked around, noticing you two were alone in this part of the library. “And it’s kind of creepy, if I’m being honest.”

He laughed, his voice tight but full of humor at your jibe. “Ah. Yes, it is, isn’t it? Perhaps a better explanation is in order. I made an oath to aid those who need it. And you looked like you needed help. So, therefore…”

“Uh-huh.” You said, still skeptical.

He shook his head, still smiling. “You are a very suspicious young woman.”

“Some guy tried to assault me not too long ago, and I’ve been mugged several times in the last few years alone, so yeah.” You said, leaning in with a squint. “I’m suspicious.”

Yehya seemed shocked by your admission, and you didn’t know why. It’s as if what happened to you seemed to personally offend him, judging by the flame of revulsion and anger that flickered in the dark pools of his eyes.

“An no-one did anything?” He asked you slowly. “You fought them off yourself?”

“Considering every time it happened in the dead of night–er, well, more like at like 2am–no. Because nobody was around to do anything. As for fighting them off? No again. I bargained with a few of em, stopped carrying valuables on me, and…” You chewed the inside of your cheek. You didn't know this guy, so there was no way for him to call all the bluffs you were making. “The most recent time, I did fight him off. I was… violent and he died. I didn’t get in trouble, thankfully. Because it was in self-defense, you understand.”

You leaned back in your chair and waved your hand with a dismissive huff. “Where’s a caped crusader when you need one, huh?” You added sardonically.

He took a deep breath and leaned away from you, closing his eyes for a moment. “Of course. I’m sorry those things have happened to you.”

You shrugged your shoulders and laughed. “Hey, man. You aren’t a cop. Don’t take offense to it or anything. It’s not like it’s your job to walk the beat. You’re a doctor.”

“Right…” He cleared his throat and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his palms flat against one another in front of him. “Ah, back to the earlier subject. Would you like some help in your research? It might help you to have someone who is from Egypt giving their personal experiences, there…”

You had a nagging feeling this guy just wasn’t going to leave you alone unless you said yes.

“Fine, I guess. Couldn’t hurt.”

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Yehya watched as the young woman left the library. It was well past sunset and she had stayed even after he left.

Her distrustful nature didn’t offend him, hell, if anything it was perfectly sensible to be that way after she had been robbed and assaulted so many times at night, when she should have been protected…

He clenched his fist, trembling in anger as he shadowed her, out of sight at the edges of rooftops.

How could he have failed so spectacularly in his task as Khonshu’s Fist? If this woman truly was Merit, if she died, he would never forgive himself. To fail in the protection of one soul–one specific, special soul–was a stain upon his oath. One he intended to cleanse from the pale, holy trappings he was enshrouded in. Yes, it was impossible for him to be everywhere at once, but while Marc–and his alters–traipsed about in London and Cairo with the woman they were besotted with, Taweret’s new Avatar, Layla el Faouly (whom he’d had the pleasure to meet once when they were here in New York, before Marc let Steven wrench control of the body and lead the course of their lives; and later battle Ammit herself alongside Khonshu and Layla), Yehya vowed to do better.

He would not fail Khonshu again. This woman, she needed his protection. He would not neglect his duties, he would split his attentions evenly. He would continue to watch over this woman, follow her from the shadows and the rooftops when she ventured out into the night, when she would leave and come home from work.

He lifted his gaze to the sky, the stars hardly visible to the eye due to the light pollution of the city. The moon was gone from the sky, having disappeared to be shrouded in darkness to begin the cycle anew.

Yes. He would keep his oath. This woman would never fall unprotected during the night ever again.

Not while there was a possibility that he could bring his God–his Father–the closure he needed.

Not while there was a chance to help heal his pain, the pain that has lasted thousands of years.

Not while there was a chance that he can bring the light back into Khonshu’s existence.

Not while this young life, this ancient soul, still had the chance to possibly remember who she was.

Not while he could heal a wound that still bled.

He was a doctor, after all.

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Chapter 7: Link

[thenixkat]

Was revisiting a lot of BB movie fics in the last few days, a common theme in them appears to be Jaime desperately wanting to know why Khaji chose him

Which made me realize that I don’t think we know why he’s the first one who activated “full Infiltrator mode” in the comics? Not that he seems to care? lol

Anyway as Tumblr’s resident pre-Jaime BB expert I’m curious if you have any evidence or headcanons!

The most annoying issue with working with retcons, which the whole Reach and "full Infiltrator mode" thing is, trying to make shit jive with previous shit.

Huh, I've not really read much BB movie fic but that's an interesting theme for folks to be focused on. Cause like, as far as I recall comic!Jaime doesn't really do any navel-gazing about why he was picked by Khaji Da? More treats it as something that happened to him but not really searching for any meaning in it. (and I love that really, very emphasizes how Jaime is just some guy)

As far as I'm aware, and take it with a grain of salt b/c it's been a long time since I watched Young Justice and the other info is from Wikipedia and I know for a fact that Wikipedia can be flat-out wrong about things ie. Every fucking thing on Mr. Calhoun's wiki page where whoever did the article confused him with two other different characters...

But as far other things go... Jaime isn't the only one who unlocked the full power of Khaji Da? In at least 3 adaptations, one of which being Young Justice and another being the very same Blue Beetle movie if I'm recalling shit from the beginning of the film right, they had Dan being able to fully activate Khaji Da. Like, it looked different on him than on Jaime of course and folks were making it look like his og costume. But like they had Khaji Da fused with Dan's spine and it being removed from his corpse after he died in those adaptations. And what it did while bonded with Dan is why folks know shit for things later with Jaime.

-> Movie Khaji Da didn't choose Ted. But in the Young Justice and some fucking live action show I can't remember the name of, Ted was the one who refused to bond with Khaji Da, because he didn't trust the alien parasite tech.

-> I've not fucking found the comics to read yet but I know the version of Ted that exists in Kingdom Come, can and does use Khaji Da and has heavy plate Scarab armor with the 'beetle backpack' that Jaime's armor also had. Tho I dislike how the Kingdom Come!Ted's armor looks, mostly on the choices in coloring and how excessively bulky it looks for a character that's a gymnast.

And really... it seems less that Jaime is some chosen one and more just he was in the right place at the right time and Khaji Da liked what it saw of him and decided to move in. (WHich is interesting given how different Jaime is from Dan [Mr. Hot blooded world trotting slut] and Ted [kind, caring, but man does he have issues])

Personally, I go with:

Khaji Da has some kind of defect that means it can't fully override a healthy and mentally stable host. Be funny as shit if it was from ramming into another Scarab like the BB movie showed.

Khaji Da had many many Blue Beetles during its time on Earth (from what it told Dan in Dan's origin story). It's 'Champions' were given the mission to protect the Earth from evil forces and villains. Given that Khaji Da was not reformed back then it probably typically encouraged its hosts to be Lethal Protectors (not me shouting out Venom but like...)

Kha-ef-re broke this chain of Blue Beetles for 3000 yrs b/c he managed to damage/injure or drain Khaji Da of power while using it for his blood magic bullshit. And Khaji was clearly being used as a heart scarab for Kha-ef-re's mummy and interred with him in his tomb that people were forbidden from opening due to curse/fear of Kha-ef-re coming back b/c he was an evil ass fucker

When Dan loots Khaji Da from Kha-ef-re's sarcophagus it immediately bonds with him, gives him the mission it gave all the Blue Beetles it had b4. But due to it being damaged, Dan doesn't have access to Khaji Da's full power. The Scarab is healing itself while bonded to Dan.

Dan passes the title of Blue Beetle and the Scarab to Ted as he's dying. Khaji Da didn't agree to it but Dan passing it on of his own volition is as good as a magic contract so Khaji has to be bonded to Ted and hates it. For several years while Ted is heroing and has Khaji Da it gives him no access to anything but its most passive of powers (the warding against evil spirits) while its focusing its energy on healing Dan's body and then reviving him and siccing Dan on the 'unworthy' Blue Beetle

Ted manages to turn the tide of the fight with Dan in his favor which impresses Khaji Da who decides that Ted is worthy of being a Blue Beetle after all and tries to force Ted to accept its power and kill Dan.

After Dan's death Ted technically could access the full power of Khaji Da (what it has available at least as its still healing itself as well from what Kha-ef-re did to it) but refuses to do so given Khaji Da was a major dick and he doesn't trust it

Later Khaji Da gets more or less stolen from Ted by the Wizard Shazam who kept going on about Ted mucking around with forces he didn't understand and the Wizard puts Khaji Da in the Rock of Eternity.

Inside the Rock of Eternity, Khaji Da soaks up power and finishes fixing itself from the damage that Kha-ef-re did to it. It's bond with Ted gets broken (free choice why).

The Rock of Eternity gets broken and everything sealed inside escapes/is flung across the country. Jaime Reyes finds a neat looking beetle rock in the dirt at a construction site on the way to school

[malewife-pirate]

demigod OC in the hades game style!!

her outfit is all pulled from either ancient Egyptian depictions of Set/ historical outfits!! her hair is based of a real wig found in the tomb of Kha and Merit:)

Anyway she’s so silly she makes me nauseous

[writersstareoutwindows]

snippet of a Skyrim fic I’ve been meaning to post. a pretty good, quick summary of my current Dragonborn concept.

small-town homebody returns from first adventure to find that her home is not as it always appeared to be. but then, neither is she. and neither is the cat on her shoulders. -

It was all so much the same: the hearth fire, working its way toward roaring as evening came on; low, warm light dimmed by smoke; the soft scents of yeast and honey; familiar voices chattering, while Embry snored at his seat and Sven plucked a heartsick tune. The Sleeping Giant slumbered on, exactly as she’d left it months before. There was only one thing that had changed.

As she stepped inside, people who had known her all her life looked at her with wary curiosity. In the doorway, backlit by fading sun, she looked like any traveler, in rough armor with a weapon on their hip, tall and broad and tusked, not from around here. Only when she smiled did they recognize young Signy, not dead after all.

A cheer went up; everyone wanted to buy her a drink. Everyone had heard the stories, everyone wanted to know if they were true. It was the sort of thing she’d dreamed of when she was the one bringing out drinks, but today, she’d been traveling for hours in the cold, and there was still something to do before she could sleep.

Khali, who had not moved from her comfortable perch on Signy’s shoulders for about sixteen hours, leapt to the floor and circled her ankles. When anyone came too close, the little cat hissed.

Everyone familiar with the erstwhile tavern cat knew not to push their luck.

“Sorry!” Signy said. “She’s just—Kha—I mean, Duchess, stop, it’s fine. Sorry, everyone, I just came to see Delphine, actually. That’s all.”

Signy’s name had flown around the tavern. Delphine was at the bar, ready with a mug of mead, watered-down and honey-sweetened, to slide in her direction.

“On the house. You’re back sooner than I thought. And you’ve brought our dear Duchess back safe, too.”

Signy caught the mug but didn’t drink. She wasn’t sure how to reply. “I guess so… Delphine, do we have an attic room?”

Signy didn’t notice, but Khali, returned to her perch, did: Delphine paused.

“No. We don’t have an attic. You know that.”

“I know! It’s just that someone thinks you do.”

Signy offered the note that she and Khali had found in Windcaller’s tomb. Again it was Khali who noticed that, though Delphine glanced at it, her eyes didn’t move to read the words.

“Someone did stop by, asking if they could leaving something here for you. Maybe that’s who you’re looking for. Let me get Orgnar on the bar and I’ll show you.”

Retrieving a key from somewhere beneath the bar, Delphine went to the door of a corner room that Signy had never seen rented out. She’d assumed it was a closet of some kind, but as Delphine opened the door a sliver and ushered her inside, she saw a bed against one wall, a wardrobe against the other. When Delphine closed the door behind them, Khali’s tail snapped against Signy’s neck. She hissed low in her throat.

Startled, Signy said “What—?”

Delphine had opened the wardrobe. Assuming the question was for her, she paused and said, “You worked for me for a good couple years. I think I can trust you…with this much, at least. Can you keep a secret?”

Trying not to glance at Khali, Signy said, “Yes. What’s going on?”

In response, Delphine opened a false back in the wardrobe and descended inside. At once, Signy loped after her, vaulted the stairwell, and turned a wide-eyed circle at the small, secret room that awaited. Weapons bristled on the walls. In one corner, hay bales had been dragged out to form a training space, the walls around it pocked and scored. The training dummy had pointed ears. Books lay open on every surface, maps tacked onto the walls, all scrawled over in thin, spidery writing. The map on the central table was the most marked of all, held down at the corner by heavy, notated books, in some places so thick with notes that they became unreadable. Delphine walked to the far side of this table, placing it between her and Signy as she watched the other’s reaction.

“Has this always been here?”

Delphine shrugged. “As long as I have.”

“This is…what?” Signy laughed, unsure if it was the right thing to do. All the years of her life, she’d known Delphine as the stoic innkeeper, but this—it was an adventurer’s storeroom, or a general’s office. “What is going on?”

“Same question to you. All the stories, not to mention the Greybeards, are calling you Dragonborn.”

The rumble in Khali’s chest was enough to put Signy on her guard.

“People say a lot of things.” She shrugged self-consciously.

“You wouldn’t have my note if the Greybeards didn’t believe you were the one. They wouldn’t send just anyone after that horn. The question now is, should I believe it?”

“Your note? You made it through that tomb? Delphine, what…?” Signy waved her hands around the entire room, not knowing where to point first. “What the fuck is going on? Who are you?”

That unflinching expression of hers finally shifted toward something halfway sympathetic. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. It was better when no one in town had to know, but if you’re really Dragonborn, someone is going to involve you eventually.” Delphine sighed. “Better for me if I’m the one to do it. But I have to make sure the Thalmor haven’t gotten to you.”

“The Thalmor? To me?” Signy gestured to herself, all six and a quarter Orcish feet. “In what world?”

“I’ve been fighting Thalmor a long time. I’ve learned not to underestimate them.” She laid a hand on the map beside her. “I have reason to suspect they’re involved with the dragons. It wouldn’t surprise me if they’d corrupted even you.”

That went through Signy’s heart like an arrow.

“Fuck off! My momma fought your stupid war. She killed Thalmor, and then she lost her home anyway—”

Delphine waved her hand. She was inspecting the map beneath her fingers. “None of that matters now. What matters is that you might be Dragonborn.” She traced a line drawn in red. “If we can find ourselves a dragon, you can prove it to me.”

“Why do you care?”

There was a jagged edge to the question. Signy had known Delphine for all the time she could remember. She had moved to Riverwood not long after Signy’s momma, when Signy was still a baby. For gods’ sake, she’d worked in Delphine’s tavern for the last four years. And Delphine had known her. They hadn’t been close; Delphine wasn’t close with anyone. But Signy had always tried to be kind. It hurt more sharply than she was willing to admit, that Delphine did not seem to have cared.

Still, she seemed to hear the note of hurt. She hesitated before deciding, regardless,“I’m sorry, Signy, but I can’t tell you. Not until I’m sure. It’s too important.”

A growl rumbled from deep in Khali’s body. Signy had forgotten she was there, but now the little cat stood up on her shoulders.

“She does not have to prove herself to you…Blade.”

And Delphine betrayed an emotion that Signy had not known her capable of: surprise. For half a moment, she gaped at the talking cat. Then daggers appeared in both hands as she sprang into a defensive stance. Those were warrior’s eyes, Signy realized, as they darted around assessing the room, settling on Khali. And there was hate in them.

“Thalmor. I should have known. Signy—”

Signy felt Khali’s fur fluff in fury. “This one is not Thalmor. Do you think you would still be alive if she were? Do you think this room is very hard to find? It is because of this one lying to the Thalmor that they have not already killed you. This one may bow to Aldmeri with her head, but not with her heart.”

“Signy,” Delphine repeated, “don’t move. That creature on your shoulders is exceptionally dangerous.”

“No, listen to her, she’s not—”

“That creature has a name! She is Khali, called after the great Mane of the ancient Interregnum, she whose soul was split in two and held in twin bodies for the twin moons!”

Khali leapt onto the table. Delphine adjusted instantly, lowering one dagger to her level, but Khali just flicked her tail in irritation.

“Your paranoia has made you blind. You trust a house cat to be what it is, but you do not trust a woman you have seen grow from childhood. You dream that Aldmeri could control the dragons. You cower in hiding—”

“You Thalmor scum—”

Khali’s claws emerged, tearing points into Delphine’s map. She was only a little cat, but there was a presence to her that filled the room. She did not have to raise her voice to be heard.

“Do you think you are the only one who has suffered at the hands of the Thalmor? Do you have any idea what they have done in Elsweyr? This one has done more by pretending to serve than you ever managed in your war. Far more than you do by hiding in your cellar.”

“Shut up, cat.”

Signy had been so drawn by the force of Khali’s voice that she had not noticed the poison in Delphine’s eyes. Looking now, she saw the daggers quake in her hands, and she knew, because Signy was good at knowing these things, that Khali had cut her very deeply indeed.

Khali saw the daggers shake too. She curled her tail into a question mark, daring her.

“This one is not afraid of you, Blade. As she says, you are blind. Has this one not already shown that she is more than you can see?”

Delphine was already lunging. Signy screamed, knowing she wouldn’t miss. “NO!”

But Khali’s Voice was a half-step quicker. She didn’t shout; in the same even tone that she’d been speaking, she said, “Fus.”

Delphine hit the wall so hard that it cracked. Signy dived for the table, scooping Khali into her arms, but Delphine stayed down.

With a glance at Khali, even with a twisting hurt in her belly, Signy offered her a hand.

Tears pricked the corners of Delphine’s eyes. She didn’t seem to notice. She just looked at Khali and said, “It’s you.”

Khali did not respond immediately. She returned to her perch on Signy’s shoulders and wrapped her tail possessively around one arm. At last, she gave a single nod.

“This one has proved herself. Signy has never needed to. You are the one who has lied; prove yourself to her.”

Signy opened her hand, still held out to Delphine. Delphine tore her gaze from the tiny Dragonborn with the angry golden eyes, and, seeing Signy attempt a smile, finally recognized her: not the weapon she’d been looking for, but the girl she’d always known, young and idealistic. She took her hand and let Signy pull her up.

“Right. Well, Signy. I’m one of the few surviving members of the old Imperial guard. We were called the Blades. We’ve been waiting for a Dragonborn for a very long time…”

[dispatchdcu]

Blue Beetle #4 Preview

Blue Beetle #4 Preview #bluebeelte #DCEU #dccomics #comics #comicbooks #news #dcu #dcuuniverse #art #info #NCBD #comicbooknews #previews #reviews #amazon

Blue Beetle #4 Preview: Things start to come together after Jaime’s recent trip to the tomb of Pharaoh Kha-Ef-Re, the place where Dan Garrett originally found Khaji Da! What does the Blood Scarab need Khaji for, and what does this mean for Jaime Reyes?! Written by JOSH TRUJILLO Art and cover by ADRIAN GUTIERREZ Spanish-language art and cover by ADRIAN GUTIERREZ Variant cover by DAN MORA 1:25…

[scienceninjaturtle]

BLUE BEETLE #4

Written by JOSH TRUJILLO

Art and cover by ADRIAN GUTIERREZ

Spanish-language art and cover by ADRIAN GUTIERREZ

Variant cover by DAN MORA

1:25 variant cover by FICO OSSIO

$3.99 US | 32 pages | Variant $4.99 US (card stock)

ON SALE 12/5/23

Things start to come together after Jaime’s recent trip to the tomb of Pharaoh Kha-Ef-Re, the place where Dan Garrett originally found Khaji Da! What does the Blood Scarab need Khaji for, and what does this mean for Jaime Reyes?!

[nowoolallowed]

Light tunic with embellished neckline - Museo Egizio Collection

Inventory Number: S. 8543 New Kingdom, Dynasty 18, 1425–1353 BCE Location Information: Deir el Medina / tomb of Kha (TT8)

[spiritsdancinginthenight]

merit of deir el-medina

[friendswithclay]

“Ancient Egyptian decorated vase , tomb of Kha, Theban Tomb 8 , mid-18th dynasty (1550 to 1292 BC), Turin Egyptian Museum. Cat 8465. TT8 or Theban Tomb 8 was the tomb of Kha, the overseer of works from Deir el-Medina in the mid-18th dynasty[2] and his wife, Merit. TT8 was one of the greatest archaeological discoveries of ancient Egypt, one of few tombs of nobility to survive intact.”

[egypt-museum]

Royal cubit rod inscribed with the name of king Amenhotep II

New Kingdom, 18th Dynasty, ca. 1425-1353 BC. Tomb of Kha (TT8), Deir el-Medina, Thebes. Now in the Egyptian Museum of Turin. S. 8647

Read more

[leam1983]

Watched "The Halloween Tree" Again.

While it's a great tone-setter, I've always been a bit peeved that Bradbury's chosen format limits how much information he can actually convey. I see it as a starter, but there's something a little misleading to the idea of saying witches were called as such because their name is derived from "wits".

A more critical eye on Medieval witchcraft accounts drums all the usual suspects for all other targeted attacks, with one notable unique participant. Yes, the witches' tribunals typically focused on the poor, the marginalized, neurodivergent or even simply ugly or old - but also on people who had the misfortune of holding onto proven knowledge passed down the generations - typically in opposition to the ruling body's enforced ignorance. Knowledge of medicinal plants, advanced foraging techniques or even period-appropriate survivalism were all things that ran against the developing currents across Medieval Europe, which more than effectively depended on the presence of an ignorant and functionally weakened peasant class.

As for Egypt, I never ran across archeological accounts that suggest the citizenry or the pharaohs' ministers would expose their dead in the open on a given night of the year. For most Egyptians who didn't have royal blood, you were lucky if your ba and ka managed to ever reunite, seeing as the entire process behind becoming an Osiris called upon resources very few could hope to reach. The streets of Thebes were probably packed with spirits year-round, and you only occasionally find stories related to higher-tier civil servants earning their own tomb, like the now well-known couple of Kha and Merit, Kha being the overseer of works in Deir-al-Medina, somewhere in the mid-years of the 18th Dynasty. Both he and his wife were far from the norm, their promised access to immortality likely being more of a paid favor from Pharaoh, possibly Amenhotep II.

Then, there's Paris. Notre-Dame's gargoyles aren't just monsters for the sake of our recalling our old fears of rapacious bugbears, but also out of the old pagan custom of warding off evil. The idea of dressing up as something scarier than what's scaring you is nothing new, and the cathedral's stone devils were effectively erected to push back against influences deemed noxious by the Church. If you've read Hugo's The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, then you know that Paris housed several public squares, not the least of which being La Cour des Miracles. There, virtually a stone's throw from Notre-Dame, you'd find the exact same types witches came from - marginals, outcasts, the elderly, dispossessed and the infirm - along with several variably-legal immigrants, with a notable Romani contingent that's almost always been present in Paris. There's plenty of sources for old folk religion to thrive in there, for pagan roots to show - and France's religious authorities weren't going to sit by while supposedly godless people lived right next to one of the country's greatest spiritual and archeological undertakings. If you want to get cynical about it, you could also assume that massings of people of this particular volume were detrimental to local land values.

Step one, apply societal and cultural pressure against an out-group. Step two, reaffirm the out-group's supposed supernatural leanings and provide the superstitious locals with wards to use to safeguard their souls...

Someone's gargoyle is someone else's salt circle, effectively - and is a third person's exclusionary tactic. You'd think racism is the one bug that wouldn't dare to show up on a night where several amongst us choose to wear a mask, but it truly is everywhere.

Remains the unanswered question: who and what is Carapace Clavicle Moundshroud, exactly? He describes himself as a businessman, one who clearly deals in time both gained and lost, and effectively serves as the tale's deuteragonist - and his reaction to Notre-Dame's shadow muddies the waters, somewhat. I doubt the Grim Reaper or Father Time would take umbrage to a place of worship - time waits for no-one and people croaking in churches isn't unheard of; but the fact is he does. He recoils and claims that he isn't welcome in certain places...

This is where my heart sinks a little. If Moundshroud is something as one-note as the Devil, it suggests that Bradbury doesn't really care to internalize his own suggested lessons. Halloween isn't born out of a place of darkness or evil, it's born out of a desire to reckon with Death and pay homage to the passage of time. Can I reconcile this with Moundshroud as a character? Maybe churches ward him off because they represent some form of timelessness and show death as a form of liberation as opposed to Moundshroud's own physicality suggesting that Death has a corruptive influence on Life. If he's Father Time made old and creaky and cantankerous, then he'd obviously be opposed to several religions' ideas concerning death; where it stands as effectively eternal life.

And yet, he takes one year of each kid's life as payment for Joe Pipkin's return from the brink - and the kids met together at a crossroads, early on in the tale...

The core of the tale is solid, but as far as his role as a plot vector is concerned, Mr. Moundshroud is a bag of non-gelled ideas sloshing around. Ambiguity can work well in many cases, but I only need to think back on my own folklore to have plenty of mythical stories involving a more congenial Prince of Darkness who figures he'll take a break from damning souls and instead slips into some remote logging town to do-si-do with the local ladies while challenging the occasional heroic bachelor, all while never endangering anyone.

In any case, The Halloween Tree remains one of my seasonal seminals, typically followed by a few visits paid to undying serial killers, homicidal clowns and interdimensional sadomasochists.

I think I'll give Stuart Gordon and Brian Yzna's Necronomicon another shot, somewhere before Halloween. Leeman Kessler might be YouTube's reigning H.P. Lovecraft lookalike, Jeffrey Combs always comes in close second to me.

Hark, I hear something squamous and multifidous squelch its way to my doorstep...